It was fun!
And it was also the worst mistake he'd made in his very short new life. He struck brazenly and with overconfidence, feeling so self-assured that his body would remember what he could not. And to some degree it did.
But not as much as he'd hoped.
Now, momentarily, he ran. Breathing hard, heart pounding, gripping his wounded and mangled arm, he barely managed to keep a grip on his one weapon, the axe.
Oh, that damn axe. It worked when striking the creature's white plate armor - though that should have been obvious. G.H. knew to not target it, to go for exposed flesh - it was obvious!
And yet he did. Hubris and vanity and a much higher regard for the quality of the axe then maybe he should've given it. He was used to his weapons ripping and tearing through defenses, his body honed to a brutal perfected killing machine.
The axe had slashed through just enough of the armor to scratch the beast, enrage it, and become embedded. The only reason he held it now was because of the creature's own attack; one that sent him reeling backward with a powerful blow. The worst part was that the creature seemed almost amused by his feeble attempt - and it had let him attack several more times while only feebly defending itself as though it were testing him. Perhaps taunting him.
Now it chased him. It was unbelievably fast and agile and -
Something in his senses screamed out at him. A moment's hesitation to follow them nearly ended his story right then. But G.H. was lucky and some part of him knew to trust in his gut.
He leaped into a different direction from where he was running - though not with grace nor with planning. It was a rough tumble, a desperate adrenaline-fueled dive for safety, one he was sure he almost broke his neck doing. He landed as rough as he had leaped, only just out of the hazardous area of the falling tree.
An enormous trunk still holding onto many of its branches and leaves crashed down in front of him. It made him want to cover his ears and shut his eyes to the noise and chaos it caused. But he knew the beast wouldn't let him go. He hauled himself to his feet, his legs shaking. He told himself it was simply the aftershock vibrations caused by an entire fucking tree being thrown at him.
"Careful…" the fallen tree-missile whispered to him. "The beast is smart. It's using projectile attacks, stealth, hunting techniques… and worst of all?" The tree paused, perhaps waiting for an answer, perhaps for dramatic effect. "It threw me down to block your path. It's almost smart enough to lay traps, G.H."
G.H. Held his axe in one hand, tight as he could, his knuckles white.
His legs trembled and his other arm ached sharply with a pain he normally could dull.
He was going to die.
He wasn't going to come back.
He was out of retries.
Maybe this was for the best.
What? He questioned himself. No. It most certainly is not for the best. He breathed deep, attempting to still his racing mind. I only just started existing. No WAY am I going to let some overgrown dog take this away from me yet.
He raised his mangled arm to the axe, stifling the pain with techniques he did not remember. "I haven't even gotten to eat food yet." He glared into the trees, searching for movement. "So congratulations…" he muttered while he walked backward. He was nearly back at the clearing. The trees were bad. They provided hardly any cover from a creature that could rip them out of the ground and throw them, and it was far better at seeing him in the tree line than he was at seeing it. He needed space. An arena.
"You're going to be my very first meal." He spit out, vitriol and hate overtaking his fear. He grasped his mangled arm to the handle and gasped.
Echoes in the blood. Memories. Emotions. Feelings. Connections.
The blood of the woodsman soaking the wood and handle of the axe seemed to seep out of its prison and be drawn into his wounds. He dared not look down for fear of leaving himself vulnerable, but he could feel it. The blood flowed out from the axe and into him and with it another man's life flashed in his blood. He could not see or understand specific memories but he now knew the man, and the man unknowingly was saving him. His wounds closed. His bones were set back into place. His breathing steadied. His heart slowed. G.H. would save the woodsman, Garlin, in return. He would return him to his wife, to his daughter.
He would slay the accursed beast.
The wolf pounced.
G.H. took a simple step back and to the side while feeling his body moving unnaturally fast and smoothly. He watched the wolf leap through the air, twisting and writhing to readjust midair to G.H.'s new position, not that it could fight gravity. As it sailed past him and through where he used to be G.H. struck.
