Werewolf The Apocalypse: Beast Behind The Glass

A pack of wolves ran the icy forests of northern Wisconsin with their noses low and hackles raised. They were massive creatures of speed and power and age old magic.

It was that last thing that had them howling with Gaia's rage.

Magic.

Evil and dark. Twisted. Hitting the earth like acid as its scorching metal claws dug up roots and cleaved trees in two.

If the Wolves fell into their memories, they'd loosely recall the humans calling the steel titans that roared obscenities into the heart of Gaia's home machines. 

Machines. 

The pack of wolves snarled and tried to slow their growing rage as the machines ravaged their lands. Fumes rotted the winds, burning their noses with scents of noxious chemicals that made them sneeze and gag. Wheel indentations erased the physical memories of their paw prints made seasons before by their loved ones. 

At the head of the pack, the alpha ran. He was large. Not the largest by any means, but he made up for his lacking bulk with keen senses, massive claws and sabered fangs that gave the auburn furred alpha a prehistoric edge. 

His name was War-Maw. And their sprint had come to an end as he skidded to a halt in the cold night winds. He looked back at his pack, huffing and eyeballing the trees, speaking the Wolven language of niche sounds and body language to make them hide behind the trees. 

From there, they watched. They growled. Silently, they raged. 

The clouds dissipated, allowing the full moons glow to fall on the demolition crew cutting its way through the forest. Humans in armor and wearing blinding chemicals drove massive metal machines with giant claws and long arms made to tear down everything green in their path. 

Like puppets, the machines spiritual strings were pulled and manipulated by the ghostly forms of giant shadowy spiders with a thousand legs and even more eyes. Only visible to those in tune with the spirits and magic.

"Weaver taint." War-Maw thought, "An entity that grows more powerful as man continues to modernize and use more aspects of control through technological advancement. Now its grip is on my forest. MY territory....mmmmmm." 

Even worse though were the humans. The ones not piloting death machines held guns— more weavertech, and wore the branding of Pentex on their Kevlar vests and masks. Not that they needed it. The spiritual infection of the Wyrm coiled around them all like overgrown leeches flooding their mouthes with caustic fumes reminiscent of the foul shadows spewing from the machines. 

It was all connected. And it was well within their Gaia-given right to lay waste to them all.

The Litany— Garou law, said so. 

War-Maw looked back at his pack, hidden in the shadows. The more experienced members called to the spirits to blend and turn invisible while others erased their scent and sound as they paced anxiously. 

"It is time brothers. Release your rage…." War-Maw let off a bone chilling howl. 

As he threw his head back and opened his jaws to unleash the primal cry, magical essence manifested in the physical world. Also known as Gnosis. The essence of Garou magic.

He was suddenly beside his sister wolf. A spirit. 

The same way the Pentex soldiers and forest destroyers were gripped by and given power by the Wyrm and Weaver, through Gaia and The Umbra, War-maw and his Garou kin had access to spirits. And through them, they were given gifts. Powers. 

The almighty equalizer. 

With the Red Talon's Wolf Spirit aiding his howls, they went from basic animal cries to one of his most useful Gifts when fighting the taint of the Wyrm and Weaver. 

The Shattering Howl.

The air around them warbled and shook with Gnosis. It rippled across the distance like sound given physical form, suddenly gripping the machines and their rubber tires ahead, popping and cracking them. Making them less affective. Avenging Gaia. 

"RELEASE YOUR RAGE!" War-Maw barked savagely. 

War was coming. 

The Garou assumed their war forms. Also known as the Crinos Form. The classical werewolf. A terrifying and monstrous blend and man and beasts most savage aspects used specifically for battle.

The Wolfpack grew agitated. Bones snapped and skin tore as muscles bubbled and expanded. Their stretched paws expanded into fingers tipped by vicious curled claws. Whines turned into beastial roars as the wolves rose up on two legs, now nine foot tall behemoths with eyes blazing full of fury. 

The next time War-Maw howled, he was joined by many. 

The Red Talons charged. 

Even though they were near ten foot tall monstrosities of muscle and earth-gifted magic, they made no sound, leaving the humans scrambling to find where the howl emanated from. 

War-maw snarled and flicked his snout in many directions, forcing his wolves to split off into smaller units of two and three to hit the humans from every angle imaginable. 

As Alpha, War-Maw attacked first, joined by his second in command, Cat-Eyes. With Gifts from the Sabertooth Spirit of old, the much larger Garou used her curled retractable claws to scale the still-standing trees and move from above. From there she waited. A rarity for the impatient beast. 

War-Maw didn't waste the cooperation and pushed his speed. His first target came in the form of a burly bald headed man wielding a Weaver tainted rifle with hands dyed black by the Wyrm. His smell made War-maw's bones hurt. 

He raged. 

By the time the man saw him coming, he was already tackling him to the ground and ripping him apart with three vicious swipes of his claws.

He'd be damned if he bit into such a foul existence. The spiritual form of an ancient snake wrapped him like a belt. The Red Talon Gift of the Hidden Killer taught by the snake spirit. Due to this, he mauled the mercenary in pure silence. No more than five feet from his next target who was none the wiser. Blood never splattered or stuck to his fur where it could reflect light and make him easier seen in the fading dark. Every bit of evidence evaporated at birth. 

Across the clearing and behind the machines looming over him like avatars of death and decay, his pack descended on the other Pentex gunmen. All in silenc—

War-maw's ears twitched as someone gasped. He looked up, claws bloodied from mauling his second target when he noticed the human inside the machine ahead, eyes wide with terror as he found War-Maw. 

The delirium was beginning to take him as his skin paled. Generational trauma— memories before the impergium's end, back when Garou hunted humans regularly. War-maw could see the ancestral memories beginning to twist his brain. To drive him mad. 

His mouth opened. Before he could let out the blood curdling scream, a shape leapt from the trees behind War-maw. 

Cat-Eyes flew in a blur, clearing a hundred feet of distance in a single bound. She pounced on the man, turning him to mush as she landed in the seat of the crushing machine. From there, she turned back to War-maw. Her black and red-gold fur stood on end. Rage and excitement burned like fire on her.

War-maw nodded. 

Cat-Eyes stood tall and let out a blood curdling howl.

The remaining humans without weapons or armor gave into the delirium as they finally laid eyes on the Garou in their Crinos forms beneath the full moon. 

It was then that the hunt began. 

As they all gave chase and culled the humanoid wyrm and weaver taint from their dwindling territory, War-Maw hung back and called to the other side with quieted howls and clicks. The spiritual form of cockroaches crawled out of his fur and his claws began to glow as the spirit answered his calls and gave him the gift of Rend Weavertech.

He ran, letting his claws run across the surface of the machines, cars, guns and shipment containers. Like acid, his touch melted them down and out of existence entirely. The cockroach spirit knew the rights and creation of weavertech. As a result its assistance in unbinding was priceless. 

As was his assistance in the hunt. 

They howled in unison, confirming the end of the humans in their territory. 

He raised his snout to call a reply only to be interrupted by a distant howl. 

Familiar. Lighter and younger but strong. Pained. It wavered and cracked as if a powerful twisting force within was pulling at everything within her. 

It came again. 

Red Talons rarely spoke human language. But War-Maw— unlike many, wasn't born Red Talon. He wasn't born Lupus— as a wolf. He lived as a man for years. Sometimes, he still thought as human. It gave him an edge against his more wild-blooded brothers. Only now, it gave him anxiety. To speak the words. 

"My mate…. She's giving birth."