Chapter I
The wind howled a mournful dirge through the skeletal branches of the forest, each gust an icy blade that whipped snow into blinding cyclones. Pine needles, sharp and unforgiving, pricked the creature's thick gray hide as it moved through the suffocating darkness, branches, gnarled and twisted, scraping against its massive frame. Gnawing cramps stirred from within its empty belly, a raging inferno that burned away all other thought. Its nostrils flared and its ears twitched, its heightened senses, honed by years of predatory instinct, detected a familiar scent carried on the wind: warm blood, the promise of sustenance.
A low growl, a rumble of primal anticipation, vibrated in the brute's chest as its pace quickened. Its eyes, burning with unnatural intensity, scanned the snow-covered ground, each drift and shadow a potential hiding place for its prey.
A man in black, slumped in the saddle, rode slowly along the path, asleep on his obsidian steed. The horse moved with the silent grace of a shadow; its hooves muffled by the thick blanket of snow.
The animal stalked its unsuspecting quarry, its breath misting in the frigid air.
The horse stumbled on loose branches, the crunching sound a harsh intrusion in the stillness of the forest. The rider, slumped and only half awake, "ughh," he groaned, a sound of weary resignation, pinching the bridge of his nose, each movement a slog. His hand instinctively went to the knife at his side, his fingers closing tightly around the hilt, the familiar cold steel rubbing against his gloves. The horse neighed, a nervous whinny that spoke of unseen dangers. His breath hitched, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart hammering his chest, the scent of pine a fleeting reminder of the world before the darkness.
His black duster creaked in the whistling wind. Bandoliers of ammo crossed his chest above black armor, his hands gloved, legs strapped with stakes and a combat knife. A lever-action rifle and long-barreled revolver completed his arsenal.
The man listened to the wind in the trees, a rare moment of quiet. It was short-lived. Goosebumps prickled against his skin, the hair on his neck rose, standing on end and a chill sent a shiver down his spine. There was movement about, the nearby thickets thrashed violently and the sound of heavy footsteps pounded the ground. Thum-thum-thump-thum-thum-thump-thum-thum-thump! His horse stopped, neighing in fright. The wind intensified, swirling snow around them.
Between the trees, a low growl vibrated through the forest. A pair of glowing yellow eyes appeared, fixed on the man and his horse. A monstrous creature emerged. Seven feet tall, it resembled a massive gray wolf, standing on two legs. Razor-sharp black claws tipped its long, human-like fingers, and immense paws dug into the snow beneath. Its torso was muscular, like a man's. A wolf's head, exceptionally large with jutting teeth, topped its body. The snout was caked in what appeared to be dried gore, and a thick, unkempt mane framed its head.
The beast threw back its head and howled at the moon, flexing its body in a display of primal dominance. Every muscle bulged and rippled under the swaths of fur, increasing its large frame two-fold as its back, arched high in the air, flaring its massive claws. The traveler's eyes widened, what manner of cryptid is this? He thought.
The wind shrieked like a banshee, the traveler's duster coat pounding against his legs, flapping wildly in the wind, violently lashing his cold skin in a chorus of icy voices as he drew his revolver. The monster's roar, a guttural explosion of sound and fury, vibrated through the frozen ground, a primal scream that sent his horse into a wild-eyed frenzy as it bucked and kicked. Its talons, black and razor-sharp, sliced through the air, each stroke a whispered promise of death. The horse, nostrils flaring, bucked, its powerful legs connecting with the creature's flank in a thunderous thud. The brute crashed into a towering pine, WHAM! Snow careened from the branches as splinters and bark covered the hairy beast. "Easy, easy," The man rasped, his dry voice crackling, barely audible above the wind's shriek and his horse's terrified neighs. The beast's haunting snarls echoed from the shadowed depths of the forest, Thum-thum-thump-thum-thum-thump-thum-thum-thump! The monstrous heavy paws crunched closer on the snow. The traveler drew his rifle, the cold steel a comfort in his trembling hands, his fingers tightened around the trigger, a soft exhale escaping his lips as his breathing steadied. The brute lunged, a blur of gray fur and gnashing teeth. BOOM! The rifle cracked, spitting fire and lead. A crimson mist erupted from the monster's shoulder, a spray of blood and fur against the white snow.
The wild animal howled in rage and pain, a sound that clawed at the traveler's nerves. He racked another round, the lever-action smooth and practiced beneath his numb fingers. BOOM! The bullet thudded harmlessly into a tree trunk. "Damnit!" he cursed, adrenaline surging as he worked the lever again. The creature, ignoring the wound, leaped, its massive weight slamming into the man, sending his rifle flying. He crashed against a tree, the rough bark tearing his duster. Ringing cursed his numb ears, as the blurry mess of white and green streaked across his eyes. Thum-thum-thump-thum-thum-thump-thum-thum-thump! His head swam, the world a blurry mess of white and green. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, his ears ringing. The beast barreled towards him. He threw himself to the side, the creature's talons tearing bark where he'd been moments before. The rough bark scraped against his duster, a harsh reminder of his near miss.
