The kitchen was slight chaos. Pots were clattered, silver utensils lay scattered on the tiled floor, and the bitter scent of spilled wine and seared meat mixed with something far more rancid—the sour stink of rot that didn't belong in the waking world.
Jaune shoved through the door, half expecting angry chefs to scold him for barging in. Instead, he froze.
Every eye in the room—chefs in white coats, a young busboy holding a tray and even Weiss in her beautiful dress—was fixed on the thing writhing at their feet. At first, Jaune thought it was just a man seizing. His limbs jerked and his body convulsed as though his muscles had lost all rhythm.
Then, he saw the pulsing.
The man's skin stretched open and split, as if something underneath was pressing outwards, demanding to be born. Ribbons of flesh tore open, wet and shining with black ichor, each rip leaving a slick, quivering edge that crawled across the man's uniform like a living map of cracks.
Jaune's stomach lurched. The smell hit his nose next—a rotting coppery scent. Like old blood mixed with decay.
Foul.
The waiter's mouth foamed and a black frothy liquid bubbled past his lips with each strangled gasp. His head snapped backward, tendons standing out like cords. Then his eyes—
They rolled—not back into his head, but out. Those white orbs bulged as if swelling, as if pushed from inside. A wet sound, like a peeled fruit hitting a cutting board, broke the silence as an eye popped free, dangling for a breathless second before dropping to the tiles with a soft, obscene plop. The second followed, landing beside it.]
And out from the holes in the man's skull, something writhed.
The chefs recoiled. One swore under his breath. Weiss, pale as porcelain, clapped a hand over her mouth and wretched, her shoulders tightening in sheer disgust. But she didn't look away. Her icy eyes flicked to Jaune as he entered, catching his horrified stare.
Jaune recognized the waiter.
It was the one who had brought him and Jade their food earlier, wobbling tiredly and almost nervously with the tray, almost tripping but catching himself at the last second. Jaune remembered the awkward smile and the relief in the man's eyes when he set the plates down safely. A normal guy, probably not much older than him.
Now he was little more than husk being split open from the inside.
A sinking weight dragged at Jaune's chest. He didn't want to ask, but the words tore out anyway, his voice hoarse.
"What—what's happening to him?"
Weiss grimaced, her voice steady but edged with grief.
"A Grimm."
The word landed like a hammer.
"The man was connected to a Nightmare Zone, in the Dream" she continued, glancing down at the man as another convulsion tore through his body, "One that no LUCID operative was able to find in time. The infection festered and grew. And now…" She drew a sharp, uneven breath. "Now a Grimm is about to force its way into the waking world through him."
Jaune felt his heart drop. The words barely made sense, but the proof was right there, writhing on the floor.
The waiter's jaw cracked open wider than it should, a scream building in his throat. His tongue spasmed, swelling, splitting into dark-veined strands that writhed like worms. Froth poured from his lips. His fingernails tore free as blackened claws pushed through the nailbeds, scraping against the tile.
Jaune wanted to look away, but couldn't. This wasn't some faceless monster. This was a man. Someone who had probably laughed with coworkers earlier, complained about long shifts, maybe dreamed of something better. And now—now his body was being hollowed out for something else to wear.
Jaune's chest ached with sympathy, even as bile burned the back of his throat. He thought of his sisters. Of himself. What if it had been him? What if this was the fate of anyone touched by the Nightmare's shadow?
A sharp voice cut through the haze.
"Jaune!"
He snapped his head toward Weiss. She was pale, but her eyes blazed with authority. "Get the guests out. Evacuate the restaurant—now!"
He hesitated, torn between horror and instinct. The man on the floor let out a choking scream, his chest ballooning unnaturally before deflating in a sharp crack of breaking ribs. Something inside was pushing forward, pressing against his sternum like a second body trying to claw free.
Weiss's tone sharpened, snapping like a whip.
"We'll contain it here. But if it breaches past these walls—" She didn't finish. She didn't need to.
Jaune's legs finally obeyed. He nodded. His throat was dry, but his voice came out steady.
"Got it."
One last glance at the waiter—still thrashing, body breaking down by inches—burned itself into his memory. He wished he hadn't looked. But he couldn't deny him that last moment of recognition. Of humanity.
Then he turned and sprinted out of the kitchen.
The dining hall was full of quiet luxury—silverware clinking, muted laughter, and the hush of polished shoes across marble. None of it fit with the storm in Jaune's chest. He burst back out through the swinging doors, the muffled chaos of the kitchen still ringing in his ears. His eyes scanned the crowd, the chandeliers above casting pools of golden light across oblivious faces.
"Everyone—!" His voice cracked as he shouted, the weight of urgency pulling the word raw. "You need to leave. Now!"
Conversations stilled. Dozens of finely dressed patrons watched him with confusion in their minds. Some tilted their heads, confused. A few laughed as though it were some elaborate prank.
Jade, halfway through rising from her chair, stared at him with wide, startled eyes. "Jaune? What's going on?"
He moved straight to her, weaving between tables, and seized her hand before she could demand more. "There's no time." He tried to keep his voice low for her alone, but urgency made it harsh. "We have to get out. Now."
She resisted for half a step, digging her heels against the polished floor. "But—"
"No buts!" He squeezed her hand and tugged hard, pulling her up to her feet. His eyes flicked to the kitchen doors as a muffled crash echoed behind them. "It's not safe. Please."
Jade seemed slightly surprised at the desperation in his voice, but before either of them could move farther, a uniformed waiter appeared, rushing toward them. His white jacket was neat, his smile practiced, though his brow was furrowed as he lifted his hands in a placating gesture.
