You quickly head down the staircase of the basement, descending into the dark basement, lit by a dim candle. You slow down as you notice the counters piled with jars filled to the brim with red liquid. A bloody metal table sits there with unopened leather straps, a series of tubing and IV's connected to it. You're certain that it's equipment to drain the blood of victims the Thrall captures, to feed his master when he doesn't wish to hunt for himself.

However, the highlight of the room is a large, ornate coffin, leaning against a concrete wall. You've seen enough coffins in your life for any man, but this one is a fairly nice one. It's solid wood, cherry, with brass handles, sitting up on its side so its resident can sleep standing up. The face on the front of the coffin shows a grinning, gargoyle-like face made of brass, its eyes shining at you. You flinch at the sight of it, nervous about what lies behind it.

"Let's do it," Father Féval says.

You hurry up to the coffin, readying your shotgun as Father Féval takes the other side.

"I take the chest, you take the head," you say, as Father Féval nods.

Quickly, the two of you perform the breaching mechanism. Swinging around and standing back, you quickly measure the size of the coffin and roughly calculate where the center of its heart is. You aim, your fingers tightening on the trigger as you fire the weapon, as does Father Féval.

Your shotgun bucks, firing lead and magnesium shards directly through the heavy wood of the coffin. You fire three times as the wood splinters and explodes away, your shells bursting through them as they tear through the coffin. Father Féval's rounds tear through where the head of the vampire should lie, bursting through the wood and hitting through inside. After a few seconds, the sound of gunfire calms as you look at Father Féval.

"Let us confirm the kill," Father Féval says.

Stepping forward, you grab the handle of the coffin and wretch it open, tearing open the splintered and almost destroyed door. Staring inside, you find splintered wood and torn apart coffin... but no vampire, or no ash to show a clean kill.

"That was expensive," a dark, chilling voice says. "You'll pay for that."

Your voice chills when you hear the voice, but you know it's not the time for tears. Turning your head, you find yourself staring up at a tall, deathly pale figure standing behind Father Féval, its arms wrapped around him, baring a pair of ivory daggers that descend from its upper jaw, fangs so sharp and long they could tear out Father Féval's throat in an instant. It's skin seems almost entirely hairless except for the thick black hair that hangs down from its head. Its eyes, however... its blood red eyes betray an inhumanity that you'll never be able to comprehend.

"Don't move, or your friend gets it," the Vampire says. "Drop your weapons. Slowly."

"Shoot it!" Father Féval gasps, as the Vampire steps almost perfectly behind the priest, obscuring your shot.

Surrender isn't an option. This creature needs to die, or neither you nor Father Féval will ever get out of here.

> You wait for a better opportunity
You stand, stern and waiting with your shotgun raised. The Vampire laughs, his fangs bared as he holds them above Father Féval's neck. Father Féval simply stands perfectly still, slowing his breathing as he stares blankly ahead, slowly mouthing "Do it".

"Come on!" the Vampire laughs, reaching his arm down and tapping on exactly where Father Féval's heart is. "Right here. Blow out your friend's heart and maybe you'll get me. You'll get rid of my shield, either way."

With the Vampire's arm having moved around to Father Féval's chest, Father Féval's hand has been released. Father Féval slowly reaches his hand down to his belt, staring ahead. He slowly lifts up his jacket, reaching under to grab the silver crucifix affixed to his belt. He slides the cross free, holding it tightly in his hands. He looks at you, nodding ever so slightly in an almost imperceptible gesture. Father Féval swings his arm back in one solid gesture, jamming the crucifix into the Vampire's eye.

The Vampire screams, a horrible rasping noise of anger and pain beyond what should come out of any human lungs, like the scraping of concrete on concrete. It grabs at the crucifix jamming into it's eye, hissing as Father Féval ducks out of his grasp, rolling to the side, giving you the perfect open target.

You raise your shotgun, aiming it at the vampire's heart. You squeeze the trigger, doing what you should. The blast of lead and burning Magnesium shards tear through the air, bursting forward and exploding through his heart, and causing his flesh and clothes to catch up in flames. He screams out in pain, forced backwards from the sheer force of impact. You pump your shotgun, firing another blast as it hits the Vampire in the head, which snaps back as his head erupts through melting flesh. You pump another, and another, and another round into him, as his inhuman body erupts into fire, flesh turning into ash as he collapses backwards against the wall, the force of the shells leaving the Vampire stumbling back as it gasps. It's flesh continues burning away to ash as the creature collapses to the ground, and soon there's nothing but an ash pile left.

"Thanks," Father Féval nods, looking down at the ash pile that was previously about to tear out his throat. "We should burn this wretched place to the ground and get out of here. Too much of a story here if they find the blood extraction equipment."

A bright ringing noise startles you from behind, and you almost open fire in that direction as you redraw your revolver. You find yourself staring at a simple cellphone sitting on a table, vibrating and ringing away. You pause, looking at it with confusion.

"What is it?" Father Féval asks you.

"A phone," you answer, as you walk over slowly, reaching down and flipping open the phone, lifting it to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr Matasan."

Your blood chills for a moment, as you take a deep breath, terror ringing through you.

"And who may I be speaking to?"

"My name is Hrólfr Gaange. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Is there something I can help you with?" you ask.

"You don't seem particularly afraid, Mr Matasan."

"Should I be, Mr Gaange?" you ask, trying to keep your calm.

"Of course not. It's just refreshing to speak to a new person without them being so terrified. Now, let's be quite frank, Mr Matasan. You killed one of my agents, and their thrall, did you not?"

"I did," you say, not wanting to waste the time that would've come from lying, since you know the creature's certain about these facts.

"Interesting. Good. He was a weak, impulsive creature. He wasn't useful. Quite frankly, he was a threat to our existence. But you... you could be of assistance to me. You have potential. I want you to work for me."

"No," you reply, almost instantly, prompting a dark chuckle from the bastard.

"I understand. You've dedicated your life to protecting the innocent. But, so have I, Mr Matasan. I may be a vampire, but I do what's necessary for this world. I don't stalk through the streets at night attacking helpless women hiding in their beds. I'm not one of these crass specimens that wants to blot out the sun, or who wants to enslave mankind, or raise a legion of damned souls. I like the world the way it is. And I'm going to keep it safe from darker creatures of the night. I keep the world of darkness under wraps, as you do. I keep my dark brethren in check. I protect society. You could help me with that, and do a far better job than you do as a mortal."

"No," you say again.

"Think about what I'm offering you. Immortality, riches, power, strength, speed, intelligence. Everything you could want."

"I can't do that, Mr Gaange. I think you already knew that, though."

"Oh, I did. But I'm not looking to recruit you right now. I'm offering you a favor. You types never take the power offer. You don't join my side out of power-lust. You join out of desperation. A day will come when you need me. Perhaps you need some arcane knowledge. Perhaps you need money. Perhaps a cure for some unknown disease. Anything you ever need. Just... keep this phone. My number is under Mr Black. Generic, i know. When you need me, call. I can give you anything you want. And what do you lose for that? Your finite mortality, your weakness, your diseases, your poverty... a fair bargain, no."

"I'm not going to..." you begin to see, before a dark voice interupts you.

"Keep the phone. I know you don't think you'll need it, but you might. I'll talk to you sooner or later, Mr Matasan. Best of luck to you tonight. I've heard it'll be a big one."

The phone beeps as Mr Gaange hangs up on you.

"What was it?" Father Féval asks.

"The target's vampiric master."

"What did he say?"

You pause, looking down at your phone as you try to think through what to do. You know Féval wouldn't support you taking the phone, but he doesn't have to know what was discussed.
> You take the phone
Thinking long and hard, you decide to take the phone. Perhaps it could be of some use. Maybe. Hopefully, you never have to use it, but you didn't survive this long in the field by turning away potential gifts, and you're not going to start now. Everything you can use in the fight against darkness, you will use.You slide the phone into one of your secure pockets, buttoning it up and patting it to make sure it's secure.

"Nothing important," you say. "Just threats and bullshit. I'll take the phone back to the techs and see if they can trace the call, find us a master."

"It won't work," Father Féval says. "It'll be untraceable. Vampires, especially masters, are far too clever to do things like this. Far too clever."

"I want to try," you lie.

"So be it," Father Féval answers. "Let us begin the clean-up, William. We have a lot of work to do. The techs can wait."

You nod, and the two of you quickly set apart eradicating the evidence this place ever existed. The two of you pack up the jars of blood into the truck, for disposal somewhere that won't be investigated. You also take the IV and tubing, before grabbing your fuel cans. You quickly perform the same patterns, spreading it through the house evenly enough, focusing on that you need destroyed and that which is most flammable. With the two of you, the clean-up is surprisingly quickly the two of you working quickly in silence neither one of you wants to break. Once that's done, you head out of the house and set the home alight, watching as the flames run through the house and engulf it in an inferno.

"A job well done," Father Féval nods. "One more soul sent to its judgment. We should get back. There is more work to be done. Unless you would like to watch the house burn? Pyromania is a common turn for many a man in this line of duty, no?"

You don't feel like watching the house burn, not feeling the usual satisfaction of watching a lair of darkness light the shadows as a beacon of warmth and light. You just feel tired, even more so knowing that you're not finished your work tonight.

"No, I'm fine. Let's go," you answer.

Father Féval nods, shaking your hand before returning to his sedan, and heading off into the night. You head back to your truck as well, climbing in and heading off down the road again. The drive goes by quickly, as you turn your radio up until it's almost blaring some inane Norwegian pop song, and continue off down the road.

It's not long before you pull up to the old country house again. The signs of the night's lateness are more obvious, now. A few of the vehicles parked outside are dented or have blood smears or bullet holes, and the Hunters that walk about them seem more exhausted. You head into the house, taking a moment to appreciate the light of the fireplace. But, the night is still young, and you have targets to hit.

You walk towards the sitting room, one of the old house's converted into a "base of operations" of sorts. Although as Hunters, you tend to work independently, only using the Lodge for resources, resupplying and rest, as well as letting them know every so often you're not dead in the long periods of investigation and tracking in trying to find the lairs and dens of beasts, and trying to distinguish psychos and fools from men tainted by the demonic, or worse.