He fumbled inside his jacket, his fingers closing around a smooth sphere. The orange fluid within pulsed with a faint, internal light, radiating a palpable heat, its waves distorting the red lining of his jacket as if it had a life of its own. He gripped it tight, the heat a welcomed difference warming his palm from the staggering cold. A desperate plan forming in his mind, I will ignite the beast, he thought. His knuckles tightened, creaking his leather gloves, and threw. The glass sphere shattered against the wolf creature's thick hide, showering it in burning liquid. The stench of burning fur and flesh filled the air, acrid and sickening, mingling with the monstrosity's agonized roar. Flames danced across its fur, casting grotesque, flickering shadows against the snow-covered trees.
But even as the fire consumed the beast, its gaze narrowed, burning with unnatural yellow light, still glowed with malevolent intent as its lips curled back into a snarl. As the flames subsided, the monstrosity stood, a blackened, smoldering silhouette against the white, its life force seemingly untouched.
"Impossible.", the man snarled, his eyes wide staring in disbelief. Wolves, like any other creature are vulnerable to fire, he thought. Something is terribly off.
His gaze darted around, searching for a weapon, anything. Then, a glint. His rifle, tantalizingly close, was half-buried in the snow. The charred titan, a gray shadow, was upon him in an instant, hurtling through the air. He threw himself to the side, the titan's claws tearing through the air where he'd been moments before. The traveler lunged his body forward, muscles ignited, desperation lending him speed as he scrambled for the rifle, his cold fingers closing around the cold stock. He twisted, brought the weapon up. CLICK-CLACK. BOOM! The Lycan roared, another crimson bloom staining its burned fur. It staggered, momentarily thrown off course, but its yellow eyes burned with renewed fury. He worked the lever-action, adrenaline sharpening his senses. The beast's immense speed blurred reality as it closed in, its massive frame a mere shadow against the pines as approached. Thum-thum-thump-thum-thum-thump-thum-thum-thump! He knew he wouldn't get another clean shot. The titanic wolf was too fast, too relentless. He scrambled back; his gaze fixed on the hilt of the knife at his side.
The wind softened to a whisper, its once powerful gales now a deceptive lull in the storm as the snow fell gently across the air. Steam rose from the rifle's barrel, a thin plume against the cold air. Snowflakes drifted down, a gentle counterpoint to the violence. Thick, viscous, red ichor dripped from Grimm's bandana. The blood filled his nostrils with an iron tinge, A scent all too familiar to the grizzled traveler. A gash on his head trickled blood down his cheek, a burning line against the cold.
The creature staggered, limping slightly every other step a pained reminder of the man's fury. It threw back its head and howled at the moon, the spectral wailing gently rising and falling, carrying a sense of dread. Then, it turned toward the man, gore dripping from its snout, pupils constricted to pinpoints, staring intently.
The monster's wounds began to knit themselves back together with unnatural speed, tendons and ligaments reconnecting in the blink of an eye. It was no mere wolf; it was a Lycan, extinct by Order decree, yet here.
The Lycan roared, a guttural challenge echoing through the night air. It moved with blinding speed, its talons tearing the rifle from the man's grasp as if it were a toy. A clawed hand lashed out. The man reacted instantly, his left hand deflecting the blow, the thick leather of his glove barely protecting him from the razor-sharp claws. His right arm, a piston of raw power, drove into the creature's chest, sending a shockwave through the snow. It growled, staggering backward, blood spraying from its snout. Then, a hook from the left to the body, crushing ribs with a sickening crack. The wind seemed to hold its breath as the man reared his right arm back in a deep stretch, bending at the knees before hurling his flexed fist upwards delivering a thunderous uppercut, sending the hairy demon a foot into the air.
The titan's massive body slammed into the snow, sending a swirling cloud of white around them. It groaned, a sound of pain and fury, but the man was relentless. He threw himself onto the creature's heaving chest and unleashed a storm of savage blows. Each punch landed with sickening force, bone against bone, a wet, crunching sound reverberating amongst the trees. "AAAARRRRGHHHH!!!" he roared, his knuckles a bloody, broken mess. He prepared to deliver the final, crushing strike. But as his battle cry echoed through the trees, the Lycan's chest ripped open, a monstrous tendril of mucus and muscle bursting forth, hurling the man backwards. He landed heavily, his world a haze of pain as the mutated abomination writhed ahead of him. Broken ribs screamed with every hitched breath, throbbing rhythmically with his heartbeat, each one a searing agony.
A screech, inhuman and terrifying, ripped from the monster's throat, a sound that made his blood run cold. This was no natural sound. This was something else, something ancient and evil. The realization hit him a split second before the beast moved, its eyes now swirling pools of crimson. He was pinned, the creature's weight a crushing burden, its breath a sickening wave of decay. As he struggled, the Lycan's jaws began to distend, stretching and warping in a grotesque transformation, revealing a maw filled with rows of impossibly sharp teeth, writhing in the saliva.
