Werewolf in Hell: The Game Begins | Supernatural Trial & Lucifer’s Game (Episode 257)

Episode 257: Werewolf in Hell – The Game Begins

In this pivotal episode of Werewolf the Podcast, the story takes a dramatic turn as Will, Fen, the Professor, and Wing Commander Montgomery descend into Hell—only to discover that Hell itself isn’t fully built.

Reality is unstable. The rules are unclear. And something far more dangerous is unfolding.

What begins as confusion quickly becomes revelation:
This isn’t just Hell… it’s a game.

A supernatural game controlled by powerful forces including Lucifer, Fate, and Luck, where:

• Reality is rewritten
• Trials are constructed from memory
• And every character must face the consequences of their past

The first trial is revealed—a brutal reimagining of the Battle of Evesham, where the Professor must confront the weight of his own history.

As the “game boards” are set, each character is pulled toward their own test, and survival may depend on understanding the rules before they are fully written.

Blending supernatural horror, dark comedy, fantasy lore, and meta storytelling, this episode marks the beginning of a major new arc in the Werewolf universe.

Perfect for fans of:
werewolf stories, hell mythology, supernatural trials, dark fantasy, horror-comedy podcasts, and character-driven storytelling.

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Transcript

We're caught in a truck I can't walk out I did my bit the other week, man.

Come on.

When they said that I'd suffer in hell, I mean, this is a bit much.

I mean, who writes this garbage anyway?

Oh, Jim, being a damned soul is so difficult.

You have to do some reading.

Waitam Mo, can you heat the number two plies and poker six and .

Make that a number seven, poker.

For a somewhat heated bowel extraction, please.

Oh, come on now.

Well, cool your jets there, Big Red.

I was just joking, past me the day. Damn script .

No need to be nasty.

What are you?

The devil?

Oh, man, I cracked myself up.

Uh, you get it?

Do you get it?

Sadly, yes.

Hold on a second.

Hold on, hold on. .

Where are my glasses?

Does anybody see my glasses?

Where in the hell are my glasses?

You don't need them.

Okay, sure.

Just read the damned script.

Okay, okay.

Keep your shirt, keep your bl .

What are those things?

Keep.

What are those are?

Keep them on.

I'm doing it.

Right.

Let's see.

Where were we?

Okay.

Hold on.

Okay, all right, all right.

So...

Where are we?

Hell!

Oh, yeah, Hell, Of course, Hell.

The four friends have taken an elevator to hell.

You guys said " elevator."

You didn't say "Liff.

Get on you."

Hey, can I get a glass of water here?

Man, my throat, it's dry.

It's awful a dry, hot thing down here.

My throat's dry.

Oh, thanks, that helps.

Okay, the four friends were taken an elevator to hell.

Oh, I'm not going into all that detail to describe them again?

No.

I spent most of the last episode.

That's what I did, describing these guys.

They know who they are.

Come on.

Well, as it's a weekly format, and they may need to know who's in the story, can we at least get some names?

Oh, sure.

That that sounds good.

Yeah, we'll.

We'll do that.

All right.

We have the professor, the Wwolf.

Baum You know, it sounds like,Hey, where's Gilligan?

Where's Gilligan, Ginger, and Murray?

Oh, okay, okay, okay, all right, let me get back to it.

The Werewolf's ancient soul, Wolf soul, Fan, the wing commander, Montgomery.

For D. I still can't say that.

I'm just going to say, Wing Commander Montgomery.

How's that?

Is that retired?

Uh, retired what?

Oh, never mind.

Oh, good.

Another ding.

I love that for us.

Is that the sound effect of your lift, your elevator box thing?

Nothing?

Says we are absolutely not in control of this situation like a polite little dean before all hell breaks loose .

Anyway, the four idiots..

That he ought to be.

Oh, sorry, Monty.

Uh, excuse me.

The four distinguished gentlemen brace slightly as delicious lift does something. Not stops, not moves.

It just decides.

It just does.

Hmm.

The doors are still open, still showing nothing , reference episode 255.

But now, the nothing is closer.

It feels closer.

Will steps forward first.

Of course he does.

Goodness.

Sometimes your descriptions of the characters are so so one dimensional.

Come on.

Okay, the werewolf steps forward.

