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.