Gaberial walked to his iPod and selected his favorite song as his latest catch mewed and wallowed within her dirty gag and rope binds that dug deeply into her wrists.<br/><br/>“If you would please try and be quiet Miss Grayson… I need to contemplate!” He snarled before he tuned his attentions.<br/><br/><br/>He carefully led his finger to trail along the various spices and vegetables that hung from hooks and trays along the overhanging cabinets in the large hotel food preparation room. Gaberial inspected the  parsley, bundled red orbs of tomatoes, the fresh green horizons of bell peppers, the  abundant ridges from garlic cloves, down to the  splendor achieved when marveling over freshly picked avocados, zucchini, mushrooms, okra and onions.<br/><br/>“ They did admire me you know?” he then said, as he trained  his eyes upon a struggling form, the woman’s eyes were wide with terror transfixed upon them.<br/><br/>“When I was human,” he said, “<i>All of these. All of the intricate spices. </i>The arvant grade preparations. The main show.<i>Gaberial’s show! </i>I would look within the soul of  eyes just  like yours. Shaving. Cutting. Breaking. Creating. One award given after the next!  Feeding Kings, Emperors, War Lords, Shoguns, Barbarians, and king slayers.  Every one of  them would raise goblets in my name to the hurrah and dazzled grandeur of those present within the dinner halls of both the corrupt, the Just, the powerful, and the meek alike,”<br/><br/><i>He watched the grease against the teflon pan as the seasoning and oils began to rise and crackle, as he threw handfuls  of chopped chives, bits of cabbage, and a few links from a perfectly shaved bell pepper. There were bubbling pots,  simmering skillets, and a rotisserie oven, slowly turning a  mass of unidentified meat.  </i><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><i>… a symphony of screams….</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>Within every vaporous gasp</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>There, in the deep and spiced aroma,</i><br/>
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<i>Screams. Screams does he hear!</i><br/>
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<i>The pot that used to be young Clara Foley brimming,</i><br/>
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<i>The rather rude food  critic in Room 1013 turning,</i><br/>
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<i>The pretty Miss Paris Presswood simmering,</i><br/>
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<i>The passionless Mr. Crestlaw boiling, </i><br/>
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<i>Cecil who was strangled</i><br/>
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<i>And Mary Malone, if there ever was</i><br/>
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<i>			So sweet of a kiss before her</i><br/>
<br/>
<i>…Breath expired into one last gasp…<br/>
</i>​</div><i>He hummed within his own mind.</i><br/><br/><br/>He jerked in a way one would if they were trapped within an erotic moment, swaying a wet wooden spoon in one hand and a vegetable smeared cutting knife in the other as he turned his attention to his bound victim so helplessly attempting to scream.<br/><br/><br/>There was a stand that was placed in the corner between the double extended ovens and stacked trays.  It stood out due to how it looked as it was made of polished obsidian, about 6”0 in height, with its surface that resembled a coiled serpent’s scales. The statue ended with a reached out hand where in its frozen grasp, rested a glowing red orb.  The stone within the hand was deeply polished, and  reflected the ceiling lights that were suspended up above in a brilliant glossy reflection.   He walked over and put  his cooking utensils down as he  marveled as he always did upon its details, meshed in the macabre, yet so eloquently fashioned from a dark and inquisitive mind.   He rolled it over slowly with a creaking sound and slowly positioned it so that the structure was in front of the bound woman who was now hopping out of desperation in her binds.<br/><br/>“Unfortunately as I have a time table to keep and screams to create into the most succulent dishes known across the planes… this is where you depart and I begin my good work,” He then said with a grin that revealed his sharp teeth, “My suggestion?  Be a worthy lover and slave to Husvurantu – he doesn’t like rebellious souls….”<br/><br/><br/>There was a quick dash for a specialized kit that was unfolded by a very old looking book with pages that held a forgotten language with it’s etched symbols and strikingly evil accents to its characters. The incantations were then addressed and as the red stone began to flicker and light, with a trailing beam that dotted the bound victim’s forehead, an incredible and terrible whine was heard. It was the animalistic gyrations of madness, of shear terror that enwraps one’s senses, growing as if cutting vines were wrapping themselves around each inch of her being and then suddenly tightened with razor thorns imbedded  into the skin, before streaks of darkened crimson began to tear down sawed cuts.   He walked calmly behind her withering body in the throes of physical shock, and  adjusted a long, horse like needle punch attached to a hypodermic extractor. Gaberial slid his fingers up to where the main jugular vein was constricted and pulsated before driving the edge into it with a quick jab.  A plumb of purple and black smoke rushed from the stone as black coils came through, covered in a primordial slime with sulfur like fumes that invaded the senses.  The withering became a gurgling one as the mass grabbed her head and dark spider like streaks grew over her face and dilated her eyes before they melted into oozing tar.  There was not much but the end result of death’s shock as her figure was consumed by bubbling acidic tar and the entity’s long maw that extended through the stone. The demonic creature screeched a horrible sound, an echo heard that had been heard  thousands of years ago in halls of unbridled evil during times when monsters walked the planes and the corrupters of magic played deadly games with it.  He pulled the needle before there was nothing left but a lopsided ooze of flesh and searing tar.   The entity picked up the now gelavenous form and just as it slithered into the world to feed, it coiled slowly back through its gate, leaving nothing as the victim’s feet. It was the only thing left that remained as evidence that  there was anyone to begin with, and as they  slowly disappeared, one shoe  fell to the floor with a hollow thud.  The smoke dissipated and there was nothing but himself and the vial in his hand, as he then stared at the lone shoe that rested on its side.<br/><br/>“Almost 100 percent Husvurantu --- last time it was surprisingly an ear ring,”   he commented, as he  lowered himself to pick up the single left converse sneaker with a power puff girl sticker on it.  “How cute….”  He said as he walked  over to a large garbage bin that was placed into a wall, only to open it and toss it amongst a growing pile of other random objects.<br/><br/><br/>He then settled and watched the bubbling pot before him.  It was soothing.  He heard the screams.  It was like he was transported back into another time where curious eyes and turning tongues dripped  in anticipation as he pushed the pressure gauge and allowed the black and red mixture spill into the heated turning bubbles.<br/><br/>“ Perfection…,”  he then said,  “ Perfection and the most greatest elemental ingredient which has made men murder their betrothed, women to throw their Adonis’s into the pits of the abyss,  armies to  embrace their wild blood lusts, and the powerful to crush those underneath them to the dusts of forgotten tombs…. Fear….the taste and decadent culinary genius of<i>Fear</i>!”<br/><br/><br/>He strolled out through the double doors as his kitchen staff, a band of very loud and boisterous Gremlin haflings, proudly followed their master cook to where the other denizens of darkness were congregated.<br/><br/><br/>“Come ye --- Come ye!”  he cried,  “  By the esteemed kitchen of yours truly, and for the festive gathering in our most favorite month, I hereby with great honor and generosity, serve to you grand beings of the hunt and of the kill with my very own ---<i>le desespoir du genie </i>-- a soup I am sure your lips will never find anywhere else and of which you would continue to murder just for a second bowl,”<br/><br/><br/><i>It’s to scream for.</i>