Werewolf legend

Behind the neon lights of the bustling city, there lurk numerous dark corners, hidden away like forgotten relics sealed by time. The dim alley that Eric passes by every day after work is one such place, filled with an eerie and sinister aura. On this particular night, the city seems to be smothered by an impenetrable, almost tangible dark cloth, the oppressive atmosphere suffocating and stifling. The streetlamp in the alley flickers, the bulb struggling to maintain its faint light before dimming again. The intermittent rhythm of light fading and reappearing is like the feeble, intermittent heartbeat of a dying patient, casting a dim, yellowish glow that barely outlines the surrounding objects in blurry contours. Eric drags his heavy, leaden body, the weariness from a long, monotonous day of mechanical work weighing deep within his bones. Every step feels like it uses up all his strength, his gait sluggish and slow, as he trudges toward home under the cover of night, yearning to collapse onto his familiar, warm bed and rid himself of the exhaustion and worries of work. As he approaches the alleyway, an overwhelming, nauseating smell of decay and dampness hits him. The odor seems to emanate from the deepest muck beneath the earth, a blend of rotten food, mold, and an indescribable stench that makes his brow furrow and his stomach churn. Just as he attempts to quicken his pace, hoping to pass through the place as quickly as possible, a deep, guttural roar echoes from the abyss, breaking the dead silence as if it had risen from the depths of Hell itself. The roar resembles that of a demon, imprisoned for a millennium, its hatred and desire for blood surging as it struggles to break free. The sound is filled with an overwhelming sense of disgust for the mortal world and a thirst for blood, chilling enough to pierce the soul. Eric's scalp tingles, and his feet feel as though they’ve been nailed to the ground, unable to move. Cold sweat uncontrollably rolls down his back, soaking his clothes and sticking to his skin, sending a shiver through his body. Before he can recover from the sudden fear, a shadow, carrying a strong, nauseating stench, flashes out of the dark alley at nearly impossible speed. In the blink of an eye, a massive, disheveled werewolf covered in filth stands before him. Its bloodshot eyes, the size of brass bells, gleam with an eerie, terrifying light, like two burning ghostly flames in the depths of Hell. Its sharp fangs drip with saliva, which falls to the ground with each heavy breath, splashing tiny droplets of water. Eric's eyes widen in terror, and his mouth instinctively opens to scream, but his throat is dry, like a riverbed devoid of water, and no sound escapes. Fear swells in his chest, spreading through his body uncontrollably. Before he can react, the werewolf leaps high into the air, its power like that of a black lightning bolt, crashing toward him. Eric raises his arms instinctively to defend, but his limbs feel like fragile twigs, and the beast easily knocks him to the ground. A searing pain shoots through his neck as the werewolf sinks its fangs into his flesh, tearing through his skin, and hot blood gushes out like a fountain, splattering onto the ground in dark red blooms. Eric’s consciousness shatters in the midst of the excruciating pain, and his mind goes blank, leaving only the primal instinct to survive, burning like a wildfire in his heart, forcing him to gather his last strength and scramble toward home. On his frantic run, the streetlights blur into ethereal streaks of light, like shattered fragments of a dream. The sounds of pedestrians shouting and cars screeching to a halt echo in his ears, but he can no longer pay attention to them. Stumbling through the door of his home with a loud bang, he slams the door shut, then slides down the door to the floor, panting heavily, like a prey animal that has just escaped a hunter’s pursuit. At this moment, his body feels like a raging fire is consuming it from within, every muscle twitching uncontrollably, his vision growing dim and blurry as though everything is shrouded in a fog. Eric knows, from the moment he entered that alley, that his life has been dragged into an abyss of darkness and endless terror. Once inside, Eric collapses onto the floor like a pile of mud, gasping for air, his heart thumping wildly in his chest as though it were an uncontrollable wild horse, ready to burst through his ribs. After a long time, he begins to recover slightly and struggles to get up, but he realizes that the world around him has changed drastically. The once subtle sounds he had ignored now seem deafening, echoing in his ears. The quiet dialogue from his neighbor’s TV show is magnified to the point where he can discern the emotional shifts of the characters; the rhythmic dripping of the faucet sounds like a hammer striking his heart, and even the rustling sound of a mouse creeping in the corner is painfully sharp, as though the mouse is scurrying right beside him. Fearfully, he covers his ears with his hands, but the sounds seem alive, relentlessly seeping into his head, impossible to escape. Stumbling towards the bathroom, he catches his reflection in the mirror and gasps. His once familiar eyes now glint with a faint, ghostly light, like a predator watching from the shadows, filled with danger and wildness. His sclera are tinged with thin red veins, as if some feral force from the wilderness has silently infiltrated his body, spreading like a fine web of crimson threads. Trembling, he reaches out to touch his eye, feeling a cold sensation that sends a chill through his spine. Fear, like a rapidly growing vine, constricts his entire being. His skin is hot to the touch, flushed with an unnatural redness, as though something mysterious and dangerous is trying to break free from within. Overcome with panic, he collapses onto the edge of the