Apocalypse
**Leonard peered out of his apartment window at the gruesome scene on the street below, and pondered that the humans still living didn't deserve his help. They had, after all, mocked and scorned him all of his life, making him feel like a loathsome outsider, a freak. Leonard could almost certainly use his preternatural abilities to survive the zombies, staying ahead of them and besting them when necessary; he was after all more than a match for any of the slow, plodding brain-eaters.
Something in Leonard just wouldn't allow him to leave the humans in that city to slow and agonizing deaths, however; it just wasn't right, and he was after all the best chance that the living had for survival, perhaps their only chance. Leonard sighed deeply. He thought that he didn't want to live forever, and that perhaps today might be a good day to die in a furious fight against overwhelming odds.
Chiding himself in part for assuming what he knew to be a suicide mission, Leonard began arming himself for war. He slung a pump shotgun and his katana over his back, holstered twin semi-automatic pistols at each hip, and to his belt clipped a combat tomahawk as well as a grenade. Descending his apartment staircase and reaching the exit door, Leonard then hoisted a large Stihl chainsaw, pulled the starter rope, and smiled darkly as the satisfying throaty rumble of the powerful machine reverberated in the enclosed area; bones of the saints, this was going to be fun! Kicking the door open, Leonard revved the chainsaw, and began his work of butchery.
One cannot by definition kill the living dead but rather only dispatch them, and that was what Leonard did efficiently and well, always careful to destroy the brain of each abominable thing completely. Cutting a broad swath through the milling masses of the undead, Leonard's vibrant life energies drew the zombies to him like moths to a flame, allowing the pitiful remnants of the living time to exit their hiding places and flee to better sanctuaries. His skills and weapons served him well, but in time the strength of even the great werewolf faltered while the legions of the undead continued to advance against him. Towards the end it is said that Leonard fought like a berserker, wrenching off heads and limbs with tooth and claw while the decapitated and dismembered remains of the undead lay in piles about him like cordwood. When dozens of them flung themselves upon him and their teeth gnawed at his furry hide, Leonard found the strength to reach a clawed digit to pull the pin on his grenade, the resultant explosion taking his attackers with him into oblivion.
With the passage of time, the living managed to fall back, regroup, and eventually reclaim their city from the living dead. Years later, in the town square there came to be erected a golden statue of a werewolf to remind future generations of one who gave his life as a ransom for many...**