In the twilight of civilization, a virus—born from human hubris and scientific folly—swept across the world like a storm. It didn't merely ravage bodies; it rewrote DNA, twisted cells, and awakened something ancient within the marrow of humanity. Survivors who endured its grip spoke in tones of reverence, their voices reverberating with an alien cadence. They called themselves the Awakened, creatures reborn from flesh and fever, thriving in a new and grotesque reality.

The weak and unyielding perished. Only the adaptable, those whose biology welcomed change with greedy, seeking tendrils, remained. Among them was König, once a hardened soldier, now a monstrosity clad in sinew and armor. His mutation was a spectacle of power: three heads that whispered secrets to one another, four arms bristling with muscle and veined like lightning, and sinuous tentacles that coiled and stretched with a sentient will.

König stood at the edge of a shattered cityscape, a colossal figure outlined against a sky stained violet by perpetual dusk. His minds—each with its own distinct hum of thought—spoke in unison.

“They are here,” murmured his left head, eyes sharp as knives, fixing on an approaching figure.

“Too weak. They will never survive,” scoffed the middle head, the voice grating with cynicism.

The third head, silent but watchful, widened its gaze as footsteps echoed from the broken pavement below. Amidst the crumbling skeletons of a bygone age, a silhouette emerged. Unlike the others, this one moved with hesitation, with the tremble of lungs still straining for air.

It was human.

König’s four arms flexed. A part of him—the part that had been human before the Great Awakening had erased his name—ached with a half-remembered pang of what it meant to be something simpler, something mortal.

For the first time in the era of the Awakened, the air thrummed with the tension of new possibilities due to the fresh recruit König was assigned.

Seemingly one of the last - if not the last human - you.