It is said that when it stares you in the face you know whats coming. It is said that when it holds you one last time as if hugging you, you draw in your final breath and wait. You wait for the blow that ends its pain and your fear. You wait for death itself in its truest form to end your misery. You wait for for the tenderness of your skin to corrode into the hide awaited by your deathbed. you wait for the end. Some believe its a soldier's death. But when you whimper and all hope seems to abide the never changing rule of change is it still heroic? A werewolf is archaic. It is not immortal and neither is it invulnerable. It is merely the messenger of death. For that matter the most brutal of its kind. Its a platonic blend of chaos and resilience, of pain and resistance, of death, bloodshed and life. Attempting escape is a mockery and defiance of the elixir it possesses. When a werewolf charges ultimately all combat ends till the shade of dawn arouses. A wolf essentially is mighty and intimidating. A human is a slower more pathetic being. But he can think. Together they induce the genuine form of haplessness in the prey. whereas face to face among each other they would fight for fear of the other, in each other they would merely fight over the methodology used. The wolf likes to stalk and play. Humans essentially prefer the hurting part, the tearing away part of flesh from bone. It is afterall his ultimate aim. To be the foremost, that is what his upbringing teaches him. To be feared and to be powerful and what better than showering death as a weapon? What better than relishing the fear in the enemys' eyes' as you prepare to harvest its ripeness? What better than waking up knowing that the nightmare was real? You are stronger than anything else. Is there anything else that matters? Does any feeling beat that? Is it not his elixir? To the venom that supremacy breathes in him?