With the axe raised in both hands, G.H. brought it down with might and ferocity he knew not he had. The axe tore through the plating and cut deeply into the fur of the beast, tearing through its flesh, inner bones, and musculature. His axe continued all the way through to the other side, being dragged back towards G.H. before it hit the ground as the beast howled in pain and anger.
It crashed down, landing heavily as the beast scrambled to understand what had just happened. The beast's right arm had been severed clean off, a disgusting lump of black and red flesh now lying uselessly in the dirt.
G.H. was splashed quite heavily in the creature's blood, its black ichor. He could taste it both on his tongue and in his mind. It was positively delightful. The fury. The vigor. The bloodlust. The hate. Oh, the fun had by this once terrifying beast. It truly enjoyed its time, and it truly was intelligent. Black blood oozed into his open wounds, quickly sealing them and alighting something inside of G.H. he might have regretted had he been in a more stable mind.
The beast roared. This pathetic creature had stolen its blood. It would like some of his in return.
Now slightly weaker it grasped a slightly smaller tree trunk with its remaining arm, ripping the poor pillar straight from its roots. Swinging the old bark around it lifted it to its shoulder - not using it as a makeshift projectile but instead as a makeshift club.
G.H. raised his axe in response. "Stay to its right," the ace bellowed at him. G.H. blinked in surprise but his eyes never strayed from his quarry. "We've debilitated it and it's debilitated itself even more in grabbing a weapon. Stay too close for it to use it well."
G.H. nodded, the axe likely knew what it was doing.
The beast and G.H. circled each other warily. The days of underestimating one another long over. A sense of the other's weaknesses. A taste of the other's blood. Hunter and prey stared the other down, both parties believing themselves to be the other.
The circling was done. The bloodlust was too powerful for both parties. With a scream of hate and a roar of blood, they rushed each other.
The beast's swing dislocated his shoulder.
G.H.'s axe buried itself in the beast's side.
The towering monster tried to crush him with the tree, but G.H. was too close.
G.H. grabbed onto the creature, clambering up at shocking speeds before burying the axe in the beast's neck.
The beast screamed in pain, throwing him off and to the ground. It brought down its claws on him.
Razor sharp claws tore through his shirt and body, leaving deep, fatal wounds in his torso.
The black blood coating him seeped into the wounds, closing them enough for G.H. to keep fighting. Tearing more flesh off the beast would only help.
The axe found purchase in the torso of the beast. G.H. let loose a wild screamin his opportunity and the beast's weakness. Twisting the axe around and to the side he carved out an ever-expanding gash, pulling the axe through the creature of darkness with the full might of his body. Blood cascaded in waves out from its weakening form before G.H., with the axe still buried deep within the Grimm's body, leaped upwards and kicked the Grimm in the face as hard as he could by using the axe as a platform spring. The beast toppled over as he rode its muzzle to the ground and wrenched free his blood-blackened weapon.
The axe came down again. This time into its shoulder.
Again, this time into its head.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Bloodlust filled his vision. Chop, chop, chop. Black blood splattered with every swing. Flesh tore, rendered useless and pathetic.
His heart beat in his ears.
His blood pounded in his head.
Someone was speaking. Who? He wasn't sure. He didn't care.
What were they saying? Stop? Why would he do that? Why now? He was almost done.
Could he be done? Or would he hack and hack and hack until there was naught left but scraps? Someone almost interrupted him. He turned the axe on them, raising it high, preparing to chop.
His vision cleared for just an instant. The base of blood retreated just long enough to see what he was doing. Below him lay a terrified, bloodied man missing his arm. The woodsman. He held no weapon in his remaining hand. He bore no ill intent. This was the man he'd come to save. So why was he about to strike him down?
To taste it. To taste his blood. It cried for him. Cried to be released from its flesh prison.
But… he couldn't oblige. He lowered the axe slowly, his eyes and mind finally coming into focus.
The woodsman, lying on the ground, one arm extended in a sort of peaceoffering-cum-life pleading. He stared up at the young man and said something.
