[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: The Great Forest]

It first started with growls—many, many growls. It was a layered sound of throats in the dark, stacked on top of each other, some low and wet, some sharp and breathy, and some too deep to belong to anything that should have been able to move between trees.

Then came the low rumbling sound—like something gurgling. Like their bellies were full of something you should not consume.

And then the other animalistic noises that rang out: clicking jaws, chittering, a hiss that sounded unpleasant, the scraping of claws against bark, and the thump of heavy bodies dropping from branches.

There were far too many to keep count of.

They spawned from every direction around Grimm and Puck.

They saw the large forms just barely covered by the fog and the cover of the trees.

Shadows at first and then outlines. Then the glint of eyes, dozens, then hundreds—emerald, azure, sickly yellow, deep red, and some that looked cloudy. They were too many to count, all in various shapes and sizes.

Some crouched low like wolves. Some stood upright like men. Some were hunched, too long in the arms, too short in the legs. A few were massive enough that the branches above them shook when they shifted their weight.

"Oh," Puck noted, her voice drifting calmly. "This is… this is a lot more than what I was expecting." However, the fairy did not seem that agitated despite the amount of Deseruit Beasts surrounding them.

Her eyes turned over the crowd, counting out patterns even if she couldn't count numbers.

"This is better than I expected," Grimm stated. He flexed his armored fingers, and the sound of the alloy moving was small. "Slaughtering this many," he added, "should suffice."

Puck's gaze slid toward him. She stared for a beat too long, like she was trying to decide whether to be impressed, disturbed, or annoyed.

"I can't help but note," Puck said dryly, "you sound excited."

It wasn't a joke. She'd already seen what Grimm was like when his interest was caught, and she didn't like how thin the line was between curiosity and massacre.

Grimm didn't deny it.

"This," Grimm said slowly, "is an opportunity for them to redeem themselves." He turned his head slightly, helmet angled toward the nearest cluster of silhouettes. "And," he continued, voice idle, "to spark my interest."

There was something chilling about the way he said it.

Not like a man looking for violence. He seemed more like a scholar speaking about specimens.

In his right hand, a dark fog gathered. It didn't burst outward dramatically, it merely collected thickly. The blackness rolled over his gauntlet, curling around his palm and wrapping his fingers as though it were living. It thickened, condensed, and the shape began to sharpen.

Extending and solidifying before his blade was fully there.

His sword was gripped in his hand, as if it had always belonged there.

Puck watched that with a small tilt of her head, her expression doing something complicated.

"Figures," Puck said, not unkindly, but with the tiredness of someone who already grew used to him. "Well… I won't get in your way, Grimm."

Her voice softened on his name. She raised a hand in a small wave and then the fairy was gone.

As if she was blinked out of existence.

Grimm assumed it was her 'Phase Shift' ability. However, the forest didn't even have time to react to her disappearance before it reacted to his presence again.

"HUMAN THERE! HUMAN THERE!"

The screech came from above, from a flying Deseruit Beast perched atop a tree. Its voice was thin and piercing, the kind that stabbed into the skull and rattled the teeth.

It repeated itself like a child pointing at a threat it didn't understand.

"HUMAN THERE! HUMAN THERE!"

Grimm did not spare it a glance. Merely shifting his attention to the absurd amount of Deseruit Beasts starting to surround him. And now that the circle tightened, the fog and the cover of the trees didn't hide them as well. Some were animalistic in nature like most—malformed and mixed.

A wolf's head on a boar's body.

Deer's legs on something that should have been feline.

Tails too long, mouths too wide and spines ridged with bone that looked like it had grown wrong.

Others much more monstrous, not resembling any animal. Things that had too many joints. Too few eyes. Or too many eyes. One shape dragged itself forward without legs at all, pulling with arms that ended in hooks. Another was like a tower of muscle with a face that didn't look finished.

And those various eyes were fixed on him alone.

As if they had decided that Grimm was the one true offense. As if every one of them could feel, instinctively, that this was not prey.

Grimm's stance shifted, his blade angled slightly downward. The growls grew louder and more confident, like the beasts had finally convinced themselves that numbers meant safety.

Grimm's voice was quiet when he spoke again, almost thoughtful.

"What is a General to do in battle," he murmured, "but slaughter his enemies?"

The first ones didn't wait, they simply leapt.

Two large Deseruit Beasts launched from the fog with such force that the trees in their path broke. Trunks snapped with a splintering crack, branches exploding outward in a spray of needles and dead leaves. The impact of their bodies tearing through the undergrowth revealed what the fog had been hiding: more Deseruit Beasts packed behind them, stacked in rows, pressed between trunks and crouched in the shadows.

The two that came first were not the biggest in the crowd, but they were large enough that the forest looked cramped around them.

One was built like a bear that had been forced into the shape of a boar—hunched shoulders, thick forearms, and a head too heavy for its neck. Its hide was a work of mangy fur and thick plates that were black in color. Its mouth was wide and ugly, lined with teeth that didn't match each other.

The other was something like a wolf stretched taller. Its limbs too thin for its mass, its spine arched as if it had grown in pain. It had a narrow skull with a split jaw, the two halves flexing as it screamed. From its back rose a ridge of bone spines, and its eyes were pale, almost human in the way they focused.