Well, he says it like he's about to check the weather.

I guess that's the floor, then.

Said Will.

That is not a fla , Said the professor.

It's an absence pretending to be one.

Chimed in the wolf saw.

Right, so tell tactical question there.

Suggested Monty.

"Oh, good, Monty's doing tactics.

This'll be fun."

Do you mind doing?

I'm actually doing my best .

Do we step into nothing or wait for it to step into us?

Ask Monty.

Oh, that's actually annoyingly a good, solid question , Monty.

Hope the floor is a, well, floor will be grins.

I vote.W step in it.

Says Will.Of course you do.

You're that type of...

Started the professor.

Well, it's works so far, aren't it?

Added will.

It's absolutely bloody up work so far.

Said Fen, "The Voice of reason.

Whoa!

Mark your calendars, people.

That's it, right there.

Ancient Apocalypse.

Wolf is now the sensible one in the show.

Jeez.

We've peaked.

That's it, we've peaked.

Will takes a step into the just one?

He's just taking one step?

His foot crosses the threshold.

And for a second, n nothing happens.

Then reality ripples , not visually, not properly, more like the idea of reality, just shrugs.

Will freezes midstep.

Oh, uh, that's new.

Uh..

Oh, that's never what you want to hear.

Don't move.

Bit late for that prof.

They're not standing on outside.

Says Finn.

Oh, yes, we sort of gathered at our chat.

Ads Monty?

No, you misunderstand.

He's not standing .

Well, he's not standing at all.

Says the soul.

Oh, oh, that that's worse.

Will looks down.

Then back up. Then laughs.

Huh?

Huh?

Huh?

That's your reaction?

That's it on stepping into nothing?

Just Huh?

Feels like, uh...

Continued the werewolf.

Like I'm being remembered wrong or something.

I beg your pardon.

Yeah.

No.

Um, same question here, sort of.

Like, well, like, I'm I'm there, but not properly.

Like, someone's thinking about me standing here, but getting, I don't know, like the details details kind of off.

Will continued?

Yeah, you're interacting with an un sought layer.

Said the wolf saw?

What are you blathering about, man?

In English English, if you would, my dear fellow?

Asked Monty.

It appears.

We' you'll arrived early.

Oh, that's fantastic.

We've arrived at a place that hasn't been built yet .

Great.

Love that.

Five stars on Trip Advisor would descend again.

Disability access is limited.

Not a lot to see .

You will not see anything in the attached pictures because there is nothing to see.

The lift shutters behind them.

The door begins to close.

Oh, no, no, no, no, Absolutely not, no.

Yells the wing commander, retireired .

He jams his arm out at the perfect moment with crisp movement.

Of course, it was perfectly timed.

He has lady luck on his side.

Military precision meets cosmic nonsense .

The door stops, barely.

Well, we're not being we're not being bloody separated from our only only known point of retreat, are we, huh?

Oh, Monty, buddy, you think that lift is a retreat?

That thing is a one way argument full of bad bad decisions .

Professor steps forward beside Will.

Careful, measured, like a man approaching a very rude equation.

If this is an incomplete plane of existence...

Oh, here we go.

He's doing science at the void.

Love that for him.

Something. Has interfered with the expected arrival point.

Yeah.

So.

Wrong Flo?

No.

No flaw.

Scene change, we are now in the drawing room of an utterly English manor house.

Think Downton Abbey, but with even more class.

Lucifer leans forward in her squeaky leather seat and her squeakeaky leather dress just slightly, just tantalisingly squeaky enough to make you think back to that little lady when I was 21 years old.

Ah, Becky, 20, and a 10 out of 10.

We've all experienced the same thing, I'm sure.

She taught me more in that afternoon than ...

Jim!

Huh?

Stop.

Oh, gosh.

Sorry, Where was I?

Yes, Lucifer.

That's right.

Here it is.

Lucifer leans forward in her squeaky leather.

Sorry, sorry.

Lucifer leans forward.

That's all it takes.

The room tightens.

Luck narrows her purple orb eyes, while fate dunks a cookie into his tea..

Biscuit.

Bless you.

Did you sneeze?

Look, can we continue?

Sure .

Um, it's your line.

Oh, okay.

That's not right.

