Werewolf Killing Spree: Brutal Lycanthrope Massacre | Dark Fantasy Horror Podcast Ep.182

A werewolf unleashed. A massacre without mercy.

In this dark fantasy horror episode, Wil—the unstoppable lycanthrope—descends into a blood-soaked killing spree inside a quiet pub, delivering one of the most brutal supernatural attacks yet. Told from the perspective of the monster himself, this episode explores the psychology of a predator who doesn’t just kill… but enjoys it.

As bodies fall and chaos unfolds, Lucifer’s influence lingers in the background—but control is slipping. Meanwhile, The Professor arrives to witness the horrifying aftermath, piecing together a crime scene so savage it defies explanation.

This episode blends graphic horror, dark humour, and supernatural storytelling, building toward an inevitable confrontation between hunter and beast.

⚠️ Listener discretion advised: contains graphic horror and violence.

Perfect for fans of:
werewolves, dark fantasy, psychological horror, supernatural thrillers, and brutal monster stories.

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Transcript

It's through a blood haze that I see the world. A group of men entered the bar, and then they died. A simple description of what happened. Straight to the point, no more detail than that is needed. They came in, and they died.   

What not enough? You want to hear the details. Nah... You do. Okay then.

For those who would like to know, their deaths were vile, detestable and glorious. The way they died had made even the Devil turn her back and leave the scene in disgust. Had she a poor stomach for the artistic forms that I created.Probably not. She had left because she did not need to see it. You need no more horror in your... existence when you have seen what the Devil has seen.

Lucifer had taken me from one fated massacre. She had robbed me of a moment, which now was given back.  

I had been at the edge of a playground. A small primary school in a small town. I had been among the trees on the outskirts of the grounds, and I had brooded on the fact that in the days that had passed, I had been controlled by others. That I could not tolerate. I am ego-driven, and to think that anyone or anything could control me or my ego was ananathema to my very thoughts. The Devil had plans for me, and I would do anything to belay those plans and scupper her ideas. 

I sat in the shadows. A black shadow of a wolf. Eight feet from front paw to tip of ear. A terrifying figure in this landscape. Other creatures left me be. They felt and smelt my presence and knew better than to face the jaws of the killer.  

Humans, though... humans have extricated themselves from nature to a point where those prey senses. Those senses that herald the attack of the wolf are dulled to the point that they do not notice their obvious death sitting before them. 

So, I was ready and prepared to attack. It was time to kill and feast on the chattel before me. To kill the tarmac field of human young.  

Then Lucifer had taken me to the bar. She had robbed me of my killing spree. She had leashed me with a magic I did not know. She told me that her intention was to stop me from facing the consequences of my kills. She had changed the fate of the younglings at play. They were meant to be torn and twisted, fed upon by me and then dam the consequences. Consequences were the realm of others. I liked the consequences of my actions. They were almost always better than that which initiated them in the first.

She wanted to talk. I did not. She wanted to control me. She would not.

Then, a beautiful thing happened in the most opportune way for me. The door had opened, and a small group of men had entered. They seemed in a jovial mood and a fine group of friends out to have a wholesome day of fellowship and fun. 

I think that was their plan, but then, unfortunately, they had walked into the bar where I was feeling frustrated, and unlike with most frustrated folk, my frustration for these men would lead to unfortunate outcomes. They would be the food to feed my ego. To make me surfeit and content with myself. They would be my food, and I would play with them.

As they entered, they saw a scene where a man and a woman argued at the bar. Well, not necessarily a woman, but in the case of most heterosexual men, then yes, a woman. As we have mentioned, It has been said that Lucifer will appear to conscience as the most lovely, lusted-after thing that you desire. In most cases, this was a man or woman of great beauty. Not in all cases, though.  

Having made that caveat, can we say they would have seen a woman in most cases? Just statistically. So, the majority of these men would have gone into complete protection mode of the poor little lady.  

I was being sarcastic there. I genuinely don't think of her as a little lady. Well, she is not little or a woman. She is hell's own monarch.

