Reimagining Little Red Riding Hood - A New Twist on an Old Tale

Crimson Hunter explores oppression through the lens of werewolves and the witches who are in power. Ask yourself: What would you do if you fought for your freedom and won it against the very group who oppressed you? Would you create a fair and just society, or form one based on your group's superior status over your former oppressors?

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She's not afraid of big, bad WEREWOLVES. They're afraid of HER.

The War of Eternal Hunger freed witches from the rule of werewolves, ending a patriarchy only to create a matriarchy. A thousand years later, Oriana, Matriarch of Steelcross and Crimson Hunter, is a young, untried ruler who seeks to bridge the divide between witches and werewolves. But how can witches trust werewolves not to hurt them when Rage Disrupter collars are needed to control their lust for witch’s blood and magic? And how can werewolves trust witches to treat them as equals when they’ve built metal cities and armed themselves, literally, with iron weapons of werewolf destruction?

Marrok is a Clan of the Black Moon werewolf. When he meets and falls in love with Oriana, he knows action must be taken to stave off his lust for her blood and magic. But witches are the warm sun to werewolves’ cold moon. Is it possible for them to share the same sky? Or will Marrok betray Oriana—his bloodlust stronger than his love?

Claws and fangs.

Magic and metal.

Will one side devour the other, or will they find a way to peacefully coexist?

Welcome to Earth Rift, where the moon is black, and the sun is crimson.


Howls slashed across the beleaguered city like deadly claws. The incessant sound shattered windows. Jagged glass shards fell like deadly rain, cutting and adding to the pools of blood that already soaked the ground.

Oriana lifted her face to the starless night sky, sweat rolling from her brow into dark-brown, unblinking eyes. The orders of her mother, Matriarch Kalinda, reverberated in her mind. “Wild Moor will be our final stand. You cannot allow the beasts to claim that border city, Crimson Hunter.”

More howls carved through the darkness, followed by the of rampaging paw feet. Oriana lowered her head. This was it then: the final battle of a day-long war. Countless had already died—many by her own hand in defense of her sisters—all by order of Matriarch Kalinda.

Oriana raised her arms, the liquid steel within mixed inorganic with organic—a potent witch’s brew of strength and control.

“Come forth, Ravagers of the Lost.” Red sun magic burst from Oriana’s hands. Wild flames sparked and hissed. Channeling the flames into her arms, Oriana willed the magic to comply. From the sparks and hisses of magic, twin cannon guns formed, replacing her arms from elbows to fingers.

“Shift,” Oriana ordered her Crimson Guard soldiers, trained witches under her direct command as Crimson Hunter.

Sun magic surged, turning limbs into shields and weapons.

Across the battlefield of cracked roads and burned buildings, the howling stopped. Silence descended—an emissary of violence, blood, and death.