However, it's the night of the Hunt, that beautiful night of the year where you wipe out the monsters that dwell in the shadows in one quick sweep, not even giving the bastards time to flee or figure out what's going on. And on the night of the Hunt, sometimes you need to work together. While maddened werewolves and loner vampires are easy prey with modern technology, hard-work, training and of course the element of surprise, when the creatures of darkness work together, so must you. When that happens, you plan and prepare in the lounge.

You walk into the lodge, finding a large table with a map stretched across it. A half dozen men stand around it, all of whom you recognize as veteran Hunters. The leader of the group is the head of the Lodge, a man known as Ernest Collier. The old man's scarred, wrinkled face smiles at you as you enter. Ernest's too old at his age to still hunt, having since lost the physical peak that Hunters are required to be at, but his mind is strong and he's well experienced. Thus, he serves the cause through leading the lodge. Everything from supplying Hunters to recruiting to planning the larger hunts falls under his purview.

"William. I heard your hunt with Father Féval went well. I'm glad. How did your earlier target go?"

"Successfully," you say simply.

The next man in the room you see is Father Féval, who nods at you once more. As always, cold and calculated.

After him stands former-Unteroffizer Hans Hirsch. The tall man has dark black hair and light eyes, his face decorated with a long scar that goes vertically just left of his left eye. He leans over the table, scanning the map. His finger gently runs across hunting paths through the thick forest as he whispers to himself. Hans is a strange man, with a taste for drink, cigars, cigarettes, whores, gambling... anything he can get his hands on. But, he's a good hunter, having served in the military of his home country and having a great record on all his previous hunts.

The final man is an Alaskan by the name of Russel Sloane. Time has taken the black from his thick beard and the hair from his head, but left the man's strength, speed and cunning, and only given him experience and wisdom for the trade. He's a powerful Hunter, and took the shift from bears and wolves to Kushtaka and Tupilaq with ease. He smiles at you grimly when you enter, his face showing a hint of more worry than usual.

"Are we ready to start?" you ask.

"We're waiting on someone," Russel says.

As you raise an eyebrow, the door swings open and you find yourself staring down at a young boy, barely in his mid teens.

"This is my boy Wyatt. Now that's he's a full man, we'll be taking him on tonight's hunt, showing him how we fight. I filled him in on the details."

"Pleasure to meet y'all," he smiles nervously, as you look him up and down.

He's young, short, weak and skinny. You don't think he should be coming out, but he's a man more than you would normally have for this mission, and you're not going to be telling his father how to raise his own child.

"Take a seat, Wyatt," Ernest smiles. "We're going to go over tonight's details."

Ernest takes a seat, as you stare down at the map ahead of you, which shows you a massive woods, with several hunting paths, potential lairs and scenes of incidents highlighted.

"Let's recap for those who didn't get to hear it directly from me!" Ernest says. "There's been several mauling's in these areas, and we've had reports a werewolf pack is responsible. Not just one werewolf, but an entire pack of about six to twelve creatures. We're taking a small team in their to set up an ambush, draw them out and kill them all. The plans' simple. Take a truck into the woods with a mutilated deer carcass, slathered in human blood. The scent should draw the werewolves into your area, where you'll have set up an overview to take them out. Simple."

You all nod, the review of your plan unnecessary for everyone but Wyatt.

"We're heading off in an hour and a half. I want all of you prepared and by the truck for then, understood?"

There's a chorus of affirmatives, as Ernest smiles.

"Good to know. Best of luck, men."
> You prepare for the night's final hunt
You head to the old house's dining room, where a large wooden table sits. It's empty, the rest of the Hunters out and about in the world. The kitchen is brimming with the light and heat that activity tends to bring. A scarred Hunter is busy working in it, cooking an extensive meal. You vaguely know her, a young Spaniard by the name of Lola Garcia. The hunter's missing three fingers on her right hand and her right eye from a Gargoyle attack, so she's on recovery and acting as the Lodge chef for the time being.

Tonight's meal, as with most Lodge meals, is very garlic heavy. Traditionally, Hunters have lots of garlic. In the old days, when the Hunters first rose up, garlic was an invaluable tool. Many monsters of the night could easily track a human via smell, so the first Hunters used garlic to disguise their scent and confuse their prey. Of course, it wasn't long before the smell of garlic became associated with Hunters, and they had to change tactic. Still, garlic is still popular among the Hunters as a meal, both to keep up the tradition and for a good luck charm.

Tonight, the meal is potatoes, lamb and gravy, flavored with garlic. You take a bowl, returning to your seat with the rest of your squad of Hunters. While you didn't feel hungry during the night's exploits, now that the food is in front of you and you get to smell it, you feel just how hungry you are. You quickly grab your knife and fork, and begin wolfing it down. Within a minute flat, your bowl is empty, and you have to weigh up having any bit of respect from your peers against the joy you'd get from licking the bowl clean.

Afterwards, you head to the main bathroom. You shower yourself, a nice treat, washing off the dirt, sweat, blood and grime that's coated you over the night's events. Having the hot water stream over your skin has a cleansing, almost purifying effect on you. You make sure to scrub extensively, trying to wipe off any scent of your "human side" that might be lingering. Afterwards, you get dressed in your best hiking boots and what clothing you have that's warm, tough and flexible, which is admittedly pretty much everything you have. You pack up your shotgun with its shells filled with silver shards as well as a hunting dagger with a silver edge and your revolver. Making sure you have all the survival gear you need, you head out to the truck.

With twenty minutes left in the day, you move to your desk. It's laid out with your papers, your grinder, your filters and a large bag of your personal supply of Marijuana that helps you get through the darkest nights with the worst nightmares, pulling out your record player. You quickly flick through what few Vinyl you have, before going back to the one you most often return to. With (What's the Story) Morning Glory? emblazoned proudly across the top, you smile as you remember your father giving it to you for your eighteenth. Dad actually had a taste for music, and always liked them, as did you. You flip on the vinyl, setting your alarm for fifteen minutes, and sink into your desk chair as the songs play.

The next fifteen minutes is a thoughtless bliss of unforming memories, but soon, your alarm bleeps you awake, and you head out to the others. The group is assembling outside, taking a worn out pick-up. Russel and Wyatt are loading a moose carcass into the back of the truck, while Hans, Father Féval are already getting into the truck. You quickly hurry up, as Russel looks at you.

"Willy! You ready for this?"

"Always am," you nod, as Russel hands you a jar of golden liquid.

You uncap the jar, gently sprinkling the deer piss over your coat. Thanks to werewolves' naturally keen sense of smell, it's best to coat yourself in this disguise, despite how disgusting it is to you.

"Ha! Perfect! Let's go! I'm driving up front with Frenchie and the German. You can come up front with us or sit up with Wyatt and the bait."

You look at Wyatt, who looks pale and nervous, a hunting rifle in his hands. His father is either indifferent to his son's fears or ignorant of them. Part of you wants to sit in the front where it's warm, but another part of you feels like you should comfort Wyatt.
> You take the front seat
"I'll go in the front. It's cold tonight," you say, swinging your shotgun into the front of the pick-up and clambering in next to Hans. He looks at you, a cigarette sitting between his lips.

"William," he says. "You look tired, my friend. How's hunting been?"

"Been better. Been worse," you say. "Confirmed kills, no injuries, no escapes. I've had worse days," you say.

"I hear that. Had to track down this fucking "werewolf" for two months. Found out it was nothing but a very cunning wolf. I was playing the role of a normal human hunter for two months."

The truck pulls off, barreling down the road. You lean back in your seat, the car heading deep into the woods. You rest your shotgun against your shoulder, staring out the window. It's a silent journey, with all of the veterans of the hunt being far too quiet for any inane chatter, especially before the hunt.

It's a long, boring drive, as you watch the tress pass by, shrouded by shadow. It's a waiting game until the drop zone, as you focus on nothing at all and let your mind drift to avoid getting yourself psyched out.

"We're about fifteen minutes out from the drop soon. We debark in ten, then we hike into the target spot and set up," Russel says. "This'll be a good one, boy, don't you worry."

You stare out the window at the darkened trees, waiting patiently. Russel Sloane, perhaps nervous bringing his boy out, tries to start a conversation.

"The moon's out pretty bright tonight, isn't it, b... Shit, shit, shit!"

Suddenly, the car swerves, as you hear the recognizable sound of car tires bursting. The car slams off the road, hitting the embarkment as you find yourself momentarily free-falling. You panic, reaching for your rifle, before the world goes black.
> You consciousness fades...
You open your eyes as blurry vision returns to you. You're covered in broken glass and enveloped in darkness, but your eyes slowly begin to make sense of your surroundings. You're sitting in the truck, looking around as you hear the nearby howls of nearing werewolves. You blink, feeling a rush of pain go through your numb body. Your skin is grazed and cut up, blood running down your skin as your bruised flesh and broken bones scream out to you in pain.

Turning your head to the side, you see that the side door is open, with Hans leaning against the door with an assault rifle in his hands. He looks around rapidly, blood dripping down his face from a large cut on his forehead.

"Guys! We have to get out of here!" he yells. "Let's go."

You look to the front of the car, where Father Féval is either dead or unconscious, while Russel is stirring from unconscious the same as you.

Gunfire erupts out as Hans begins opening fire at the shadows. You watch as he sprays the woods with gunfire.

"We need to go! Come on!" he screams.

You reach down, trying to unbuckle your seatbelt, before you see Hans smashed from the side, a wall of fur and teeth tearing him off into the darkness as he screams. You unbuckle your seatbelt, deciding what to do. You're in a confusing situation, heavily injured, being attacked by an unknown force of werewolves. You're practically out of options.
> You grab your shotgun and open fire
You fumble for your shotgun, grabbing your weapon and sliding out of the car. You grab the car’s broken door frame, lowering yourself onto your better leg. Wincing as you prop yourself up, you raise your shotgun and aim it at the night. The darkness is alive, with figures darting in and out of the threes. You only get terrifying glimpses of blood-coated teeth glistening, fur matted with gore or claws that could rend your flesh from your bone in an instance.

As the shadows grow closer, the light of the moon seems to retreat, letting the darkness consume the trees and what dwells with in them. You hear Hans' screaming off to the side, before it's cut silent with a sickening crunch of tearing sinew and snapping bones. Your breath catches in your throat, but it's not the time for whimpering or weakness. You raise your shotgun, firing into the night at the creatures. You blast at the trees, and one of your shots rewards you with a pained yelp from one of the creatures, causing you to grin. You continue firing, before you hear the sound of crushed glass and the thud of something heavy landing on metal behind you, shortly replaced by the low, bestial ground of your night's "prey".

