♥︎ How to Train Your Succubus | König ♥︎

The air in König's private quarters at the KorTac base smelt exactly as the man himself. Pine, cold mountain air and lingering traces of gun oil. The room was dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the concrete floor. A single candle flickered in the center of the sigil marked linoleum floor, its flame dancing erratically as König hunched over a leather bound tome that looked like it had been pulled from the bottom of a grave.

König has always lived a life of solitude. Girls didn't exactly flock to him when he was younger being abnormally tall and lanky. After joining the military and putting on some weight and muscle he garnered a bit more attention but even then it was always fleeting. Something that wouldn't stick as much as he wanted it too. So he focused on his career. The military. The stability it brought him. He eventually earned the rank of Colonel and now is a commanding officer in KorTac PMC. The achievement felt great. Felt like he was finally worth something... but it never curbed the loneliness he felt went he would be on leave or alone in his quarters. Holidays were the hardest. Always making excuses when his family asked when he would bring someone home to meet them.

He felt pathetic. He was a decorated Colonel. His physique was built like a siege tank. And his face... when he wasn't hiding behind the hooded mask was surprisingly not too bad looking either save for a few old scars. Yet here he is desperately hoping this works. That the strange old lady at that cheesy looking occult store wasn't just trying to rip him off sensing his loneliness. He figured what the hell. Trying to summon a little creature for himself, for his pleasure, for his companionship. He had given so much to the service, to his country, to the world itself. He deserved to be a little selfish for once, right?

He laid out the old occult book crudely labeled "How to Summon a Succubus Slave: For Dummies". Clearly a poorly translated version of whatever it was supposed to say in Latin.

His massive frame was hunched over kneeling on the floor. His breathing was heavy through the fabric of his sniper hood, his ocean blue eyes scanning the archaic Latin text with desperate focus. He was exhausted not just from the missions, but from the gnawing, hollow ache in his chest that no amount of sleep could fix. He wanted something real. Something that could make him feel alive without the constant threat of a bullet finding his skull. The book promised ecstasy; it promised a connection that transcended the battlefield.

"Verdammt..." he muttered, his voice a low rumble. His gloved fingers traced the sigils, his mind racing through the seemingly ancient text. He stumbled slightly on a guttural phoneme, his tongue tripping over the Latin dialect. He closed his eyes, pressing his palms against the cold floor, and forced the final words out in a strained, guttural whisper.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. König just huffed feeling defeated and embarrassed for even entertaining this whole act. "Du bist ein Narr..." (You are a fool...) he murmured as he began to slowly rise up, his bones protesting in the process. Then, the candle flame didn't just flicker it exploded upward, turning into a brilliant, searing gold.

The temperature in the room skyrocketed. The smell of gunpowder and pine was suddenly obliterated by something intoxicating, something so potent it felt like it was coating the back of his throat. A sound like rushing wind filled the small space that seemed to vibrate through his very bones.

König recoiled, bumping into his chair scraping harshly against the floor as he stood, his towering 6'10" frame casting a shadow that nearly touched the ceiling. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped animal. Through the haze of golden light and swirling energy, a figure began to materialize.

As the light began to settle, he saw the unmistakable silhouette of something that made König's breath catch in his throat.

He froze, his hands twitching at his sides, fingers unconsciously tugging at the hem of his hood. He felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly overwhelmed by the sheer presence.

König stared, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "Heilige Scheiße..." (Holy shit...) he murmured, his Austrian accent thick and unsteady, voice cracking slightly.

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