You think?

Belfestus is smiling.

Of course he is, smug little.

Lucifer doesn't even look at him.

Yeah.

You didn't just delay the board.

I may have relo it.

You removed hell.

You did what?

Astrof laughs.

Soft..

Delighted.

Not.

They tilt their head.

Not yet scheduled.

Luck stands .

The air shifts.

Not dramatically, just statistically worse.

You've made it unwritten.

Belfesta shrugs.

Temporary.

Nothing is temporary when you meddle with structure.

That's bloody rich.

Come in. From you.

Lucifer smiles .

That slow, dangerous smile.

Yes, it is.

Father Mackenzie raises a hand, like he's in class waiting to be called on.

Uh, not to interrupt her out.

He interrupts.

Everyone turns.

He immediately regrets everything.

Poor if Elli's not currently..

He gestures vaguely at the screen.

The.

Then where they go, like.

No one answers.

That's worse.

Back to the lift.

Wait, we're calling it a lift now again?

You guys are flip flopping back back and forth.

You get me all confused here.

So, quick recap.

You stepped out of the elevator into a place that doesn't exist yet.

And now the elevator is trying to leave without you.

And the floor is basically a draft version of reality.

Yeah, no.

This is fine.

I think, Chaps, what we should do is withdraw.

Says the retired wing commander.

We obviously advance..

Says Will..

We assess..

Says the professor.We adapt.

Says Finn.

" And there it is, our heroes, the four horsemen of bad decision making.

Will takes another step because, of course, he does.

This time, the void reacts.

Something forms beneath him , not ground, not solid, just agreement.

It's like reality going fine.

You can stand there , but briefly, Will grins.

See?

Says Will, directing people's attention to the flourish thing happening, sort of.

That is deeply concerning.

He is false in definition, says the soul.

Can we all agree that that's a bloody stupid idea.

Argues Monty, Tert, says Will, as he steps into whatever it is, "The space around will flickers.

Shapes try to exist, but fail.T again again.

A corridor, no.

Stairs, no?

Teeth?

Oh, I don't like that.

I do not like that at all.

Why are their teeth dripping rows of teeth that have never been to no dentist or orthodontist?

Glad I'm dead, no way I want to smell that.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

Finn steps forward now, reluctantly.

You think?

It's his own fault.

He places a foot beside Will.

The space stabilises slightly.

Fewer teeth , more structure.

Then we's..

Monty exhales, straightens up..

Okay, all right, then, chops.

He steps out.

The professor hesitates.

Of course he does.

Then...

Oh, for heaven's sake.

He steps through.

Well, that doesn't seem like not a problem.

Wait, that doesn't seem like not a problem.

Hey, writers, writers, isn't that a double negative?

That doesn't work.

Anyway, I digress.

The four stand in something, a place that is trying very hard to become real, poorlyly at it.

Will cracks his knuckles.

Will, Will, don't Will, don't crack your knuckles, man.

It's gonna give you arthritis.

So .

Will grins, like a light bulb goes off in his head.

We.

Um, do we build hell?

Will asks.

No.

Look, I don't know who's on bloody sound effects this week, but me and you could be having a word at the end of this.

Anyway, that's at proper dialogue, we survive, whoever is building hell, wrong.

Says the wolf soul.

Oh , oh, that's worse.

That is so much worse.

Lucy, there are moments in eternity when one is reminded that dellegation is a sacred art, not sacred in the heavenly sense, obviously, not been my place of work for a while now, and heaven never made sense.

It's okay.

I'm not suddenly about to endorse management seminars or archangels with clipboards .

But this is sacred in the sense that when one has a tattooedcat in excellent boots and a demon summoning idiot in a bloodstained fast food uniform being smug in one's vicinity, it is only natural to point elegantly at the smug one and say, "Vaughan, dear, get the ring."

Normally, this would quickly and violently resolve ownership of that ring.

Vaunt moved at once, because, unlike most of the universe, she understood efficiency, theatre, and the value of removing magical jury from irritating men before they became more irritating.

She crossed the room with that fluid feline grace of hers, all lace, leather, and imminent violence, and Belfast to his credit , recognised danger when when it was wearing eyeliner and coming directly at him.

So, he did what all inadequate men do when confronted by a competent woman.