You pause, hearing the noise behind you. Slowing your breathing, you know what's going to happen, and take solace knowing your time has come. Hoping you give the bastard something to remember you by, you drop to your knee, rolling to the side and firing your shotgun directly at the werewolf. Silver back burns through its fur and flesh, and it lets out a howl of pain and anger, swiping its claw as you. The blade-like claws tear through your throat, killing you instantly, but as your body collapses to the ground, you know you at least made the monster suffer.


You open your eyes as blurry vision returns to you. You're covered in broken glass and enveloped in darkness, but your eyes slowly begin to make sense of your surroundings. You're sitting in the truck, looking around as you hear the nearby howls of nearing werewolves. You blink, feeling a rush of pain go through your numb body. Your skin is grazed and cut up, blood running down your skin as your bruised flesh and broken bones scream out to you in pain.

Turning your head to the side, you see that the side door is open, with Hans leaning against the door with an assault rifle in his hands. He looks around rapidly, blood dripping down his face from a large cut on his forehead.

"Guys! We have to get out of here!" he yells. "Let's go."

You look to the front of the car, where Father Féval is either dead or unconscious, while Russel is stirring from unconscious the same as you.

Gunfire erupts out as Hans begins opening fire at the shadows. You watch as he sprays the woods with gunfire.

"We need to go! Come on!" he screams.

You reach down, trying to unbuckle your seatbelt, before you see Hans smashed from the side, a wall of fur and teeth tearing him off into the darkness as he screams. You unbuckle your seatbelt, deciding what to do. You're in a confusing situation, heavily injured, being attacked by an unknown force of werewolves. You're practically out of options.
> You play dead
You go limp, lying still as you feign death. You wait, gently sniffing and listening intently to try get a sense of the situation now that you're lacking a sense. You hear the howls of werewolves as they prowl among the wreckage. You stay quiet, hoping that they'll be leaving soon.

The top of the car crunches as a werewolf clambers atop it, climbing down as it sniffs in at the car. You hear a groan, before its replaced by  a horrified scream as Russel is torn apart. Then, you hear the crunch of glass as the werewolf clambers through the car's front window. There's a moment of silence, before you hear the quiet sniffing of a werewolf just inches from your face.
> You grab your blade
You reach down, grabbing your blade and drawing it, before the werewolf's claw smashes into your shoulder, breaking your bone and crushing your flesh. The werewolf raises his claw, slashing down as he tears through your chest, rending flesh from bone in an instance.

You scream as your skin is exposed to reveal flesh, which is soon shredded off to reveal ribs and internal organs. You scream, before the shock and blood loss quickly tear you off into the eternal darkness.


You go limp, lying still as you feign death. You wait, gently sniffing and listening intently to try get a sense of the situation now that you're lacking a sense. You hear the howls of werewolves as they prowl among the wreckage. You stay quiet, hoping that they'll be leaving soon.

The top of the car crunches as a werewolf clambers atop it, climbing down as it sniffs in at the car. You hear a groan, before its replaced by  a horrified scream as Russel is torn apart. Then, you hear the crunch of glass as the werewolf clambers through the car's front window. There's a moment of silence, before you hear the quiet sniffing of a werewolf just inches from your face.
> You continue playing dead
Staying limp, you keep your muscles from making any spasms or movements whatsoever, as the creature's massive snout keeps sniffing. It lets out a low growl, before its jaws snap forward, tearing into your throat.

You try to scream, but your throat is torn out and you find yourself drowning in your own blood. You can faintly hear a howl as darkness sucks you away, before you're gone.


You head to the old house's dining room, where a large wooden table sits. It's empty, the rest of the Hunters out and about in the world. The kitchen is brimming with the light and heat that activity tends to bring. A scarred Hunter is busy working in it, cooking an extensive meal. You vaguely know her, a young Spaniard by the name of Lola Garcia. The hunter's missing three fingers on her right hand and her right eye from a Gargoyle attack, so she's on recovery and acting as the Lodge chef for the time being.

Tonight's meal, as with most Lodge meals, is very garlic heavy. Traditionally, Hunters have lots of garlic. In the old days, when the Hunters first rose up, garlic was an invaluable tool. Many monsters of the night could easily track a human via smell, so the first Hunters used garlic to disguise their scent and confuse their prey. Of course, it wasn't long before the smell of garlic became associated with Hunters, and they had to change tactic. Still, garlic is still popular among the Hunters as a meal, both to keep up the tradition and for a good luck charm.

Tonight, the meal is potatoes, lamb and gravy, flavored with garlic. You take a bowl, returning to your seat with the rest of your squad of Hunters. While you didn't feel hungry during the night's exploits, now that the food is in front of you and you get to smell it, you feel just how hungry you are. You quickly grab your knife and fork, and begin wolfing it down. Within a minute flat, your bowl is empty, and you have to weigh up having any bit of respect from your peers against the joy you'd get from licking the bowl clean.

Afterwards, you head to the main bathroom. You shower yourself, a nice treat, washing off the dirt, sweat, blood and grime that's coated you over the night's events. Having the hot water stream over your skin has a cleansing, almost purifying effect on you. You make sure to scrub extensively, trying to wipe off any scent of your "human side" that might be lingering. Afterwards, you get dressed in your best hiking boots and what clothing you have that's warm, tough and flexible, which is admittedly pretty much everything you have. You pack up your shotgun with its shells filled with silver shards as well as a hunting dagger with a silver edge and your revolver. Making sure you have all the survival gear you need, you head out to the truck.

With twenty minutes left in the day, you move to your desk. It's laid out with your papers, your grinder, your filters and a large bag of your personal supply of Marijuana that helps you get through the darkest nights with the worst nightmares, pulling out your record player. You quickly flick through what few Vinyl you have, before going back to the one you most often return to. With (What's the Story) Morning Glory? emblazoned proudly across the top, you smile as you remember your father giving it to you for your eighteenth. Dad actually had a taste for music, and always liked them, as did you. You flip on the vinyl, setting your alarm for fifteen minutes, and sink into your desk chair as the songs play.

The next fifteen minutes is a thoughtless bliss of unforming memories, but soon, your alarm bleeps you awake, and you head out to the others. The group is assembling outside, taking a worn out pick-up. Russel and Wyatt are loading a moose carcass into the back of the truck, while Hans, Father Féval are already getting into the truck. You quickly hurry up, as Russel looks at you.

"Willy! You ready for this?"

"Always am," you nod, as Russel hands you a jar of golden liquid.

You uncap the jar, gently sprinkling the deer piss over your coat. Thanks to werewolves' naturally keen sense of smell, it's best to coat yourself in this disguise, despite how disgusting it is to you.

"Ha! Perfect! Let's go! I'm driving up front with Frenchie and the German. You can come up front with us or sit up with Wyatt and the bait."

You look at Wyatt, who looks pale and nervous, a hunting rifle in his hands. His father is either indifferent to his son's fears or ignorant of them. Part of you wants to sit in the front where it's warm, but another part of you feels like you should comfort Wyatt.
> You get in the back with Wyatt and the bait
"I'll take the back," you say. "Cabin's just going to stink of deer piss anyway."

"Suit yourself," Russel says.

You walk over to the boot of the truck, clambering in. You step over the deer carcass, sitting down next to the young boy, who stares at you.

"Hello," the boy says, extending a hand to you. "My name's Wyatt."

"William," you say, shaking his hands.

"Alright, moving off! Let's go!" Russel shouts, the truck heading off the road.

You relax, leaning back and resting your head against the metal back of the truck. You lean your head over, looking at Wyat..

"Scared?" you ask.

Wyatt quickly shakes his head.

"No. No, I'm not."

"I was. My first hunt, I nearly shit myself. Threw up in the bushes from worry, sharpened my knives so much they were almost useless and, if I'm honest, nearly blew off my dad's head when he came to get me. You feel a bit like that?"

Wyatt smiles weakly at you.

"I'm a little scared," the boy admits. "I've hunted deer, wolves, even, but this is a whole different level."

"You should be scared. Fear keeps us alive. Fear is what holds us together."

Wyatt nods as if you've said something profound, but you're half sure he's barely listening as he tries not to piss himself.

The truck pulls off, barreling down the road. You lean back, the truck heading deep into the woods. Your shotgun feels heavy on your shoulder, shaking your head to free it of any sleepiness. It's a silent journey, you not being the type for any inane chatter, especially before the hunt and since Wyatt's trying to keep from puking, a chat seems unlikely.

It's a long, boring drive. You watch the trees pass by, shrouded by shadow. It's a waiting game until the drop zone, as always. You focus on nothing at all and let your mind drift to avoid getting yourself psyched out.

Suddenly,  you feel yourself slam against the side of the truck as the car swerves. There's the sound of tires bursting as you're catapulted up, hands grabbing for your shotgun. The car slams off the road, hitting the embarkment as you find yourself momentarily free-falling, flying out of the back of the truck. You let out a terrified scream, flying through the air, before the world goes black.
> You consciousness fades...
You open your eyes as blurry vision returns to you. You're surrounded by dirt and darkness, but your eyes slowly begin to make sense of your surroundings. You're lying on the cold dirt, next to the road you were just driving along. You blink, feeling a rush of pain go through your numb body. Your skin is grazed and cut up and your flesh bruised, but you don't seem to be in too bad a condition. Certainly capable of walking and fighting.

You force yourself to one knee, your eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. Your is shotgun lying close by you, and feel a breath of relief. You stand cautiously, checking to make sure nothing's broken one more time, before grabbing your shotgun. After making sure it's still loaded, before surveying the situation.

The trees to the side of the road are broken and crushed indicating where the truck must've gone off the road and down into the ravine below. Your eyes are slow to notice it due to it's black paint, but you see a pair of spike strips lying across the road. You stare at them in amazement for a moment, fingers clenched on your weapon.

This doesn't make sense. Werewolves never take human servants, and they're not tool users when transformed. They wouldn't put the spike strips down... unless they knew you were coming... and prepared beforehand.

