“Other groups?” Nick caught the crucial distinction immediately.
“So there are multiple species of Wesen, not just your kind?”
“Of course,” Monroe said, speaking as if discussing basic biology.
“If your eyes have been open for a while, you must have bumped into a few by now, right?
Reinigen, Bauerschwein, Blutbad, Skalengeck…” He paused, making a disgusted face at the last name.
“Especially the Skalengeck.
Those meth-headed lizard types love stirring up trouble in the city—your precinct probably has a revolving door for them.”
Monroe kept shifting his weight in his seat, his eyes darting nervously between Nick’s face and the matte-black Sig Sauer P226 resting on the coffee table.
“Look, man, I really don’t want any trouble.
As you can see, I’m fully reformed.
I haven’t lost control in years.”
“Lost control?” Nick echoed, raising his hands and curling his fingers to make air quotes.
“You mean that sudden, terrifying display you pulled in your front yard earlier just because two kids pedaled past on tricycles?”
Monroe put his hands up, looking deeply offended.
“Hey!
That was a physiological reaction!
I caught the scent of another Blutbad on the wind, alright?
I’ve never laid a finger on a human!”
He began pacing slightly behind the armchair.
“I eat a heavily plant-based diet, I order my steaks well-done, I do daily Pilates, and I practice mindfulness!
I’m a completely reformed Blutbad.
I cut ties with the traditional packs decades ago—I don’t even attend the same reform church as those old-school purists.”
“You guys actually go to church?” Nick found the concept surreal.
“Of course we do,” Monroe replied, as if Nick had asked if wolves breathed air.
“Don’t humans?”
Nick chose not to answer that.
In his past life, he had developed a healthy skepticism toward organized religious institutions, to the point where he preferred keeping his spiritual views entirely private.
It was clear that Monroe belonged to a non-violent, assimilated faction of his species.
While Nick cautioned himself against lowering his guard completely, he seized the opportunity to extract as much operational intelligence as possible.
Combining Monroe’s rambling explanations with the fragmented memories of the TV show he had downloaded years ago, Nick gradually assembled a coherent picture of the hidden world around him. This chapter is updated first at novelping . com.
According to Monroe, the umbrella term Wesen derived from an archaic Germanic root meaning ‘a being’ or ‘essence.’ Ancient mythologies claimed their lineage stretched back thousands of years to early human civilizations, where certain bloodlines possessed the ability to shift into animalistic demi-human forms—giving rise to early human legends of therianthropic deities like Anubis, Khepri, and Horus.
Nick took the mythological framing with a grain of salt—it sounded like a romanticized narrative meant to give monster bloodlines an aura of nobility.
In practical terms, Wesen functioned as a broad biological classification, much like the term ‘human.’ Just as humanity was divided into distinct ethnic and genetic groups, Wesen were divided into hundreds of distinct species, each with unique physical traits, instincts, and behavioral patterns.
The single unifying characteristic across all species was their ability to woge—a physical or perceptual transformation into their true, animalistic forms, usually triggered by heightened emotional states like anger, fear, or territorial threat.
This transformation manifested in two distinct modes: passive and active.
During a passive woge, the transformation was purely perceptual.
Ordinary human eyes remained entirely blind to the shift, seeing only a normal person.
Only individuals carrying the active bloodline of a Grimm could see the monster’s true face peeking through the human mask.
During an active woge, however, a Wesen physically shifted their flesh and bone, revealing their true form to the open world.
In this state, they gained enhanced physical capabilities—heightened strength, razor-sharp claws, thermal vision, or lethal bite force—making them lethal apex predators compared to ordinary civilians.
Historically, Grimms and Wesen hadn’t always been involved in a perpetual blood feud; ancient lore hinted that early Grimms had acted as arbiters or guardians between human villages and wild packs.
However, centuries of conflict had created a total rift.
As predatory Wesen species repeatedly preyed upon human populations, certain human bloodlines evolved specialized perceptual abilities to track and eliminate them.
Generation after generation of Grimm hunters documented their encounters, compiling meticulous logs of physical traits, behavioral habits, weaknesses, and specialized weapons required to execute each species.
Those ancestral journals formed the basis of the family records Monroe had mentioned.
Over the centuries, redacted or heavily sanitized excerpts of those logs leaked into European folklore, eventually being compiled into published volumes like Grimms’ Fairy Tales.
Meanwhile, the raw, unedited execution records remained guarded within Grimm bloodlines as Grimm’s Journals.
Hearing this, Nick raised an eyebrow.
“So you’re telling me that when a Wesen passively woges, they don’t even realize their human mask slipped—but if a Grimm spots them, it almost always ends in a fight to the death?
Doesn’t that make the Grimm look like the aggressor?”
Monroe scratched his neck nervously, looking troubled.
“You have to understand how it feels from our side.
When a Wesen passively shifts around another Wesen, it’s just a subtle pulse of emotion.
But when we lock eyes with a Grimm…
it’s a horror show.”
Monroe leaned forward, his voice dropping to an anxious whisper.
“For thousands of years, the absolute terror of a Grimm has been wired into our genetic memory.
When we look into your eyes, your pupils don’t reflect light normally—they turn pitch black, like a deep, bottomless void.
When a Wesen sees that black reflection, we don’t see a cop.
We see our own bloody executioner standing over our corpse.”
Nick finally understood.
He now understood why the drug dealer in the alley had panicked the moment their eyes met, screaming in terror before drawing a weapon.
He understood why the elegant businesswoman in the high-end suit had paled and fled down the sidewalk the second she accidentally shifted in his presence.
They weren’t reacting to his police uniform.
They were reacting to his eyes.
Nick let out a quiet breath, tentatively seeking confirmation.
“So…
when you looked at me earlier, you didn’t see me turn into some kind of monster?”
Monroe looked genuinely insulted.
“What do you mean ‘monster’?
I’ll have you know my human form is very respectable, and my Blutbad form is majestic!
I am an apex predator!”
Nick recalled the sight of Monroe’s protruding snout, bristle-like fur, and yellowed fangs from earlier that afternoon.
While he strongly disagreed with the word ‘majestic,’ he chose not to argue the point.
Monroe spread his hands, offering a blunt warning.
“Look, I’ve laid all my cards on the table.
But don’t get arrogant, man.
Not every Wesen is going to freeze like a deer in headlights or run away when they spot a Grimm.
Some of the nastier species will try to rip your throat out before you can pull that Sig on your table.”
Nick offered a small, dry smile.
“Thanks for the heads-up.
Someone already tried that a few weeks back.
They didn’t make it to the hospital.”
Monroe suddenly froze, his jaw dropping as realization struck him.
He snapped his fingers, pointing an accusatory finger at Nick.
“Aha!
I knew you looked familiar!
The alley shootout on the news last month!
You’re the cop who won that quick-draw duel!”