Now, I have thoroughly explained what they saw. We can accept this as a reason that they allowed their toxic masculinity or their gentlemanly behaviour to surface in their little souls. Of course, this bravery was helped by the knowledge that they had the numbers on the man. So they would and could step in to humble the angry man at the bar.

They had got it very wrong. The man and the woman were not fighting. The beautiful Lucifer had been laughing at the man's anger. Even when his behaviour and anger were turned to the bar's destruction. She was laughing?  

But, being men, they ignored this as one of those strange responses that some little women have when frightened. You know, little women, they get hysterical. I joke again. I don't think like that at all. Have you met Sally? My darling Sally? If you had, then you must know that if I felt like that, then I would be dead, and I say that as a werewolf, and that means that I am very hard to kill.

Luci and I had been arguing. I would never allow anyone to control me again, so I was very upset. She was in utter control, but with the arrival of the men, I saw a wonderful flicker in those beautiful eyes.  

I could see that their arrival was not within her control. I saw a moment of doubt and annoyance. A slight chink in her tools of control. Oh, the wonder of moments like these. Seeing this gap, I knew I could take back some control once I had used the crowbar of my own ego to widen that crack and destroy her command.  

(poem)

Oh, and what a glorious thing it can be.

A loss of her control that gives it back to me.

God bless her, she warned them. Is God blessing them the right phrase in her context? As with the majority of men, God bless them; in this case, he did not; they ignored the women's plea and decided to fight. They did not fight. They really did not fight. They... died. 

As the first man came forward to give me my warning and defend the Devil's own honour. Fen joined me, and we had become the werewolf. A black silhouette in the bar. Large and well-muscled. Claws and teeth are on fine display. Eyes of amber fire.

As the man stepped up, everything went into slow motion. His face went from righteous indignation to horror as he saw the transformation and the fact that the transformed one was attacking him.

He went to yell and turn as fear hit him, giving him the adrenaline blast to run. I slashed a claw across his abdomen before he managed to turn his back. It purposefully was not a killing blow. It was measured to tear through skin and muscle to open their gut to the air.  

With that slash, I quickly moved on. I did not want any of these sacrifices to leave the bar. It would have been such a waste. I had to get between them and the door. Or at least block the exit with something. Oh, and the mighty God had seen his way to give me the construction items I needed.  

The next man I kicked in the sternum. A perfectly placed front kick crushed his rib cage and sent his body sailing through the air and crashing into a seated position at the foot of the exit, blocking the door.  

He, unfortunately, would die quickly. I would not be able to do much more to him, but I knew as he slumped against the wood that they now would not have the time to drag him away to find their freedom. Well, they would not have time before I got to them. 

Continuing my beautiful balletic dance of death, with each move and attack flowing into the next, I hit the third man. His head shattered. A shattered head was rare, and I marvelled at the way the bones of the skull opened like some bloody flower petals to reveal its contents like a ripe fruit. Beautiful. It held for a moment before the brain's cerebral fluid and blood flooded down the man's chest as he fell.

I span and kicked out at the legs of the two next men who were closest. The kick swung around in a perfect arc. The shin of the extended leg smashed into the first man's limb, cracking bones and breaking them. The man was brought off his feet and cried out as he fell. A worthy noisome scream for the injury gained.  

The second man had the milli seconds he needed to step his way out of the arc of the baseball bat-like shin. This almost saved him, but not quite, as the tips of my claws tore through his chino's and ripped into his upper thigh. He had been lucky, and I cursed.

As I continued my dance, I joyfully noticed the blood spurt from the wound on the leg that he was now reaching for. I must have sliced deep and hit his femoral artery, which was now pissing his lifeblood onto the stone floor of the bar. Beautiful.

I rotated and extended my left arm as my foot landed from the kick. The forearm of the arm hit the jaw of the next victim. It folded and cracked his mandible. It was strange to see. His jaw just gave way and compressed with the blow. The skin on his face tore as it gave way, and then the rest of his body gave way under the energy of the impact. He fell with the impetus and force, and I heard the crunch of his skull as it impacted the ground. 

