The heat wrapped itself around him like a suffocating blanket, the sticky humidity of the Amazon pressing down on every inch of his body. Otto's skin glistened with sweat, his large frame bulging with weight that no one else could understand.
He moved with slow deliberation, each step leaving him winded, but his hunger drove him forward. The jungle, thick with the smell of decay and overgrowth, was his refuge, his home, and yet it felt more oppressive than welcoming.
Otto was a man defined by his size, both in stature and appetite. He'd never known hunger the way most people did—when he was hungry, he ate. And when he ate, it wasn't just food that filled him.
His cravings extended beyond the ordinary. The jungle was full of things that could satisfy him, and he'd learned early on that nothing in the world tasted quite as satisfying as human flesh.
The first time had been an accident. A man, a tourist, alone in the jungle, lost and desperate. Otto found him, starved and delirious, and offered him a meal—a meal of his own making. The stranger, too weak to put up much of a fight, fell victim to Otto's hunger.
Otto remembered the taste, the way the man's body gave way to his ravenous appetite, the flesh warm and tender as it slid down his throat. There had been no remorse. Only satisfaction.
But now, Otto's hunger had grown insatiable. He didn't need to wait for an accident. He could hunt. And he did.
It was late in the afternoon when Otto stumbled upon his next victim—two hikers, exhausted from their trek through the jungle. They had no idea what was coming. They were talking, laughing at something one of them had said.
Their voices, loud and carefree, cut through the heavy silence of the jungle. Otto watched them for a while, crouched low in the underbrush, his body trembling with anticipation.
They didn't see him coming.
With a ferocity born of need, he charged. His heavy body thundered through the jungle, snapping branches and sending animals scurrying for cover. The hikers turned just in time to see him crash through the trees, his face twisted in a grotesque grin.
"Please!" one of them screamed, but it didn't matter. Otto was already on top of them, his weight pinning them to the ground. The other tried to fight back, but it was no use. Otto's hands—huge, clumsy things—wrapped around the man's throat.
He didn't kill them quickly. That would have been too easy. Instead, he savored each moment, each bite, his stomach rumbling with hunger as he tore into their flesh. The world around him dissolved into a haze of blood and muscle, his mind consumed by his need to feed. They screamed, but their voices were lost in the jungle's deafening symphony of life.
When he was done, when their bodies lay in mangled heaps beneath him, Otto wiped his mouth and looked around. The jungle felt different now. It was no longer the oppressive place that had surrounded him. It had become a sanctuary—a place where he could indulge without restraint. A place where he could feed until there was nothing left of him but hunger.
For weeks, Otto wandered the jungle. The days bled into each other, one long stretch of feeding and wandering, feeding and wandering. The bodies piled up, each more grotesque than the last. There were no regrets, no moments of hesitation. He had long since abandoned any pretense of humanity. The jungle had swallowed him whole, turning him into something else entirely. Something darker. Something monstrous.
He stumbled upon another group, this one larger than the others—four people, all carrying heavy packs and water bottles. Otto, weakened by days without food, watched them from a distance. His body felt heavy, sluggish, but the hunger still gnawed at him, sharp and insistent. He needed them.
They set up camp that night in a small clearing, unaware that Otto was just beyond the trees. They laughed and joked as they built their fire, completely oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows. Otto's eyes fixed on them, his body trembling with anticipation.
He waited.
The night stretched on, and slowly, as the hours passed, they grew quiet. One by one, they drifted off to sleep, leaving only the fire crackling softly in the darkness.
Otto crept closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were savoring each step. The firelight cast eerie shadows on their faces, and Otto's mouth watered at the sight of their exposed flesh.
He reached the first one, a woman with long brown hair, and he closed his hand around her throat. She didn't wake until it was too late. Her eyes opened wide, filled with terror, but Otto's grip tightened, and she fell silent.
The others stirred, but Otto was already upon them. His hands, stained with the woman's blood, moved with quick efficiency. The jungle swallowed their screams, their cries for help lost in the cacophony of insects and unseen creatures.
By the time the last one fell, Otto was covered in blood, his stomach bloated, his hunger sated for the moment. But it wasn't enough. It never would be.
He stayed in the jungle for what felt like an eternity, a creature driven by an insatiable need. But the hunger was changing him. His body, already enormous, grew even larger, each meal adding more weight, more bulk. His skin stretched and tore, his limbs growing thicker, less able to move with the agility he once had.
It wasn't long before Otto noticed something strange. The jungle was starting to push back. The animals had become more aggressive, circling him as if they knew what he was, what he had become. They watched him from the trees, their eyes glinting in the dark. The air seemed heavier, more oppressive.
Otto didn't care. He had nothing left to fear. Nothing left but hunger.
But one day, as he ventured deeper into the jungle, he stumbled upon something that made his blood run cold.
It was a village.
At first, Otto thought it was an illusion, some trick of the light or his mind playing games with him. But as he drew closer, the smell hit him—familiar and sour, like rotting meat. The village was abandoned, its huts and structures long since decayed. The walls were covered in strange symbols, and the ground was littered with bones.
But it was the bodies that caught his attention.
The bodies were everywhere—human bodies, disfigured and mutilated. Some had been skinned, others had been hacked to pieces, and still, others lay in strange positions, as though they had been forced into grotesque shapes. It was clear that this wasn't a place of worship, but of death.
Otto knelt beside one of the bodies, his fingers brushing the torn skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt something. Not hunger. Not satisfaction. But a cold, gnawing dread.
Something had happened here. Something Otto couldn't understand.
But that didn't matter. He was hungry. The hunger was all that mattered.
He didn't hear them at first, the footsteps approaching from behind, the soft padding of feet through the jungle floor. When he turned, they were already upon him—figures draped in tattered cloth, their eyes empty, their faces twisted in grotesque expressions of pain and hunger.
They were like him, but worse. Their bodies had been ravaged by time and hunger, their limbs stretched and twisted beyond recognition. They had no voices, no words, only a primal, desperate need.
They attacked him without hesitation. Otto fought back, his massive body thrashing as he tried to break free, but they were too many. Their hands were like claws, tearing into his flesh, dragging him down to the ground.
In the end, it was the hunger that killed him. His own body consumed by the same thing that had driven him all this time. They devoured him piece by piece, until there was nothing left but bones.
And then, just as Otto had done to so many others, they moved on, searching for their next meal.