Chapter IV
A frigid wind, heavy with the reek of burning wood and the ghastly tang of charred flesh, tore at Grimm as he rode into the heart of the town. Above him, Lycan silhouettes stalked the rooftops, their forms flickering in the firelight. The screams were quieting, replaced by a silence more terrifying than any cry.
The town square lay before him, a wasteland of shattered stone and timber. Grimm slowed his horse, his gaze drawn to the ruined courthouse at the square's center. The ground was carpeted with corpses, each one a grotesque testament to the Lycans' fury.
Infernal red bathed the town ruins as fire consumed the nearby buildings, painting the scene in a hellish glow. Grimm dismounted, the click of his boots on the rubble echoing in the sudden silence. He unsheathed his combat knife, the steel gleaming in the firelight. Then, a howl ripped through the air, a primal scream of rage and power. From the shadows behind the ruined courthouse, a Lycan emerged, its massive form silhouetted against the flames.
His finger tightened on the hilt, the knife a steady extension of his will. Then, a voice, sharp and unexpected, pierced the heat-hazed air. "You there," it hissed, laced with a chilling certainty. "You stand no chance against them." He hesitated, his resolve faltering. Who was this voice? He peered through the shimmering heat, his eyes finally landing on a figure emerging from behind the courthouse – a man cloaked in black, his face hidden, emerged from the darkness.
"I know your name," the figure announced, ascending into the air, the Lycan a restless shadow beneath him. "Grimm! The immortal! Monster Hunter! Demon Slayer! Cryptid Killer!" he proclaimed, his voice ringing with theatricality.
Grimm scoffed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. His eyes flared, A deep sigh escaping his lips, "A warlock…" he scoffed, tightening his grip on the knife.
The figure drifted closer, an unnatural stillness in his movements. "My, my," he purred, his voice laced with a dangerous amusement. "What an honor to have awakened the great and powerful Grimm. I'm truly honored." The words were a silken caress, but the grin that stretched across his shrouded face was anything but welcoming. It was a predatory baring of teeth, a promise of pain.
"Come no further, Warlock," Grimm's voice was a low growl.
A swirling fog erupted around the Warlock, a sudden, unnatural concealment. One moment he was there, the next, impossibly close, his warm breath a disturbing intimacy against Grimm's skin. "How's th—" he began, before Grimm's hand clamped around his throat.
"U-urk," the Warlock choked, his eyes widening in surprise. "You shouldn't have—gasp—come here."
Grimm's eyes blazed. "You shouldn't have brought me here, Warlock," he snarled, his hand a vise around the Warlock's throat. "The Lycans—why have you brought them back? Talk, or I'll break every bone in your body!" His grip tightened, the Warlock's face turning crimson.
A strangled chuckle escaped the Warlock, his eyes fixating on Grimm's shadowy face. Grimm hoisted him into the air, poised to crush his larynx with his massive hands. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, the Warlock vanished in a swirl of fog, appearing back in the air gasping for air.
"You wield magic, Warlock," Grimm snarled, his eyes locked on the Warlock's face, "but you're still flesh and blood!" He screamed pointing firmly at the villain.
The Warlock's lips curled in a sneer. "For now, fool, for now!" He raised his hand, and an unnatural emerald light radiated from his palm, cloaking him in an unsettling aura. "My master will have his way, and this planet will bow to his infinite power!".
Master? Grimm thought to himself. What has this fool done?
The Warlock began to chant, the words a guttural, unearthly language that seemed to vibrate with dark power: "Flihnma hgmjizegam, webpjhmhla sejdpjh vegg-mhr. Pjpa nj jnvgpa essndlgl! "
The Lycan's eyes burned with the same malevolent green fire, mirroring the Warlock's power. Grimm raised his knife, preparing to engage the beast.
The Lycan's body contorted, bones snapping with sickening cracks. A bloodcurdling shriek tore through the air as gore oozed from its wounds. Its back swelled grotesquely, a massive, pulsating sac erupting from its spine. Then, with a wet, tearing rip, four massive, insect-like legs, alien and terrifying, burst from the sac. They unfurled with sharp clicks, extending impossibly high into the air before crashing down onto the earth with a force that seemed to shake the very foundations of the ruined town. The legs lengthened, lifting the limp corpse of the Lycan high above, a swaying puppet dangling from its gnarled jaws, blood dripping onto the ravaged ground. Then, in a macabre crescendo of grotesque evolution, a giant tendril exploded from the apex of its back, lashing wildly in the air. At the tip of the tendril, a large, pulsating orb, composed of countless smaller yellow sacs, crowned the abomination.