The next man, in response, had slightly turned his head but was in the range of my outstretched claws. I felt the tips rake the bone of his skull as it tore his face from the right side of his head.  

Skin and muscle flapped bloodily as he yelled and tried to grab it and put it back on his face. A feeling of joy at this pathetic attempt ran through me.  

I moved on and stamped down on the shin of the next man, who was thrown to the floor with the blow where he landed badly. His Tibia and fibula were smashed, and his lower leg was broken at a strange angle. I stamped again, and boned shards came through the skin. Oh, the noise in the room. A concert was being given to me by these men. They were my orchestra for my concerto. I was a virtuoso, conductor, and lead violinist.

Fierce joy played through Fen's and my mind. This was when we were together and at our best in the moments of horror that we created. Love and care were new and unknown emotions that plagued me. This was an old feeling. Joy in the destruction of others, blood blindness, I called it. I was in this moment one hundred per cent. There were no thoughts of before. No thoughts of after. In the moment of slaughter, I ripped through my prey. There is something in this... this lack of... anything else.

I turned a clawed hand into a tight fist and put it deep into the body of the next man. The force behind the blow allowed me to puncture his abdominal cavity. He stood looking at the hole, and my arm stuck in his body. He had not had the time to feel the pain or respond to the injury. He just saw the horror of his injury.

I smiled in my head and opened my hand inside him, grabbed and gripped again before pulling guts and the content of his inside to the outside. As my hand left his body, he reached for my hand containing part of him and gave me a pleading look before falling against my chest and slipping down my body to the floor.  

I stood on his face and ground it into the carpet until he stopped screaming. With a last push, his head burst to spread goo and gore over the floor.

'Hmm! There seemed more men than this.' A thought from the wolf's soul occupied part of my mind. His voice rang ofdisappointment.

One was still standing and still alive. We like to leave a voyuer of our art pieces. We can experience his feelings through the simple observation of his horror.

He was standing frozen in fear and surrounded by his shattered friends. He was blood-spattered, and his eyes were wired and looking at me. Looking at me with loss. 

I stepped towards him. He held a hand up, giving me the signal to halt. (laugh). So I did. Time came back to its relative pace, and I surveyed my surroundings with pride. I had not killed many; most were hurt. Most were still able to be enjoyed a little more before I left this place.

I turned back to the man. I roared in his face. I was so close that the spittle and blood sprayed his face, giving him blood-red freckles and making him close his eyes against the sudden saliva shower. He quailed at the roar.

He kept his eyes closed and again signalled a halt with his hand. This was interesting. I stepped back and became the man.

'Please, please don't. Please.' He said slowly and through tremulous lips.

'Please don't' 

He did not use a begging tone. He seemed to be politely asking.

When I became the man, he seemed a little less stressed. He just stood looking at me and then at those around him. 

'We have to help them.'  He told me as a friend yelled out to him for help.

Did he not know I was the monster?

'Donald! Donald!'  Yelled a dying man at the bar.

I shook my head at him and smiled, walking over to his friend, who lifted a beseeching hand to me. A look of bloody anguish on his face. I offered my hand to him as if to help him from the floor. The man smiled, and his eyes calmed as I... slapped him down to the ground again face down and stamped and stamped and stamped until I was out of breath.

(laughter)

Wiping my mouth with my forearm, I turned back to the man. It is always interesting to see how people react in these situations. What was this man's biggest worry at the moment? Cost of living. Mortgage or pension.

Had he ever experienced anything like this before? Can you imagine what his mind must be like right now? Oh, the joy it gives us. The utter joy at his inability to deal with such chaos as this was like a shot of adrenaline for me.

'You just killed Steve.' He eventually said, stumbling over each word in his sentence and pointing at the puddle that was... erm... had been Steve. I turned to look at the beautiful mess I had made and smiled before looking back at the man with a wide, toothy grin.

'Yes... Yes, I did, and it was glorious.' I told him.

Seconds passed. He was frozen. He stood like a statue, pointing at the once Steve.

