There were two categories for Grimm.
Regular Grimm, which the ones most awakened knew by name, Beowolves, Nevermore's, Creeps. Their shapes and instincts were consistent, their threat levels calculable. They spawned from Nightmare Zones like any other infection, born from the siphoned essence of human fear and dream-stuff. Dangerous, yes, but predictable.
And then there was the second category.
Mutants.
This was the term that LUCID researchers gave the second category.
The Nightmare system dubbed them differently, Amalgamations.
Amalgamation grimm were different. Special. The reason the system dubbed them as such was not because of their taxonomy, but because they were literally unpredictable amalgamations. They didn't have proper fixed shapes like their regular counterparts. Instead, their bodies could...warp. Extra limbs, too many eyes or even tendrils that stretched longer than reason should allow, were all part of their capabilities. They were Grimm taken a step too far, twisted by the very act of possessing a human host.
That was what separated them most of all from the rest of the grimm. Amalgamation Mutants were the core of a Nightmare zone in the Dream realm. They seeped into the waking world and anchored themselves here, using people as the bridge.
Jaune's breath stilled as he remembered the words in the archive file:
"A Mutant Grimm(Amalgamation) requires a host for manifestation. The host body serves as a vessel. Its tissues and soul will be subsumed into scaffolding for the Grimm's emergence. Failure to extract or eliminate before coalescence leads to a permanent crossover into the waking world."
Permanent. That single word had struck him then, and it struck him again now.
The waiter—the man who had served Jaune and Jade their meal—that man had been dying already, even as he carried their plates.
And now… now his death had birthed something far worse.
But there was one more detail. One thing that made Mutants all the more terrifying.
Unlike their regular counterparts or awakened individuals, Amalgamations could only have a single universal Rune. Researchers had given it a name: Assimilate.
This applied to every Mutant Amalgamation. Regardless of what rank they were.
No one understood why they couldn't gain any other rune besides that one. Not the senior operatives, nor even the scientists in LUCID's halls. But the function was clear enough.
Assimilate allowed the Mutants to feed.
Not just in the visceral sense of devouring flesh, but in the metaphysical way that let them convert human life into fuel. The more they killed, the more they consumed, the more Grimm could be spawned in the waking world. A Mutant Amalgamation was not just a monster—it was a spawner, a living corruption factory.
And the guard who had been speared just moments ago? Jaune had watched it happen in real time. His body had broken down, melted into sludge, and that sludge had been drunk down by the tendril, fueling its growth.
It was exactly what the reports had described.
They were dangerous.
Worse, they were exponential.
Jaune's throat tightened as Jade gripped his arm harder. Her nails dug through his sleeve, trembling. Her voice was a broken whisper amidst the chaos.
"Oh my god! Jaune… what's happening? What is that!?"
He couldn't tell her the truth. Couldn't tell her that the thing blocking the door was the reason LUCID existed at all. That this wasn't just a monster—it was a herald of far worse if it wasn't stopped.
Before he could even form a response, a sharp gust of displaced air tore across the dining hall.
Jaune's eyes snapped to Weiss.
She was a blur, her heels clacking against shattered tiles as she bolted back toward the kitchen. Her movements would have been incomprehensible to the average human eye—too fast and too sharp. But Jaune wasn't average anymore. His training let him track her perfectly, every dart and pivot clear as if she were moving through water.
He saw the determination in her jaw. The fear still lingered in her pale eyes, yes, but it was bound tight under iron discipline. She didn't hesitate. She ran back into the fire.
"Wait—!" Jaune started forward, but Jade yanked on his sleeve, panic overtaking her face. Around them, patrons screamed, some clawing toward the blocked exit, others cowering behind toppled tables.
The chandeliers rattled above, their crystals clinking like nervous teeth. The tendril twitched again, slamming against the wall, and the whole building seemed to shudder.
Jaune forced himself to stand firm.
He knew what this was now.
And he knew how bad it could get.
The most problematic truth about grimm was simple and merciless:
Once a grimm arrived into the real world, it kept one hundred percent of its stats.
Awakened humans were shackled by reality. Their Dream-born strength bled away the moment they opened their eyes. Rank 0s like Jaune retained nothing. Not his Body, Aura or his Will. Even if he had a rune, it would have been useless. The three months of grueling training, meant only that he could sprint faster than he had before, and punch harder than an untrained boy his age, maybe even climb a rope up a cliff without too much trouble. It was discipline, yes—but nothing remotely supernatural.
Rank 1s like Weiss fared a little better, but even they were effectively crippled. Ten percent. That was all the waking world allowed her to keep. Ten percent of speed, power and Aura density. And though ten percent of a Rank 1 still put her leagues above any normal human, it might not be enough to be enough to bridge the gulf between her and the Amalgamation.
Jaune knew it in his bones. The Mutant she was fighting was stronger.
And all he could do was stand here, his body trembling between terror and urgency, knowing Weiss was alone.