FUCK! This shitshow's about to get a lot worse. You're dealing with a worse enemy than a pack of maddened werewolves.

Struggling to the edge of the road, you stare down the steep ravine to where the truck lies. It's heavily crushed and damaged, beyond repair. You can hear screams down there, indicating that there's survivors. You doubt any of them are in any condition to defend yourself. But looking down at your current condition, you stand a chance.
> You head down and rescue your team mates
You have to protect your companions, and get them out of there. You can't leave them behind. You hold your shotgun tightly in your hands, before moving forward and darting down the decline. You slide down on your boots, hurrying down as fast as you can. You almost fall into a tumble, but manage to steady yourself, finding yourself on the ground near the wreckage.

You look to the truck, and you can see a mutilated corpse strapped into the driver's seat, and realize Russel didn't even get out of the car. The screams off deeper into the woods don't give you hope for the fate of the others.

"Stay back! Stay back!" a young, terrified voice screams from behind the wreckage.

Swearing, you burst forward, your gun held tightly in your hands. Rushing around the roasting bonfire, you find Wyatt, collapsed on his back, desperately trying to shuffle backwards.

Standing in front of him is a bestial creature you've faced many times before. A werewolf. The creature stands with black and gray fur matted with the gore of a previous kill. The creature growls, revealing a row of vicious teeth that could easily tear through a man.

Your instincts kick in, and you drop to your knee, raising your gun and opening fire. The gun bucks, silver bursting forward and tearing through the werewolf's flesh. The creature howls, as you fire another shot, blowing the creature's head off as its body crumples. You watch as the lupine body begins to morph, shedding air and twisting as it turns into a naked, bloody human corpse, its head completely missing.

"Oh Jesus, oh Jesus! William, they got my dad. They tore him up, and they took Hans off into the woods! Shit, we have to go help him! We have to go save them!"

You hear a loud howl, looking over to see a trio of werewolves appearing out of the woods. At the front, a large creature with frost white hair and pink eyes. The creature begins prowling towards you, its jaws open as it licks its lips. The creature lets out a growl, as the other two werewolves pause, holding back as the creature approaches you. Clearly this one's a leader of some sort, and it wants to take you down by itself as some fucked up pursuit of honor or to show its pack mates its prowess.

You don't have time to think. It's time to act.
> You hold the beast off while Wyatt escapes
You raise your shotgun, firing at the Albino as it charges towards you. The silver shards fly forward, but the creature rolls to the side to avoid the shot, before leaping forward. The Albino tackles you, knocking your weapon aside as it flies through the air. The beast slams into you, tackling you and sending you smashing into the earth. The werewolf's weight lands atop you. Its jaws snap down, tearing through your flesh as it bites into your shoulder. You scream, the Albino gulping down your hot blood and flesh.

The Albino pulls its head up, releasing your torn flesh from its jaws, before looking down at you, your own blood dripping from its jaws onto your chest. It looks at you for a moment with an almost curious expression, tilting its head.

"Come on! Fucking kill me! Kill me, you fucking bastard!" you growl. "Finish me off!"

The Albino looks down at you for a second more, before turning. The Albino looks to its two pack-mates, before howling into the moon. As if answering the creature's call, the two werewolves burst off into the woods after Wyatt. The creature stares back at you for a moment with its blood red eyes, its tooth-filled mouth almost seeming to grin at you for a moment, before the creature bounds off into the woods.

You lie there, bleeding onto the earth as you try to think. The werewolves are acting with high intelligence, even for werewolves. They laid an ambush. They figured out when he hunt was happening, what your paths were and when you'd be coming. They laid out spike strips, so this isn't just the bestial monsters within coming out, they were planning this in their human forms as well.

You don't know what's happening, but you know that this is just the start. These monsters have a terrible plan that you can't just let happen.

A wave of darkness hits you, and for a moment, you feel like sinking into the ground. You try to fight it, but part of you wants to lie there and embrace the peaceful darkness.
> You wait for death
You lie across the dirt, blood wetting the soil as it turns to mud. The darkness slowly grows at the edge of your vision, moving forward as it engulfs your sight, and you find yourself pulled into the darkness.

Suddenly, the pain bursts through you as you begin shuddering in pain. You begin to scream, a sound which shifts into a pained howl of anguish. You can feel your body twisting and breaking, bones snapping and reforming as your limbs are stretched out longer and harder, your body shifting and reforming rapidly. Your face tears apart as it grows and reforms into a snout, as your teeth begin breaking and reforming. The hair rapidly bursts through your skin as it rapidly grows, coating your broken and reforged body into that of a werewolf. The pain tears at your mind and soul, and you're unable to focus on anything other than your instinct to escape it.

Slowly, the pain begins to subside, but you find your mind incapable of reforming, still incapable of focusing in any regard. You shake your head with a growl, feeling the air blow through your fur, the smell of nearby prey, the crunching of soil under your paws. But most importantly, you feel the powerful call of the moon above you.

Yes... that's it. It calls. Suddenly, instinct takes over, and you find yourself sprinting through the woods, howling into the sky.

An array of howls answer back, and you follow the call.
> The Call of the Moon
The Call of the Moon

You find yourself standing with your brothers, two dozen werewolves standing around the Alpha, howling towards the sky. The energy is ecstatic, running through the group as the Alpha answers your calls with a roar so ferocious and powerful that you're left in awe. This is your time! Fenrir calls! It is hunting time!

War. Victory. Power. Blood. Hate. Anger! Hunger! Feed! HUNT! KILL! EAT!

The Alpha pauses for a moment, as a still runs across the pack. Its eyes lower from the bright, powerful moon, and towards the direction of the humans. You look towards that direction, and can sense what lies that way.

Noise. Smell. Smoke. Lights. Humans! Flesh! HUNT! KILL! EAT!

The Alpha howls, tearing off into the forest to lead the nights hunt. Answering his call with an answer of your own, you follow after.

Now, it is the time of the beast.


You raise your shotgun, firing at the Albino as it charges towards you. The silver shards fly forward, but the creature rolls to the side to avoid the shot, before leaping forward. The Albino tackles you, knocking your weapon aside as it flies through the air. The beast slams into you, tackling you and sending you smashing into the earth. The werewolf's weight lands atop you. Its jaws snap down, tearing through your flesh as it bites into your shoulder. You scream, the Albino gulping down your hot blood and flesh.

The Albino pulls its head up, releasing your torn flesh from its jaws, before looking down at you, your own blood dripping from its jaws onto your chest. It looks at you for a moment with an almost curious expression, tilting its head.

"Come on! Fucking kill me! Kill me, you fucking bastard!" you growl. "Finish me off!"

The Albino looks down at you for a second more, before turning. The Albino looks to its two pack-mates, before howling into the moon. As if answering the creature's call, the two werewolves burst off into the woods after Wyatt. The creature stares back at you for a moment with its blood red eyes, its tooth-filled mouth almost seeming to grin at you for a moment, before the creature bounds off into the woods.

You lie there, bleeding onto the earth as you try to think. The werewolves are acting with high intelligence, even for werewolves. They laid an ambush. They figured out when he hunt was happening, what your paths were and when you'd be coming. They laid out spike strips, so this isn't just the bestial monsters within coming out, they were planning this in their human forms as well.

You don't know what's happening, but you know that this is just the start. These monsters have a terrible plan that you can't just let happen.

A wave of darkness hits you, and for a moment, you feel like sinking into the ground. You try to fight it, but part of you wants to lie there and embrace the peaceful darkness.
> You crawl over to the radio to call the Lodge
You find yourself crawling desperately towards the smashed up car wreck, reaching forward and dragging yourself along the ground. You manage to pull yourself to a kneeling position, before standing cautiously. You take a step forward, trying not to focus on the brutal pain in your shoulder. You slowly move towards the truck before stumbling, leaning against it as you groan in pain. Resting on the cold metal bonnet, you gasp for breath.

"William. You made it," a voice groans from the wreckage.

You pause, grabbing your shotgun, before finding yourself staring at Father Féval's broken but still living body. The man is still buckled into the car wreckage, his face bloody from a cut on his forehead, his side looking like it's been completely chewed up by the werewolves. His expression is as emotionless as always, but there's a trace of weariness in his eyes.

"Father Féval!" you say, exuberant to know you're not alone in these dark woods.

"They ate you up pretty well, William" Father Féval says, his accent thickening as his eyes grow weary. "We've both been bit, it seems. If we survive much longer, we're going to become just like them. The beast is within us, and it will take over soon. We should embrace the end and go into it peacefully."

"No! We need to radio the lodge!"

Father Féval nods down to where the radio sat, and you see it's been smashed up. The radio's been torn out, its plastic case shattered and its internal wiring shredded. Clearly, the werewolves knew what they were looking for, and targeted this specifically.

"I'm sorry, William. That's not really an option anymore. It's time to face our end."

"We can't let them get away with this! This werewolf pack isn't a group of psychopathic killers, they're worse. They're a planning, thinking, growing group. We can't just give up and off ourselves!"

"William, your adrenaline's pumping and your mind is desperate, but we're not escaping here. Either we die here, or the beast within takes over!"

"Fuck that! We have to do something! We have time before we turn! We can get help, contact the others and tell them what happened, and then we can off ourselves! But we can't do it yet!"

Father Féval raises his pistols, pointing them at you.

"We live by a code, William. If you're not going to go peacefully into the night, I am going to take you into it," the Catholic Priest says coldly.
> You defend yourself and open fire
You raise your shotgun as Father Féval fires his two pistols. The shotgun fire hits Father Féval, his chest exploding in a burst of blood and guts, his body going limp. Father Féval's bullets slam into your chest as the air is knocked out of your lungs. You collapse onto your back, blood spurting onto the ground around you as you gasp for breath. For a moment, you just feel a cold swelling through you as you're left unable to breathe, before the pain begins to burn its way through your chest. The pain rapidly begins to fade, as the world starts going dark, the pain being replaced by a brutal numbness.

Suddenly, the pain bursts through you as you begin shuddering in pain. You begin to scream, a sound which shifts into a pained howl of anguish. You can feel your body twisting and breaking, bones snapping and reforming as your limbs are stretched out longer and harder, your body shifting rapidly. Your face tears apart as it grows and twists into a snout, as your teeth begin breaking and mending. The hair rapidly bursts through your skin as it rapidly grows, coating your broken and reforged body into that of a werewolf. The pain tears at your mind and soul, and you're unable to focus on anything other than your instinct to escape it.

