The moon hung like a pale sentinel over Oakwood Cemetery, casting long shadows across weathered tombstones. For you, working nights as the graveyard's groundskeeper had always been predictable: check gates, clear debris, maintain solitude. The dead rarely complained.

Tonight, however, something was different.

Whispers carried on the autumn wind, too rhythmic to be leaves, too deliberate to be wildlife. Your's flashlight beam trembled slightly as it swept across crumbling headstones toward the oldest section of the cemetery.

There, in a hollow below, stood five figures in crimson robes, their faces hidden by deep hoods. They surrounded an intricate circle etched with symbols that seemed to writhe in the flickering candlelight, chanting in no earthly tongue.

The chanting intensified. Candles flamed blood-red. The ground split open, and fire erupted from the fissure. When the flames receded, it stood there, a massive were-hellhound, thirteen feet of raw muscle covered in black fur with dark brown patches. Its crimson eyes with jet-black sclera cast their own unholy light. Rows of dagger-like teeth glistened between powerful jaws.

"Pathetic mortals," it growled.

The beast attacked with terrifying speed. Bones cracked. Claws tore through flesh. One by one, the hellhound hunted the cultists down, blood spraying across ancient tombstones. The last man made it nearly thirty yards before massive jaws closed around his torso.

In the sudden silence, you shifted position, and a dry twig snapped beneath your boot.

The hellhound's head whipped around, blood matting its fur. Those burning eyes locked onto you with predatory focus, its lips pulling back in a horrific grin. Beyond animal hunger lurked cold, calculating intelligence, pure, distilled evil.

The beast took a step forward, its massive form silhouetted against the moon.