ok well u can search for me ill email u my name

yea i did sorry lol

that is weird...

Breathing deeply, staring into the ceiling, he waited until the red curtains finally subsided.  "I won't tell you why I killed God, I'll let you feel how I killed him." he said into the air.  He gazed back down, a short grin etched across his cheeks.  Fangs curled over a few centimeters of his bottom lip, giving the grin a demonic undertone.  Especially with the black eyes, in which no light gleamed.  Bar's eyes widened impossibly wide, his mouth blubbered open.

    Weakly shaking his head, Bar whispered, almost inaudible even to Peter's ears.  His words were unintelligible, just useless mumbles.  It was a denial though.   

    Peter had to lean down to hear the man.  He cocked his head and clicked his tongue a few times, narrowing his eyes.  "Say your last words silently boy, don't waste my old ears."

    Time was wasting.  Where the gently caress is the rest of his team?  Peter sniffed the air, he couldn't detect anything but the iron taste of blood.  He glanced around until his eyes again drifted to the dark hallway.  It didn't matter, they'd all be dead soon anyway. 

    He gripped Bar's throat with a growl, claws digging through.  Jerking his hand to the right, four of the fingers shredded deep into the muscle and skin.  Blood arced high into the air, thickly coating his face and chest.  It pooled quickly at his feet, around the two men.  Gurgling noises lifted into the surging heat of his ears, sticky fluids still sprayed for five seconds after.  Peter placed his wet hand across the wound, only a few inches of split pink muscle and crimson tendons remained.  He would have to fix that.  Placing his right hand under the man's head, he lifted it up and squeezed tightly. 

    Bar was still alive as Peter started pulling, pressing into the spine, he gripped the sharp bone.  Snapped it with a light pop, Bar stopped jerking, blood splurted in a final arc.  It was messy business, ripping a man's head off; but he was used to it.  The red curtains returned as he kept his palms pinned respectively under the jaw and the back of the man's head.  Bar was going to feel every single excruciating second. 

    Growls rising in quick intervals from his throat, Peter pulled one last time.  Bar's head disconnected with a sickening snap of tendons and tearing of muscle.  The process had taken longer than usual.  He could come up with many excuses, but which one did he want to chose this time?  None of it mattered he guessed, he was just great at killing. 

    Keeping hold of the bloodied, matted hair, he lifted it up as he stood.  The hot liquids dripped from the tips of the wagging tendons and veins.  Splashing in little dots at his bare feet.  He needed to find his shoes.  Slipping a little in the blood, he started for the hallway.  The red curtains changed his vision, shadows being replaced by luminescent shades of red.  Light glowed as bright bursts of white.  The air was cool at the entrance, drying the sweat that drenched his chest; blood stuck to his skin.  Slightly elongated ears perking, arguing voices caught his attention.

    So there was a team.  Cocking his head, he tried to figure how many men were in there.  All he could hear were four separate voices.  Nodding, he continued down the hall.  Peter balanced his step to the ball of his feet for stealth.  Blood occasionally dripped on his lifting feet and the ground, leaving a trail.  He held Bar's head at his side, loosely swinging it back and forth.  A door squeaking around the corner jerked Peter to a stop halfway in.  White materialized along the wall in a wide arc, a massive man intruded with scarlet shadow.  The light vanished, but the imprint of the man's shadow on the wall stayed for a few seconds before drifting into nothingness.


*****
There was an edit, hence the beginning.  A slaughter is about to begin by the way.  This is only one man with a torn off head.....   I'm sadistic and evil.

Sometime later today.

Sue me!  I'm writing more though now.... and I'll be posting the beginning of a different story (written much faster) soon enough.  Not a month away.

Peter was directly under an overhanging light fixture.  It was the only one lighting the hall, he ducked back into the shadow.  He waited for a tense moment, Bar's head still dripping blood.  Tired of the filthy sensation of sweat and blood matted hair, Peter unceremoniously tossed the head to the side.  It struck a wall behind him with a light splat.  Hopefully silent enough to not attract unwanted attention.  The light flowery musk of a woman floated into his nostrils.  Go, leave now lady, I don't want to hurt you.  He thought, closing his eyes and mumbling a quick prayer.

    Why would you not want to taste her? 

    I'm still sane.  You don't control me every damn second.  Now gently caress off and let her leave!  Peter retorted to the other voice.  It was the beast speaking to him.  Taunting and controlling with it's bestial growling voice. 