Slowly, the pain begins to subside, but you find your mind incapable of reforming, still incapable of focusing in any regard. You feel the air blow through your fur, the smell of nearby prey, the crunching of soil under your paws. However, you feel your chest burning in pain. You feel like you have bits of burning hot coal inside your chest, but you ignore the pain. With a snarl and a shake of your head, you focus on the moment and endure it.

Your ears flick as you hear a group of howls deep in the woods. Yes... that's it. Your brethren. Find them. Instinct takes over, and you find yourself sprinting through the woods, howling into the sky.
> The Hunt!
You sprint through the woods, eyes scanning the trees. The smell of blood fills your nostrils as the hunger in your stomach threatens to grow so large that it'll consume you. Your ears perk as you hear the sound of branches cracking nearby, and you quickly find the source.

Prey. Food. Flesh! Hunger! KILL! FEED!

You ignore the pain running through your belly that screams at you to feed, and you ignore the burning pain that erupts from your chest, the same burning pain that you can't quench, the hot coals seeming to burn without ever cooling. The hunger fills your belly, as you roar and scream towards the sky, instinct causing you to focus in on the prey ahead of you. Its eyes swivel as it notices you, and it darts off into the forest.
> You kILL!
You burst forward, sprinting ahead as you hurry through the forest after the creature. You're far faster than that, and you find yourself on its tail, growing closer and closer. You rapidly follow the animal, growling with hunger as you get closer and closer to your meal. Its sprint is wonky, at least one of its four legs seems to be hurt, which means that it doesn't have a chance to escape you. You keep close on its tail, though it manages to keep slightly ahead of you. It doesn't matter. All you need is one mistake.

The creature stumbles, giving you the chance you need. You pounce forward, tackling the animal as you send it slamming into the earth, pinning it to the ground. You bare your teeth, jaws darting forward as you land your jaws on the its neck, tearing through it with ease. You pull back, tearing out the its throat as a wave of blood flows free. The creature spasms in its death throes, before going still.

BLOOD! HUNGER! FEED!
> You fEED!
You jam your head into the corpse of your prey, tearing off mouthfuls of flesh as you lift your head and gulp down the flesh. You begin drinking down warm blood, feeling the thick liquid coating the inside of your mouth and throat as you enjoy the delicious meal. You tear through the prey's chest, pulling ribs aside to get to the delicious insides, allowing you to scoff down as much meat as you can fit in your mouth with every bite.

However, pain distracts you from your meal for a moment, as you feel the burning in your chest rapidly get worse. Your blood is beginning to feel like its boiling as your nerves are set alight. However, this pain does nothing to distract you from the terrible hunger that runs through your body.
> You ignore the pain! FEED!
You ignore the burning pain, jamming your body further into the corpse as you feed, wolfing down mouthfuls of flesh and steaming blood. You continue devouring, flesh, intestines, lungs and other organs. You soon find yourself chewing at little more than bloody bones, having devoured the entire carcass with ease. You lick your lips, tasting the blood of your kill on your tongue, your nostrils filled with the pungent and delectable smell of your last meal.

Your belly full, you lift your head into the hair and howl. Soon, an array of howls answer you, deeper into the forest. With a bestial smile, you burst off into the forest, ready to meet your brothers.


You jam your head into the corpse of your prey, tearing off mouthfuls of flesh as you lift your head and gulp down the flesh. You begin drinking down warm blood, feeling the thick liquid coating the inside of your mouth and throat as you enjoy the delicious meal. You tear through the prey's chest, pulling ribs aside to get to the delicious insides, allowing you to scoff down as much meat as you can fit in your mouth with every bite.

However, pain distracts you from your meal for a moment, as you feel the burning in your chest rapidly get worse. Your blood is beginning to feel like its boiling as your nerves are set alight. However, this pain does nothing to distract you from the terrible hunger that runs through your body.
> You focus on the pain
You focus on the pain, feeling the burning sensation as your blood boils, your fur burns, your bones melt. It begins consuming you, letting out a pitiful howl that turns into a scream of horror. Your body starts shaking, tufts of fur start peeling off with strips of skin as you spasm. You smack your head against the cold ground as bones break and reform, as your body shifts and buckles and pain races through your flesh. You scream for help, a pitiful, desperate noise, as your fingernails begin to tear at your skin in a desperate attempt to stop your body from aching. Soon, you find yourself naked and sobbing, lying there in your human form once more.

For a second, you're dazed, the only sense that you can feel being the feeling of the cold of the night on your numb, bare skin. Then, the waves of sensation begin hitting you. First, the pungent smell of freshly carved up meat lying in front of you. Then, the soft gurgling of a dying creature. Then, the taste of flesh and blood that sits in your mouth, and the feeling of warm blood coating your face and throat, backed with the burning in your chest. You look down, and find yourself staring at what, minutes ago, was your prey.

The creature underneath you, your "prey", is a young fawn, barely a month or two old. It's stomach has been torn open, half its intestines torn clean out and the remaining half hanging out of its wound. The creature looks up at you with a pair of large brown eyes, staring at you innocently for a moment, as if confused as what's happening, the cold reality of its situation not yet dawning upon it.

You vomit, chunks of raw meat and blood-tinged puke spewing out onto the ground. You begin sobbing, staring down at the dying deer, its mouth moving slowly, almost as if its trying to say something. The creature gives you one final look, before lowering its head against the cold earth as the light behind its eye is snuffed out.

You stare at the fawn, trying to comprehend what happened. Its flesh is torn apart... looking so delicious. You feel the hunger returning for a moment. No! Fuck, it's raw flesh, and you're looking at it like it's a steak dinner! Jesus, what is wrong with you?

The burning in your chest intensifies, as you find yourself curled up in the fetal position. You're stuck between weeping and growling aggressively, your mind racing and shifting. You find your skin rapidly growing and losing hair, your muscles tearing and reforming rapidly as your body shakes and spasms violently.

You lie there for what feels like hours, trying to contemplate how you're feeling. Your body is wracked with pain, your mind struggling to find focus as you're filled with endless, ever-conflicting urges to run, to stay, to live, to die, to feed, to puke... it's hellish.

You lie there, shivering. Your skin feels cold while you still sweat like a pig. Then, you hear a growl.

You pull yourself up, looking around to find yourself staring at a dozen werewolves, prowling out of the trees to approach you, with the large Albino from earlier at the head of them. It slowly approaches, looking at you. The creatures seem to be lacking the usual aggressiveness werewolves have. They approach slowly, staring at you with inquisitive eyes.

"You! You fucking bastard!" you yell at the Albino.

The Albino lets out a rumbling growl, before a loud bark quietens him. The Albino steps aside, as a new werewolf emerges from the trees and takes the lead.

The creature has long black fur, its left eye a ragged mess of scars, its right eye focused on you. The creature growls slowly, its eye fixed on you, its facial muscles moving, its ears twitching, its body moving... its almost as if its speaking to you, in some bestial language of body language, rumblings and something supernatural. The beast within you seems to understand, and somewhere in the back of your subconscious you understand him, a deep, beast-like voice talking in your head.

"The transformation isn't complete," the one-eyed werewolf "says".

"You... I can understand you," you say.

"You must have an incredibly strong will to resist the change, little one."

One-Eye moves closer, prowling forward slowly, before sniffing. The creature winces, snarling.

"No... not willpower. Silver. You have silver in your veins. In your chest. Burning the beast within. Subduing it. It's going to take you a little longer for the transformation to be complete. Just fight the pain. Ignore it. Embrace the beast. Then, you can join our ranks."

"Fuck you," you say, letting out a moan of pain as your body contorts yet again.

"You're very lucky, human. Most of my brothers and sisters would've killed you. You've only been bit. You'll have the chance to join us. The time of the beast is coming, little one. Your kind destroy the forests we dwell in, drive our prey extinct, poison the air and waters, and walk around as lords of the land, not remembering that you... are a prey creature."

The other werewolves let out an array of angry growls.

"Tomorrow night, in the light of the full moon, we strike. We hit the humans, converting those we can to our cause. We will hit the power stations, the cell towers, the Hunter's Lodges... we will drive your kin back to being the prey animals you are."

"We won't let you bastards win," you snarl.

"You'll be one of us bastards soon enough. Come on, brothers and sisters, let's leave this poor fool to turn in his own times."

You watch as the werewolves retreat into the forest once more, leaving you alone. You lie there, trying to regain enough of your mind to get up.

You need to stop these creatures. Their plan is going to kill massive amounts of people, and do immeasurable harm. They're unlike other Werewolves, who are poor men plagued to be psychopathic killers. These creatures have a plan, and are determined to follow it as both humans and wolves. You need to take them down while you have the chance.
> You try to focus...
You slow your breathing, focusing on the pain in your chest. You raise your head, wiping the puke and blood from your face as you try to ignore the hunger in your belly. You wince, trying to ignore the desires of the beast within, telling you to run, to hunt, to feed, to howl. You shake your head violently, trying to focus, as you take up a kneeling position. The cold wind chills your bones and gives you goosebumps, and

"You look to be in a bad state, friend," a voice says.

You look up, finding yourself staring up at a a young, grinning man with curly black hair and a thick beard. His eyes are red and puffing, and seem to be somewhat burned. His jacket is patch-work, made of many stitched up patches of various colors, with the rest of his outfit being suitably gauche in its coloring to accentuate the man's weird look. He looks down at you, smiling.

"You're either very hungover, or old Fenrir got his claws into you."

"Who are you?" you ask weakly. "I'm getting really shit sick of having people walk up to me."

"Oh, a fool, little else," the man smiles. "You look cold. I have a spare set of clothes, if you want."

Cautious, you nod slowly, as the man pulls of his backpack, opening it. You pause, noticing the stock of your shotgun sticking out of the bag. The Fool tosses you a set of boots, underwear, an undershirt, socks, pants, t-shirt and a coat. Staring at him, you hurry to get dressed, as the Fool hums a song to himself. When you're finished, you look to the bag. The Fool notices what you're looking at, smiling.

"That's my weapon."

"Finders keepers, losers weepers, old Willy, old boy," the man shrugs.

