Shing.
The moment Rod stepped out of the Dimension Door, his vision plunged into darkness.
Towering ancient trees. A damp, suffocating atmosphere.
And endless, sprawling primeval jungle.
He glanced upward. Thick storm clouds choked the sky, allowing only faint slivers of starlight to filter through the dense canopy.
Rod's tensed muscles relaxed slightly.
At least it wasn't a nuclear wasteland. Nor was it some high-fantasy hellscape where demons roamed the streets.
Of course, that didn't mean it was safe.
"Trees everywhere. Which way is north?"
Rod rubbed his chin, scanning the horizon. Suddenly, he spotted a flicker of orange light in the distance.
It wasn't far.
Fire meant intelligence. Fire meant people.
"I'm a stranger in a strange land. Best to find a local and get my bearings."
He patted the shotgun holstered at his hip for reassurance and headed toward the light.
Minutes later, a campfire came into view.
Beside the flames, a silhouette sat hunched over, head bowed, eating something with fierce concentration.
A human?
Rod let out a breath.
If it was human, he could negotiate. Even without a common language, gestures and drawings usually worked.
"Hey there, friend. I'm a traveler who got a little turned around. Mind pointing me in the right direction?"
Rod strode confidently toward the fire. But when he was less than twenty paces away, he froze.
A thick, metallic stench assaulted his nose.
Blood.
Rod's eyes adjusted, and he saw what the man was eating.
A leg. A human leg.
Hearing the footsteps, the diner slowly raised his head.
Pitch-black eyes, void of sclera or pupil. A face covered in matted, coarse hair.
It wasn't a man. It was a beast wearing a man's shape.
Fuck.
Rod's internal monologue descended into a string of profanities.
Without a second thought, he turned to run.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the monster toss the severed limb aside and launch itself at him with terrifying speed.
It was fast. In the span of a few breaths, the gap between them closed to ten paces.
"You think I'm scared of you? Come get some!"
Realizing he couldn't outrun it, Rod grit his teeth.
He slammed his heels into the dirt, spun around, drew his revolver, and fanned the hammer.
Smooth. Practiced. Lethal.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Muzzle flashes illuminated the dark woods.
Six rounds from the revolver slammed into the creature's chest.
The monster howled in agony, blood spraying into the air. But instead of dropping, the pain seemed to ignite a primal fury. It didn't stop. It lunged.
There was no time to reload or switch weapons. Rod braced himself for close-quarters combat.
Thud!
Rod's fist connected squarely with the creature's face. The sickening crunch of breaking bone echoed through the clearing. His brute strength—enhanced by the Belgian Blue—shattered its nose instantly.
He grabbed the monster by both arms, executed a perfect takedown, and pinned it to the forest floor.
The creature thrashed and snarled, but under Rod's grip, it was helpless.
Rod scoffed.
"I thought you were tough. That's it?"
Aside from its speed and durability, this thing was physically weak compared to him.
Just then, a break in the clouds allowed a beam of moonlight to pierce the canopy.
It struck the creature directly.
Crack. Snap.
The monster's howl changed from pain to something deeper, more guttural.
Under the moonlight, its fur began to grow at an impossible rate. The bullet holes in its chest knitted together, pushing out the lead slugs.
Its cheekbones jutted forward. Its teeth elongated into serrated fangs.
In seconds, the hairy man-thing had fully transformed into a towering werewolf.
"AWOOOO!"
The werewolf roared at the sky. Its previously lean frame bulked up, muscles swelling with newfound power.
Its strength doubled instantly.
Rod felt his grip slipping. He was using all his might, but the beast was pushing back hard.
"Okay, so you have a second phase."
But what good was transforming?
This was the modern era. Who the hell brings claws to a gunfight?
Rod suddenly released his grip and leaped backward.
The werewolf, freed from the pin, sprang to its feet. It turned, snarling, ready to rip its prey apart.
Instead, it found itself staring down two black, cavernous barrels.
Rod stood calmly, a double-barreled shotgun materialized from his inventory and leveled at the beast's chest. The werewolf froze, a flicker of confusion in its feral eyes.
"Times have changed, fido."
The beast's pupils dilated. It didn't know what the metal tube was, but every instinct screamed death.
It turned to flee.
Rod watched it go with cold detachment.
"You think you can just come and go as you please? You think this is a public park?"
At this range? With this spread?
In front of a shotgun, all living things are equal.
God himself could come down, and Rod would still pull the trigger.
"Adios."
BOOM!
The jungle shook.
At point-blank range, the shotgun didn't just wound; it obliterated.
Hundreds of lead pellets shredded the werewolf, tearing its upper torso into a mist of blood and fur.
Rod looked down at the mangled carcass twitching on the ground. His expression was serene.
This was the power of technology.
All fear stems from a lack of firepower.
God?
How many divisions does he have?