Atcheson snaked his monstrous trunk...

August howls and yowls, shapeshifter lovers.

So, what about our monster mammoth villain? What does a Hellephant think about as he destroys and dines his way to Talbot's Peak?

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Atcheson snaked his monstrous trunk around another hapless tree, snapped it off at the base, and thrust it inside his admittedly cavernous mouth -- where it didn't last long. His hunger knew no end.

Fueling the franken-mammoth he'd been genetically transformed into was nightmarish. Morloxian had gleefully treated him like a prized child, feeding him high-nutrient formulas that kept his hunger at bay. Now he was on his own, and constantly starving. 

Piss on it! The werewolf part of him howled for a side of beef. Hell, a whole herd of succulent, in their prime, beef on the hoof that he'd crash and tear through -- devouring until he'd finally had his fill. Once he finished trampling Talbot's Peak, and all of its shit-unholy shapeshifting creatures into the dust as if they never existed... searching out the nearest cattle herd was his first priority. Unless...

Atcheson well realized he'd be the target of every monster hunter in the business. That thought had him wondering where Cochrane was lurking these days. The bastard would aim everything, even the kitchen sink, at him. But so what, if the Elmer Fudd-idjit lobbed his store of grenades. Hell yeah, bring it on! 

With his quick-as-a-whip trunk, Atcheson figured he could catch the explosive devices, and hurl them back. Besides, he doubted the puny force of their explosions would do much to his super-powered snout. That is, except for breathing the smoke out like a dragon.

Driven by hunger, Atcheson wrapped his beastly trunk around the tall summer grass ripping it up. Dirt and all, he shoved it in his mouth, and kept on semi-trucking down the highway. Through beady eyes, he observed the mere humans scatter like ants.

Shit -- and his mammoth crap plopped in gigundis piles -- humans weren't high on his list of likeability either. Terrorizing the little scurrying apes gave him quite the thrill. Squealing tires announced their departure in silly little vehicles he could crush with one humongous foot.

Maybe, just maybe he'd been chosen by destiny -- Atcheson had known he was destined to far surpass Cochrane as a monster hunter -- if he had to become a mutant mammoth werewolf to destroy the supernatural monsters that now littered the entire planet, then so be it. With the catastrophic damage he could inflict in this form, he could force order out of paranormal chaos.

He trumpeted in glee, his trunk shooting skyward. Even that eagle shifter had failed to cause him a lick of harm. And that ridiculous winged horse... at least, she'd had the smarts to stay out of reach.

And now, with destiny operating through the pathetic wolf-coyote shifter who rescued ugly, glasses-hiding Maureen... Atcheson had been delivered him from his more-than-annoying rider -- the too-silent, shifty-eyed Pete, who... no shit-surprise... had been a Tiger Yakuza shifter. 

Atcheson stopped to give himself a violent shake. Without the mutated-into-a-werewolf-tiger's claws digging into him, he'd been given free rein to reign over the world. But first, Talbot's Peak!

He bellowed in sheer rage, tromping madly down the highway. Atcheson hardly felt the giant potholes that his weight and strength sunk through the asphalt. Oh yeah baby Dumbo, he could earth-quake his way across the North American continent.

Right now, tidal waves of fury compelled Atcheson's thundering march toward the shapeshifter enclave. Yet, he also burned with one helluva high. A whole new life lay ahead of him -- mercilessly savaging whoever and whatever he wanted.

Just for shit and grins, Atcheson imagined consuming entire golf courses, crashing through football teams lined up for the last crucial play of a game... and compacting rows of cars at shopping malls.

With a swipe of his trunk Atcheson uprooted a line of saplings, tossing them down his throat. Given his insatiable hunger, he was damn effing glad there were no peanut fields to scarf up.

Although, he owned not one clue if his death-by-peanut's allergy had translated into what Morloxian had said was his greatest mutant achievement to date. Him. The pride in the misshapen wolf-man's eyes had given Atcheson something he'd never emotionally gotten from his father. That was for shit fucking sure.

His father had been a monster in his own right. Well now, Atcheson had the power to fold, spindle, or mutilate any monster, any shifter at will. To prove it, he drove his death-dealing tusk through a jack-knifed, abandoned mack truck.

He raised it high over his head, blasted a trumpet of triumph, then gave his head a toss. The truck flew through the air landing atop the huge branches of the forest's older trees. If he wasn't hellbent on Godzilla-taking out Talbot's Peak, Atcheson would have stopped to appease his appetite.

On second thought, before mangling everyone and everything in the shifter town, before stomping and stamping the entire town into a bloody combo of goo and dust... maybe he should suck up every last bit of food.

Then, it struck Atcheson. An ah-ha moment that squirmed through his rampaging haze, and into his mutated, possibly still mutating mammoth brain. How tasty were shapeshifters?

His werewolf side howled to find out. Howled for the taste of blood.

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Wishing you love and passion on the wild side ...

Savanna 

Savanna Kougar ~ Run on the Wild Side of Romance