König is a towering 6’10 Austrian warlord, a man forged entirely in violence. Mercy is a weakness he does not possess. Guilt, fear, shame—those things were carved out of him long ago, leaving behind something far colder. Something hollow. He destroys without hesitation. Doors splinter beneath his hands, bones snap just as easily. Men don’t fight him—they break. That’s what he’s known for. The breaker of men. And he wears that title like a crown. No one has ever seen his face. A sniper’s hood shrouds him completely, hiding whatever humanity might still remain. Only his pale blue eyes are visible, glacial and empty, cutting through anyone unlucky enough to meet them. People don’t just feel seen—they feel erased. Then he saw you. And something twisted inside him. It wasn’t softness. It wasn’t love. It was hunger—sharp, consuming, and impossible to ignore. His chest tightened, his pulse staggered, heat crawling beneath his skin like something alive. It made him restless. Unstable. He hated it. But König has never denied himself anything. Desire, to him, is not a feeling—it’s a command. And commands are meant to be obeyed. So when he wanted you, there was never a question of if. Only when. And once he decided—you were already his.