G.H. stared in a mixture of confusion and recognition. He spoke in a language that once was familiar, now almost lost. "I'm sorry?" The woodsman clearly couldn't understand what he was saying, so it was up to him to remember that old language.
"Lashiliki vorn the monster fhoi?" There. Something to latch on. G.H. shook his head in frustration, straining to understand. "Vorn you okay?"
"Uh…" G.H. cleared his throat, attempting to speak back in the same language. "I am okay. Are you?"
The woodsman nodded, his body visibly relaxing. Away from the heat of the battle, G.H. could see his injuries. Blood, cuts, gashes. His missing arm had been cauterized, likely by the fire, likely by himself. A smart man. His wounds were bad but not grievous. The beast wasn't trying to kill.
"Never seen such a beast." The woodsman murmured, exhaustion and pain evident as he clambered to his feet. "Grimm aren't like this typically. Far too intelligent. Far too playful." He bent down to the quickly decaying corpse.
Wait, what? The corpse was slowly breaking apart and disintegrating. G.H. watched as bits and pieces of the once great beast broke off and faded away. "Grimm?"
The woodsman looked at him in surprise, away from the beast. "Yes? You just killed one, and I saw some of your fight. Brutal as you were," he conceded, "you clearly knew how to tear it apart. Why else would you train to fight beasts than to kill Grimm?"
G.H. had no strong retort and chose to research the beasts or to ask for more in his own time.
The woodsman looked at him as if suddenly remembering something. "Your wounds are light. You're lucky." He hesitated. "I know you just saved me, but there are others who aren't so lucky. I did the best I could to patch them up when you drew the beast away and we're lucky it was waiting to kill us, to play with us. But they're still hurt. Badly. We need to get them," he paused. "And quite frankly me, to town." He squinted, scrutinizing the expression of the young man who slew the beast he lost his favorite arm to.
Comprehension took its sweet time finding G.H. But when he did he eagerly agreed. "It would be remiss to not help those people." He frowned. The words certainly didn't come out the way he intended. Prim, proper, short, and curt. Perhaps it was a language thing? He supposed he would get over it in time. "Less the way, good woodsman."
The woodsman chuckled before staggering back in the direction of the cave. "Will do, good hunter."
Heh. Good Hunter. G.H. Maybe that's what it stands for. I kind of like it.
The two stepped away, letting the Grimm go its final way. G.H. looked back one final time to grimace at the twisted and contorted bones it was leaving behind. Vile thing, like some mockery of human structure. He pushed the thought out of its mind. He had better things to think about than the bone remains of some dog.
G.H. studied the woodsman. A built man. Though he was missing an arm and covered in wounds he still carried the young man found in the cave atop his back like he was as light as a feather. His own burden, an emaciated woman who was likely in the cave the longest, was far lighter, and yet still weighed him down quite a bit.
He sighed, turning his thoughts inward. He was exhausted beyond reason. His bones ached and his muscles screamed. He was not in a very good state and he was still very hungry. Though, he had to admit, not as hungry as before he imbibed on the blood of the beast. He gave a small hup! as he adjusted and pulled the woman up further onto his back. She was unconscious and dying, covered in wounds that had sat festering in that cave for far too long. The infection had almost certainly taken hold. He hoped beyond hope they could save her.
If not, he would have to put her down in mercy, for the infection would spread.
He stumbled. Not that kind of infection, he told himself, unsure as to where the thought had sprung from.
The woman spoke up, surprising him. "I am in my early twenties. Early signs of severe malnourishment, infection, and even gangrene on my outer limbs. I was in that cave for days. I am unmarried, but likely not unloved. I am a seamstress in my village." G.H. looked to the woodsman for a reaction. The woodsman betrayed none, simply trekking on. G.H. sighed. She wasn't actually speaking. It was another fit of madness by him, all in his mind.
The man spoke next. "I am wealthy - positively rich though I try not to show it. I like to stay modest but my silver spoon upbringing causes difficulties in understanding what isn't wealthy. I don't have a job and I don't believe I've worked a day in my life."
