(Grimm Studies)

Ben flashed his teammates an almost casual grin as he slid his chair back, leaving his pen on the desk in front of him. The easy, relaxed expression covered up the preparatory tightening of his muscles and the quickening of his heart. It only took him a moment to reach the room’s clear floor, obviously prepared for this very occasion, and he moved to take a position opposite the cage. Port was addressing the class as a whole, but Ben wasn’t really listening to it. He didn’t need to.

All eyes, at that moment, were on him. Hs teammates’, his classmates’, the professor’s, they were all paying attention. Ready to evaluate his performance. Evaluate [i]him[/i]. This was his only chance for a first impression. If, and he hated himself for indulging the hypothetical, he failed, he’d do harm to his reputation. Failure to pass the exam already marred his reputation. He needed to make up for that.

[i]No pressure.[/i] He thought dryly, reaching to his belt. [i]Time to show them why we’re here.[/i]

With practiced ease he pulled his tonfa from his belt, one in either hand. Lawnslot his left, Artorius his right. He pulled his shoulders back and held the position, the stretch loosening up his shoulders. With a deft flick of each wrist he flipped his tonfa out from his arms, facing the points forward, before bringing them back. Their spines ran along the bone of his forearm, cool even through the sleeves of his shirt. The shotgun barrels were loaded only with a shot or two each, things he’d prefer to avoid using in the classroom if he could. Granted, the classroom was set up so as to minimize the danger to observers. It wasn’t likely to be an issue. He could act without too much worry for restraint.

Sinking into a light-footed stance, left foot and arm leading his guard with the right towards the rear, he waited. A single nod to Port confirmed his readiness.

And a single move from the professor released his opponent.

The beast was only a cub, he knew, but that didn’t make it any less inherently unnerving to have a wendigo charging at you. Thousand of years of human evolution, hardwired deep into the fabric of his being, kicked in. The first urge was to get out of the way, and this time, Benjamin obliged it. He stepped to his right, pivoting on the spot to keep his left forearm between him and the Grimm. He was rewarded, almost instantly, with the sound and feeling of claws raking down Lawnslot’s length, kept from his arm only by a few inches of metal. Bastion’s leader didn’t waste time, flipping Artorius’ tip forward with a flick of his wrist and driving it towards the wendigo’s exposed flank. The blade glanced along the beast’s side, but missed its mark as the Grimm lunged aside. 


It was now that Ben got his first real look at the creature. A Wendigo, one of the more menacing creatures that roamed the land. It was only a cub but it still stood as tall as, even slightly taller than, his waist. Its long scythe-like tail twitched, a low, quiet sign of the black beast’s rage. Its flanks were free from scars, save his own blow, unlike its fully grown kin; a fully grown Wendigo, a voice in the back of his head reminded him, would be both as large as a horse and criss-crossed with scars from previous wounds. They had an ability to heal, and each scar was a badge of honor. Proof of a fight survived. 

Ben had retreated a few steps, putting a little distance between him and the beast. The Wendigo didn’t contest the move, lips curled back in a silent snarl under cruelly intelligent red eyes. Stillness, for a moment, pervaded the room like an oppressive blanket. Nothing moved, not the Grimm, not Ben, and not the class. A low, hair-raising howl split the silence, growing in volume severity as it issued forth from the cub’s throat. It lunged without further warning, all four paws leaving the floor as it hurled itself at Ben with hatred in its eyes. The huntsman in training sidestepped again, and the Wendigo landed smoothly…

Only to lash out with its tail, the scythe intercepted in the nick of time by Lawnslot. But the natural, curved blade, rather than being deflected, grabbed the weapon, yanking it down and aside while the Wendigo stabbed its claws for Ben’s unprotected gut. He batted its forearm aside with Artorius, but none too soon. One of its claws cut the side of his shirt, not far from his own side. This move, however, had forced the Grimm into an untenable position with a foreleg too far extended, and its second primary weapon occupied with Lawnslot. A fact that was soon demonstrated quite clearly when Ben planted his foot in its underside, causing it to stumble back with an angry growl. [i]Wendigo, as far as Grimm go, are pretty smart. They learn. But… Means they can be tricked.[/i]

The beast sensed weakness. It had found a chink in the armor, a flaw in the defenses, and it wasted no time in exploiting it, advancing with another swing of its tail. But this time Ben was ready. He blocked easily with Artorius, stopping the Grimm’s scythe easily. Blocking with the right, rather than the left, permitted the force to be distributed throughout his stance. Lawnslot’s blade lashed out, cleanly removing the scythe from its owner. The Wendigo shrieked in rage and pain, and Ben felt his blood chill at the sound, but it would not be deterred. It wasn’t as smart as older Grimm, and it threw caution to the wind with its rage, hurling itself at Ben with the intent to sink its teeth into his throat.

But its jaws closed, instead, around Lawnslot’s blade and spine, stopped half a foot from his neck. A close call, at first glance. But the distance was intentional. His right leg was a half-step back, providing a bracing point to maintain his position, as well as enable him to step into his next strike. 

Ben flicked his wrist, realigning Artorius’ blade forward, also realigning its shotgun barrel to point back along his forearm. His right foot took a step forward, forcing the beast back on its hindlegs, exposing its underside as well as granting extra power to the thrust of his weapon that followed. He triggered the firearm even as he struck, the recoil combining with the strength of his arm to bury the blade deep in the Wendigo’s torso. The beast gave one last growl, more spiteful than menacing now, before petering off as the Grimm dissolved away to nothing. 

Bastion’s leader could feel the exhilaration of the fight rushing through his veins, good old fashioned adrenaline, and could feel his heart pumping rhythmically in his chest. Nothing got the ticker pumping like a brawl, and he knew it would be a moment before it started to settle to its normal resting pulse. Almost idly, he glanced at the tear the Grimm had left in his clothes.

“Damn. I kinda liked this shirt.”