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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's Chapter 2 rewritten in the Desciclopédia style, with that acidic, dark and sarcastic humor that only a traumatized (and poorly paid) werewolf can deliver:

Chapter 2 – A Werewolf, Two Bad Dads and a Grandma Worth Her Weight

Your parents weren't exactly religious. They didn't take you to church, they didn't make the sign of the cross and they definitely didn't know the difference between the Apocalypse and appendicitis. But they lived through the Satanic Panic™ Era in the 90s, that magical time when everything was the devil's fault: Pokémon, Power Rangers and your "kind of strange" way of dealing with visitors.

They didn't like you. Like, they didn't like you at all. You were annoying, you talked too much, you lied like a politician during an election and you had the delicacy of a rhinoceros in ballet. And to make matters worse… you didn't like yourself very much either. Not even the mirror could stand you.

Then one day your parents made the classic parental move:

"Let's send this kid to grandma because we clearly don't know what we're doing."

But you weren't stupid. You knew that this was basically a sentimental dump with a hypocritical seal.

Grandma? A walking relic full of trinkets that were worth more than her dignity.

You, smart as a crow at a sale, pawned everything. You gave away a few bucks. Enough to start your life of petty crimes, questionable snacks, and decisions worse than those of a horror movie protagonist.

Were you arrested? Twice. But you were still a minor, so the law just patted you on the back and said "go with God, but don't reoffend."

That's when you decided to wise up: you learned to run faster, lie better, and buy the loyalty of people with the same character as an old toaster.

But... every time you closed your eyes, teeth appeared. Blood. And that uncomfortable feeling that therapy wasn't going to help.

Then, one night, a mystical bum who looked like a bus station exorcist found you. You thought you were going to die, or worse: be forced to sit through a motivational lecture.

But no. His name was Clay — and according to him, he had been "watching you for ages."

(Scary? Sure. But you'd been through worse, like Christmas dinner with your parents.)

He said he had met your grandmother. She was dead. You didn't care. Neither did he. But apparently that qualifies him as a spiritual guide. And that's when he took you back to your parents (that's right, a money-back guarantee, like a defective product).

Your parents? They didn't even thank you. They just tried to prepare you for grandma's funeral — as if that were relevant. She turned to ash, not a trending topic.

And then... you exploded. Not literally, but emotionally. A fury worthy of an anime scene.

Clay never forgave you. As if it were his fault. As if he didn't have the same little inner teeth, the ones that shine when the full moon comes and sanity goes out the window.

But now, standing in the middle of nowhere, in the biting cold, with the smell of trauma in the air...

He should be here. With the others. With the pack.

Do you want me to continue the next chapters in this style or turn this into a narration script as well?