Werewolf The Apocalypse Art Novels & Stories

Her pendant—two wolfsbane branches circling opposed helms—snapped and skittered across the gravel, spinning to a stop in a coppery smear. They dragged. She changed. The growl rose first—wet, subterranean—before the body followed. Bones unzipped and reset; sinew braided and surged; fur erupted through skin. In a breath, where Sara had been, a towering brown werewolf stood, eyes molten gold. Her left arm tore free. The blond didn’t even scream as her claws opened him face to gut, a red curtain dropping in one stroke. “The—fuck—RUN!” the big one choked. Three bolted, boots collapsing into slapstick panic. She didn’t chase.

I woke up in the middle of the night. The room was pitch black except for the faint blue glow of the flame lamp on the wall. Lily had fallen asleep, slumped against the edge of my bed. Her lashes were still wet with tears, her face tired but unyielding. I stayed perfectly still, careful not to wake her, but my thoughts kept spinning. Everything that had happened lately played over and over in my mind. Clearly, werewolves were way too tough, so killing them was next to impossible. If I wanted to get back to the human world, ordinary suicide methods wouldn't cut it.

Dione looked at the folder she was holding and closed it and handed it to Peter. “Peter… that wolf in the picture. Is that taken by Dr. Conrad?” Dione asked as he was about to turn his back on her. Without looking back, Peter answered her, “Yes.” And he walked to the cabin. While Dione was left still amazed at what she saw. And while thinking about that, a thought suddenly crossed her mind. Her eyes got widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Don’t tell me… that was an actual werewolf?!” she said to herself. And now, she can’t stop herself from convincing that, that was really a werewolf. She immediately wanted to get the folder from Peter to continue reading it.

She continues to share links about fantastic creatures such as vampires, witches, and paranormal activities, and today's link is about werewolves. William was intrigued, so he clicked on the mentioned link. After the website loaded, William came across a photo of a humanoid that he couldn't tell if it was a woman or a man. It has long fangs and a hairy face and body. The eyes are red, and the nails are long and sharp. He was horrified by the image, so he immediately scrolled down to the website's context and read it.

In stunning detail was an image of a werewolf, his monstrous member dangling between his legs as he jerked his load into the hungry mouth of a pair of women on the ground beneath him. "Wow." Mike inspected the outer cover, but there were no words on the book. Flipping through the pages, it was evident that the artist had a one track mind - werewolves fucking humans, werewolves fucking each other, and even an image of a werewolf fucking a unicorn. This last one made Mike laugh. The unicorn had buried its horn into a tree and was backing its ass onto the cock of the howling wolf behind it.

Alexander He gritted his teeth as he studied the image of his lycan above the marbled mantlepiece. The painting was done by a royal pack member, Paul Cezanne in 1858. The worth of the art was invaluable like the artist himself. No matter how much he tried to relax, it was impossible. His wolf was snarling and roaring in his head, wanting blood on his sharp canines. The blood of the enemy. A fucking necromancer. He will tear him piece by piece by nightfall tomorrow.

I thought he didn't like my artwork, but a few minutes later he returned with a glowing crystal, which he mounted above the frame as a light source. "It looks better this way," he explained briefly, the tips of his ears turning red. The viewing screen exploded: 【The vampire-werewolf just decorated that painting!】 【I can't believe it! Is this really the same vampire-werewolf who massacred the entire Silver Moon Pack?】 【Serina's Lunar Fear is still 0! How on earth is she doing this?】 The witch sisters stood before the painting in silence for a long time. Finally, Morgana reached out and gently touched the image of herself.

The script was too ancient for me to understand so I focused on the drawings instead. The first one had a group of living beings, werewolves living together in a community, eating, relaxing, and living peacefully. The second one showed a few of them going on hunting and killing off the wild beasts easily. The leader seemed to have gained a lot of power and the next one showed him becoming more powerful and standing tall while addressing his pack. The drawings were fading away so I couldn’t catch all of it, but it seemed that this leader challenged the Moon Goddess herself, as he seemed to be jumping towards the moon with his claws pierced out.

Jesus . Her mood continued to sour into disquiet the further she went in. There were things on a few of the printouts Emma wished she hadn’t seen. At one point, the eyes of a werewolf with a bodybuilder physique burned into her from an old woodcut, its jaws embedded in the midsection of a victim dangling from its hand like an hors d’oeuvre. In a black and white photo, a grim line of men in Civil War regalia posed for the camera, the winged corpse of something that resembled a dinosaur stretched out at their feet. Emma’s fingertips began sticking to the pages. She wiped a sleeve across her brow before any of the gathering sweat could slide off her face and smear the ink.

"Hard to argue with that." While her father was pulled into a conversation with a senior Council member, Willow wandered through the rows of art. The pieces were arresting—hyper-realistic depictions of the natural world and ancient lupine myths. One painting showed a Great Wolf with fur of liquid gold, eyes burning with a primal, ancient fire.