Viktor's new strategy arrived on day thirty-three: overwhelming force at multiple points.
The first alarm came from the northern safe house—Mellifer scouts reporting six Verrat operatives breaching the perimeter. The second alarm came thirty seconds later from the eastern safe house. The third came while I was still processing the first two.
"Three simultaneous attacks." Monroe's voice crackled through the communication system. "He's learned. He's not sending one team for you to destroy—he's splitting our defenses."
"Positions?"
"Ariel's at the northern house with two refugees. Angelina and I have the eastern. The southern house has Scalpel and three non-combatants."
Three locations. Three teams of Verrat. One of me.
[TACTICAL ASSESSMENT: MULTI-POINT ASSAULT]
[ENEMY FORCES: 18+ VERRAT OPERATIVES (CONFIRMED)]
[PACK ASSETS: DISTRIBUTED]
[RECOMMENDATION: MOBILE RESPONSE - PRIORITIZE WEAKEST POSITIONS]
"Ariel can handle the north—her fire gives her advantage in defensive positions." I was already moving toward my car. "You and Angelina hold the east. I'm heading south first, then cycling through."
"That's a lot of ground to cover."
"Then I'd better move fast."
The drive to the southern safe house took eight minutes—too long, every second an eternity while Scalpel and his charges faced professional killers alone. The Iron Flesh synthesis hummed beneath my skin, ready for whatever violence awaited.
The Verrat had already breached the house when I arrived.
Two operatives down at the entrance—Scalpel's work, the wounds precise despite his nervous nature. The Geier had finally learned to fight when fighting was necessary. But the remaining four Verrat were inside, and the sounds from the upper floor suggested they'd found the refugees.
I went through the front door without slowing.
The first operative saw me coming and raised his weapon. The bullet hit my shoulder—impact registering, pain absent, Iron Flesh absorbing damage that would have shattered bone before the synthesis. My sword took his head before he could fire again.
The second operative was smarter, backing up, calling for support. He died anyway, the Reaper combat instincts guiding my blade through defenses that should have bought him more time.
Upstairs, screaming. Then silence.
I found Scalpel standing over two bodies, surgical tools bloody, his Geier woge fading as the danger passed. The refugees huddled in the corner—terrified but unharmed.
"The house is clear." Scalpel's voice shook, but his hands were steady. "They almost got past me. I didn't think I could—"
"You did." I clasped his shoulder briefly. "Stay here. Protect them. I need to check the other locations."
"The others?"
"I'll handle it."
The eastern safe house was chaos when I arrived—Monroe and Angelina fighting back-to-back against six Verrat operatives who'd clearly expected easier prey. Blood covered the walls, not all of it from enemies.
Monroe was hurt. A slash across his ribs that he was ignoring, a limp that suggested something wrong with his leg. But he was still fighting, still protecting the position, still the Blutbad I'd first approached in a desperate gamble that had paid off a hundred times over.
I hit the Verrat from behind.
Three down before they registered my presence. The remaining three turned, adapted, tried to coordinate against the new threat. It didn't help them.
[COMBAT: VERRAT SQUAD (EASTERN POSITION)]
[ENEMIES ELIMINATED: 6]
[IRON FLESH: ABSORBING MULTIPLE IMPACTS]
[REGENERATION: ACTIVE - MINOR WOUNDS CLOSING]
"Nice of you to show up." Angelina's voice was acidic despite the relief in her eyes. "We were about to run out of things to kill."
"Northern house needs checking. Status here?"
"Manageable." Monroe's wound was worse than it had looked—the slash had gone deep, requiring immediate attention. "Go. We'll hold."
The northern safe house had burned.
Ariel stood in the ashes, her Dämonfeuer form still smoking, surrounded by the charred remains of Verrat operatives who'd underestimated what fire could do to human flesh. The refugees were safe—scared, singed, but alive.
