Chapter Five: The Hunger Incarna

Present Day, Six to Midnight


In the secret courts of the Crawling Chaos, where the Demon Sultans hold sway, it first came into existence. It was Yg’aurrok the Hunger Incarna, the void that consumes, embodiment of dark unbridled desire. From the infinite depths of what passed for its soul, it felt the fine pull of longing. Born in the unknown aeons before the rise of humanity, it hungered for the corporeal world that was denied it. Vortices in space-time rippled and the continuum shuddered around it as it raged in frustration. The Hunger Incarna waited. For over a thousand-thousand centuries, millennia of time, it learned to be patient. But now its hunger was tinged with anticipation, for it knew with certainty that its time was fast approaching. It would be free.


All his life, Kevin Sandoval was empty. Emptiness was a blanket that wrapped around him tightly, smothering all semblance of satisfaction from everything he did. It gnawed the love from his heart, sucked the joy from his soul and left him a hollow man.

He tried to fill the emptiness with dissolute abandon. He grasped desperately to fill the growing void with a libertine lifestyle, the way a drowning man reached for any bit of flotsam to keep from being swallowed by the nether depths. Kevin indulged every whim with a plethora of sensual pleasures and vices. In his world, nothing was taboo and everything existed to be experienced.

When he was nine, he engaged in his first act of sexual intercourse. He seduced his mother and father in quick succession, destroying his family in the process. The stigma of their sin was too much for his parents and he walked in from school one day to find their cooling bodies on the bathroom floor, wrists slashed, their mingled blood streaking the white tiles like a river of fine wine. He lived in an orphanage for the next four years. With his hypnotic good looks he had no trouble getting partners to sate his appetites in bed, at least for a while.

At the age of sixteen he fell in lust (Love was beyond him.) with a woman named Priscylla Guerron. Priscylla or Scylla as she preferred to be called, was twice his age and taught him the finer arts of bondage and sadomasochism. She turned his back and chest into a tapestry of scratches whenever they had sex. Their union would last until her untimely death from a Heroin overdose six months later. The chains that had kept her suspended from the ceiling of their apartment were locked tight while she convulsed from the overdose, as Kevin helplessly giggled on the floor, flying on his own trip as she died inches from him, foaming at the mouth.

He spent the next year in a rehabilitation facility for juvenile delinquents where he met Owen Feston, a man even more steeped in the arts of depravity than his previous mentor. Together they seduced, raped and debased the other lost souls locked in with them. It was Owen who taught him the delicious orgasm that could be had from auto-asphyxiation. They would take turns hanging from the ceiling, feeling the flow of life ebb and the sudden rush of blood to the groin as they choked, the ecstasy of dangling on the brink of death, before cutting each other loose seconds before the end could set in. One day, Kevin had been just a little too slow in cutting his friend down, and Owen died, shuddering in the throes of an orgasm that would never end.

At eighteen he killed his first man, then proceeded to sodomize the still warm corpse. Necrophilia became his outlet of choice for a year, and he found a steady source of (un)-willing companions by working as a janitor in the hospital morgue.

At twenty-two, Kevin took his interest in the human body in a new direction and became a self-taught surgeon, using his access to hospital facilities during his time there as a janitor. He mastered the art of trepanning. He would lure victims into his small apartment, drug them, and then lobotomize them with a trephine. His victims became little more than helpless zombies, unable to do anything as he had his way with them, before disposing of the bodies in a vat of industrial acid that he kept in the bathroom.

At twenty-nine he started a cult called the Ordo Malleus Tenebrae, which was little more than a front for kidnapping street urchins to use as sex toys and ritual sacrifice. It was only his inhuman luck that saved him from falling when the cult was raided and all the other members were captured or killed by the police.

At thirty-one he developed a taste for human flesh and found his way into the European black markets where human remains were sold like livestock. He preferred the soft flesh from the inner thigh, but was also fond of gnawing the delicate cartilage of the ears after boiling them in wine and vinegar for several hours.

