"I preferred your earlier attitude. You were much feistier."
Rod stood over the ruined werewolf, looking down with cold indifference.
The beast was barely clinging to life.
According to the lore Rod knew from movies and novels, werewolves possessed terrifying regenerative factors. Only silver or blessed weaponry could permanently put them down.
He had verified part of that theory moments ago.
The six rounds from his revolver—lethal to any normal man—had been pushed out of the creature's body in seconds. Its flesh had knitted itself back together before his eyes.
But clearly, that factor had limits.
Rod had just blown the creature's entire torso into hamburger meat with a double-barrel shotgun at point-blank range.
Regeneration required biomass. When half your body was missing, there was nothing left to regenerate.
"Sacrificing you... should yield a fascinating return."
Rod crouched down, meeting the werewolf's terrified gaze.
He placed his palm on the creature's mangled head.
Sacrifice!
A blinding light erupted from his hand.
The pain on the werewolf's face vanished, replaced by nothingness as its flesh, bone, and soul dissolved into the void.
Once the creature was fully consumed, Rod waited, anticipation bubbling in his chest.
I wonder what the payout is this time.
The Belgian Blue bull had given him raw stats—strength and physique.
But a werewolf was a creature of fantasy.
Surely, it had to be better than a cow.
As the thought crossed his mind, a sudden itch crawled under his skin.
He looked down at his hands. Thick, wiry hair—dark as charcoal and tough as steel wire—began to sprout from his pores.
Crack. Pop.
His skeleton groaned as it twisted and expanded. His bones thickened, his knuckles broadened, and his fingernails extended into razor-sharp talons.
Riiiiiip!
His muscles swelled violently, tearing his new clothes to shreds. A torrent of berserk energy roared through his veins like a breaking dam.
He felt as though his body was being torn apart from the inside out.
But the pain was fleeting.
It was quickly replaced by an overwhelming, primal urge to destroy.
"AWOOOO!"
Rod threw his head back and howled at the moon, venting the savage beast now living inside him.
"Is this... the Lycan Bloodline?"
He shook his head, trying to clear the red haze. He looked up at the moon.
The celestial body, usually just a rock in the sky, now felt magnetic. It pulsed with a strange magic that tugged at his sanity, urging him to hunt, to kill, to feed.
However, the influence was manageable. It wasn't enough to make him lose control completely.
Rod tested his new form.
With the Lycan Bloodline integrated, his base stats had effectively doubled again.
The most significant boost was to his agility and explosive power.
And then there was the healing factor.
He could feel it humming in his blood. Unless he took fatal damage instantly—like decapitation or having his heart destroyed—he could recover from almost anything.
He now possessed all the strengths of a werewolf, but amplified.
Because his base human form was already enhanced by the Belgian Blue, his werewolf form was exponentially stronger than the creature he had just killed.
Rod took a deep breath, suppressing the violent impulses in his mind.
Slowly, the fur receded. His bones shifted back into place.
He returned to his human form.
The power wasn't uncontrollable, but keeping the beast on a leash required constant mental effort.
"Great ability. Terrible for my wardrobe."
Rod pulled a fresh set of clothes from his Personal Inventory.
The transformation mass gain was no joke. If his clothes weren't elastic, they became confetti.
He had just turned a perfectly good outfit into rags.
Luckily, he had packed spares. If not, he'd be exploring this new world stark naked.
Dressed again, Rod sat by the dying embers of the werewolf's campfire.
He fell into thought.
This world was clearly not a simple vacation spot.
He had been here less than an hour and had already killed a werewolf. Who knew what other nightmares were lurking in the dark?
But this wasn't entirely bad news.
Higher risk, higher reward.
The stronger the enemies, the better the sacrifices.
He reloaded his revolver, topping off the cylinder with fresh rounds.
Once he was fully recovered, he pressed on.
If there were werewolves here, there had to be prey nearby.
Human prey.
Otherwise, the wolves would have starved to death long ago.
It was simple biology.
After hiking for another thirty minutes, a flicker of light appeared through the trees.
As he drew closer, he saw a small, humble wooden cottage.
"Is that you, Little Red Riding Hood?"
Rod had barely stepped into the clearing when an old woman's voice called out from inside.
Little Red Riding Hood?
Rod paused, a question mark practically appearing over his head.
Does that make me the Big Bad Wolf?
He considered his options, then cleared his throat.
"I'm a traveler who lost his way. It's dark out, and I was hoping I could rest here for the night."
"A traveler?"
Heavy footsteps echoed on the floorboards.
The cottage door creaked open just a crack.
From the darkness within, a pair of amber eyes peered out.
Under the moonlight, the old woman saw a tall, incredibly fit young man standing at her threshold.
Her eyes lit up.
She threw the door wide open, her face beaming with hospitality.
"Come in, come in, young man!"
Rod looked at the kindly old face. His tension eased slightly.
"Sorry to intrude."