Crow's finger pointed at him.
"You."
Grimm's heart sank, but he forced himself forward. The snow crunched beneath his bare feet, cold biting into his skin.
He stepped into the center of the white field. The air felt sharp in his lungs, each breath ragged.
Then it appeared.
From the snow ahead, a wolf emerged... small compared to the beasts Grimm remembered from his past life, but no less terrifying.
Its body stood barely up to his waist, wiry but lean, muscles twitching beneath its gray fur.
Its eyes glowed faintly yellow, sharp and hungry, its muzzle already wet with the blood of the boy before him.
The wolf snarled.
Grrrhhh—
Grimm steadied his breath. He had no weapon. No blade. Nothing but his hands and wits. His mind raced.
'Wolves were predators, but this one was smaller. Light frame. Quick. That meant speed over brute force. If he tried to fight head-on, he'd die like the first child.'
The wolf padded in a circle, tail low, ears pinned. It was testing him, waiting for weakness. Grimm shifted his stance, knees bent, not too rigid—he remembered enough from watching street dogs fight back on Earth.
'Don't show fear. Don't freeze.'
The wolf lunged.
Shffft!
Snow scattered as it darted low, jaws snapping for his leg. Grimm jumped back, barely avoiding the bite.
His heart pounded, but his mind stayed clear. He noted the wolf's movement, straight charge, too direct. That was exploitable.
The wolf circled again, faster this time, then leapt.
Grimm dropped to the side, rolling in the snow. The cold stung his skin, but he ignored it, springing back up.
He saw the wolf skid slightly where it landed—momentum carried it too far.
'It's fast, but not precise.'
Grimm's eyes narrowed. He crouched low, dragging his fingers across the snow. His breathing steadied. He had to make it commit.
The wolf growled and charged once more, snapping its jaws at his arm.
Grimm thrust his hand out... not to strike, but to bait. The wolf bit down, teeth sinking into his forearm.
Rip!
"Tsk!"
Pain exploded, hot and searing, but Grimm clenched his jaw and didn't scream.
Instead, with his other arm, he swung his weight down, using the wolf's own momentum.
Bang!
He slammed it into the ground, snow exploding outward.
The beast yelped, thrashing, but its teeth stayed clamped. Grimm didn't hesitate.
He shoved his bleeding arm deeper into its mouth, forcing the wolf's jaws open wider than natural. His free hand gripped its lower jaw, straining with all his strength.
The wolf kicked and clawed, slicing his legs. His body screamed in pain. But Grimm held on, twisting, forcing the jaws apart until—
Crkkhh—!
The sound was sickening. The wolf howled, body jerking violently before it went slack.
Grimm shoved it aside, collapsing to his knees, blood dripping down his arm and leg. His chest heaved, each breath sharp, but his eyes stayed locked forward.
He had survived.
"Haaah... Haaahh. Shit."
The snowfield flickered with silence after the wolf's corpse dropped. G
rimm sagged forward, arms trembling, blood soaking down his forearm where the bite had nearly torn muscle.
His chest rose and fell like a bellows, each exhale a cloud of white mist against the cold air.
Then his eyes rolled, and he collapsed sideways into the snow.
Thud.
A hush spread among the children. Their eyes were wide, some mouths open, others trembling.
A few backed away as though the sight of blood might jump from Grimm's skin to theirs. They had just seen a boy their age rip apart a wolf with his bare hands.
The fear in their gazes mixed with something else... something like awe.
Crow tilted his head slightly, watching from beneath the dark beak of his mask.
His gloved fingers tapped once against his arm. Outwardly, he was calm, still as a statue.
Inside, his thoughts passed like a shadow: 'He sacrificed his arm just to kill even though he isn't certain he can use it again, but he did it to survive...'
Crow gave no further reaction. No praise. No rebuke.
Only a cold stare as Grimm's limp body lay bleeding in the snow, face smeared crimson, smoke of cold drifting from his lips with each shallow breath.
The children huddled tighter together, whispering among themselves, but none dared step forward.
In their eyes, Grimm was no longer just another boy in their group.
Crow finally raised a hand, snapping his fingers once.
Crack!
The snowfield dissolved into black smoke, and the bodies, wolf and boy alike vanished with it. Only then did his voice cut through the silence, flat and sharp.
"Next."
...
Shake.
Shake.
The world rattled around him, as though the ground itself had no bones to hold it still.
Grimm blinked in confusion. His ears caught a sound he hadn't heard in this new world... not once since arriving here.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Gunfire. Sharp and metallic, cutting through the air like tearing metal sheets.
Voices screamed, overlapping in chaos, some shouting orders, some howling in pain.
The stench of blood rushed in with the noise, heavy and choking, as if the air itself had been drenched in iron.
Then came a whisper. It slithered directly into his skull, bypassing his ears.
"There's no one saving you now."
Grimm lowered his gaze. His chest tightened. He wasn't in Zimyar anymore.
His hands were small, too small, and trembling. His skin was mottled with dark bruises, his body thin, fragile. His eyes widened as recognition sank in... this was him. His real body. His childhood self.
The gunfire cracked again in the distance, closer this time, pounding like war drums.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
He tried to move, but his legs felt heavy, refusing to obey. The chaos grew louder, closer, until it drowned everything else.
And then—
Grimm jerked awake.
"Haah..! A dream..."
His chest heaved as though he'd been running. Sweat clung to his temples.
The dream bled away in fragments.
Grimm groaned as he forced his eyes open. His skull throbbed like someone was hammering it from the inside.
The first thing he noticed was the emptiness around him. Where once there had been dozens of children, now… only four remained, himself included.
From the far edge of the chamber, the corpses of the others lay in a heap. Cold, pale, abandoned like trash.
His stomach twisted, and he realized with a faint shiver that someone must have dragged him here while he was unconscious.
He glanced at the survivors. Three others stood not far from him, looking far better than he felt.
Bruised, yes, but upright, eyes sharp, postures steady. They'd endured, just like him. They passed the test.
Up above, a podium of rough stone loomed. Crystals embedded in the walls glowed faintly, washing the place in pale light.
Upon that platform stood Crow. The masked man's voice rolled out, low and indifferent.
"Finally awake. Good. In the Mind Domain, only four passed. You are now qualified to join our organization."
His words dropped like stones into the silence, stirring no applause, no celebration... only a chill that settled over the survivors.
"The Black Moon Organization," he declared.
The title hung in the air.
Grimm blinked once, twice. His lips twitched.
'Black Moon Organization? The name scraped his ears like something from a bad comic back on Earth.'
It was hard to take seriously, though judging by the mountain of corpses, these people were nothing to laugh at. Still, in the back of his head, he couldn't stop the thought:
'Cringe name for a bunch of killers.'
Before he could dwell on it, masked enforcers stepped forward. Each carried a small black pill.
Without warning, they forced one into his mouth, shoving it down his throat. The bitter taste exploded across his tongue, and his body seized in protest.
Crow's voice echoed again.
"That pill is poison. Betray the Black Moon, and you die where you stand. There is no cure for it."
Grimm's face darkened as the reality sank in. His fists tightened against his knees.
'Fuck. I hate this.'
But even as dread coiled in his chest, another thought whispered through his mind: 'If there's poison, there's an antidote. I just have to survive long enough to find it.'
He lowered his eyes, hiding the flicker of resolve beneath the ache in his skull. One way or another, he wasn't planning to die as their pawn.