By the second week, routine had settled into something almost… stable.
Almost.
The disappearances made sure of that.
Three humans in nine days.
All near the waterfront. All last seen alone. No bodies recovered.
Portland PD hadn't connected the dots yet—but Wesen had.
And so had Belfast.
It started small.
Experimentation, he meant.
He waited until Monroe left for a supply run—after a pointed reminder of "no summoning circles in the begonias"—before stepping into the backyard with a folding table and a growing curiosity.
If he could capture.
If he could suspend.
If he could alter.
Then what were the limits?
He placed a smooth river stone on the table.
Focused.
A blank card slid from his fingers, expanding midair with a low hum. The surface shimmered like polished obsidian.
The stone flattened gently, pressed into two-dimensional existence without resistance.
Captured.
No consciousness. No friction.
Just matter converted into ink.
He studied the image carefully.
Every detail preserved—the mineral veins, the hairline fracture along one edge.
"Okay," he murmured.
Now the harder part.
Instead of compressing the card back into storage, he reached deeper—past the containment layer and into what felt like… structure.
The Hexenbiest current stirred first.
Cool. Calculating.
It didn't want destruction.
It wanted transformation.
He imagined the stone breaking down—not shattering, but unraveling. Molecular threads dissolving into raw potential inside the two-dimensional space.
The card's surface flickered.
The stone's image blurred into dark swirls of ink.
Belfast steadied his breathing.
"Not random," he whispered to himself. "Intent."
He pictured a coin.
Simple shape. Clear edges.
Copper.
The ink reformed.
When he reversed the process and released the card—
A dull copper coin dropped into his palm.
He stared at it.
Not an illusion.
Not temporary.
Solid. Weighted. Real.
His pulse quickened.
He tried again.
A fallen branch became a kitchen knife.
A cracked clay pot became a glass jar.
Mass seemed consistent. Complexity required focus. Organic material felt easier than synthetic.
But it worked.
This wasn't just capture.
It was alchemy.
He sat back slowly in the grass.
"That's… dangerous."
He could create tools. Supplies. Money, technically.
He could dismantle evidence.
He could fabricate anything within reason.
He felt the pull again.
Collect. Convert. Improve.
He forced himself to stop.
Power without restraint rotted from the inside.
That night, he walked the waterfront.
Alone.
He had told Monroe he was "going for air."
Monroe had grumbled but hadn't stopped him.
The docks were quieter than they should've been.
Too quiet.
Belfast muted himself fully—compressing his Grimm presence until it was barely a whisper. The trick had become easier with practice. The Hexenbiest blood helped weave a veil over the flare.
He listened instead.
Two fishermen arguing.
A distant boat engine.
And beneath it—
A scent.
Metallic.
Rotting riverweed mixed with something sour.
He followed it toward an abandoned warehouse near the pier.
The windows were boarded.
One door hung slightly ajar.
He didn't rush in.
Instead, he circled.
Claw marks gouged into the wood near the loading bay. Deep. Frantic.
Not territorial.
Unstable.
He crouched, touching the edge of one mark.
Fresh.
Inside, something shifted.
A scraping sound.
Wet breathing.
Then—
A muffled cry.
Human.
Belfast stood slowly.
"Okay," he murmured. "That answers that."
He slipped a blank card into his hand.
The door creaked open under minimal pressure.
The smell hit him first.
Blood.
Not old.
Recent.
Inside the warehouse, chains hung from beams. Old fishing nets lay tangled across the floor.
And in the center—
A figure hunched over something on the ground.
It jerked upright at the sound of the door.
Woge hit like a snapping bone.
Bauerschwein.
But wrong.
The boar-like features were distorted—eyes bloodshot, tusks uneven, foam clinging to its mouth. Its hands were slick with red.
At its feet lay a man, unconscious but breathing.
The Wesen snarled.
"Mine," it rasped.
Not controlled.
Not rational.
Rabid with something deeper than hunger.
"You've been taking them," Belfast said calmly.
The Bauerschwein pawed at the ground.
"They scream too loud," it muttered. "Have to make them stop."
Its gaze snapped onto Belfast fully.
Recognition flared.
"Grimm."
Belfast didn't let his eyes blaze.
Not yet.
"You're sick," he said instead.
The Wesen lunged.
Faster than its size suggested.
Belfast sidestepped cleanly, driving an elbow into its ribs. Bone cracked. The creature barely seemed to feel it.
It swung wildly, catching his shoulder.
Pain flared.
He let it.
Adaptation kicked in immediately—muscle tightening, reflex sharpening.
The Bauerschwein roared again and charged.
This time, Belfast didn't dodge.
He planted his feet.
Activated the card.
The black surface exploded outward between them.
The creature slammed into it mid-lunge.
And flattened.
The transformation was violent—ink snapping across its body as it screamed, compressing into two-dimensional existence.
The warehouse went silent.
The card snapped back into Belfast's hand.
He looked down.
Bauerschwein – Captured
The image writhed faintly, tusks still bared.
Alive.
Contained.
He glanced at the unconscious human.
Still breathing.
Good.
He dragged the man toward the door, propping him against a wall outside where someone would find him.
Then he looked back at the card.
This one felt different from the Hundjäger.
The Bauerschwein's mind brushed against his more chaotically—fractured thoughts. Pain. Compulsion.
Not purely malicious.
Something had broken it.
Rage pulsed beneath Belfast's ribs.
This wasn't random.
Two rogue Wesen in two weeks?
Unlikely.
Someone—or something—was pushing them past control.
He slipped the card into his jacket.
"Collection," he murmured quietly.
Not trophies.
Not entertainment.
Containment.
Protection.
If it was sick, he could study it.
If it was manipulated, he could trace it.
If it couldn't be saved—
He didn't finish that thought.
When he returned to the house, Monroe was waiting in the living room, arms crossed.
"You smell like warehouse," Monroe said flatly. "And adrenaline."
Belfast closed the door behind him.
"It was a Bauerschwein."
Monroe's eyes sharpened.
"Alive?"
"No."
A beat.
"Not dead either."
Monroe pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You put it in a card."
"Yes."
"Was it targeting humans?"
"Yes."
Monroe studied him carefully.
"And you're sure it wasn't just… desperate?"
"It was unstable," Belfast said quietly. "More than hunger. More than anger."
Monroe's expression shifted slightly.
"You think something's driving this."
"I do."
Silence settled between them.
"You didn't kill it," Monroe said finally.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I want answers."
Monroe's gaze flicked to Belfast's jacket pocket.
"And if the answer is that it can't be fixed?"
Belfast held his gaze steadily.
"Then I'll decide what it becomes."
The words were calm.
Controlled.
Not cruel.
Monroe watched him for a long moment.
"You're walking a very thin line," he said quietly.
"I know."
"And you're still choosing not to cross it."
"For now."
Monroe exhaled slowly.
"Get cleaned up. We'll talk in the morning."
As Belfast moved toward the bathroom, he felt the deck shift again inside him.
Two captured.
One mystery growing.
And beneath it all—
A subtle sense that someone, somewhere in Portland, had just noticed that their rogue asset had vanished.
The game wasn't random.
And Belfast was done reacting.
Now, he would investigate.