You pause, trying to calculate the chances of you grabbing your weapon before he can.

"I didn't tell you my name," you say softly.

"You didn't tell me my name either, but I know that," the Fool shrugs.

The Fool grabs the shotgun, pulling it out and holding it in his hands, running his hands along the barrel. He pauses, digging through his pockets for a moment, before pulling out a golden coin.

"Tell you what. I'll flip you for it. You call it, you get your gun back. You don't, I'll put you out of your misery and stop you from completely turning. Agreed?"

You consider lunging at the man, but he lowers the barrel of the shotgun, anticipating your move. His grin widens, revealing more and more shiny teeth.

"Agreed", you say.

"Perfect!" the Fool grins. "Call it in the air, Willy."

The man flips the coin, watching it spin in the air.
> You heads
"Heads!"

The coin flips through the air ahead of you, as you step back, looking at the coin with interest. He steps back, leveling your own shotgun at you as he the coin lands in the dirt. The Fool peers down at it, tilting his head, before flipping the shotgun in his hands, grabbing the barrel and offering the stock to you.

"It's your lucky day, Hunter. Good luck to you."

You grab the shotgun, holding it in your hands and aiming it at the suspicious, patch coat man.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"An interesting question! Do you like riddles?"

"No."

The Fool frowns.

"So dull. You're a dull old fellow, aren't you? Perhaps I should be helping the wolves."

"Just tell me who you are, dammit! I'm a dying man, I don't have time for this."

The Fool opens his mouth to complain, before pausing, then shrugging.

"A slave I have been and shall remain

To a golden mistress I'm tied with invisible chains

Yet always I put on the same brave face

She keeps me her prisoner, but leaves me some space."

The Fool smiles at you for a moment, before raising an eyebrow.

"So... who am I?"
> A Hunter
"You're... you're a Hunter, right? You must be."

"Unfortunately, no. You're out alone in these woods tonight. Well, I best be off. Good luck dealing with my boy tonight, Willy. Best of luck."

"Wait!" you growl, aiming your shotgun at him. "You move and I blow your brains out!"

The Fool sighs, shaking his head.

"I don't think you really know how this game works, do you?" the Fool says.

The Fool leans forward, placing his thumb against the shotgun barrel. He scratches at his puffy, burned eyes, sighing.

"You're not going to shoot that gun," he says simply.

With that, the Fool turns, strolling off into the woods. You try to aim your shotgun, but find your arms are incapable of moving, the numb, cold muscles refusing to work. All you can do is watch as the Fool disappears into the darkness.

When he's out of view, you snarl. You sniff the air, smelling the scent of prey, and... you try to focus on the pain for a moment, ignoring your bestial senses, before you smell something else. The smell of smoke, in the distance.

You pause, raising an eye. Smoke means fire. Fire means activity. There needs to be something in that direction.
> You head off towards the smoke
You slowly begin walking in the direction of the smoke, keeping your mind on the burning pain in your chest. Your bullet holes and bite mark have already scabbed and scarred over, no doubt from the healing abilities the beast within has granted you. Still, the silver burns just as harshly, like flames trapped in your chest. It's a struggle trying to focus on the pain, to let it consume you and drive you into a violent psychosis, but you have no alternative. Whenever you try to ignore the pain, you can feel the monstrous urges return. The unending hunger, the desire to break free, the need to howl up at the sky, the lust for the power of the wild... you keep focused, and the burning pain continues.

As you walk, you notice just how tight your clothes feel on you. No, not tight. Surprisingly, they seem to fit you perfectly, by whatever abilities of the Patchwork Man. They're not tight. They're constrictive. You want to tear them off, to feel the wind on your fur and to tear off into the night. You want to taste flesh and blood, to feel the dirt shift under your paws. You want to answer the call of the moon.

You shake your head roughly, growling as you tighten your grip on the shotgun. The cool metal reminds you of who you are. A Hunter.

It's a long distance of angered, confused walking, but you soon see lights emerge from the darkness. Not the passionate burning of flames, but the synthetic light of bulbs. You take up a crouching position, slowly sneaking up to where the trees give way to a clearing.

A large wooden cabin sits in the center of the clearing, surrounded by bright lights that give light to the cabin. Standing at the edge of the lights, holding a semi-automatic rifle, is a human. The man has a thick beard reaching his chest and long, tangled hair. His arms are covered with tattoos, depicting old Nordic runes and wolf symbols. Interesting. He must be the werewolf-equivalent of a Thrall. You've never heard of such a thing, seeing as werewolves are usually too stupid and bestial to have human servants, but the werewolves you've seen tonight are definitely smart enough to have them.

The Wolf Servant seems to be guarding the cabin, which has light plumes of smoke drifting up from its chimney. He hasn't noticed you, and seems to the only guard in sight. You need to take him out to get inside.
> You sneak up on him
You slowly edge towards the figure, moving slow and low through the darkness as you come up behind the guard. You feet move softly over the dirt and grass, as you rapidly approach the figure. As you near him, you see the servant's head twitch as he hears you, before you swing your shotgun, smashing the butt of the weapon into the man's head. He sinks to the ground with a grunt, before you raise your shotgun, smashing it into his head again, and again, and again, and again!

KILL! BREAK! SHATTER! SLAUGHTER! FEED! EAT...!

You stop yourself, looking down on the shattered skull beneath you, completely crushed. Gray brain matter and blood have spilled onto the ground, and you find yourself feeling sick as you look at what you've done.

"Come on, come on, you can do this," you growl to yourself.

You stand up, and jog ahead at a steady pace, shotgun in your hands. Staring through the shadows with unnatural sight, you spot another guard on the opposite side of the cabin, dressed in denim jeans and little else. He notices you as he raises his submachine gun, but you're faster, aiming your shotgun and firing your weapon. The scattering pellets smash into the guard and knock him from his feet, smacking into the ground.

Shit. Two guards down, but you've been forced to go loud. Quickly scanning the surroundings and seeing no other guards, it's time to quickly take over the cabin.
> You charge in through the door
You move to the door of the cabin, ready to perform the door breaching actions you've done countless times before. Raising your shotgun, you fire twice, blowing out the door's hinges, before booting the door open.

As you rush in, weapon raised, you find a hatchet blade swinging at you far faster than you can dodge. The weapon slices into your throat, knocking you off your feet as you hit the ground with a thud, blood tearing out of the tear in your throat. A gun barrel is pointed at your chest, and in a quick few seconds there's a short flash and a long, long darkness.


You slowly edge towards the figure, moving slow and low through the darkness as you come up behind the guard. You feet move softly over the dirt and grass, as you rapidly approach the figure. As you near him, you see the servant's head twitch as he hears you, before you swing your shotgun, smashing the butt of the weapon into the man's head. He sinks to the ground with a grunt, before you raise your shotgun, smashing it into his head again, and again, and again, and again!

KILL! BREAK! SHATTER! SLAUGHTER! FEED! EAT...!

You stop yourself, looking down on the shattered skull beneath you, completely crushed. Gray brain matter and blood have spilled onto the ground, and you find yourself feeling sick as you look at what you've done.

"Come on, come on, you can do this," you growl to yourself.

You stand up, and jog ahead at a steady pace, shotgun in your hands. Staring through the shadows with unnatural sight, you spot another guard on the opposite side of the cabin, dressed in denim jeans and little else. He notices you as he raises his submachine gun, but you're faster, aiming your shotgun and firing your weapon. The scattering pellets smash into the guard and knock him from his feet, smacking into the ground.

Shit. Two guards down, but you've been forced to go loud. Quickly scanning the surroundings and seeing no other guards, it's time to quickly take over the cabin.
> You break the window and open fire on those inside
You move to the cabin's window, feeling yourself swell with an animalistic energy. You swing your shotgun like a club, smashing through the window frame as it flies inwards with a shower of glass. Rather than firing in as planned, you find yourself leaping through the window with a roar, your shotgun in hand.

You land in the small cabin, finding yourself in the glow of a series of monitors, in front of a roar of a set of iron bars. Your eyes focus on the two guards by the door, clearly standing up against it, waiting for you to enter. You raise your gun, firing as the first one takes a blast of silver through his chest, shredding the man's internal organs as he slumps against the wall. The other guard, wielding a hatchet, charges you with a roar. Rather than firing, the animalistic urges consume you, and you toss the weapon aside, roaring.

KILL! FLESH! FEED! HUNT!

You tackle the man, ramming him against the wall as the hatchet drops from his hand. You grab his face, driving your long nails into his eyes as you attempt to tear them out of your skull, as you drive your jaws forward and clamp them on his neck, tearing a mouthful of flesh clean off. You find yourself tearing and stabbing and biting, as the man's screams are quickly replaced by a dying gargle.

The silver burns in your chest, and you step back, wiping the blood from your mouth. You look at the dead creature ahead of you, sighing.

"Fuck," you swear, wiping the blood from your lips.

All of a sudden, the blood on your lips begins stale and wretched and you find yourself spitting out what flesh remains in your mouth. You being retching, spitting blood onto the ground as you focus on your pain until a calm comes over you again, and you find focus.
> You investigate the cabin
The cabin is a bizarre room, a mismatch of an old cabin and a security office. A large map is spread over a large table, as you look down at it. You quickly scan the map. It appears to be an image of the forest, highlighting several points. The first one you notice seems to be the cabin you're in now, which is identified as a "SURVEILLANCE POINT". You look to the center of the map, which shows a large, abandoned mine. "HQ" is written across it in red marker, with several access points to the mine. It seems that the werewolves are using it as their central lair. That's where Alpha will be, alongside the rest of the werewolves. If you want to defeat these werewolves before you turn tonight, you'll want to head here.

You continue searching the cabin for anything of value, finding only a rack of weapons and supplies. The weapons rack actually has a large amount of explosives, C4, plastic explosives and other timed explosive weapons. They're of little use as weapons of battle, but they could no doubt do some damage. There's very little of value here, but you now know where you need to go to take out this werewolf pack and finish it. If you can wipe out the wolves there, this pack of beasts won't survive the night.

A burst of howls breaks through the silence of the night, and you have to fight the urge to howl back, biting your tongue. You reach for your gun, hoping to quench the bestial spirit inside you. Running your fingers along the iron barrel, you try to remind yourself who you are. You're a tool user, a human, a Hunter. You rush through the window, staring out past the frame of broken glass, spotting grey fur streaked with black emerging from the woods, howling towards the sky.