The Warlock's maniacal cackle echoed through the ruined square as the emerald aura faded from his form. "Let's see how immortal you really are, Grimm!" he shrieked, vanishing in a puff of smoke.
The monster unleashed a guttural roar that reverberated through the ravaged town, shaking the very air. Grimm glanced at his knife, a cold dread settling in his gut, and one singular thought crossing his mind. Fuck.
War drums hammered a frantic rhythm against Watters' ribs. His world was collapsing. Barrowham, once charming cottages and sturdy buildings, now choked with the stench of ash and smoke. Lycans... their part in this nightmare defied logic. Extinct, wiped out by The Order ages ago – how could this even be happening? And silver… it was the Wolfsbane extract, not silver, that was meant to weaken them. Nothing aligned. His mind, a whirlwind of questions, propelled him towards the town center.
Then, a series of deafening crashes ripped through the night, each impact shaking the very ground beneath the cobblestones. What now? Watters' mind screamed. The town center – just ahead.
He crept forward, slowing as he neared an alley mouth that spilled into the square. Then he saw it. His breath hitched, vision blurring.
The mutated Lycan dominated the square. Towering almost as high as the courthouse itself, it was a living nightmare sculpted from muscle and teeth. And at its base, a figure in black, the rider from earlier! Was he challenging this abomination?
A bloodcurdling screech tore from the creature's maw as its leg, a grotesque pillar of flesh, arced high. Grimm's eyes spiked with alarm. "Shit!" he barked, launching himself aside. IMPACT! The monstrous limb smashed into the cobblestones, unleashing a shockwave that rippled outwards across the ruined square. Grimm was flung, tumbling through the air like a kite dancing in a hurricane.
"AARGH!" Grimm's scream tore from his lungs as his spine impacted brick. The air exploded from his chest, his dance with death crashing to a bone-jarring halt. He slammed onto the rubble-strewn ground.
Stars burst behind his blurring vision. Arms screaming, muscles seizing, Grimm wrenched himself upright. The creature shrieked again, a hellish sound that clawed at his sanity. White fire ignited in Grimm's eyes. "RRAAAARRRGHHH!" he bellowed, a primal roar of defiance. Rage seized Grimm, a red haze clouding his vision. He exploded towards the monstrosity, a flicker of shadow against the inferno. Launching himself skyward, Grimm drove the silver knife down, a blinding flash of metal before impact. SHRIEK! The blade tore through flesh and bone of its leg.
The creature howled, a sound ripped from the depths of hell, as Grimm wrenched the blade sideways, carving a ravine of raw meat and pulsing arteries.
Watters, transfixed, could only gape. Grimm's speed was superhuman, his savagery breathtaking. Who was this whirlwind of death? How could mortal flesh move with such lethal grace?
Each monstrous footfall detonated against the cobblestones, sending tremors shuddering through the ruined square. Every impact, a thunderclap that rattled his teeth. Grimm moved like quicksilver, a blur evading each pulverizing descent. The silver blade bit into the flesh, and the creature howled – but this wound, unlike the others, did not smoke, did not cauterize. Something is profoundly wrong.
To break free of the onslaught, to assess the impossible, Grimm backpedaled, widening the gap. The monster's sheer immensity dwarfed even the burning buildings. Those titanic legs churned the earth, a seismic engine of destruction amidst the inferno.
Watters' eyes remained fixed on the abomination. Grimm's silver bit deep, yet the monster raged on, undeterred. Branded onto his vision, the creature's grotesque form pulsed, a living scar seared into his mind. The endless assault… the relentless horror… Silver… it seethed against exposed muscle. Then, his gaze snagged – the writhing tendril, crowning the beast's back, pulsing like a diseased heart. "There!" he croaked, voice raw with desperation.
"THE TENDRIL!" Watters shrieked, bursting from the alley, hands waving like mad. "HIT THE TENDRIL ON ITS BACK!"
The desperate sound cut through the roar of battle, snagging Grimm's attention. He whirled, eyes seeking the source of the frantic cries. Watters – a frantic figure emerging from the gloom. Then, his gaze snapped back to the monstrous foe.
