's sci fi, make smth up.

Unrealistic? Maybe, perhaps something like iron-based blood or otherwise would make more sense.

The village council looked down their table at the newly-returned Hunter, gently polishing the steel of their flintlock. The whisper of cloth on metal was the only sound in the room, following their revelation.

"Wh...what do you mean it wasn't a werewolf?! No other crea-" one started, only to be interrupted by a raised finger.

"No other creature you know of. Although lycans are about the worst you get in this territory, I've seen-and dealt with-creatures that made even the most stalwart lycans lose their bladders and retreat. But I know for sure this ain't a werewolf. For one,"

A set of molds was placed on the table, each in varying states of completion.

"Profile of the bite mark. Too big to be a Lycan, but too oddly shaped to be a normal wild animal. I sent another set to some friends in the Guild, see if they can make sense of it. Second..."

A sheaf of paper plopped onto the table, dates scrawled on it.

"List of the dates of the killings. Werewolves only transform on the full moon, although some have the ability to partially transform towards the ends and beginnings of the lunar cycle. All of these were near the exact middle of lunar cycles, where even the most heavily afflicted Lycans would effectively be normal people, which brings me to my final point..."

A set of jawbones clattered onto the table, several of the elders recoiling with disgust. Heedless, the Hunter grabbed one, running a finger along the teeth.

"All of the victims WERE werewolves, likely sating themselves on game and livestock. Werewolves don't go after each other as a rule of thumb. Look, on this one you can even see the channels made in the jawline by the repeated extension and retraction of canines." The Hunter let their remarks hang in the air, for the council to process before coming to a response.

"W-well, Hunter...what is it, then?"
"I'm not sure. Other Hunters that come out this far haven't documented anything like this, chances are its something that wandered out from the heartland. I've sent a courier to Northon to relay the forensics to some more seasoned Hunters at the Guild Outpost, but it'll probably be a week or two before we hear from them. For now..." The Hunter stood, straightening their tricorn as they holstered their flintlock, turning to leave.

"I've got more field work to do."

As the heavy oaken doors closed behind them, the Council collectively sighed a breath of relief. As vital as they were, Hunters were...unnerving, almost inhuman.

Inhuman, they chuckled quietly, licking sharpened fangs. With the werewolves out of the way they could have this entire town to themselves as feeding grounds. They just had to throw the Hunter off...