    The woman's footsteps were retreating.  The beast snarled in his head and took violent and quick control of his muscles.  Peter jerked forward unexpectedly, drawing closer to the corner.  Eat her!  No.  Not all of them deserve this!  Yes they do!  One of them gave you a hand-job while your daughter was being gently caressed!  You got hard and enjoyed it for her pleasure.  You would've even came if you hadn't bitten that b****'s cheek off!  Peter never enjoyed killing women.  Seeing to his own daughter's death was enough. 

    He glanced around the corner, only catching site of the woman's ass as she was closing the door behind her.  At the clink of the locking mechanism, all rational thought was taken over by the beast.  She was gently caressed, you got hard. The beast taunted.  A eardrum shattering roar split his skull in two with a perfect matrimony of pain and rage.  Bucking and screaming he slammed his head into the wall many times as his muzzle cracked jaw bones to extend from his face.  Hot blood ran from all pores and immediately evaporated from an intense heat surrounding his body.  The brick he was still jerking his head into started melting into globs of orange goo. 

    The skin of his back opened in various sizes along his spine as narrow spikes jabbed through the muscle.  What remained of his clothes burst into flame, floating in jerky directions across the air.  His knees snapped in two, bones briefly jutting out and sinking back in to accommodate his growing legs.  And then nothingness.  Blinding white light and the monotonous roar, that's all he experienced.  No smells or sights or even taste assaulted him as the beast took over his body. 

    A long moment later all of his senses were restored and extensively enhanced.  He was panting, but not sweating.  Jet black fur covered all of his body in a stringy but thick mass.  His narrow black tongue ran over two rows of large, jagged teeth.  The short spikes running down his spine brushed the ceiling, scraping indentions into it's concrete surface.  Peter looked to his left, sniffed at the air with wide nostrils.  Humans, at least six of them.  There was a lot of jabbering going on.  He couldn't tell they were coming from.  Distortions scattered them all through every vent near him. 

    Growling with his agitation Peter released another deep howl.  All men grew quiet.  Barking twice he angrily chose the left path.  He immediately stopped midway through his turn.  Jagged breathing split the silence behind him and to the right.  Swiveling direction easily he crept silently on the furry balls of his feet.  Other voices slowly started revealing himself as he passed each door.  A rancid stench of shite forced him to cough a few times as he passed an old bathroom. 

    It was the third door to the left.  The hyperventilated breathing was coming from in there.  A doorknob twitched to his right, Peter's head snapped jerkily in it's direction.  He took a step closer, inches from the door and stood higher.  Bright light ominously flickered from the room as it was opened agonizingly slow.  Grinning savagely he dipped down and waited for the light to strike him.  His hand was open to grab something and the muscles of his thigh were hellbent for pouncing. 

    As the white brilliance licked at his muzzle he pulled the door open even further, metal screaming as it bent under his grip.  He roared in pain as the additional light shot blindness through him.  Wheeling back and slamming the door shut again he doubled over and violently shook his head.  Peter's breath came out in jagged gasps and grunts that expelled hot air. 

    Slowly the metal door creaked open again and he felt something cold prod at his upper hindquarters.  Eyes still shut he jerked around and slashed to the left but missed.  The soldier laughed like a hyena and Peter half growled as he jerked his arm around again.  "He is an actual werewolf!" the soldier gushed through his laughing.

    A different voice cut through the stinging behind his eyes.  "You think it's funny?"

    "It's awesome.  Here's proof they actually exist!  It's pretty pathetic too though.  He's blind,"

    "The light's too much,"

    "Which means we can catch him," the first voice started.

    "I'm not putting that thing anywhere near the jeep."

    "He's blind though,"

    "For now.  We'll kill him so I won't have nightmares,"

    Peter growled at their stupidity and turned again.  His vision still wasn't returning though.  Demon! he roared in his head, blinking rapidly.  What are you doing to me?

    There was no vocal response but a low humming for a short moment.  The light burns my eyes. 

    Well ignore it.  Let me see again!   

    The demon just took control over his body.  Peter involuntarily turned and blindly made his way into the darkness of the bathroom.  He could hear the soldiers scoot a wide girth from him and a door shut.  Cooler shite-smelling air wrapped around his body as he faced the alcove and stepped forward.  Wow that's narrow! the demon sputtered with amazement. 

    His head was jerked up with a grunt so he could crab walk.  The demon heaved in air to suppress Peter's thick chest.  Long muzzle angled for the ceiling and ears flat along his skull, Peter had a few feet to crawl along the tight space.  Finally the air returned to his lungs and he shook his head savagely.  The blinding light that suffocated his vision dimmed. 