bathtub, holding his head in his hands, his mind a chaotic mess, as his grandmother’s old stories about werewolves echo in his thoughts: transforming on the full moon, losing one’s sanity, an uncontrollable thirst for blood… Stories he had once dismissed as mere fairy tales now feel like an impending doom hanging over him, like a blade poised to fall and shatter his life. “Is this real? Am I turning into that monster?” His voice trembles with despair and helplessness, his words echoing in the empty bathroom like a lost soul calling out in the dark forest. Just then, the doorbell rings suddenly, its sharp chime piercing through the suffocating silence of the room. Eric freezes, holding his breath, afraid to make a sound. The bell seems to ring insistently, as if it were a cursed chant, refusing to stop. He slowly stands up, his legs feeling heavy as though filled with lead, each step toward the door a battle with fear. Peering through the peephole, he sees a man in a black trench coat standing in the dimly lit hallway. The man’s hat is pulled low over his face, obscuring his features, and the only thing visible is his rough stubble on his chin. In his hand, he carries an old, scratched leather suitcase, its weathered appearance suggesting it holds many secrets. Before Eric can decide whether to open the door, the man seems to sense his presence, and a deep, gravelly voice reaches him through the door: “Eric, I know what’s happening to you. If you don’t want to turn into a bloodthirsty monster, open the door. I’m here to help.” Eric’s heart skips a beat, his hand hovering over the door handle as doubt and suspicion flood his mind. On one hand, his condition is worsening by the second, the strange, wild force inside him threatening to take control, and this mysterious man could be his only hope. On the other hand, he recalls the many stories of scams and deceptions, where seemingly good-hearted strangers turned out to be predators. Could this man be working with the werewolf? Is he an accomplice, using him for some sinister purpose? Time seems to freeze as Eric’s heartbeat and the ringing of the doorbell merge into a terrifying rhythm. His future hangs in the balance, suspended in this moment of uncertainty. After a long hesitation, he finally opens the door just a c***k, peering through the small gap at the stranger outside. The man, sensing Eric’s wariness, lowers his suitcase and slowly lifts his hat, revealing a weathered face marked with wrinkles, eyes both tired and determined. “I know it’s hard to believe me, but you don’t have time to hesitate,” he says in a commanding voice. Eric frowns, uncertainty in his eyes, but after a long moment, he opens the door wider. The man steps inside, closing the door behind him, shutting out the darkness and noise from the outside world. He places the suitcase on the table and opens it, revealing a collection of strange and mysterious tools: a silver knife that gleams with a cold, mystical light, vials of unidentifiable liquids, and bizarre herbs from far-off lands. “My name is Lucas. I am a monster hunter. I’ve been tracking this werewolf for a long time,” Lucas said, picking up a silver dagger slowly. In the light, the dagger glimmered with a cold and mysterious shine, as if it contained a powerful force capable of dispelling the darkness. Eric widened his eyes, staring at the unfamiliar, yet dangerously intense objects in front of him. His heart fluttered with panic. “A monster hunter? Isn’t that just a legendary profession? Can… can you really help me?” His voice trembled, filled with a faint hope for the man before him, but also overshadowed by deep skepticism. Lucas gave a slight nod, his gaze firm as he met Eric's eyes. “I can feel the werewolf virus inside you acting up. The full moon is approaching, and if it's not suppressed in time, you’ll completely lose control. But don’t worry, I have a way.” With that, Lucas reached for a small glass vial filled with a blue liquid and handed it to Eric. “Drink this. It will temporarily alleviate your symptoms.” Eric hesitated, trembling as he reached out to take the vial. He stood still for a moment, staring at the mysterious bottle in his hands. His mind was a whirlwind of doubt and fear: Could this be a deadly poison? What if, once he drank it, he fell into a coma and was left at the mercy of whoever might find him? But what choice did he have? If he didn’t drink it, would he be doomed to transform into a bloodthirsty werewolf and harm innocent people? His hand shook, cold sweat trickling down his forehead, dropping to his cheeks. Lucas seemed to see through his doubts and spoke softly, “Kid, I understand your hesitation, but you don’t have a choice. Either you trust me, or you face your destruction.” Under Lucas’s intense gaze, Eric took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tilted his head back as if preparing for death. With great resolve, he swallowed the liquid in one go. The cold, almost freezing sensation spread from his throat through his entire body, and he couldn’t suppress a shiver. After a moment, something miraculous happened—the burning sensation inside him seemed to subside slightly, and the chaotic noise in his ears began to fade away. Eric opened his eyes slowly and looked at Lucas. For the first time, a faint glimmer of trust appeared in his eyes. “Thank you, Lucas,” he said softly. Lucas nodded slightly, his expression still grim, almost as though it could drip with water. “This is just temporary. We must find that werewolf before the full moon arrives and kill it. Only then will you truly be free of the curse.” Eric clenched his fists, as though steeling himself. A newfound determination surged within him. Fear still lurked, like a shadow, constantly gnawing at him in the depths of his mind. But in order to reclaim the life he once had, he made up his mind to follow Lucas and embark on this dangerous and uncertain hunt…