Fuck! The creatures have found you! You rush over to the other window, only to see more beasts prowling out from the bushes. Swearing, you ready your gun, taking deep breaths as you try to figure a way out, the beast within desperately pushing to howl and answer the call. You can hear the howling creatures surround the cabin, no doubt alerted by one of the guards in the cabin before you blew them away. You need to get out of here fast, and you don't have many solutions. You don't have the ammo to kill them all, and there's no silver in the cabin to use.
> You try to sneak out past the Werewolves
You cautiously move out to the broken window, pulling yourself through and landing on your chest outside in the short grass. You slowly crawl along the ground, trying to stay in the darkness and the shadow to stay out of their gaze.

However, there's little that the werewolves' incredible sight can't notice, and fewer still they can't smell. You soon find yourself with a half a dozen beasts of claws, fur and teeth charging towards you, howling and screaming. You raise your shotgun, before its torn from your hands and you face the fury of a dozen claws and far more teeth.

You barely last seconds before you're torn apart.


The cabin is a bizarre room, a mismatch of an old cabin and a security office. A large map is spread over a large table, as you look down at it. You quickly scan the map. It appears to be an image of the forest, highlighting several points. The first one you notice seems to be the cabin you're in now, which is identified as a "SURVEILLANCE POINT". You look to the center of the map, which shows a large, abandoned mine. "HQ" is written across it in red marker, with several access points to the mine. It seems that the werewolves are using it as their central lair. That's where Alpha will be, alongside the rest of the werewolves. If you want to defeat these werewolves before you turn tonight, you'll want to head here.

You continue searching the cabin for anything of value, finding only a rack of weapons and supplies. The weapons rack actually has a large amount of explosives, C4, plastic explosives and other timed explosive weapons. They're of little use as weapons of battle, but they could no doubt do some damage. There's very little of value here, but you now know where you need to go to take out this werewolf pack and finish it. If you can wipe out the wolves there, this pack of beasts won't survive the night.

A burst of howls breaks through the silence of the night, and you have to fight the urge to howl back, biting your tongue. You reach for your gun, hoping to quench the bestial spirit inside you. Running your fingers along the iron barrel, you try to remind yourself who you are. You're a tool user, a human, a Hunter. You rush through the window, staring out past the frame of broken glass, spotting grey fur streaked with black emerging from the woods, howling towards the sky.

Fuck! The creatures have found you! You rush over to the other window, only to see more beasts prowling out from the bushes. Swearing, you ready your gun, taking deep breaths as you try to figure a way out, the beast within desperately pushing to howl and answer the call. You can hear the howling creatures surround the cabin, no doubt alerted by one of the guards in the cabin before you blew them away. You need to get out of here fast, and you don't have many solutions. You don't have the ammo to kill them all, and there's no silver in the cabin to use.
> You let the beast within take over
You know you have to get out of here, and you only have one option. The beast inside you knows that's true as well, as you find yourself growling and shaking. The scent of blood and fresh flesh drives you wild, and you're reminded that you haven't eaten in a while. Your stomach rumbles, as you think back to the taste of flesh earlier, the warm, wet meat sliding down your throat.

You need to turn. You have no other option. You grip your nails into your wrist, tearing at your flesh as blood begins to trickle down your wrist. Your roar of pain turns into a growl, as you find hair beginning to sprout from your skin. The scent of your own blood sends your muscles into spasms, as you collapse onto the floor. Your clothes tear from your body as you grow, falling in tatters as your shotgun slips from your fingers, which tear into knife-like claws. Flesh tears and knits, your teeth shattering and growing in your mouth as you rake your claws through your mouth, pieces of broken teeth and torn apart gums toppling out as you spit blood onto the ground with a maniacal laugh.

You retract onto your hind-legs, standing tall as you scream... no, not scream. Howl, howl at the sky. Feeling enclosed in the man-made structure, you tear forward, smashing your claw against the lock in the door, tearing it free from the wooden frame as you leap outwards, hurrying into the darkness.

Through your bestial eyes, you can make out the distant shapes of fur-covered beasts. The wolves' scents are easy to catch, and you mentally mark their locations. The desire to feast, to fight, to hunt and to kill burns through your heart and soul, as adrenaline surges through you. These other creatures are far weaker than you, with duller, more bestial, not even taking into account the fact that Fenrir only had weak, slow humans to transform unlike the man you once were, a Hunter.

In short, you are strong. They are weak, and your belly is empty.

However, a nagging voice, one last ounce of broken, disregarded sanity screams at you to run. The scent of coal and ash is ever so faint on the trail, but you have an urge to follow it, however small.
> You fight!
You let out a fearsome roar towards the moon, feeling its power surge through you as its light shines upon your fur. Leaping out into the darkness, you narrow in on the closest, weakest prey, wanting to kill the animal as quickly as you can to lower their numbers.

The first werewolf races towards you with a roar, but its a skinny whelp. You tackle the creature, knocking it to the side as you land upon it, raising your claws and you jab your claws into the creature's neck, tearing out its throat.

Another werewolf is upon you, but as it lunges towards you, you rend your claw across its face, blinding the creature as it collapses to the ground with a pained yelp. By now, the rest of the pack has arrived on you. A mouthful of razor teeth tears into your foreleg, as the weight of a werewolf smashes into your side, flipping you onto your back.

Claws and teeth begin to tear at you, more than you can defend even with powerful claw strikes and your strong jaws, and you howl in pain as your fur is soon left wet with your own blood, your roar becoming little louder than a whisper shortly afterwards. You slowly grow weaker, before the werewolf you blinded stands above with a growl, before finishing you off by tearing out your stomach and letting blood loss send you off.


You know you have to get out of here, and you only have one option. The beast inside you knows that's true as well, as you find yourself growling and shaking. The scent of blood and fresh flesh drives you wild, and you're reminded that you haven't eaten in a while. Your stomach rumbles, as you think back to the taste of flesh earlier, the warm, wet meat sliding down your throat.

You need to turn. You have no other option. You grip your nails into your wrist, tearing at your flesh as blood begins to trickle down your wrist. Your roar of pain turns into a growl, as you find hair beginning to sprout from your skin. The scent of your own blood sends your muscles into spasms, as you collapse onto the floor. Your clothes tear from your body as you grow, falling in tatters as your shotgun slips from your fingers, which tear into knife-like claws. Flesh tears and knits, your teeth shattering and growing in your mouth as you rake your claws through your mouth, pieces of broken teeth and torn apart gums toppling out as you spit blood onto the ground with a maniacal laugh.

You retract onto your hind-legs, standing tall as you scream... no, not scream. Howl, howl at the sky. Feeling enclosed in the man-made structure, you tear forward, smashing your claw against the lock in the door, tearing it free from the wooden frame as you leap outwards, hurrying into the darkness.

Through your bestial eyes, you can make out the distant shapes of fur-covered beasts. The wolves' scents are easy to catch, and you mentally mark their locations. The desire to feast, to fight, to hunt and to kill burns through your heart and soul, as adrenaline surges through you. These other creatures are far weaker than you, with duller, more bestial, not even taking into account the fact that Fenrir only had weak, slow humans to transform unlike the man you once were, a Hunter.

In short, you are strong. They are weak, and your belly is empty.

However, a nagging voice, one last ounce of broken, disregarded sanity screams at you to run. The scent of coal and ash is ever so faint on the trail, but you have an urge to follow it, however small.
> You flee
For some strange reason beyond instinct nor desperation, you decide to retreat into the darkness of the woods, breaking off towards the woods. Adrenaline fuels your movements as you race into the shadows. One of the beasts attempts to stop you, planting down its feet as it howls at you, but its easy prey. You swipe the werewolf's forelegs away, sending it collapsing forward. You grab its skull, smacking it into the earth with every ounce of strength you can muster, crushing its skull beneath your claw.

Another werewolf leaps at you, jaws open, so you swing your claw, slashing through its eyes and blinding him instantly, leaving it yelping and whimpering. You growl, ready to leap forward and finish off the beast, before the voice in the back of your head stops you. Sniffing, you focus past the smell of fresh blood and of the beast's pure terror, smelling the faint, almost impossible to detect scent of coal. Your mind feels a second of focus and clarity, as you swivel on your legs and disappear into the forest.

Sprinting through the trees, you feel free. The smells and scents of the woods give you a clear image of your surroundings, and your lungs fill with the cool air. The coal dust's bare scent guiding your path, you draw towards it, eager to reach the...

Your mind draws a blank on your goal, before a new, far more pungent smell fills your nostrils. Prey.

The easily recognizable scent of a prey animal catches you. The sweat and scent of fear and terror. The fresh blood from a recently injured animal. The guarantee of a kill, and more importantly, food. Your stomach rumbles, pangs of hunger hitting you like a knife, drawing your attention away from the coal, as your eyes fix on the direction of your prey.
> You hunt!
Your legs kick off the dirt, as you hurry after your prey. Rushing through the trees, you fly forward with a speed beyond what any natural creature of flesh and blood could keep up, diving over roots and ducking under branches. The prey pops into your vision, the pale outline of the predator making your mouth water. It's injured, slow and weak, and an easy kill. It's barely had time to notice you, before you're upon it.

HUNT! KILL! FEED!

You hit the creature with all the force of over hundreds of pounds of muscle and fur. You smash into the creature, knocking it into the dirt as its bones shatter and break beneath you. Pinning the creature to the ground, you slide a claw across it, tearing through its thick, blackened hide and releasing a burst of blood and guts, fluid filling the creature's collapsing lungs.

You raise your head towards the sky, howling towards the moon in victory, the burning pain in your chest having dissipated. For the first time since Fenrir first called, you feel truly strong! Powerful! WILD!

Victory. Power. Blood. Hate. Anger! Hunger! Feed! HUNT! KILL! EAT!

You look down to your prey, grinning from ear to ear. Time to feast!
> You kILL!
Suddenly, pain, burning, all-consuming pain surges through your flesh, turning your blood to fire as you scream out in pain, howling upwards to the moon, wishing its light could wash you clean from this fiery hell.