    Three stalls and five floor-urinals lined the right wall.  Two widely spread sinks hung chest high on the left.  Dim yellow highlighted most of the room and he was glad it wasn't glaringly white.  Peter dipped to all fours and slid his palms along the tile.  He wasn't worried about the other two soldiers.  They were too cowardly to bother him.  Although Peter was about to hurl his intestines out from the smell.  This was worse than many of the death smells accompanying his victims.

    Holding his breath Peter hunch-walked for the nearest stall and dipped his head below the door.  "Little pig, little pig," he taunted.  "I can smell you dancing in your own bile little pig.  It is a fetish?" His voice was a deep and ominous rumble that bounced off of the walls in a hollow echo.  Eerie but also music to Peter's ears.

    As expected the soldier briefly whimpered again.  There was a creak from above and chunks of drywall fell into his eyes.  Peter growled in warning while he pawed the pieces away and glared up.  He didn't realize the ceiling wasn't concrete but simple and weak paneling.  Growling again Peter frightened them again.  "Two little pigs hide in here.  One above and one near," he laughed. 

    Wheeling back Peter crouched towards the next stall.  A swastika was carved into the olive-green material.  Other than that, just a basic but clean toilet.  There was only one more stall left and Peter knew the soldier was behind it.  Peter backed up and dipped his head as low as he could.  His lips were pursed tightly against each other in anticipation.  Something was wrong.  Peter backed up.

    Maybe they thought he would fall for the booby trap.  They were dead wrong as Peter stood and glanced over the stall.  No one was in it.  Only a large block C-4 taped to the toilet lid with duck tape.  Peter's eyes widened and he backed up... into the barrel of a rifle.  It bounced off the back of his skull and caused him to lose balance.

    Roaring in fury but not pain he whirled around and faced his nemesis.  The man was tall and thin with the fashionable black outfit tugging his thick arm muscles.  Peter swiped quickly at the soldier's chest without hesitation but the soldier was fast too.  The soldier retaliated by glazing Peter's knuckles with the barrel of his shotgun.  It didn't hurt too much but it pissed him off. 

    Peter lunged forward and pinned the man to the wall.  Gasping, the soldier used his free left hand to grip at Peter's muzzle and try to grip the jaws shut.  His index finger was dangerously nearing Peter's eye.  Surging upward Peter used his chest to crush the soldier between him and the wall.  He only released the man for a brief second to grip his throat. 

    The soldier screamed in his own fury and jerked his head to the side.  Peter's claws raked along the wall and four white lines appeared in their wake.  A knee found his crotch and Peter whined; his knees buckling slightly.  He saw the soldier's face get near in a head-butt.  The soldier flailed in pain and bounced off the wall again. 

    "Cheap shot," Peter muttered.  He gripped the soldier's throat and squeezed tightly.  With a brutal roar he threw the man hard into the wall to their right.  Chunks of brick fell to the floor and on his feet in a loud clatter.  Peter brought up his free hand and balled it in a half fist.  Growling for the last time he struck the soldier in the face.

    His claws penetrated the man's cheek, arced diagonally and through the bridge of the man's nose.  The soldier screamed as massive amounts of blood sprayed freely along the wall.  Peter wrapped his fingers around what few pink tendons the flapping nose was attached to yanked it off.  He plucked the little body part into his jaws and chewed twice.  The two rows of teeth made quick work of the cartilage and crunched easily through the bone.  The gory mess slithered thickly down his throat.

    "I've got your nose," he laughed cheerily and eyed the man's tongue flicking along his ruined gums in saliva and blood.  Most of the soldiers back teeth were missing.  It was quite the mess and Peter loved it.  Switching hands he gripped the side of the man's head with his right hand and throat with the left.  He yanked hard to the right and the spine snapped. 

    Peter shoved the dead man unceremoniously to the side.  The soldier's head bounced off of the sink flopped his body face first onto the ground.  Blood quickly pooled around the man's upper body.  Now Peter looked up and turned.  The dip in the drywall was still there.  Curious, he lightly tapped it with his index claw.  There was no shifting of weight but the pressure of something above was clear. 

    Sniffing the air with distaste, he confirmed that someone had been up there.  The stale air through the cracks in the ceiling smelled of sweat and blood.  Peter was a little unnerved by the fact.  He didn't exactly know why it disturbed him so much.  Plenty of people he'd gone after committed suicide before he got to them.  Something was just plain wrong with this.  Grunting, Peter lowered his arm and turned to the mirror.