'You killed Steve, ' he repeated.

'Yes, and I am going to eventually get around to killing all of you.' I told him, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 

'This is my favourite time. It does not last long as each of these...men.' I spat the word as though it was uncomfortable for me to say.  

'These men are dying and will be soon gone, but for this short period of time I can make their deaths worse. I can make them painful and terrifying.'

'Don't' said the man.

"Don't, please.' He asked.

I turned to him. Somehow, his request bothered me. It made me think, and I do not like thinking in these situations. This was a no-think time. This was a time of the beast. This was no time to rationalise anything, but he had made me... consider.

Again, he repeated.

'Please don't. They came out to celebrate me getting wed tomorrow. They have done nothing wrong.' He said, his eyes meeting mine.

'Oh, okay then.' I told him. 

He smiled and nodded before I kicked a murmuring body as it tried to rise. It slumped to the floor, quiet and unmoving. 

'Why?' He asked.

Why? I thought. Why did I do this? Why? Was this an existential moment? I was lost in this moment. I was questioning the thing that I was. I was questioning my basic reality. Was I?

I do what I want and to whom I want when I want. Do I really enjoy the horror and the chaos I provide in this mundane world? Am I following my own thoughts, or am I under the control of another? Maybe others.

I felt Fen's mind stir next to me. The giant wolf soul sat invisible to all but me; his ember-like eyes looked into mine. There was a mutual swapping of thoughts and the moments we had gone through together. The pain and the suffering we had provided. We held a lack of morals and ethical thought.

I considered. I considered it hard then...

Realised I love it. I love watching the safe feel fear. I love watching the so-called strong fail and fall. I love destroying the lives that these little creatures make themselves. It is as if they have no idea it is so easily lost. The safe and secure life of you and your significant others can be gone just at the click of my furry fingers.

(CLICK)

I marched towards the man as I transformed back into my reality. The monster that I am. I reached for the now cowering human, grabbing him by the throat and bodily lifting him from the ground. He screamed and raged against this treatment.  

'No, why!' He repeatedly yelled.

I slammed his back onto the top of the bar and wrenched his jaws from his head. Crushing it in my hands and placing it on his chest. The sounds he now made were spoiled by the damage done and were inhuman but still beautiful music to my sadistic ears.

I plunged a finger into an eye socket, being careful not to puncture the white orb held in it, and wrenched it from the orbit. Oh, how, the man shook and reeled. The joy... The utter joy...

Ten minutes later, of well what only can be described as terrible torture, I wiped my now human hands on the corpse. It was a mess; it was pure artistry. It was right. 

'I think you need to leave a message for someone, Wil.' Said, my wolf soul.

'Is this not enough of a message?' I asked him.

'No, we need to make it personal.' He told me.  

'Ah.' I said. 

I tore the trousers down of the almost dead man on the bar and reached for his bollocks. I grabbed and pulled them from his body.

He flinched slightly at this final ruination of him.

A body was sitting against the bar directly across from the doorway. It would be the first point of welcome as someone entered the room.

I carefully dangled one ball on each side of the corpse's nose. He would understand this. He would understand what this meant. He would appreciate the personal attack.

Fen and I looked at the bollock-nosed body for a while.

I looked at him. He looked at me. We smiled and laughed. It was beautiful to see this insult in the flesh, as it were.  

The mayhem was over. If you have not killed and destroyed, then I can only compare this feeling to ...after sex in a weird way. But often better. I say that, but maybe that is just me. 

I walked around the bar and got to the sink, where I started to wash my body down with warm water, using several kitchen cloths to wipe myself free of the blood.

I hummed a happy tune as I washed. 

Only then did I meet an old man's eyes at the bar. He was consciously looking at me. He did not seem to show any fear. I was confused, so I approached him, wiping my hands. I walked behind the bar until I stood before him and gave him a good look over.

'Why aren't you dead?' I asked him

He smiled and lifted his empty glass.

'This glass is too light, son. Can you refill her for me?' He asked and smiled.

