Chapter I

The wind howled through the forest, whipping snow into swirling cyclones. Pine needles pricked the creature's thick gray hide as it moved through the darkness, branches brushing its massive body. An insatiable hunger drove it, a raging fire within. Its heightened senses detected a familiar scent carried on the wind: warm blood. 

A low growl rumbled in the creature's chest. Its eyes, burning with unnatural intensity, scanned the snow-covered ground. Prey. 

A man in black rode slowly along the path, asleep on his obsidian steed. The horse moved with the silent grace of a shadow. 

The creature stalked its unsuspecting prey. 

The horse stumbled on loose branches, the crunching sound awakening the rider. He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, his hand gently resting on the knife at his side. His horse neighed. He took a deep breath, smelling the pine-scented air. 

Black duster creaking, he moved like a wraith. 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. A chill ran down his spine. The hair on his neck rose. Danger. 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, with defined pectoral and abdominal muscles. A wolf's head, exceptionally large with jutting teeth, topped the creature's body. Its snout was caked in what appeared to be dried blood, and a thick, unkempt mane framed its head. 

The creature threw back its head and howled at the moon, flexing its body in a display of primal dominance. 

The air crackled, thick with the scent of pine and the metallic tang of blood. The wind howled like a banshee, whipping at his duster as he drew his revolver. The Lycan's roar, a guttural explosion of sound and fury, vibrated through the frozen ground, sending his horse into a wild-eyed frenzy. Its claws, 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 Lycan crashed into a towering pine, the impact shaking snow from its branches. "Easy, easy," the man rasped, his voice barely audible above the wind's shriek and his horse's terrified neighs. The Lycan's roar echoed from the shadowed depths of the forest, its heavy paws crunching closer on the snow. He drew his rifle, the cold steel a comfort in his trembling hands, and aimed. The creature lunged, a blur of gray fur and gnashing teeth. BOOM! The rifle cracked, spitting fire and lead. A crimson mist erupted from the creature's shoulder, a spray of blood and fur against the white snow. 

The Lycan howled in rage and pain. He racked another round, the lever-action smooth and practiced. 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. Dazed, he saw the creature hurtling towards him. He rolled aside, the Lycan's claws raking bark where he'd been moments before. 

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. He gripped it tight, a desperate plan forming in his mind, and threw. The glass sphere shattered against the Lycan's thick hide, showering it in burning liquid. The stench of burning fur and flesh filled the air, acrid and sickening, mingling with the creature'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 eyes, burning with unnatural yellow light, still glowed with malevolent intent. As the flames subsided, the Lycan stood, a blackened, smoldering silhouette against the white, its life force seemingly untouched. 

"Impossible.", Grimm snarled, staring in disbelief. Lycans, like any other being are vulnerable to fire, he thought. Something was 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 Lycan, a gray shadow, was upon him in an instant, hurtling through the air. He threw himself to the side, the creature's claws tearing through the air where he'd been moments before. Desperation lent him speed as he scrambled for the rifle, his 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. He knew he wouldn't get another clean shot. The Lycan 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. Steam rose from the rifle's barrel, a thin plume against the cold air. Snowflakes drifted down, a gentle counterpoint to the violence. Blood dripped from the man's bandana, staining his ammo bandolier a dark shade of red. A gash on his head trickled blood down his cheek, a burning line against the cold. 

The creature staggered to its feet, limping slightly. It threw back its head and howled at the moon, a mournful, chilling sound. Then, it turned toward the man, blood dripping from its snout, its yellow eyes, pupils constricted to pinpoints, staring intently. 

The creature'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, a creature of myth, thought globally extinct. 

The Lycan roared, a guttural challenge echoing through the night air. It moved with blinding speed, its claws 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 roared, 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 delivered a thunderous uppercut, sending the creature a foot into the air. 

The Lycan'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 blood and muscle bursting forth, hurling the man backwards. He landed heavily, his world a haze of pain. Broken ribs screamed with every breath, each one a searing agony. 

A screech, inhuman and terrifying, ripped from the Lycan'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 creature 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 creature's saliva. 

The man roared, his own eyes glowing brighter with a desperate fury. SHIK! His silver combat knife, his last resort, pierced the Lycan's abdomen. The creature groaned, a sound of surprise and pain, then went silent. It erupted in flames, screaming until it was nothing but ash and pink pulp, the smell of burning flesh and fur clinging to the air. 

The man rose, clutching his left shoulder. The Lycan had pierced his axillary artery. 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. His hand shook as he jammed the needle into his shoulder, his breath catching in his throat. He cried out in pain. 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, the impact a searing agony. His vision swam, and numbness crept into his hands. 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. For with every use of the mysterious potion that was used, a 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 Lycan 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. He opened his jacket, revealing the stark contrast of blood against his vest. He touched the wound gingerly, expecting to find torn flesh, but instead found scarred skin. The pain was minimal, 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. The Order's protection...was it a shield, or a cage? And the Lycans...why had they come back? As he rode, a single crow landed on a dead branch ahead, its obsidian eyes fixed on him. It croaked once, a sound that echoed through the silent forest, then took flight, heading toward Barrowham