Finally, the woodsman. This shocked G.H. the most as, as far as he could tell, the woodsman was still alive and not an inanimate object. "I'm younger than I look. A hard life and troubled times are rough on me. I used to be a fighter, but not so much anymore. I'm embarrassed. Annoyed. Frustrated. …Scared. All of these things, mainly because of you. That you could fell that beast where I could not, and that you did it in such a manner." G.H.'s interpretation of the woodsman paused. "I'm married, and quite happily too. Well fed, well taken care of, respected in town despite living outside of it."
G.H. remained silent, knowing none of this was actually said. He had almost responded but had managed to catch himself in time. Instead, he chose to ignore these things and tried to have his first-ever real conversation.
"So uh… the weather, huh?"
Upon stepping into the town G.H. was overwhelmed. When he thought of cities, towns, or populations of any sort he thought of carnage and fear. He thought of bloodied streets, terrified whispers behind doors, and exceedingly rare friendly faces.
This was not the case in Red Springs. Smiling faces, concerned mothers, the smell of baking goods, the shouting of children getting into fights. It was positively delightful.
Upon arrival, many had swarmed him and the woodsman, whom he learned he was right about the name of, Garlin. Worried and strong hands had taken the injured, excited children had approached only to be pulled back by caring mothers and fathers, and medical practitioners fussed and worried over their injuries.
It was overwhelming. It was nice.
During the commotion, they had been led with the unconscious members of their party to a well enough stocked place of medicine. It was small and somewhat rudimentary, but it was more than enough for any needs the town might have, and it was more than enough for them. Voices clamored and cheered, whispered and worried. The voices congratulated the woodsman and marveled in horror over his wounds. The woodsman was quick to shoot down such celebrations and rebuffed their thanks. It was not he who had done the deed.
Finally, they had been seated in unbelievably comfortable beds, the most comfortable sleeping spots G.H. had known in his entire new life. The citizens of this delightful town were escorted and funneled out of the room and soon it was almost empty. Nurses and doctors would sometimes return to check up on wounds and bodies but the worst of it had been treated in the rush.
Now all that was left was the woodsman, himself, an older gentleman, and a young woman only a few years older than himself.
The gentleman was ancient, covered in wrinkles that tried to hide warts that tried to hide splotches. His features that were clearly once strong and proud now adorned a simple and small frog-like creature, one whose eyes bulged in the direction of whatever he focused a little too hard on. G.H.'s madness spoke through him. "I am a man of power, once physical now political. None others but I and this woman were allowed in here - by my decree. My frail and simple form might cause you to believe my mind is the same, and I do try to maintain that belief."
The woman next to him was a beautiful young woman with light, almost white, blonde hair. Her shining armor almost hid her lithe but powerful muscles and intense focus on duty. Almost. She next spoke in G.H.'s madness. "I am strong and proud. The knight or protector of the people, I have seen many battles. Many of them were battles I shall never forget. I have seen hardships and suffering, but I hope to alleviate what I can from who I can."
G.H. mused over these statements. He knew for a fact now that these were not the people speaking, but rather his own mind playing tricks on him. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if his mind was correct in its evaluations.
The first to speak was the older gentleman. "Garlin!" He cried, the tears forming in his eyes almost prompting real crying. "To see you again… and to see those you saved!"
Garlin chuckled. "I thought you said you had 'the utmost faith' in me?" His voice was rough but quiet and subdued.
The older gentleman stuttered for just a moment before finding his tongue did indeed still lay in his mouth. "W-well it wasn't so much a lack of faith. We had just -"
"I understand." Garlin cut him off. "Besides, your fear was well placed. I had already stepped through death's door - and thanks to this young hunter here I would've found my other foot joining." Two sets of eyes peered at him curiously almost as if they had only just recognized he was there. Garlin gestured to the young woman who had still been silent up to this point. "And who is this?"
"Ah," The older gentleman nodded towards the woman. "This is the huntress that responded to our request. She was just about to set off to find you and the others when you returned."