Well, this was all out of context.  

I took his glass from his hand, and he nodded in response.

'Thank you kindly.' He said, leaning on the bar a little so he could see how well I drew his pint. As the head reached the rim of the glass, he sighed deeply. A sigh of contentment at the pour.

'Perfect.' He said, reaching for the pint.

'I'll just have this, and then I will be off if that is okay?'  He said with a wink as he started on his drink.

I looked at him as he drunk. Should I...

He finished his pint and slammed the glass on the bar.

'Aaaaah' He sighed in appreciation.

Should I kill him? Nah... I went back to the sink to finish my wash as he drunkenly waddled to the door and left.

'Can you latch the door on your way out?' I asked him.

'Certainly'. He replied as he dragged the corpse to one side that blocked his exit.

'Cheerie, see you again', he said. I should have thought more about that.

(a few hours later.)

The professor

I have often been party to the aftermath of such massacres. It feels almost ill to say that they do not affect me as they once did but to be honest, I have never really had an issue with blood and death.  

The difference here and with Wil's body of work is the level of violence and cruelty that he contrives to use on his victims. These people were not subjected to some simple death. No quick ways out were afforded to these poor folk here. He had injured and then toyed with each of them. 

I never understood the need for this, even at my brazen heights of... erm... what could only be described as genocide. I would not be inhuman. Death, if needed, would be granted quickly and cleanly. Torture was not a thing. I did not need to torture these people. They had nothing to say that would change my opinion of them. At the time, I hasten to add. I have come far in my ideas since those hateful days.

I had seen all I needed to see. I now stood at the door, thinking about the next steps. As usual, we had to clean this up without delay. There was no chance of bringing in L5. L5 are a unit in the MOD of cleaners. They can mobilise and quickly clean and decontaminate a scene in a few hours. I have watched them work. It is incredible to see. It taught me some things as well. Do you know that Kitchen towel is all you need to bring a shine to your surfaces? I digress.  

This was even beyond their scope. I ummed and erred about the next step. We would have to go with the old classic gas explosion. The local fire service would have to hold back and not save the moment. Yes, gas explosion. Amazing how many of these happen in an ultra-safe world these days. It makes me wonder how many of them are genuine. 

Okay. Let's get out and get on with it.

I wandered to the door, took off my latex gloves, and placed them on the windowsill as I left. You have to think of every detail when trying to hide things from the public, and a pair of latex gloves with blood on them may raise some eyebrows if found later. 

As I got to the front door, I stepped outside, slamming it shut and leaning my body against it. The weather had not improved. If anything, it was turning for the worse. I reached into my peacoat pocket and removed the flask there. I have to admit that this was slightly habitual. It was once a cigarette to stop and ponder. Now, it was a slug of something warm. In this case... Ah, rum. Of course, it is the proper warmer for a night like this.

The woman in the police car was looking at me as I stood there enjoying the night's mayhem. I felt the wind and rain cleanse my mind a little as I was soaked almost instantly by the horizontal assault of the rain. A bliss.

Once able to do so, I opened my eyes and, lifting my collar against the wind, made it towards the waiting police car.  

Something stopped me. A feeling. My palms itched, and I paused halfway to the vehicle. Something was...

And then I saw him. How fucking dare he? 

Wil stood below a lampost lit orange by the bulb that flickered above him. He was dressed strangely, but I recognised the man instantly. I felt my blood freeze, and my first thought went to the woman in the car.  

I ran over and banged on the driver's side window. She looked confused. I made the international sign to roll down the window. Strange how, in these days of electric windows, making a winding motion still signifies a person rolling down a window.

She pressed the button, and the window sank into the door.

As it hit halfway, I yelled at her.

'Get away now?'

She looked confused and was about to ask a question.  

'I order you to go now!... Please!' I said. An element of begging in the please.

She nodded, looking around the car in fear before starting the engine and leaving the scene. 

Once gone, I looked back at the... Bastard. This is where it stopped. This is where I stop him for good. For good. Funny that. Stopping him... for GOOD.