You've had all the patience in the world, if you can even call your ability to manipulate this monster's mortal servants patience. Now, subtlety and planning have been thrown out the window. Your direwolf form has served its purpose. It's time for a change. It's time to embrace your most ridiculous and terrifying form.
Your body begins to tear apart. Bones crack, skin twists, and a blind rage, a desire to kill, threatens to transform you into a mere hunk of rabid meat. It's the crinos form, the war form of the Garou: a wolf nearly ten feet tall, with jaws dripping with saliva, claws bigger than those of a prehistoric cave bear. A true embodiment of Rage, your most pathetic and glorious state of being.
You're still you, more or less. But the madness of the crinos form is swallowing you. You crouch low and advance toward the trees, fighting the uncontrollable urge to shred, to kill without thought, to explode in fury. And of course, Bane knows you're there. The camouflaged knight is torn between his steel spear and his assault rifle.
The snow, a treacherous accomplice, hides your approach. Bane thrusts his spear into the snow, removes his rifle from his chest, and, with a B-movie movement, aims the weapon. He's convinced you're twenty or thirty meters away, in a convenient location for him.
He's wrong. He's very wrong.
You leap. Not to fight, but to prove that your giant wolf form with rage issues is still a mystery to science.
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