Stepping out of the old man's house, Glen suddenly felt the distinct sensation of being watched.
Instinctively, his gaze snapped toward the second floor of the house opposite.
Silence hung heavy there. The windows were pitch-black voids.
"Who lives there?" He murmured, the question dissolving into the chilly air.
Scouring Dylan's memories yielded nothing. He'd never seen the owner.
"Heh heh heh…" A rasping chuckle scraped the silence behind him.
Glen turned. The old man lurked in the doorway's gloom, a shadow with eyes.
"That one across the way... filthy rich. Might be worth a visit." The sly suggestion dripped like poison.
This relic's playing games. Glen brushed it off. "I'll consider it."
Beyond the town's edge, Glen retraced last night's path. The revolver waited. Survival came first in this new life; comfort could rot.
Those he'd loved in his past life were ashes. Ambitions achieved. A closed book. This rebirth? Merely a new page.
Byre's daylight offered no warmth—only grayer shadows—but felt less predatory. If days were lethal, Dylan's bones would've whitened long ago.
No townsfolk stirred. No birds sang. Only his boots crunched the barren road.
The clearing where he'd woken yesterday stopped him cold.
The revolver glinted, unmistakable.
But the body… Gone. Only gory scraps remained. A scalp with matted hair.
Scavengers? Ice traced his spine.
He snatched the revolver. Turned to leave—
A stench hit him. Rotten meat and primal menace.
Directionless. He froze. Eyes scanned. Fingers locked on the stolen shotgun. Three shells. Enough for wolves. Not for… whatever this is.
The stench thickened. Cloying. Suffocating. Something's coming.
A whisper of sound. Crackle. Dry leaves yielding.
Closer now. Fainter than a moth's wing. Only his new, unnerving senses caught it.
Thump… thump… thump… Footsteps synced with his hammering heart. Sweat beaded. Direction still blurred. Vision empty. Maddening.
Crunch… Silence. Abrupt. Total.
Every hair on his neck stabbed upright. Ice flooded his veins.
FUCK! Behind me!
He hurled himself sideways—
No impact.
Crouched low, he whirled.
It stood ten paces back.
Horse-sized. Jet-black. A nightmare wolf. One bloodshot eye glared from its forehead. Its skull loomed massive, jaws splitting its face to the neck—a ragged canyon lined with yellowed fangs. Drool pooled beneath it, thick and glistening.
It didn't move. Didn't blink. That single eye pinned him.
Glen raised the shotgun. Will this even scratch it? No memories answered. Wait. Make it commit.
The beast's tongue slid over bone-white teeth. A low growl vibrated the air.
Hunger.
It edged closer. Lips curling higher. Fangs fully bared. The growl deepened.
CLOSE RANGE = DEATH. Glen squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
Blood bloomed above its eye. A shriek tore the woods.
Not deep. He saw the pellets lodged shallowly.
Rack—BANG!
The beast blurred. Vanished. Buckshot shredded empty air.
"SHIT!" Glen swung the barrel—
Rotten breath engulfed him. Fangs filled his vision.
"GET OFF!" He threw his weight back. Torqued his hips. His boot heel cracked upward—
THUD! Solid impact. Like kicking an anvil. Pain exploded up his leg.
The beast launched backward. 800 kilograms flipped tail-over-skull.
Glen crashed down. Rolled. Sprang up.
The beast scrambled to its feet. Shook its massive head. Hesitating.
Glen forced his trembling leg still. Show pain—you die.
The eye narrowed. Decision made. It lunged—a black thunderbolt.
Too fast. Jaws clamped Glen's ankle—
WHAM! His body slammed earth. Breath blasted out.
The bloodied maw plunged toward his face—
Death's breath.
SNAP. Something inside Glen ignited.
Muscles ripped. Bones groaned. His right arm lashed out—
RIIIP! Claws tore through fur and muscle. An animal howl shredded the world.
KILL. MAIM. BLEED. Red haze swallowed Glen's sight. He launched at the beast.
Fangs met claws. They rolled. Fur flew. Equal strength—but Glen fought with a soldier's mind. He tore at joints. Crushed windpipes.
Seconds later, the beast lay pinned. Whimpering. Broken.
Glen raised a blood-clotted fist—
Clarity. The red mist vanished.
He froze. Stared.
His fist… Wasn't human.
Jet-black fur sheathed his arm. Talons, not nails, gleamed wetly.
He looked down. Saw a wolf's snout. Smelled blood on his own muzzle.
Werewolf.