The air quaked. Muffled booms rattled the chandeliers above, crystals tinkling in nervous song. Then a heavier shock followed—a gut-deep thud that reverberated through the foundation. Tiny motes of plaster dust rained down, and cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling tiles. The fight had somehow climbed upwards, from the kitchen to the floor above them and the whole building was groaning under the weight of it.
Jaune's eyes snapped back to the ground floor.
The entrance—their only exit—was sealed. What had begun as a single massive tendril now stretched across the foyer like an obscene curtain, a wall of pulsing flesh. It was no longer directly connected to the amalgamation anymore. Veins the size of fingers bulged under its slick surface, glowing faintly red. It twitched with a rhythm like breathing, heavy and thick, as though the entire building inhaled and exhaled through it.
For a fleeting second, Jaune thought he saw movement beneath the skin. Like something was crawling inside it.
He didn't think, instead, he acted.
"Stay here!" he barked to Jade, even though she clutched at his sleeve like a lifeline. He tore himself free and snatched up the nearest chair, its legs scraping across tiles. With a hoarse shout, he swung it down into the wall of flesh.
The impact rang like a gong. Wood splintered.
He swung again, harder, sweat flying from his brow. The chair cracked across the fleshy surface, but the obstruction didn't yield. Neither a dent nor a tear. It was like slamming furniture into tempered steel.
"Come on! Come on!" Jaune's voice broke with desperation. He smashed again and again until the chair was little more than splinters in his hands.
The wall shivered in response.
He froze, chest heaving, and took a single cautious step back. The surface rippled, convulsed. Then it split.
A spear of flesh erupted from the wall with the speed of a crossbow bolt. Jaune flinched sideways on instinct.
It wasn't aimed for him.
The man beside him—an older patron, hair silvered at the temples, still clutching a half-empty wineglass as though etiquette could shield him—let out a startled yelp. The tendril slammed through his chest. His body jerked violently, blood spraying in a crimson fan across the white tablecloths.
The scream strangled in his throat.
Before Jaune could blink, the wall pulled him in. The man's feet scraped helplessly against the marble as he was dragged bodily into the fleshy surface. For one sickening moment his face protruded through the wall, mouth wide, eyes rolling, before the flesh sealed shut around him.
And then he melted.
Jaune saw it. Skin sloughing into sludge, bones bending, dissolving. A human life broken down like kitchen scraps poured into a grinder. The wall drank it in, swelling slightly, pulsing thicker with every heartbeat.
Warm droplets pattered Jaune's face. He wiped his cheek, fingers coming away slick and red.
His stomach lurched but he forced it down with pure grit.
Another tendril burst out. And another. The air filled with wet cracks as the flesh lashed outward.
Screams erupted.
One patron was skewered through the back, his spine snapping audibly as the tendril lifted him like a doll. Another—a woman who was barely much older than Jaune—was pinned through the stomach and hauled, kicking, into the wall. Her hands clawed furrows into the tiles, leaving bloody streaks before she disappeared.
Jaune snapped out of his shock just in time.
"JADE!"
Her shriek pierced his ears as a tendril shot for her chest. He dove, snatching her waist and yanking her aside. The spear of flesh hissed past her, missing by a hair.
It didn't miss the woman behind them.
The wealthy matron in pearls and a violet gown who had been shrieking endlessly, voice shrill with entitlement and terror. The tendril drove itself straight through her mouth, silencing her in an instant. Blood bubbled from her lips, the pearls scattering across the marble floor like hailstones as her body convulsed. Then she too was pulled, twitching, into the wall.
Jade gagged violently, retching. The sound of bile hitting tile mixed with the smell of iron and viscera.
Jaune didn't look. He couldn't. His arms locked around her shaking body. His mind had sharpened to a single cutting edge.
Protect Jade.
That was all that mattered. If everyone else in this restaurant died screaming, if the walls ran red with blood and flesh, it didn't matter so long as she walked out alive.
The thought was cold, callous. It should have horrified him. But clarity left no room for guilt.
The wall convulsed again. This time it wasn't just spearing. It bubbled, bloating grotesquely, and began to ooze. Black liquid seeped from its pores, spilling down in rivulets that hissed when they touched the floor. The stench was immediate—like rotting meat and decay, stirred together.
The ooze pooled. And from that pool, shapes began to rise.
At first they were indistinct, silhouettes pulling themselves from tar. Then they solidified.
Jaune's eyes widened. His breath froze in his throat.
Beowolves.
They clawed their way out of the black muck, shoulders hunched, jaws snapping. Their bodies were the same as he remembered from the Dream, their fur mottled and dripping with tar, their bones gleaming white through patches of stretched flesh. Red eyes burned like coals in their skulls.
An entire pack of them. Four, with more heads rising.
Jaune couldn't afford to hesitate now. Even worse, he had no time to blink.
The pack howled as one, the sound rattling glass and bone alike, reverberating through the dining hall.
The Grimm had crossed over, into the waking world.
And Jaune was standing there, with nothing but his bare hands and a terrified sister pressed against his chest.
.
.
AN: Power stones? Anyone?
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