First off good job wording your sentences. Very easy to read because it kind of flows together very well. Great job. Now sorry I have a few things to critique for you that might help. Ok, when your in your "gory" scenes you..... Well let's just say your focusing more on blood and guts than telling peters story. I highly commend you because you are very descriptive. But the reader has no way to relate to peter. You've given no background on him, no real description of him, and the way you DO describe him makes him feel fake. As an avid reader I like a character I can relate to or a storyline that pulls me in and makes me feel like I'm actually there with him. So u might want to work on that. Other than that very good writing skills. Keep it coming

A new werewolf story!  It's actually startling even me... I had to turn the lights on.  This is what I have so far.  No official title yet. 

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The hunter cursed the frozen air but watched in awe at the spectacle before him.  A polar bear was gracefully stalking it's way across the horizon.  It was a ghost along the dark grey sky and he was glad.  His right hand slowly inched along the stock and dipped a little to find the trigger guard.  The safety was already clicked on.  All he had to do was put it in his cross-hairs and click. 

    Samson shifted his legs the barest of centimeters until he was comfortable again.  The polar bear was a slowly moving target for now.  If he missed once it would reach great speeds be gone by the time he could chamber the next round.  His rifle was great but he wasn't the best hunter.  His father was excellent, if only the genes would be passed on to him. 

    A wind rose violently from the east and blew snow into his eyes.  Samson squinted and sneered against the cold bringing out frozen tears.  Pinpricks battered his cheeks and nose.  He was glad for the fuzzy hat atop his head.  The heavy bear fur parka flapped wildly but was pinned beneath his weight to keep his stomach moderately warm. 

    Heat of fear boiled his veins as the wind suddenly died down and was replaced by a howling.  There were no wolves this far north.  It was coming from in front of him and carrying loudly in the wind.  His prey jerked to a sudden stop and roared in response.  Rearing it's large head the polar bear charged forward.  Snow swiveled in a long tail from it's path.  Samson gasped from the sudden burst of movement. 

    It didn't look like it was anywhere near approaching him but the bear wasn't what spooked him.  It was what frightened the bear itself he was frightened of.  He didn't know what to do.  All he saw in his immediate vicinity was hard packed snow and ice with a dark grey sky.  Nothing else in this vast and barren wasteland.  Samson let out a plume of air as the howling returned. 

    Acting on an impulse of fear he quickly scrabbled for the radio attached to his chest.  He let the rifle set and gripped the radio with both hands.  Clicking the send button he spoke quietly but urgently.  "A-Bomb to D-Base come in, over."

    There was a loud burst of static and he glanced at the horizon in fear.  It would attract unwanted attention.  He'd have to make the talk fast.  Samson rotated the dial to lower the volume.  He hoped there wasn't anymore wind.  It would distract him from the already low voices. 

    Finally his mother came on.  "This is D-Base over," she said clearly over the radio.  He had to put it close to his ear to hear her. 

    A brief smile caught to his frozen cheeks.  "I think... I don't know..." he couldn't think of what to say. 

    "What is it hon?  Over,"

    "There's something out here, over." he weakly mumbled. 

    "Can you repeat that?  Over,"

    "There's something out here with me.  Over," he said louder.  Samson glanced at the horizon and saw a huge shadow blacker than the sky itself looming about a hundred yards directly north of him.  It was much larger than a polar bear, he was sure of that. 

    Samson was panicking.  His heart was pounding furiously in his ears and he couldn't understand his mother's response. 

    "Can you repeat that?  Over," he asked.  Two red dots were floating within the midst of the shadow.  They bored into his own.  shite, he thought.  They were glowing like embers from a fire he wished he was sitting by now.
 
    "Food, that's what's out there, over." his mom answered. 

    Samson shook his head.  "Mom, please.  Something scared the shite out of the polar bear I was after.  They don't have any gorram natural enemies..." his voice trailed off.  Another howl curdled his bowels.  He held down the button and weakly stuck his hand out into the frozen air.

    "What the gently caress was that?" his mother screamed on the other end.  "Hang on hon, just a moment, over." she continued before he could respond. 

    Gritting his teeth, Samson muttered into the radio.  "Hurry, please,"

    If that thing wasn't so close he'd try to stand and run.  Whatever was slowly approaching him would catch a sudden deep interest in a closer and slower target.  The creature took slow and lumbering steps. 

    "Samson," his father's voice shredded through the frozen air. 

    "Yeah dad?" he asked.  He wasn't worried about the "over" thing.  That wasn't needed at the time.

    "Stay as hidden as you can alright?  I'm headed over to where you are now.  We're going to have to break radio contact."

    "No, no please," he begged. 

    "It has to be done alright?  I'm so sorry.  You're a big kid now." And then silence on the other end.  There was another howl.  Much closer now.  His heart almost stopped when he heard a different, higher pitched howl responding.  What were they?  A third and fourth much deeper howls responded from a separate direction.