Still he suffered. The hunger continued to grow, to consume him, to test the limits of his sanity. The suffering he inflicted on others did little to alleviate the constantly growing emptiness. But what made his suffering all the more exquisite were the brief periods of lucidity. When the hunger would subside into a dull ache buzzing like flies in the background, and Kevin Sandoval could begin to enjoy a sense of normal feeling. It was periods like this that hammered him with remorse and made him wonder at the affliction that had robbed him of any semblance of a normal life.

Eventually, with the passing years came a hopeless realization. That no matter what he did, no matter what he consumed, it would only sate him briefly. The novelty would wear thin until he was left emptier than before. He thought of ending his life but was held back by the fear that the emptiness would only follow him, his dark twin for all eternity.

With the money he accumulated from the cult financing his activities, Kevin was able to spend the next few years on the move in Asia. He spent delirious nights drugged on opium in Vietnam, then he moved to Thailand where he became notorious among the prostitution dens. He gorged himself on food, drugs and debauched sex in a vain attempt to find the one thing that would free him from the endless hunger.

Then one day, at the coast of Pagudpud in the Philippines, the midnight sea breeze blowing tiny needle-thin icicles on his warm skin, he felt a pang of desire that threatened to overwhelm him. Casting out his senses for the source of this spark, he heard an inchoate voice echo in his head.

Cup…you are the cup…

Kevin felt his insides open up like a flower, reversing itself to the outside world. An opening in his chest, lined with unimaginable sensations, just begging to be filled to the brim. Emotions welled up inside him. He jumped into the ocean and let the water wash in, flooding his emptiness, filling him up, until he had drained the entire ocean. He had become the ocean.

He woke up on the shore two days later, his skin burnt pink from exposure to the sun. In his delirium he dragged himself to the small hut which he had rented along the beach, and passed out.

Kevin spent the next night with a sixteen year-old prostitute. She was reluctant to his suggestion of anal sex at first, but Kevin still had his way with her in the end. She passed out from the drugs he put in her drink and he stepped out into the beach as the stars winked their indifference down on him.

He listened as the waves whispered its secret language as it crashed into the waiting sand and wondered what mysteries the night held in store, waiting to unleash on the world. He wondered at what happened to him on that lonely stretch of beach several nights before, but the night remained silent, keeping its secrets from him. He walked back into the hut and passed out after downing two bottles of Zinfandel and a handful of downers.

The room vibrated with the labored hum of the airconditioner. Empty bottles grew like weeds on the floor where the discarded boxes of half eaten pizza crowded for space. The skeletal remains of countless chickens lay scattered on the table as flies searched for a place to hatch their young. Kevin lay half-asleep on the bed, as the painted face of the unconscious prostitute lay in a pool of semen on the sheets beside him. The Rumple Man surveyed the interior of the hut that had become an altar to excess and smiled.

Kevin coughed. Small bits of phlegm dribbled down his lips. He opened his eyes and gasped. He saw shadows crawl on the walls like hungry spiders, at the foot of his bed stood a man dressed in light and shadow.

“Don’t bother to get up on my account.” The Rumple Man said, his voice filling the room with dread. "I’m just visiting an old friend.”

“Wh-“ Kevin’s chest tightened, he felt a great weight pressing down, crushing him. He flexed useless muscles, straining to sit up, but it was hopeless. He was pressed flat on his back on the bed.

“Hush.” The Rumple Man placed one thin finger to his lips.

Kevin felt the flesh of his lips melt, sealing shut. He moaned and wet himself. The stink of urine filled the room, mingling with the musk of semen and decaying odor of food left to rot. The unconscious prostitute remained motionless beside him, oblivious to the unfolding horror.

“You are the cup, and you hold a most sacred charge.”

The Rumple Man moved closer, and Kevin felt his eyes water. It hurt him to look, but he couldn’t turn away. His eyes burned insanity into his brain.

“Did you ever wonder why your life has been so empty? Wonder no more, you are about to be given a privilege few men receive in their lifetime. You will find out the reason for your existence.” The Rumple Man raised his arms and whispered in a language older than mankind. “Yg’aurrok dt’egos, rth’on.”

