Chapter 25 : The Siege's Aftermath
The sirens grew louder as we limped away from the construction site. My body screamed protest with every step—the Siegbarste's blow had cracked at least two ribs, and something in my left shoulder ground wrong when I moved it. But underneath the pain, something else pulsed.
The new ability.
[SIEGBARSTE DURABILITY: INTEGRATING]
[PHYSICAL ENHANCEMENT: 25% DAMAGE RESISTANCE]
[METABOLIC COST: INCREASED CALORIC REQUIREMENT]
[STATUS: ADAPTATION IN PROGRESS - 47%]
The extraction had been different this time. Heavier. Like swallowing concrete instead of water. I could feel my body changing—bones thickening, muscle fibers reinforcing, skin toughening in ways that had nothing to do with training or experience.
"Cross." Monroe grabbed my arm, steadying me as I stumbled. "We need to get you to Scalpel."
"I'm fine."
"You're bleeding from three places and your rib is trying to exit through your side. You're not fine."
Angelina flanked my other side, her own injuries apparently minor. The chains she'd used to bind the Siegbarste had left burns across her forearms, but Blutbad healing was already working.
"That was incredible." Her voice carried genuine admiration. "The trap, the poison, the coordination. I've never seen a Grimm fight like that."
"I've never fought like that." The admission came easier than expected. "Before this month, I'd never killed anything larger than a spider."
Monroe made a sound that might have been a laugh. "You dropped a crane on a Siegbarste. I think you've officially graduated from beginner."
We reached the car—Monroe's, parked three blocks away as planned. Getting into the backseat took longer than it should have. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through my torso.
"Drive fast," Angelina told Monroe. "The cops are going to find a seven-foot corpse with a sword through its heart. That's going to make the news."
The drive to Scalpel's clinic blurred together. Pain, motion, the steady pulse of the new ability integrating into my biology. I found myself cataloguing the sensation—the way my bones felt denser, the subtle increase in muscle tension, the enhanced awareness of my own body's structural integrity.
[INTEGRATION: 61%]
[ENHANCED BONE DENSITY: CONFIRMED]
[PAIN THRESHOLD: ELEVATED]
[NOTE: FULL INTEGRATION REQUIRES 24-48 HOURS]
"Cross." Monroe's voice pulled me back. "We're here."
Rosalee's brother's spice shop was dark, but a light burned in the back room. Scalpel met us at the service entrance, his vulture features flickering nervously as he assessed our condition.
"Siegbarste fight." His tone was professional despite the fear. "I can smell the blood. How bad?"
"Two cracked ribs, possible internal bleeding, shoulder dislocation." Monroe rattled off injuries like a shopping list. "The other two are mostly superficial."
"Get him on the table."
The back room had evolved since Scalpel's recruitment. Medical equipment salvaged from the destroyed harvesting operation mixed with Fuchsbau remedies from Rosalee's stock. The result was a clinic that existed nowhere in official records—perfect for treating injuries that couldn't be explained to human doctors.
I lay on the examination table while Scalpel's hands probed my injuries. His touch was clinical, detached—the same hands that had once harvested organs now working to preserve life.
"The ribs aren't as bad as they look." He injected something into my arm—local anesthetic, I hoped. "The Siegbarste durability is already accelerating healing. Give it forty-eight hours and you'll be mobile."
"I don't have forty-eight hours."
"You have what your body gives you." Scalpel began cleaning the wounds across my chest. "Push too hard and the integration will fail. Your system will reject the extracted ability."
[WARNING: OVEREXERTION MAY COMPROMISE ABILITY INTEGRATION]
[RECOMMENDED: 48-HOUR REST PERIOD]
[CURRENT INTEGRATION: 72%]
I hadn't known rejection was possible. The System's warning pulsed insistently, adding weight to Scalpel's medical advice.
"Fine. Forty-eight hours."
Monroe pulled a chair beside the examination table. His own injuries were minor—cuts and bruises that would heal by morning—but exhaustion lined his face.
"I can't believe that worked." He shook his head. "The crane drop, the poison, all of it. Do you know how many Grimms have tried to kill Siegbarstes and failed?"
"I didn't try to kill it. I tried to create conditions where it could be killed." The distinction mattered. "Direct combat with a Siegbarste is suicide. Environmental manipulation gives you a chance."
"That's... actually smart." Angelina leaned against the doorframe, watching Scalpel work. "Most Grimms would have charged in swinging. Pride before strategy."
"Pride gets you killed." I winced as Scalpel set a stitch. "I'd rather be alive and embarrassed than dead and heroic."
Rosalee appeared in the doorway, her expression a complicated mix of concern and disapproval. She'd helped prepare supplies for tonight's operation, but watching the aftermath was different.
"Viktor sent that thing," she said. "Because you stole his shipment. Because you sent back a maimed Reaper."
"Yes."
"He'll send worse."
"Probably."
"And you're just... fine with that?"
I met her eyes. The question deserved an honest answer.
"No. I'm terrified. But the alternative was waiting for Viktor to decide I was worth eliminating anyway. At least this way, I choose the timing. I choose the battlefield."
Rosalee didn't argue. She moved to assist Scalpel, her hands steady despite her reservations.
[INTEGRATION: 89%]
[ESTIMATED COMPLETION: 6 HOURS]
[ABILITY STATUS: PARTIALLY ACTIVE]
The new durability hummed through my body like a second heartbeat. I could feel it working—accelerating healing, reinforcing tissue, preparing me for damage I hadn't yet taken. The Siegbarste's death had given me something permanent.
"You know," Monroe said quietly, "when you first showed up at my door, I thought you'd be dead within a week."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"I'm serious. A Grimm who wanted to negotiate? Who didn't immediately try to kill me? I figured you were either crazy or stupid, and either way you wouldn't last."
"And now?"
Monroe was quiet for a moment. His fingers traced the armrest of his chair—nervous habit, the kind of thing people did when choosing words carefully.
"Now I think you might actually survive this. Which is more than I expected when I watched you take that Blutbad's claws across your shoulder three weeks ago."
Three weeks. The warehouse fight felt like ancient history now. Karl's face, frozen in death. The first ability extraction. The beginning of everything.
"Monroe."
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For staying. For helping. For not letting me walk into traps alone."
"Don't get sentimental." But his voice had softened. "You're still the strangest Grimm I've ever met."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
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