He panicked and cheated, With a flourish entirely too pleased with itself, he summoned a large pet carrier into existence around Vaunt , one of those dreadful plastic contraptions designed for transporting cats to humiliation, such as the vet, the cattery, or Christmas with relatives.

It was pink plastic, a colour so abhorrent to a goth that she might die from prolonged exposure.

It appeared all at once with a hard clap of displaced reality, and there she was, abruptly contained, crouched in a box with little slits in the side and a tiny grated door that suggested optimism on the part of the manufacturer.

The carrier immediately began to rattle across the carpet like an enraged domestic appliance.

It bucked, shook, and made the sort of noises one would normally hear when a leopard discovers both betrayal and hinges.

There was no Schrodinger's cat moment.

The said cat in in the box was very alive.

Father Mackenzie made a small sound that may have been a prayer or a swallowed yelp.

Belfastus took half a step back , sensible. Really.

There are many things one can survive in this world and the next, but an offended werecat in a confined space is generally not one of them.

Then Belfastus, with the air of a man convinced he was very clever indeed, summoned something else.

We didn't see what it was at first.

There was merely a faint rustle, a soft greenish puff through the ventilation slots , and then, almost instantly, the box stopped shaking.

A pause, a dignified stillnessness descended.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Did you just deploy catnip?"

I asked, as a tactical measure."

Trudur raised her little cat head, sniffed and smiled.

Belfastus copied that smile.

In this case, the smile of a man who had mistaken temporary success for intelligence , the box gave one last thoughtful wobble.

From within came the muffled sound of vaunt, reconsidering several life choices.

I took a slow sip of port.

Well, I said, 'that is either the most embarrassing capture in supernatural history, or the most effective.

I haven't decided which offends me more."

But pink was just cr cruel.

Belfastus.

There's a very particular satisfaction in being right.

Not merely correct, you understand.

Anyone can be correct.

Scholars are correct.

Clerks are correct.

People with spectacles and insufficient ambition are correct.

No, this was something far more refined.

This were being right, while everyone else is wrong and forced to watch it happen.

I allowed myself a small curated smile as the carrier gave one last half hearted wobble behind me.

Catnip.

Honestly, it were the small touches that separated the competent from the exceptional.

I glanced towards Asteroth expecting. , I don't know.

It's no admiration, and at least acknowledgement, a shared moment or something.

A recognition of craft.

Asterov, however, were inspecting their reflection in the curve of a glass that absolutely had not existed a moment ago.

Thill it could inside, it simmered a deep, dangerous red bobling with quiet enthusiasm , like something that had opinions about thermodynamics and other bollocks.

The demon tilted the head back and forth, only slightly, checking the lipstick like.

Sparkling, immaculate, and apparently more deserving of attention than my moment of triumph, they blasted.

They smiled, not at me, I themselves.

I held the moment, waited.

Sort of open it give me a respon.onse, but nothing.

Rightight, I said, with only the faintest tening at the edge of my door, and turned.

Because if one could not, have appreciation, one could at least have an audience. And out gestured expansively toward screen, the room, the players, the priest, the devil. My bloody stage.

Ladies, gentlemen, entities of uncertain classification.

I began in a tone that suggested I was generously explaining something to people who'd been tragically failing to keep up.

What What you're witnessing is the e structuring of the game?

I' all the people, and things present.

Lucifer did not move, which, for her, was the equivalent of sharpening her knives.

" Three boards, I continued, pacing slowly, one hand clasped behind me back, the other carve in the air with theatrical precision.

Three trials, three opportunities to demonstrate merit.

I smiled again. Or more likely to fail entertainingly.

On the screen, the void convulsed.

Not dramatically, not politely.

Reality folded like badly stacked laundry and then snapped into something new.

The first board, I announced. .

The battlefield.

Mud, rain, cold steel.

The air is thick with the history of bad decisions.

Banners torn.

Horses, screaming.

Men dying with all the enthusiasm of people who had not planned to.

I spread my hands, pleased with Miss H.

"Esham," I announced.

"August 1265.

I glanced almost lazily towards a Professor.

A rather formative moment for our dear Simon.

This is nonsense, he said.

" Thisis isn't Evesham.

