text: You focus, focusing on the pain in your chest, the wound in your side, your carved up nose. You growl, finding the strength rise up inside of you, focusing on your task. You need one more drop of strength tonight. One more victory!
  
  
  You dig your heels in, roaring as you toss the werewolf backwards, overcoming its strength and flipping it onto its back. As the creature collapses onto the ground, you lead forward, landing atop the creature. It howls out in pain, before you slam your claws against the creature's head with all your strength, crushing the creature's skull with one solid motion, killing it instantly.
  
  
  You howl towards the moon, a noise which soon turns to laughter. You turn other werewolves, finding them either fleeing into the woods again or whimpering at you. You laugh, ready to hunt down the mongrels that flee from your sight. 
  
  
  Over the next few hours before sunrise, you hunt down the remaining the werewolves. They flee into the night, but your senses mean they're incapable of escaping and your claws and teeth mean that they're never going to escape from you. Soon, your belly is full with flesh, your hair streaked with blood, and the remaining survivors of the pack finished off or having fled.
  
  
  You sprint along the ground, instinct running through you as you sprint through the forest, following one of the last werewolves to have fled the scene. You're tight on her tail, ready to finish her off, before you hear a barrage of gunfire. Looking ahead, you hear a burst of gunfire, as you slide to a halt. You slam your claws into a tree and skid to a halt, your eyes staring through the trees as you find yourself staring at a werewolf being gunned down. You quickly disappear into the bushes and undergrowth, staring through as a squad of Hunters appears, no doubt looking for what happened to the rest of you. 
  
  
  You pause, wondering whether to try talk to them, or retreat into the woods and leave the world alone.
  > You retreat deeper into the woods
  The Hunters wouldn't understand you. They'd never understand what you are, never trust you. They'd simply see you as a different form of beast entirely, but still something to be hunted down and killed. You are no longer one of their kind. You are one of Fenrir's children now, not Adam's.
  
  
  You sprint as fast as you can, paws feeling the cold soil underneath you as the trees fly past. As you run, your worries, your hate, your anger burns away, as you just find yourself running, any traces of humanity being shed with each step. Mankind has rejected you. Fenrir has taken you in. You're no longer human.
  
  
  You are a beast. You are a predator. You are a hunter.
  
  
  You hear a few scattered howls through the forest, the answer of the surviving werewolves to your call. You howl once more, calling them to you. You have no need for Hunters anymore. You have your own predators now. 