Werewolf Of FeverPeak

Chapter 5 - Beast of the Deli

The streets of Feverpeak were eerily quiet as Crowley sped through the winding roads, the chilling wind biting at his exposed skin under the mask. His motorbike roared, tearing through the desolate town as he approached Banjo's Deli. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the streets in deep blue twilight. Streetlights flickered, struggling against the darkness.

As he neared the deli, Crowley could see that something was off. The front window was shattered, glass glittering on the pavement like jagged teeth. The deli's neon sign buzzed, but its letters flickered sporadically; most had burnt out, leaving only the ghostly glow of an incomplete word. He parked the bike on the curb and approached cautiously, silver revolver in hand, scanning the street for any sign of life. Something had broken in. The door had been torn clean off its hinges and was hanging lopsided, swaying slightly in the wind. He approached the entrance, stepping over the debris, his senses heightened.

Inside, the deli was a wreck. Shelves were overturned, deli meats strewn across the floor, and the cash register was smashed open. But this wasn't just a normal robbery; there were deep claw marks gouged into the walls, leading toward the back. Crowley tightened his grip on the revolver and followed the trail, his boots crunching on broken glass. As he stepped further into the deli, the faint sound of rustling reached his ears. It wasn't the wind. Something or someone was still here. He crept toward the back of the store, where the walk-in freezer stood slightly ajar. The temperature dropped, the air inside bitterly cold as he approached. But just as he reached out to push the door wider, something large and fast blurred past him, knocking him off balance. He stumbled, catching himself on a nearby shelf.

Whirling around, Crowley saw it: a shadowy figure with enormous leathery wings perched on top of the shelves. Its body was twisted, grotesque, and bat-like, with sinewy limbs and claws sharp enough to carve through steel. Its head turned toward him, revealing glowing red eyes set deep in a snarling, slimy-covered face. The creature let out a high-pitched screech, a sound that pierced through the stillness of the night, sending a shiver down Crowley's spine.

"You're one ugly son of a bitch," Crowley muttered, raising his revolver. The bat-creature lunged, its wings beating furiously as it dove straight toward him. Crowley fired off a shot, the silver bullet tearing through the air. The creature twisted mid-flight, narrowly dodging the bullet, and slammed into him with bone-crushing force. Crowley was thrown back into the wall, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.

He quickly rolled to his feet, grabbing the runed blade from his side. The creature hovered for a moment, its wings flapping slowly, casting massive shadows across the walls. It let out another shriek, then dove again, this time aiming for his throat. Crowley was ready. As the creature closed in, he slashed upward with the blade, the ancient runes flaring to life with a brilliant red glow. The blade connected, slicing through the creature's arm. It howled in pain, its blood spraying across the floor, thick and black like tar. Staggering back, the creature clutched its wounded arm, glaring at Crowley with hatred burning in its crimson eyes. But before it could make another move, Crowley leveled the revolver at its chest.

"Next time, choose a different target," he growled, pulling the trigger. The silver bullet pierced the creature's chest, and with a final, echoing screech, it crumpled to the floor, its body convulsing before falling still. A pool of dark blood spread beneath it, staining the tiles.

Crowley stood over the creature, breathing heavily, the flickering deli lights casting long shadows over the scene. He wiped his blade on his coat and holstered the revolver, walking toward the fallen monster. He knelt beside it, inspecting its mangled form. It was unlike anything he'd encountered before-part human, part animal-but something much darker pulsed beneath its surface. He pulled out a small vial from his belt and dipped it into the creature's blood, sealing it tight.

"No way you killed the Buckers!" Crowley scoffed as he put the vial back in his belt. Standing back up, he reached back into his belt for a vial of thick brown liquid and a box of matches. Without hesitation, he poured the liquid on top of the creature and began to light the match when a glass broke behind him.

"FREEZE! DROP THE MATCH AND GET ON YOUR KNEES!" Crowley turned to see Detective Summers pointing her gun shakily. "You're under arrest for the murders of Stacy Bucker and Barney Bucker!"

Crowley ignored her and dropped the match, lighting the creature on fire. "The suspect isn't human, Detective!" Summers stood cautiously. "Wh-what the hell is that thing you just burned?!" Crowley, making sure the creature burned, stared at it as black embers floated in the air. "A gargoyle. Pretty common, but don't ask me-ask your commissioner, Summers." With that, Crowley, without fear, walked past Summers, who was still pointing her gun at him.

"HEY! I'M STILL TAKING YOU IN!" But it fell on deaf ears as Crowley walked back to his motorbike. Summers watched as the flames consumed the gargoyle, leaving a pile of broken bones and ash. She looked out the broken window to see Crowley starting his motorbike and driving away into the darkness as red and blue lights shone in the distance!