"They came through the back." Ariel's voice was flat, controlled. "I had to burn the whole first floor to stop them."
"Anyone hurt?"
"Not anyone who matters." She kicked a charred body. "They thought I was soft. Thought a mother would hesitate."
"You didn't."
"I never do. Not when Maya's safety is at stake." Her woge faded, revealing the exhausted woman beneath. "Is this what it's going to be like? Attack after attack, never knowing when they'll come?"
"Until we end it. Yes."
"Then we need to end it." Her eyes held something hard. "Viktor keeps sending people to die. Eventually, we send someone to him."
The thought had crossed my mind. But attacking Viktor directly required resources we didn't have—intelligence on his location, forces strong enough to breach Royal defenses, a plan that didn't leave Portland vulnerable.
"Soon." It wasn't a promise I could keep. Not yet. "But first we handle what's in front of us."
What was in front of us was a Hundjäger commander.
He arrived at dawn, alone, moving through the safe house wreckage with professional assessment. Not attacking—observing. Cataloguing damage, counting bodies, building a picture of what had gone wrong.
I found him standing over one of his dead soldiers, expression unreadable.
"You're not Verrat." I kept my sword visible but not raised. "Hundjäger pack leader. Assigned to coordinate the assault."
"Assigned to win it." His voice was calm, accepting. "We lost. You were supposed to be spread thin, unable to respond effectively. Instead, you responded to all three positions and killed everyone we sent."
"Your information was outdated. The Pack is stronger than Viktor understands."
"The Pack." He tasted the word. "Such a strange concept. Grimms don't form packs. Grimms hunt alone, die alone, leave nothing but bodies and fear."
"I'm not that kind of Grimm."
"Clearly." He turned to face me, hands empty, posture suggesting combat readiness despite the lack of weapons. "I've been fighting for thirty years. Verrat, Royal guard, independent contractor. I've killed Grimms before—two of them, experienced hunters who thought they were unstoppable."
"And now?"
"Now I'm wondering if I've been fighting for the wrong side." His woge surfaced briefly—the Hundjäger features, the hunting dog's fierce intelligence. "Viktor promised glory. Instead, he sends us to die against someone who fights with strategy instead of instinct."
"Are you offering to surrender?"
"I'm offering to talk." He lowered his stance slightly. "Before one of us kills the other."
The conversation was brief. He was professional, pragmatic, genuinely curious about what I was building. He'd spent decades serving Royals who saw Wesen as tools, and something about the Pack's success had shaken assumptions he'd held since childhood.
He wasn't ready to defect. But he wasn't ready to die for Viktor either.
"Go back." I made the decision without consulting the System's recommendations. "Tell Viktor what happened. Tell him Portland is too expensive to take by force."
"And if he sends me again?"
"Then we have this conversation differently."
He nodded once, then disappeared into the morning fog. A professional recognizing when the battle was lost, preserving resources for future engagements.
[COMBAT SUMMARY: VERRAT ASSAULT]
[ENEMIES ELIMINATED: 18]
[PACK CASUALTIES: MINOR (MONROE WOUNDED, NORTHERN HOUSE DAMAGED)]
[HUNDJÄGER COMMANDER: WITHDRAWN - STATUS UNCERTAIN]
[TERRITORY: DEFENDED]
The cleanup took the rest of the day. Bodies disposed of, damage assessed, the network of safe houses evaluated for continued viability. We'd won, but victories like this couldn't continue indefinitely.
Attrition would destroy us eventually.
That night, I stood in the Spice Shop's planning room, cleaning blood from my sword—a ritual that had become familiar over weeks of violence.
Viktor needed to be ended. Not just defeated, not just driven away, but eliminated as a threat permanently. That required resources beyond what the Pack currently possessed.
But resources could be acquired. Alliances could be built. And somewhere in the Royal hierarchy, there were people who'd benefit from Viktor's permanent removal.
The game was changing. Time to change with it.
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