You collapse off your prey, your once mighty stature shrinking to that of a tiny, weak, terrified human. Lying in your warm blood, you gasp for air, feeling your body set alight, your pain barely dulled by the moon's light.

"W-w... William?" a voice gasps.

Your head rolls to the side, as you find yourself staring at Wyatt. The boy's chest has been torn to shreds. He's barely breathing, his face looking at you with a torn expression.

"T-they... they got you," he manages to gasp through horrible, wet breaths.

Breathing heavily, you paw at the burning, stabbing pain in your side, your fingers wrapping around a polished wooden handle. Realizing what's happened, you slowly slide the long blade out of your side, groaning in pain as blood pours down your skin. You slide out the silver knife, tossing the weapon across the dirt as you scream. You groan, feeling your muscles tighten and contract.

Rolling onto your back, you slide over to Wyatt, ignoring your own pain. The knife hit has quietened the beast within, quashing the monster's howls. As far as wounds go, yours is fairly non-lethal, barely two or three inches in a non-lethal place. You doubt it would kill you normally, but with the beast within you, it's almost certainly non-lethal. You grit your teeth, rolling onto your knees as you stare down at the victim. His body's decimated, a barely surviving hulk.

You lean down, pressing your hands against his bleeding chest wound as you try to stem the bleeding. Wyatt weakly bats at your arms, the occasional fear-wracked sob breaking out of him.

"P-please... ple... please..." Wyatt begs, before his words disappear into a jumble of gurgling and dying chokes.

The light in Wyatt's eyes goes dull, as the heat begins to drain from his pale skin. Blood runs down his chalk white skin, as you slowly let go of him. You hear a faint screaming that, somewhere in the back of your mind, you recognize as your own. You bash your fists into the earth, screaming as you feel the wolf howl inside you. Tears well up in your eyes, as you bash your head into the dirt, hoping to quash the wolf inside you. If you'd only been a man... if you'd only went out with Féval...

You take a deep breath, calming yourself. You wait for several minutes, before you stand slowly, looking down at Wyatt's body. The boy lies there, limp and cold. You stare to the side, looking at the rifle that lies alongside him. You reach down, picking up the gun by the wooden stock, lifting it into the air. You pull back the bolt, loading a silver round into the chamber.

For a moment, you stand there, feeling the cold air on your naked skin as you stare at Wyatt's gun.
> You end it
The Silver Doorway

You raise the rifle to your head, taking it in your arms as you press the bottom of your chin against the gun barrel. You prop the gun upwards, aiming it so that it should go through your skull and out the top of your head. You reach down, pressing your finger against the trigger. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes. You've done enough tonight. You're tired, and you want to rest.

You feel the pangs of hunger tear through you again as the beast awakens, roaring through your entire essence. You grit your teeth, trying to hold back the urge to scream. You slowly release your breath, before pressing down on the trigger.

The gun fires, and the silver bullets tear through your chin, bursting up through your skull, blowing apart your brain and shooting out the top of your skull. Darkness shrouds over you, and you can feel the desperate, clawing, howling beast within you get pulled down into the depths of darkness with you.

Now, the eternal rest is all that's left for you.


Suddenly, pain, burning, all-consuming pain surges through your flesh, turning your blood to fire as you scream out in pain, howling upwards to the moon, wishing its light could wash you clean from this fiery hell.

You collapse off your prey, your once mighty stature shrinking to that of a tiny, weak, terrified human. Lying in your warm blood, you gasp for air, feeling your body set alight, your pain barely dulled by the moon's light.

"W-w... William?" a voice gasps.

Your head rolls to the side, as you find yourself staring at Wyatt. The boy's chest has been torn to shreds. He's barely breathing, his face looking at you with a torn expression.

"T-they... they got you," he manages to gasp through horrible, wet breaths.

Breathing heavily, you paw at the burning, stabbing pain in your side, your fingers wrapping around a polished wooden handle. Realizing what's happened, you slowly slide the long blade out of your side, groaning in pain as blood pours down your skin. You slide out the silver knife, tossing the weapon across the dirt as you scream. You groan, feeling your muscles tighten and contract.

Rolling onto your back, you slide over to Wyatt, ignoring your own pain. The knife hit has quietened the beast within, quashing the monster's howls. As far as wounds go, yours is fairly non-lethal, barely two or three inches in a non-lethal place. You doubt it would kill you normally, but with the beast within you, it's almost certainly non-lethal. You grit your teeth, rolling onto your knees as you stare down at the victim. His body's decimated, a barely surviving hulk.

You lean down, pressing your hands against his bleeding chest wound as you try to stem the bleeding. Wyatt weakly bats at your arms, the occasional fear-wracked sob breaking out of him.

"P-please... ple... please..." Wyatt begs, before his words disappear into a jumble of gurgling and dying chokes.

The light in Wyatt's eyes goes dull, as the heat begins to drain from his pale skin. Blood runs down his chalk white skin, as you slowly let go of him. You hear a faint screaming that, somewhere in the back of your mind, you recognize as your own. You bash your fists into the earth, screaming as you feel the wolf howl inside you. Tears well up in your eyes, as you bash your head into the dirt, hoping to quash the wolf inside you. If you'd only been a man... if you'd only went out with Féval...

You take a deep breath, calming yourself. You wait for several minutes, before you stand slowly, looking down at Wyatt's body. The boy lies there, limp and cold. You stare to the side, looking at the rifle that lies alongside him. You reach down, picking up the gun by the wooden stock, lifting it into the air. You pull back the bolt, loading a silver round into the chamber.

For a moment, you stand there, feeling the cold air on your naked skin as you stare at Wyatt's gun.
> You finish what you started
It's time to do what needs to be done. You can't let the deaths of tonight be for nothing.

A chill runs through you, as you realize you need new clothes, and there's only one place you can get them. You lean down, unbutton Wyatt's jacket as you try not to look at the body. Slowly,

The underwear are soiled and the inside two layers of Wyatt's clothes are soaked with blood, but you manage to scavenge the boots, socks, pants and jacket, pulling them on. Once you've bundled yourself up in clothes, you raise your rifle to your shoulder and begin walking, leaving the corpse behind you. You don't have the time to bury it, and being around the corpse is only sending pangs of hunger through your body. You try not to shed a tear, heading off into the woods.

Your senses quickly detect the faint smell of smoke and coal, and you begin heading towards it. The beast within you is quiet for now from the stabbing, but thankfully the beast seems to almost be absorbing the pain, and it's little more than a dull ache to you now.

You walk in silence, and for a moment, it seems almost unnatural. Everything about you seems wrong now. You can tell you're walking loudly, almost falling and stumbling about. Your movements are as stealthy as ever thanks to your abilities as a hunter, but compared to your lupine form, it's clumsy. Your senses are dulled without the powers of the beast, your entire body weakening from exhaustion and blood loss.

Your eyes are still bright, and you find yourself staring through the darkness at a trio of werewolves prowling through the undergrowth. The creatures are streaked with gray and black fur, growling as they slowly move forward, muscles moving under furry hides, their teeth glowing in the moonlight.

They must be following your scent, and if they are, they have it now. The beast within you is quiet now, but the rage in your heart is burning. Time to do your duty as a Hunter.
> You open fire from a range
You raise your rifle, shouldering it as you quickly take the target in your sights. You aim at the lead werewolf, targeting the creature's head. It takes a moment for you to aim, unused to Wyatt's hunting rifle and preferring the pure blast power of your shotgun, but you quickly adjust. You've used pretty much every weapon under the sun over the years, and a simple hunting rifle is in every Hunter's arsenal. You see the bright of the wolf's eyes glinting in the moonlight, and pull the trigger.

You pull the trigger, the werewolf's skull exploding as a silver bullet bursts through its brains. The other two werewolves burst off into the trees, trying to take cover. You scan the underbrush, looking for the signature fur of the creatures, but they race through the leaves, in opposite directions.

Shit. Hitting both seems unlikely, and they're faster than you on foot. Perhaps retreating up a tree and climbing to the top to take shelter would be your best bet. Or perhaps that'll leave you as the perfect prey.
> You retreat up the tree
Your eyes scan the trees around you, as you pick one tall enough to escape up into and with thick enough branches that you can climb in. You jump into the air, your hands wrapping around a branch as you pull your body up on it. Your boots find another branch, as you quickly begin to scale the tree as quickly as you can.

However, the werewolves and soon upon you, and leap into the air, claws digging into tree bark as they burst up the tree. A claw slashes at your ankle and you scream, blood bursting out and pouring down. Another claw slices into your thigh, sending you falling from the tree. You fall through the air, smacking into branches as you scream, before you slam into the dirt beneath you with a painful thud. You scream, as the werewolves around you howl in victory, leaping forward as they tear you limb from limb, devouring mouthfuls of flesh as soon, nothing is left.


You raise your rifle, shouldering it as you quickly take the target in your sights. You aim at the lead werewolf, targeting the creature's head. It takes a moment for you to aim, unused to Wyatt's hunting rifle and preferring the pure blast power of your shotgun, but you quickly adjust. You've used pretty much every weapon under the sun over the years, and a simple hunting rifle is in every Hunter's arsenal. You see the bright of the wolf's eyes glinting in the moonlight, and pull the trigger.

You pull the trigger, the werewolf's skull exploding as a silver bullet bursts through its brains. The other two werewolves burst off into the trees, trying to take cover. You scan the underbrush, looking for the signature fur of the creatures, but they race through the leaves, in opposite directions.

Shit. Hitting both seems unlikely, and they're faster than you on foot. Perhaps retreating up a tree and climbing to the top to take shelter would be your best bet. Or perhaps that'll leave you as the perfect prey.
> You open fire on the creatures
You need to kill them while you're down here. Retreating to the trees will just leave you open and get you slaughtered like a lamb. You begin backpedaling slowly, taking a better shooting stance as you rapidly switch your sights from either of your flanks.

Suddenly, a howl from your left distracts you, as you turn. You swing your rifle around, finding the werewolf charging towards you, it's jaws open. You aim your weapon down its maw, finger pressing on the trigger as you snarl.

Suddenly, a force like a truck smashes into you from behind, knocking the gun from your hands and sending you crumpling to the ground. You scream as you find yourself crippled between a pair of werewolves, as one bites down on your neck and the other tears out your stomach. You try to scream, but find yourself gurgling on blood as you're torn apart.