A deafening silence filled the room. Kevin felt his bare flesh prickle from the sudden chill as a rippling doorway began to coalesce and open over him like dark clouds gathering before a storm. He felt more than saw the unspeakable mysteries clawing their way, straining to cross over into the world, and he wept silent tears of despair and madness.

The room shuddered as a loud thunderclap and dazzling flash of red suddenly banished the gathering gloom. Kevin heard a voice and watched as a figure dressed in an elegant tunic of cascading scarlet and black top hat appeared behind the Rumple Man.

“Cease this at once.” The Master of the Marquee stepped forth, eyes aglow with barely restrained fury. “Just what are you trying to accomplish with this display?”

“What does it look like?” The Rumple Man stared with bemusement at his foe. “Don’t make me belabor the obvious, my next champion awaits. Unless-“ His eyes narrowed and his aspect darkened. “You wish to make a bid for it as well?”

“Madness!” The Master of the Marquee raised a fist but stopped short of striking the Rumple Man. “You know as well as I that unleashing this horror upon the world will not win you the game. You have no power over-“

“Tut tut. That’s where you’re wrong.” The Rumple Man waved his arm and the room darkened as the gate reappeared above Kevin. “This is precisely why I always win. Now, are you making a formal bid for this champion or shall I do the honors?”

“Make no mistake, this move will cost you.” The Master of the Marquee eyed the rippling surface of the gate with disgust and turned away. “You must be more desperate to win than I thought. Perhaps this will prove to be your undoing.”

“Perhaps.” The Rumple Man said, as the Master of the Marquee faded from the room. “Or perhaps not.”

Kevin felt his insides twist, the feeling of emptiness that crushed him all his life intensified into a burning pain that forced the breath from his body. He wanted to scream but his bloodied lips remained shut. Black tendrils drifted down from the gate, snaking around the sleeping form beside him, consuming her flesh in seconds until bleached bones were all that remained. He shuddered as her skull grinned back at him in mock reproach.

“C’thagh Yg’aurrok f’tah!” With a series of gestures the Rumple Man filled the air with a hundred faceless lips, each intoned obscenities in strange tongues until an unholy chorus of voices permeated the room.

Arcane syllables formed around the gate and swirled into a whirling maelstrom around Kevin. He felt himself emptying, all his hopes and unborn dreams, his desires, and fears took flight. His body collapsed in on itself, imploding in a silent intake of breath until there was nothing left where he once lay save a pulsing void, an emptiness devoid of all form, shade and color. The gate closed and dissipated as the room shook with the force of the blasphemous birth.

“And the void was made flesh and consumed the world.” The Rumple Man said, his eyes aglow with baleful fire. “Welcome to the world of sensation mighty Yg’aurrok, Hunger Incarna of the Crawling Chaos.”

The Hunger Incarna hovered in silence over the rapidly disintegrating bed that was breaking down under the weight of the emptiness above it. The Rumple Man watched as the void pulsed with prismatic shades. A malevolent cascade of colors that swirled in ever widening spirals.

For the briefest instant it resembled a large misshapen hound, its jaws filled with jagged teeth that could snap a man in two. Spines trailed a line along its back and eyes glared from odd angles all over its hulking form while grotesque tendrils waved in the air around it. Then it reshaped itself, forming a skeletal framework that slowly filled with nerves, flesh, and sinew, until Kevin Sandoval stood before him again, his dark, hungry eyes a reflection of the emptiness he had become. “I bring you greetings from the Outer Dark.” His voice was an absence that robbed the air of sound. “The Court has missed you.”

“I am honored.” The Rumple Man bowed slightly, tipping the brim of his fedora with one hand. “Unfortunately my work has kept me occupied of late.”

“Too long I have awaited this day.” The Hunger Incarna smiled as he stepped forth, filling the room with a palpable emptiness. With each movement, each gesture, he drained the world of color, of joy. Each step was a death knell on the spine of the world. “How I have longed to drain this world of the tedium and complacency that has left it a rotting, overripe fruit hanging in the cosmos.”

“Rest assured,” The Rumple Man’s hollow laughter filled the night. “This is a day that will not soon be forgotten.”

And the stars trembled in the firmament, their icy indifference marred by the first hint of fear.