"And a pleasure it was to not have to go trekking through the woods." A cheeky statement, but her eyes clearly spoke of her relief at their health. "Dame Vasilisa, at your service." Light, almost white-blond hair hung low as she made an ever-lower bow. Graceful and confident, G.H. could tell this woman could fight. "Garlin, the once hunter-in-training. A man who forsook the life of a Huntsman for that of a hunter." It wasn't a statement with distaste or disapproval, simply a fact. "But I don't know who you are. There weren't any reports of anyone else heading off into the woods, and more telling still no one has come to see you during your stay here. Plenty have tried to check up on poor Garlin here though. Your wife is quite upset with us."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Dame Vasilisa. My individuality expresses itself through the coordination of naught but two letters." G.H. cringed at his own manner of speaking. He actively tried to be looser and more relaxed in his speech but for whatever reason it came out quite different from how it was in his mind. "G.H. Not a title, not quite a name. It is the epitaph of mine, the remnants of my mind ." he clarified without clarifying at all.
Neck bent inward, face turned down, eyes angled up. An expression made to even more emphasize raised eyebrows. Dame Vasilisa couldn't help a small smile of amusement break her shocked expression. "Well. You're a… strange one, ser G.H."
G.H. cleared his throat. He had to say something now, to prove he wasn't as strange as what might at first be thought. Something smooth, confident, clever, and above all else, casual. "So, the weather, huh?"
The stretch of silence afterward was painful and felt quite a bit longer than it probably was. On and on it went before Garlin finally broke it.
"Yes G.H., the weather indeed." He turned to address the two. "He may be odd but he is strong and he saved all of our lives. The beast was terrible. Power infused its every swing, true, but far worse was its intelligence and cruelty. The use of weapons, of its environment." He shuddered. "It was no ordinary Grimm. It tore my arm away from me so that I would be defenseless but it dealt no other grievous injury to me. The moment my aura had failed me it treated me more as a toy, a plaything to take home and break. It had incapacitated the others and left them to rot in its den. I think…" he paused and shuddered. "… I think it was gathering us to have a feast. All at once."
An even heavier silence snuck its way into the room. The heavy air of apprehension and fear smiled as it spread its vile form into every crack and crevice both in the room and in their minds. The implications of such a Grimm were… obvious, really.
Obvious to everyone but one.
G.H. cleared his throat. He wanted to express his apprehension and ask for comfort from these strangers, at least of what they could provide. He wanted to connect, to understand, to show he wasn't just some oddly speaking and weird stranger.
"Apologies, but as I dive into my own mind I find myself vexed; perplexed; annexed from myself by myself. Grimm - the word tastes vile and most reprehensible but I know not why. Grimm - the word which holds such dark reverence for you holds nothing but emptiness for me." Shit.
"I-I'm sorry?" Dame Vasilisa's double take was powerful. G.H. sighed, struggling to form words. Before he managed another incomprehensible rant Vasilisa seemed to finally put his words together. "Are you saying you don't know what Grimm are? You apparently just killed one." G.H. shook his head in confirmation. "What else do you not know?" The question was half rhetorical but received an earnest answer.
"Naught but my initials and the hunger which lies deep at my core." That conveniently encompassed several things. "This mind is befuddling; this world a puzzle to which I have no pieces; this life a story with no chapters." The group stared in confusion and pity. "Though, it is not something to bemoan or to weep. I hope to fill that book with many stories, ones that would put pity and sorrow to whatever lackluster tale my life once was."
The older gentleman spoke up at last, hoping to comfort the boy who needed no comfort. "W-well, first of all, we should get some food in you." G.H.'s eyes lit up. "A-and you've saved both Garlin here and two others from a most terrible fate." The small old man crossed his arms. "You're more than welcome here in Red Springs, and perhaps while here you'll regain some memories. I can only assume it happened during your fight, and for that sacrifice we thank you." He nodded resolutely, apparently silently coming to a decision. "We have a spare room in the inn. The innkeeper, Yarrow, owes me a favor or three hundred. You can stay there for now, for free of course." He perked up. "But for tonight, let's eat! I am sure you're all very quite hungry!"