"Sir, please," the man said smoothly, placing a hand on Jaune's arm as though to guide him back to his table. "There's nothing to worry about. The situation is under control. If you'll just return to your seat, you and your guest may continue your meal in peace."
Jaune's gut twisted. That same false calm—the kind people used when they didn't understand what was happening, or worse, when they thought they did. He shoved the man's hand off his arm with more force than necessary.
"No," Jaune snapped, voice cracking across the room. "It's not under control. You need to get out. All of you!" He glanced down at Jade, squeezing her hand again. "Go now. Don't stop for anything."
Jade bit her lip, torn between trusting him and demanding an explanation. She saw something in his eyes—fear, urgency and something unshakable—she nodded once and quick.
But the crowd wasn't convinced. Some patrons were standing now, craning their necks to see over the sea of tables. A woman in pearls laughed lightly and murmured something about "children being dramatic." A middle-aged man with a trimmed beard scoffed, swirling the wine in his glass. Others whispered, brows furrowed, but still, no one moved toward the exit.
They didn't understand. They couldn't.
"Sir, I'll have to ask you to calm down."
This voice was sharper, harder, carrying authority. Two men in dark suits—the restaurant's security detail—pushed their way through the crowd. They were tall, broad, with the rigid posture of men used to being obeyed.
The closer one jabbed a finger at Jaune. "Step away from the guests."
"Listen to me!" Jaune barked back, panic rising as another crash thundered behind him. "You don't understand—"
The first guard didn't wait. He lunged forward, grabbing for Jaune's shoulder. Jaune twisted, instincts flaring, and ducked under the man's arm. His heart thundered in his chest as adrenaline pumped through him.
The second guard came at him from the side, arms outstretched, aiming to tackle. Jaune vaulted over the nearest table, scattering plates and glasses. A spray of water and wine hit the floor as diners gasped in shock.
The room erupted in a chorus of voices.
"What is he doing?"
"Call the police!"
"Someone stop that boy!"
The first guard spun and reached for him again, but Jaune planted his feet, ready to move—
And then the world broke.
BOOM.
The kitchen doors exploded outwards, slamming against the walls with the sound of splintering wood. From the gaping maw of the kitchen, something shot out—a massive tendril of rotting, black flesh.
It was thick as a tree trunk, its surface slick and glistening, studded with jagged bone and oozing veins that pulsed with crimson light. The stench of rot rolled across the room like a wave, sour and choking.
At the end of the tendril, impaled like a grotesque ornament, was the third security guard—the one who had gone in to investigate. His chest was pierced clean through, his arms flopping lifelessly at his sides as blood streamed down his once-pristine uniform. His head lolled back, mouth open in a frozen scream.
The tendril whipped with him forward, flinging his body across the dining hall like a ragdoll. Guests screamed as he crashed across a few tables, scattering silver platters and spraying blood across fine linens.
But it didn't end there.
The tendril slammed forward with bone-cracking force, driving the guard's body like a nail straight into the front wall of the restaurant, right beside the gilded double doors that led outside. The impact shook the entire building, the chandeliers rattling above.
And then—horror of horrors—the man's body began to melt.
His skin sloughed away in steaming sheets, his flesh liquefying into a black-red slurry. Muscles unraveled, bones snapped like brittle twigs, all of it collapsing into sludge that dripped into the waiting tendril. The black flesh absorbed it eagerly, drinking down the man's life as if it were nothing more than fuel.
Gasps turned to screams.
The tendril did not stop.
Where it had slammed into the wall, it pulsed, spreading outwards like spilled ink. Veins of black flesh snaked across the marble, climbing the gilded walls and creeping up the archway of the exit. Guests who had leapt from their seats to rush the doors skidded to a halt, shrieking, as the corruption spread faster than they could move.
In seconds, the main entrance was blocked, sealed shut beneath a writhing curtain of rotting tendrils. The veins pulsed, their surfaces bubbling like molten tar. The faint glow of crimson light shone beneath the cracks, like veins of fire trying to burn their way into the world.
"No," Jaune breathed, heart sinking into his stomach.
The way out—gone.
The screams of the guests rose higher, panic crashing like a tidal wave through the once-luxurious hall. Men and women in suits shoved against one another in blind terror. Wine glasses shattered beneath their feet. Chairs toppled. The air was filled with the cacophony of chaos, the iron stink of blood, and the overpowering rot of the Grimm's emergence.
Jade clutched Jaune's arm, her nails digging into his sleeve. Her voice trembled, barely audible over the storm.
"Jaune… what is that?!"
He couldn't answer. Not yet. His mind raced, every instinct screaming at him to act, to move, to survive.
Because this was no longer just a restaurant. It was a trap.
Another body suddenly shot out from the kitchen like a ragdoll, but it wasn't one of the staff— it was Weiss, who came hurtling across the air. Her beautiful dress was now torn at the shoulder, her hair wild in a way Jaune had never seen and for a sickening heartbeat, he thought she would crash headfirst into the restaurant floor.
But in the space of a blink, a sharp ring of ice spun into existence beneath her heels. The shimmering platform caught her weight midair and anchored her like a dancer poised above the chaos. She bent her knees, steadying herself before dismissing the platform with a snap. Her heels hit the floor by the blocked entrance in a precise drop.
Jaune's relief at seeing her alive froze solid when their eyes met.
A pearl of blood slipped past her lips and her expression... was pale—no, not pale, but terrified. He'd seen her annoyed, dismissive and even biting with sarcasm. He'd seen her angry and even heard her sharp words. But never this.
Never fear.
Her voice tore through the screams, raw and urgent:
"It's Rank 1!"