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Werewolves: The Apocalypse — The Book of Hungry Names
(Now with 98% more ecological guilt and 100% less graphics)

You and your band of traumatized werewolves (read: a group of poorly resolved furry therapists) must save the Living Earth using two infallible ingredients: homicidal rage and questionable spirituality.

In this interactive novel with hundreds of choices (most leading to inevitable doom), you'll have the chance to face a Wyrm Spirit that manifests itself as... a lie you really want to believe. Like that voice that says "I'll start my diet tomorrow." Only with more cosmic destruction.

 Written by Kyle Marquis and set in the wonderful (cough) universe of World of Darkness, this epic without a single image (but with 1.6 million words, in other words, an abusive relationship with reading) is fueled solely by the most powerful thing in the world: your imagination that has already failed three college entrance exams.

You are a werewolf. And like all good werewolf, you are a mix of:

Shaman who thinks meditation cures demonic migraines,

Hero that nobody asked for,

Monster with existential crises,

And sustainability consultant for Mother Gaia (bankrupt, of course).

Created by the goddess of the Earth, you were gifted with the ability to turn into a wolf (in other words, walk around naked with style), and tasked with the noble mission of preventing humanity from turning the planet into a cosmic McTrash.

But guess what? You failed. Congratulations.

 Three years ago, your pack was part of the Sept of Broad Brook, Massachusetts (land of maple syrup and spiritual doom), where werewolves still pretended they had a chance against the Wyrm — the spirit of destruction, chaos, and people who comment “first” on YouTube.

While other Septs fell like dominoes at a satanic rave, yours was there, firm, strong, and deluded. Some said you would prevent the Apocalypse. Others just thought it was funny to watch the circus burn.

Now, all that’s left is for you to pick up the pieces (literally), avoid becoming an evil spirit’s kibble, and, who knows, write your name in the Book of Hungry Names — the one that eats hopes, New Year’s promises, and happy endings.

Do you want me to adapt this to become the introduction to chapter 1 as well?

Of course! Here's a Desciclopédia-style warning, with a touch of acid and humor, that you can put at the beginning of your story on Wattpad to make everything clear:

WARNING BEFORE SOME LITIGIOUS SPIRIT COMES TO BARK

This work is a humorous reinterpretation (read: full of irony, sarcasm, dark humor and some inconvenient truths) based on the style of interactive stories like those from Choice of Games. But, before anyone calls the lawyers or invokes the spirit of copyright, let's make something VERY clear:

This is not plagiarism. It's parody. It's a joke. It's entertainment.

(And, let's be honest, not even Mother Gaia would bother to sue.)

The writing adopted follows the Desciclopédia style, that is:

Nothing is sacred.

Everything can be a joke.

If you get offended, congratulations, the system worked.

 This is a tongue-in-cheek homage to the classics of the genre, using the interactive format to tell stories that are bizarre, tragic, hilarious, and incredibly stupid (sometimes all at the same time). None of the original Choice of Games content was copied directly—only the structure was inspired, because let’s face it, reinventing the wheel is a lot of work.

If you want an epic journey with deep moral dilemmas, go play the original.

If you want to laugh at your own misfortune while turning into a werewolf and punching mystical capitalism with your paws, go ahead. It’s your house.

Zerk World) Zombo Stars

Of course! Here is the rewrite of Chapter 1 in the style of Desciclopédia, with dark humor, irony and that pinch of controlled insanity:

Chapter 1 – The Burning Hand and the Wi-Fi Horse

In your "culture" — if howling naked on a full moon counts as such — no one writes secrets in books. That would be too easy, right?

Here, knowledge is passed on in more sophisticated ways: guttural chants, dramatic howls and occasional identity crises. But yes, there are written records. No, we are not talking about a self-help book like "How to Keep Your Fur in Times of Spiritual Crisis". We are talking about sinister grimoires, typed by lunatics in damp basements, between one demonic summoning and another game of Dungeons & Dragons.

When things got ugly (read: you started having dreams about a devil who speaks medieval French), it was in the dust of a torn-up codex called The Sign of the Burnt Hand that you sought answers. Translation? A gothic tome translated from French by a guy who probably wore puffy pants and said "thou" to his mirror. You also found a bunch of printer paper from 1995, probably taken from an online cult before the internet was swallowed up by kitten videos.

The research revealed that the entity in question wasn't just evil — it was the kind of spirit that shows up at parties uninvited, eats everything, lies better than politicians, and leaves a trail of sulfur and trauma. And of course, it could destroy the earth with a mistimed yawn.

And that's where you are now. In the middle of freezing nowhere, staring at your "target": a man in arctic camouflage, dressed in Antarctic cosplay. Face covered by glasses and a furry balaclava, he looks like the mascot of a wolf food brand.

He has a war rifle, a tablet hanging from his waist (because even demonic spirits have to log in to the system), and he's riding a black horse worthy of the apocalypse.

The detail that really bothers you? A swarm of flies around him, buzzing louder than a Black Friday siren. In the middle of the snow. Flies.

You blink. Twice. Three times. But they're still there. Maybe they're enjoying some lo-fi demon music.

And this is when you, a being of fur, teeth, and repressed traumas, start to remember...

"Before my First Transformation™ I was just another loser with a wolf complex and an addiction to rare books. I raided libraries, sold codices, and read passages in the bathroom."

"Then the nightmares began with pagan symbols, bizarre rituals and my great-aunt dancing with a goat. I was kicked out by my family, left on the streets, and discovered that my fuse was shorter than airport Wi-Fi."

"With fits and starts and bites, I became an expert in resolving spiritual disputes. I earned free snacks and the respect of those who hadn't yet been possessed."

"But the truth is that my inner resentment could melt the polar ice cap. And I learned to use it to ward off enemies, debt collectors and even possessive ex-boyfriends (literally possessed)."

Now, with a chill down your spine and the smell of flies in the air, you know that the game has begun. And that it will probably end with screams, destruction and some bad joke at the end.

Do you want me to continue the next part in the same style?