The terrain's all wrong.

The positioning is said that the Flumock's professor.

They'll laugh bit bollocks off again.

That' were properighted, I were.

Oh, it's Evon, I said, lightly.

"Just improved like."

That tilted my head.

History, you see, it's all limited by what?

Well, you know, what actually happened, they begin to appear, not soldiers, not an army.

Something worse.

Individuals, thousands of 'em.

Figures dragging themselves out of memory, out of time, out of consequence.

Some clambered up out of the ground..

Knights, peasant, bandits, few accountants, things less easily categorised.

Every face that arrived turned towards one man that basted the professor.

In the lift, things were getting a little confused. Said Fen.

Oh, no, that's not good.

Chimed in Will.

Um, Professor?

No.

Oh.

Oh, dear.

I think this one is for me, chaps.

I smiled wider, now proper feeding on the moment.

"Every life Simon's taken," I said, almost conversationally.

"Every soul is placed, every consequence.

I gesture towards screen.

All gathered.

I categorically reject this premise.

I cut him off with a raised finger.

"Your head was paraded across the country," I added pleasantly.

"Aorned rather creatively, wasn't it?

Huh?

Then, with American relish, "If my memory serves you well, your testicles were affixed to your fore, Edward, were they not?

A bold aesthetic choice, wouldn't it?

Quite avant guard for 13th century, I told him.

I'm Mc well.

I think I'd remember something like that, don't you?

I feel like that would be a standout moment in one's immortal life.

It would be somewhat hard to forget something like that, methinks. .

Top five worst days.

Well, hang on a minute.

Top 10, anyway, he said, I laughed and gave a small shrug.

Memories are notoriously simple selective thing, isn't it?

I told him.

I turned back to screen for rising again with renewed grandeur.

But but no matter..

What matters is this the prof pointed.

The army begins to move.

Not charging.

Not yet anywhere.

Just advancing, slow, certain like, inevitable.

Simon de Montford, I declared to drawing room, savouring every last syllable.

Meets the sum of his actions this day.

Behind me, Lucifer smiled, slowly, thoughtfully, like someone making a list and checking it twice, if you get me.

Ah, this is a Montgomery Fortescue, the third and three quarters. As I know three quarters.

It is a long story.

It's about my baby sister, anyway, where was I?

Oh, yes.

The professor did not look back.

Get in the lift, he said, Already stepping forward into the mud that wasn't quite mud and the past that wasn't quite well, the bloody past.

That's not a suggestion.

We'll open his mouth that there's something rare, something almost like protest.

But Fenri, well, he shushed him.

He's bloody chosen, said the wolf sail.

I hesitated to have a second longer, just enough to make it hurt, then gave a tight nod and stepped back into the elevatorator.

Well, and Well followed.

It also slid shut with a soft polite finality.

That felt wildly inappropriate, given the screaming steel and impending historical revenge happening approximately, well, about the six feet away.

Ding , the doors closed, the lift rose, or well, it shifted or lifted, perhaps, inside, inside inside the lift, no one bloody spoke.

I sniffed.

Once sharp look, am I attempting to file grief on the administrative delay ?

Ostrated my jacket.

Well, then, um, I tried to fill the awkward silence I did.

Weathers rather authentic here, what?

Will stand in the floor, no response.

Fenwr seems to stare at nothing.

The music played soft , dreadful, unforgivable.

Actually, Chaps, this reminds me of my time in Bangalore, I suppose, a bit less mediaeval vengeancy there, mind you.

I was I was speaking to avoid and got nothing back, not even a nod, just the faint hum of the lift and the dist imagined sound of a man facing everything that well, he had ever done. Adjust in my cuffs, sort of that habitual manner will exhale.

Fenwer closed his eyes and the music kept playing.

Ding, the lift stopped.

The doors opened to an airfield, an airfield I recognised from a time when that I could just remember.

Ah, I think this may be my stop, chaps.

Do wish me luck.

Space filled before me, and there she was, my green eyed goddess in flight gear, looking like, looking very, very likely.

Like, good luck.

She saluted crisply and offered me a hand to shake .

The perfect coilot, my dear, we turned and started walking beside each other.

She linked our arms as we headed towards the biplanes.

"Oh, this may even be fun." 

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