Grimm moved forward.

His sabatons sank into the damp soil and then lifted again. Merely a swift advance that met their momentum. His blade hung low for half a breath, as if he were almost lazy with it.

Then he cut.

One powerful cleave.

It was a clean strike. A single line drawn through the air with such force that the fog seemed to split as a result. The blade met the first beast's chest and didn't slow, nor did it snag on bone or plate, didn't shudder as it passed through. It cut as though the Deseruit Beasts had been made of cloth instead.

The bear-boar thing's roar became a choking noise.

The wolf-thing's scream became silent.

Both bodies separated as they passed him—upper halves and lower halves sliding apart with a wet sound. For a heartbeat, they were still moving, still trying to complete the leap. Then gravity claimed them. The halves hit the ground in two heavy impacts, blood spilling into the ground.

Grimm didn't stop to look.

He charged forward.

The beasts reacted the way crowds always do. Some surged, some flinched, and some roared.

And one, somewhere above, screeched again—

"HUMAN THERE! HUMAN THERE!"

Grimm ignored it.

He slowed, almost immediately, as if the brief burst of speed had been nothing but a step taken in a hallway.

Then he began to walk at a leisurely pace.

It should have looked absurd—this armored man strolling forward so slowly—except every step made the feral beast all the more tense. They threw themselves at him, as if panicked.

The first came from the left, a feline thing with too many legs and a tail that ended in a hooked bone. It lunged low, trying to hamstring him.

Grimm pivoted on his heel, the movement smooth. The hooked tail passed through empty air. Grimm's blade dropped in a short downward slice and the creature's front half slid forward without its back half. It collapsed in a heap, claws scraping uselessly.

The second came from the right, a hulking shape with a bull's head and a torso like a man's, arms thick as tree trunks. It didn't try to bite. It tried to grab and to crush him in a grapple.

Grimm stepped into it.

That was the mistake the beast never understood.

Grimm's shoulder rotated, his gauntleted forearm rising just enough to deflect the grabbing hand. His sword flashed upward, carving through the beast's wrist. The severed hand fell, still curling, and the beast bellowed in confusion and pain.

Grimm didn't give it time to process.

He drove his armored knee into its stomach.

The beast folded, its breath forced out in a wet gasp. Grimm's blade came across horizontally, and the bull-headed thing's neck opened. The head toppled, rolling once, eyes still wide as the body crumpled,

The beasts behind it surged, filling the space.

Grimm kept walking.

One similar to what he had seen before. A monkey-like Deseruit Beast with red fur and emerald eyes—smaller than the others, but fast—leapt for his face, claws raised. Its mouth was open, teeth bared, and it shrieked something half-formed, words and rage tangled together.

"Kill—! Kill—!"

Grimm tilted his head a fraction.

Its claws scraped against his helmet. Grimm's left hand shot up and caught the creature by the throat mid-air. For a moment, it dangled there, legs kicking, arms flailing, its shrill voice choking.

Its emerald eyes locked onto his helmet.

And it spoke, a strangled noise.

"Human… kill… kill…"

Grimm's voice was almost conversational as he spoke.

"You can speak as well," he said. "So you can understand. That makes this worse for you."

The monkey-thing's eyes widened.

Grimm tightened his grip.

The creature's spine made a soft cracking sound.

He let it drop.

It hit the ground and didn't move.

Another beast—something like a crocodile fused with a stag, long snout and antlers, body low and armored—charged straight at his legs. Its jaws snapped, trying to take his knee.

Grimm stepped over it.

The jaws clamped shut on nothing but air. Grimm's sabaton came down behind its skull, and his sabaton crushed through the base of its spine with a brutal stomp. The beast convulsed once and went still.

A hound-like Deseruit Beast, gaunt and tall, lunged next. It had a mouth that split too far back, drool hanging in ropes, and it attempted to bite. It swiped with claws that looked like bone.

Grimm turned his blade flat and parried, the claws sparked against the edge.

The beast recoiled, startled.

Grimm stepped forward and cut diagonally from shoulder to hip. The hound's body opened like a sack. It collapsed, its legs still trying to run for a second before they remembered they were no longer connected to anything.

A Deseruit Beast with a bird's skull and a serpent's body snapped at his waist. Grimm shifted his hips and let it pass, then severed its head with a backhand slice so quick it made no sound.

A hulking, ape-like one swung a tree trunk it had ripped from the ground, using it like a club.

Grimm didn't block.

He stepped in close, inside the arc of the swing, where the club couldn't reach. The ape's momentum carried it forward, and Grimm's blade slid between ribs, angled upward. The ape froze, confused, and then its eyes rolled back. Grimm withdrew the sword and let the body fall.

Another beast—one with too many eyes clustered along its shoulders—came from behind, trying to ambush.

Grimm's helm turned before it even struck.

He pivoted, his sword flashing in a tight circle, the beast's head separated cleanly. The eyes on its shoulders blinked in confusion for a second longer than they should have before the body collapsed.

Yet still there were more to slaughter.

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