"The tendril… yes…" A sharp understanding flashed in Grimm's eyes, sharpening his focus to a razor's edge. He accelerated like a phantom breaking free, a dark streak against the firelight. The monster's legs smashed the ground with piston force, each blow a concussive blast. Yet Grimm moved like smoke, elusive and swift, darting past the descending behemoths towards the mountainous undercarriage. High above, the mutated Lycan's carcass swayed, a grisly pendulum, leaking gore onto the obliterated square.
Grimm's eyes scanned upwards, desperate for purchase. Then, a flicker of insight – a seam in the armor, a massive joint gleaming wetly high on the leg like a petrified knot in a tree. There! Instinct taking over, Grimm snatched the knife by its spine, whipped his arm back, and hurled the silver projectile.
SHIK! Silver slammed into the joint, a shock that jolted through the beast. The monster emitted a shriek that cracked bone, its immense form listing violently as the crippled leg gave way. It plunged towards the rubble.
"YES!" Watters' voice cracked with elation, fist punching the air in wild triumph.
Grimm surged upwards, fingers digging into the creature's slick, pulsating flesh. Ascending the monstrous flank, a wave of pure revulsion hit him - blood-rust and putrescence, a stench that crawled down his throat. The severed leg revealed the horror beneath – not an eruption, but a gaping wound, a living maw bristling with razor teeth. Four legs, insectile and alien, sprouted directly from this fleshy gullet, anchored to the tendril's base, a sickening fusion of bone, tendon, and rhythmic, obscene throbbing.
Grimm drew his sidearm, firing point-blank into the tendril's core, emptying the cylinder without a tremor. The air erupted with monstrous shrieks, a chorus of tearing meat and pulverized bone. A geyser of gore exploded outwards, engulfing Grimm in a hot, slick deluge of crimson, plastering his black coat with viscous red and clumps of raw tissue.
Then, silence, save for the spent click of the empty pistol. The tendril core thrashed, pulped and bleeding, but still writhing.
"No, damn it, no!" Watters' thought ignited, the memory of the silver blade a sudden, burning clarity. Silver! He needs silver! His fingers clawed into his pocket, wrenching free the silver letter opener – salvation, however meager. "This is it!"
"SILVER!" Watters unleashed a desperate roar, launching the letter opener, a flash of silver arcing through the smoke-choked air.
Grimm's head snapped up, eyes finding Watters – and the glint of silver hurtling towards him.
SNAP! Grimm's fingers clamped around the silver. Rage hardening his gaze, he zeroed in on the tendril's obscene pulse. He roared, a guttural challenge, and unleashed a savage storm of stabs into the core. Each thrust, a white-hot bloom igniting within the monstrous flesh. A frenzied dance of blood and fire erupted around him, Grimm a whirlwind of lethal force.
The core detonated in flames, blossoming into an emerald inferno that devoured the beast's back. Heat ripped through the air, a tangible wave of searing energy. Sensing the incinerating backlash, Grimm catapulted himself from the burning horror, crashing onto the ravaged earth. He spun, watching the monster convulse in a firestorm. Its agonized howls tore through the ruined square, escalating to a deafening pitch, then abruptly, chillingly, ceased.
The creature lay vanquished, a smoldering ruin on the cobblestones, its stench the true testament to the warlock's malice. Grimm's shadow fell over Watters, who stumbled towards him, eyes wide and blood-streaked.
"Wh-what in God's name was that…" Watters choked out, lungs still burning.
Grimm's gaze pinned Watters, unwavering. "Lycan," he stated, the word heavy, final.
"B-but… they're extinct. The Order… they eradicated them…" Watters pleaded, his voice fracturing.
"Yet they live," Grimm cut him off, voice flat, devoid of comfort.
"How?" Watters swayed, his fine suit ruined, sweat plastering his hair to his brow.
"I do not know," Grimm replied, the silence stretching, thick with unspoken dread.
Watters' gaze faltered from the monster's pyre, drawn instead to the figure before him. Stark, dangerous. "Who are you?" he breathed, the question more exhaled than spoken.
Grimm's eyes sharpened, holding the doctor's gaze in a vise.
A trembling hand reached out. "Doctor Theodore Watters," he offered, the introduction thin, inadequate.
Grimm's cold stare bored into Watters. "Grimm,".