You slash your claws forward, tearing through the Alpha's face and carving through its snout, but the full weight of hundreds of pounds are still barreling on top of you, as they slam into you, knocking you to the ground with a thud. The weight smashes you against the ground with a pained yell, as you're pinned to the ground. 


The Alpha howls, blood spraying down from its face, but its still got the instinct to keep you pinned down. The creature keeps you forced against the ground, pressing its claws against you as you only barely manage to force it back. It's snapping maw nears your face, as you attempt to keep the creature off you. You find yourself stuck and unable to react.

You hack open the creature's arm

You hack your claws at the creature's arm, or leg, or whatever it could be called, cutting through its flesh and muscles, tearing through hide and fur to the point where your claw is scraping against bone. The creature howls in pain, rolling off you as it retreats with its torn up limb. You pounce forward, unready to give it's a moment respite from the bloodshed.


You grab the Alpha in an embrace, forcing the creature back as its claws and arms wrap around. The two of you force your strengths against each other, each trying to push other down to tear your foe apart, but its an equal battle. Even with your gifts from Fenrir, the Alpha is an old being with a fearsome strength, and far beyond what you've dealt with before. 


The two of you fight, claw and tooth, howling and roaring in the mineshaft, as you try to find everything within you you can find to win this battle.

You kill! KILL! Call upon Fenrir's strength and kill!

You roar, feeling Fenrir's might rush through your body. You ram the creature backwards, roaring and howling as you push the creature backwards. 


STRENGTH! POWER! RAGE! KILL! DIE!


You force the Alpha back again, releasing a burst of laughing as you realize the creature isn't an Alpha. Its a weak, fragile creature to be torn apart. Roaring once more, you ram the creature against the mine shaft, before knocking it to the ground to bash your claw against the creature's skull. You knock it over onto its back with a swipe, before diving atop it, tearing your jaws into it. You tear out its throat, lifting your head into the air and swallowing it with a wave of blood and flesh. It tries to whimper, but its only a wet squelch. 


You stare at the other wolves, seeing them bow their heads, low and submissive of you. They're no longer your enemy. They're weak, and they see someone strong. You're their inspiration. You're their leader. Any traces of humanity is gone, as your howl joins Fenrir's. You are one of these creatures. You are their leader. This is your destiny.


You lift your head towards the sky, and howl, as your call is answered by the rest of your pack.

You take control of your new pack

The New Alpha


You sprint through the forest, the glow of the moon above you, lighting your path and filling you with strength. Your companions follow you, prowling through the shadows, their every sound and movement a communication to you.


Run. Lead. Track! Sprint! HUNT!


You keep running, your ears flickering as you hear the sounds of the forest, your nose smelling the scents that fill the forest. Your body is perfect for sprinting through the forest, designed for running, for leaping and pouncing. Your claws are weapons designed to kill, your teeth knives to pierce and cut. You are a killing machine, a predator designed from millions of years. You are Fenrir's champion, blessed with his abilities, his form, his instincts, his nature, his power!


You are a hunter.


You reach the ridge at the edge of the forest, staring down at the moonlit suburbs. The suburbs seem strange, bizarre and confusing, but your instincts and the barest remains of your humanity know that they're filled with people. 


Lights. Noise. Humans! Prey! HUNT! KILL! 


The buzz of the suburbs, the strange, unnatural lights from the buildings and the strange sounds of humans activity. The suburbs are filled with the weak, pathetic prey animals. They're down there, little more than easy meals to be torn apart or devoured, with the worthiest given Fenrir's gift. They're down there, unaware to what owns the night.


They are your prey. 


You let out your howl, as you watch as dozens upon dozens of werewolves emerge from the trees, staring down greedily towards the town. Those you're created, those you're recruited, those who have answered your call. The werewolves begin to descend upon the suburbs, racing towards the buildings. You howl again, a fierce noise as you howl towards the bright moon that hangs low in the sky.


Tonight, you hunt in the pale moonlight.