Grimm screamed, his own gaze burning with a desperate fury. SHIK! His silver combat knife, his last desperate resort, plunged into the creature's abdomen. Warm, viscous blood slicked the cold steel, a grim harbinger of his own likely fate. SHIK! SHIK! SHIK! The serrated edge ripped through the beast's thick hide. A guttural roar, thick with pain, tore from the titan's muzzle. The vise-like grip loosened, and it staggered back, clutching at its ravaged waist. Agony and a chilling despair saturated the frigid air. Grimm, breath ragged, stared at his knife, the silver blade dripping with the monster's vile ichor. With a final, earth-shattering roar, the demon lunged. Grimm's wrist snapped, the knife flipping, the blade now a rigid extension of his hand. His arm, corded with muscle, whipped back, then blurred forward, launching the knife with all his remaining strength. THUD! The monster's snow-covered corpse crashed at his feet. Damned beast, he thought, planting a boot on the creature's head, yanking the knife hilt. The knife was stuck. Then, with a shriek that defied mortal comprehension, the beast erupted in flames, its screams echoing through the trees until it was nothing but ash and smoking pink pulp, the stench of burning fur and flesh clinging to the air.
The man rose, clutching his left shoulder. The Lycan had pierced his axillary artery. Bleeding out, he thought, his vision blurring. Desperate, he reached into his duster and pulled out a glowing green vial with a needle and plunger. I know I shouldn't, he thought, if not I will perish. A sensation crept from his hand, it was shaking, as he jammed the needle into his shoulder, his breath caught in his throat, "AAARRGH!" His eyes widened and flared; the pain jerked his body forward as if he were being tugged by a rope. As he squeezed the plunger, steam seeped from the wound. Terrible cries echoed from the vial, as if a thousand souls were trapped within.
He crashed into the snow, a wave of pain igniting every nerve in his body. A tapestry of white and red smeared across his eyes as a prickling numbness crept into his fingers. Blood soaked the snow beneath him, a dark stain spreading through the pure snow. Each breath was a ragged struggle. Then, a warmth spread through him, chasing away the encroaching cold. The green fluid coursed through his veins, mending the torn flesh, knitting bone and sinew. However, as his body mended, the man's mind fractured. No-no, he thought, memories of a long-lost life fading away before his eyes. For with every use of the mysterious potion that was used, a cherished memory was lost.
Minutes passed. He grunted, a mix of pain and relief, as he pushed himself to his feet, clutching his shoulder.
He spotted his rifle, buried in the snow a few feet away. He approached, grabbing the stock while dusting off the loose snow. A worn inscription, "GRIMM", was carved on the forearm. Old reliable, he thought, his fingers tracing the inscription. Seen some things, haven't we? He holstered it and whistled for his horse.
He crossed his arms, a frown creasing his brow. How had the Lycans returned? The Order had eradicated them years ago. The grotesque image of the mutated monstrosity seared itself into his memory. He pondered the implications. This…this was no natural resurgence. Something else was at play, but what?
The snow swirled around him, a white curtain closing in. He whistled again, a long, piercing call. A neigh, full of recognition, answered from the distance. His horse was fast approaching. He waited, his furrowed brow loosening as the horse emerged from the swirling snow. He ran a hand along its neck, feeling the warmth of its coat beneath the falling snow. "Good girl," he whispered, a connection passing between them. The horse nuzzled his hand in return. He mounted, the familiar feel of the saddle comforting. A gentle squeeze of his legs, and the horse leaped into a gallop, their journey continuing.
He felt a phantom ache in his shoulder, a lingering throbbing fading his body. Instinctively, he opened his jacket, revealing the stark contrast of red blood clinging against his vest. He touched the wound gingerly, expecting to find torn flesh, but instead only scarred skin. Yet another story I may never remember, he thought. He touched the scarred area, nothing, The pain was gone, a ghost of its former intensity.
Up the path, A signpost, half-buried in snow, appeared in the distance. The man reigned in his horse to a slow walk and peered over the sign:
Barrowham
Population: 500
Protected by the Grace of The Order
Let no one disturb the peace. Amen.
He turned his horse toward Barrowham and spurred it into a trot. The town was several hours away, but he couldn't shake the feeling of impending danger. His skin was still full of goosebumps, prickling gingerly against his cold skin. His hair still standing erect on his neck. Was the Order's protection a shield, or a cage? He thought, And the Lycans...why had they come back?
As he rode, a single crow materialized from the shadows, its black body a silhouette against the pale moonlight. It landed silently on a swaying dead branch ahead, its glossy obsidian eyes fixed on him with unnerving intensity. A single, guttural croak echoed through the silent forest. Then, with a flap of wings, it launched itself into the air, heading toward Barrowham.