I Became a Werewolf in a Hero Story
I remember seeing a werewolf in a cartoon movie when I was a kid. Like in most stories, the werewolf was the villain—a brutal, ferocious monster that devoured humans. As a child, I loved those werewolves. No special reason. They were just cool. The idea of transforming under a full moon was fun, and the sight of a massive wolf striding on two legs, snarling savagely, made my heart race.
But liking something doesn't mean you want to become it. Especially not as a jaded adult glued to reality, far from the wide-eyed kid parked in front of the TV.
I lowered my gaze to my stiff, fur-covered body. Coarse gray fur rippled with every movement. Instead of neat fingernails, long, razor-sharp claws jutted menacingly from my hands.
...This is insane, for real.
I let out a sigh—god knows how many that made—and released the transformation, reverting to human form. My head dropped from nearly brushing the ceiling, and my viewpoint settled back to normal height. I grabbed the clothes I'd stripped off before shifting, threw them on, and flopped onto the bed.
Suddenly, I craved a smoke like never before—not even in the army.
It had been a month since I'd possessed this body in a novel I'd only skimmed the early chapters of. No clue why it happened, but landing in a werewolf? What the hell.
I hadn't even known this story featured werewolves.
For that month, I'd holed up at home, lost in pointless brooding. Humans adapt to their environment, so I'd mostly made peace with it—but the sighs still came unbidden.
Werewolf. Or Werewolf, as it's known. Just like in fiction, they were man-eating monsters here. They lived as humans by day, but at night, under the moon, they shifted and hunted people.
The difference? They could transform at will after dark, full moon or not.
They looked human but weren't—humans were just prey to them, not kin. They blended into society, fooling everyone. Without shifting, you couldn't tell them apart, making them a massive headache.
I'd scoured for any "good" werewolves, but no luck. They were straight-up evil.
Knowing I was a monster didn't sit right. Small mercy: as long as I didn't shift, no one could spot me. And since I'd been human originally, I felt no urge to eat people. No big deal.
Whether possessed or born this way, to live normally, I needed a job. After a month of wandering in my head, I snagged a gig at the convenience store near home.
This body's original owner was a total NEET—no calls on my phone the whole month I'd been digging into things. Hell, no contacts saved at all. Risky for any adult, but a relief for me. Running into friends or family would've been a nightmare.
As I adapted, my identity crisis faded, replaced by practical worries. Like, what the hell do I eat tomorrow?
Society buzzed about heroes and monsters, but that was another world for a normie like me. Fantasy or sci-fi, extras like me faced the same grind.
Lost in those thoughts, my shift ended. I said goodbye to the next guy and stepped out.
Late evening, walking alone in this strange world—loneliness hit hard.
My one-room was in a Slum Alley, a rickety maze of crumbling shacks. The goddamn stairs zigzagged mercilessly; they always drew a sigh. At this hour, barely any people around—gave me the creeps. Chilly air made me shiver.
Hurrying home, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the night from afar.
"Kyaaaaack!"
My foot froze mid-step on the stairs. After a beat of hesitation, I turned toward the sound.
Phone out, ready to call the cops, I bolted to the scene.
There: a woman crumpled on the ground, trembling, and a skin-crawling black, grotesque monster.
I'd figured some punk scuffle, but no—a real monster.
...It hadn't spotted me yet.
Run? I could make it. Bail now, report to police or heroes—that's smart.
But she'd die. No hero could arrive faster than that thing could kill her.
Transformation flashed in my mind. Shift, and I'd win.
But stepping up like this? I'd get caught eventually. To live normally, run.
That internal tug-of-war, and then I saw her—curled small, shaking on the ground.
...No, I can't just ignore someone dying right in front of me.
I won't make more regrets.
Running now? I'd haunt myself forever.
Decision made quick.
Crack. Crunch. Bones twisted, frame and muscles swelled. My 170s cm shot past two meters. Clothes shredded as my body ballooned. Vision rose, fur blanketed me, claws sprouted from hands and feet.
"Grrr..."
No human words—just a beast's guttural rumble. Senses sharpened; power surged through me.
As my shift completed, the monster—distracted by prey—finally whipped its hideous face my way.
Pissed at the interruption, it lashed out with what might've been an arm or tentacle.
Whoosh—air tore with lethal speed. A normal person couldn't track it; it'd explode a bare human on impact.
But to werewolf me? Slow-motion clarity.
I dropped low, ducked—the strike missed.
Crash-grrrk. The tentacle gouged a long scar into the building wall.
Before it recoiled, I lunged in close. Toes dug into earth, hips twisted, torque rippled up. Fist clenched, shoulder snapped forward.
Boom.
Full-weight punch cratered its thick chest. A meaty pop, and its muscled, fatty guard caved. Hot fluids gushed; it shuddered and collapsed.
Done.
First real fight shifted, but my body moved like it'd always been this way. Muscle memory? My old hobby workouts must've helped.
I shook gooey monster ichor from my fist and eyed the woman. She was still shaky, knee scraped, but no major wounds. Made it in time.
She noticed the beast down, looked up at me.
"Th-thank you... Huh?"
Her pupils dilated, face drained white, trembling worse.
"H-help..."
Terror choked her words. Made sense. Saved from one monster by... another.
To her, this probably looked like monsters fighting over dinner.
I wanted to say I was friendly, but werewolf throat only growled. Would just scare her more. Even if I could talk, would she believe me?
Pitying her quaking form, I figured it was time to ghost—
"...Over here!!"
Some woman popped up, kicking at me.
I backpedaled, dodged, sized her up.
"Marie unni! I'll handle the werewolf—get the civilian out!"
"Got it!"
That move? No normie. Hero arrival.
Good for the scene, bad for me.
She blocked the fleeing pair's path, squared up.
"I'll take it from here."