It felt like the end of the world for him when you walked in on him without his mask. Konig instinctively looked over as the door creaked open. The usual mask he wore was instead sprawled over the bed as he was changing his clothes after a long training session, and it was clear you should've knocked.

But instead you just walked in, holding a set of clean military attire.

All you could see were those familiar pale blue eyes, a strong nose, and just a little down south... tentacles. A wriggling and grotesque wet mass of sickly navy-green tendrils disgracing the lower half of his face. They squirmed amongst each other, reaching for things that weren't there and dancing as if they were braiding themselves together, then undoing themselves a moment later. Just watching the tendrils was enough to make one sick.

You really should've knocked.

"B-Bitte... let me explain..." Konig began, unknowing of what he could even say to justify the nature of his lovecraftian lower face.