A man’s scream rose like smog into the sulfurous night sky, a long-drawn-out cry that cracked and shattered under a shrill pitch suddenly interrupted by blood spill and a deep, dark gurgle following several ravenous growls slipping through clenched teeth and flesh.

Werewolves.

One could only compare the sounds to a mauling—tearing, ripping, and feasting coinciding with a feral noise akin to wild dogs fighting over fresh meat. And the smell that lingered was a rancid mix of garbage, grease, and blood rotting in the thick summer heat. 

Creed stayed in the darkness of an adjacent alley, watching the silhouettes of beast-human hybrids surrounding the corpse of a homeless man caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, kneeling and feeding on the body parts closest to them. 

Their limbs popped out of place with every movement, growing longer and stretching their human skin thin enough to outline their bones and the organs beating beneath them. Creed saw thick globs of gore dripping off wide jaws and fangs almost too big for their mouths and lolling tongues licking each other clean. 

Two of them seemed to enjoy it and began kissing each other ravenously. They moaned, a disturbing ensemble of houndish whines and human ecstasy—noises that might’ve ascended from a drain where the terrors of hell waited at the bottom. 

But Creed’s presence only evaded their senses for several moments. After one spotted him, they all turned to him simultaneously, their full-moon eyes peering through the darkness, their bloodied teeth bared. Their noises morphed into some sort of growling, and if one were to listen closely, their human voices would come to ears, a conversation of bloodlust and caution. 

He saw.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

Silver. 

Rip him open.

Creed didn’t move. 

But they did.

They swayed and crawled across the asphalt on distorted limbs, spreading bloody prints and carrying mouthfuls of flesh. 

He counted five. 

Yet Creed had the upper hand by remaining in the narrow alleyway, giving them no opportunity to sneak up behind them, which made them nervous.

If he hesitated any longer they’d all attack at once, and Creed stepped back. 

He glanced back and forth between all five of them, unable to truly make out their features past the heavy shadows and neon. 

They didn’t pursue him, though one seemed more curious than the others and stepped over the corpse on all fours, but stopped at the mouth of the alley, allowing Creed to see a monstrous grin extending to the shells of his jagged ears and the human eyes looking back at him—darker than the hunger they could never satisfy. 

And after Creed felt safe enough to turn his back to them, he left the alley and didn’t stop until the sounds of their feasting were nothing but echoes in his memories.