Villain Ch 1946. Hell's Kitchen

The Carver's body exploded in a storm of blood, smoke, and whispered voices.

All that was left was a still-beating, black-red heart. Smoking.

It pulsed once.

Twice.

Then dropped onto the tile with a wet smack.

[MINI BOSS DEFEATED: THE CARVER]

[LOOT OBTAINED: HEART OF THE CARVER - QUEST ITEM]

[New Objective: COOK THE HEART. SERVE THE MEAL.]

Everyone stared at the quest log.

Alex fell to his knees. "No. No. I'm not doing it. I am not cooking that. I'm still normal."

Red panted, still gripping his sword. "Who… writes these quests? They are psychopath."

Mastercraft wiped his face, covered in meat and ectoplasm. "I swear to God, if it turns into a cooking minigame..."

Allen stood near the remains. Clean. Calm. His blades vanished into smoke.

He looked down at the heart. Then up at them.

"Well?" he said. "Anyone got seasoning?"

The three of them stared at him like he'd just licked the floor.

Red_King's face scrunched up like he'd tasted expired milk. "You seriously want to cook that?"

Allen shrugged. "Yeah. That's our objective and we'll deliver." He spun the heart once in his gloved hand like it was a goddamn grapefruit.

"B-But that's—" Red stammered, pointing at it like it might sprout legs and start crawling.

Allen glanced sideways, deadpan. "This is just a game. Did you forget about that?"

"I didn't forget," Mastercraft said slowly, gaze locked on the twitching, pulsing lump of meat. "I just… who wants to touch that?"

Allen raised his hand without hesitation.

Mastercraft took a small step back. "You're a monster."

"Thanks. I know." Allen's grin was smooth and casual. "Most players called me that. Before I killed them."

Alex whimpered in the background, clutching his staff like a crucifix.

"So…" Allen looked around. "Anyone got seasoning? I've got decent cooking skills but I don't exactly carry a spice rack from the NPC shop."

Alex raised a hesitant hand. "Uh… I guess… the kitchen has it? The stoves work too…"

Both Red and Mastercraft whipped their heads toward him so fast it was almost comedic.

Their glares screamed, "Why would you tell him that?"

Alex blinked. "What? It's true!"

Allen nodded approvingly. "You're right." He gripped the heart like a prize fish. "Let's go back to the kitchen."

"No," Red muttered. "No, no, no."

"Seriously?" Mastercraft groaned. "Those ghost kids were there."

"They're not anymore," Allen replied, already turning toward the hall. "They moved on. Mirror's broken. Salted. Purified."

"We purified it," Alex muttered. "Barely. Almost died. And now you want to reenter the haunted Gordon Ramsay hell zone?"

Allen didn't stop walking. "You coming?"

Red made a strangled sound like a warrior trying not to scream. "Why are we following him?"

Mastercraft sighed like a man who knew his death was going to be featured in someone's livestream highlight reel. "Because he's weirdly good at this."

"He's carrying a beating heart," Alex hissed. "Like a snack!"

Still, they followed.

They whispered behind his back as they trailed him through the dim, breathing corridors of the manor.

"He's still Allen, right?" Mastercraft whispered.

Red leaned close. "I… think so?"

Alex glanced at the way Allen casually twirled the bloody heart. "Wait. What if he was never Allen? I mean… we met him at the entrance to this cursed house."

All three slowed.

"Did anyone actually check his status?"

Red shook his head slowly. "Oh god. What if he's a ghost playing Allen?"

"I knew his movements were too clean," Mastercraft whispered. "He dodges everything. I saw a cleaver curve around him."

Alex muttered a prayer under his breath.

Allen's voice echoed back down the hallway. "You guys talking about me?"

All three jumped.

"Nope!"

"Just—uh—party strategy!"

"Discussing salt ratios!"

Allen didn't comment. Just kept walking.

Eventually, the hallway curved and bled them into the kitchen.

It looked… worse.

The stove was still lit. Low blue flame.

The countertops were somehow cleaner. Too clean.

The mirror? Gone. Shattered glass still sparkled on the floor like cursed sugar.

Allen stepped inside like he belonged there. Like a chef returning to his station.

He placed the heart on the cutting board. It squelched wetly.

Red gagged a little. "Oh come on…"

Mastercraft was pale. "That's… still moving. It's twitching. Stop twitching."

Alex clutched the salt shaker he'd found like it was a holy artifact. "This isn't right. Nothing about this is right."

Allen rolled up his sleeves.

"Salt, please."

Alex offered it with trembling fingers. Allen took it gently.

"Pepper?"

Mastercraft slammed a tin on the counter. "Here. If we're gonna be cursed, at least make it medium rare."

Red paced in the back like a lion in a cage. "This is not how I thought this raid would go. I wanted to kill things. Not… make haunted pâté."

Allen flipped the heart over. Scored it. Seasoned it. Lit oil in a pan.

The smell hit immediately.

Not rotten. Not burnt.

Just… meat. A little sweet. A little wrong.

Red covered his nose. "Oh Lord, it smells like curse."

[COOKING PROCESS INITIATED: HEART OF THE CARVER]

The oil hissed louder. The pan hissed back. Allen flipped the heart with expert ease.

Alex peeked. "It's not… turning black."

"Of course not," Allen said casually. "It's fresh."

Red glared at him. "Stop saying it like it's normal."

Mastercraft leaned against the counter. "If this gives me a debuff I'm suing the devs."

The pan sizzled. The heart browned. Allen sprinkled chopped herbs from a cursed jar labeled Mother's Garden.

The stove clicked again.

Everyone flinched.

"Just the gas valve," Allen said. Calm. Smooth. Professional.

Alex whispered, "If the stove talks to us, I'm jumping out the window."

Allen plated the heart.

Literally plated it. On a silver dish. Garnished with something green and glowing.

[ITEM OBTAINED: CURSED GOURMET – HEART OF THE CARVER]

[DELIVER TO THE BANQUET HALL]

A rumble shook the walls.

A door opened. One that didn't exist before.

Beyond it? Candlelight. Clapping.

Soft ghostly applause.

Red, Mastercraft, and Alex didn't move.

Allen turned. Held up the silver plate like a waiter at a demon gala.

"Well," he said, "shall we serve dinner?"

And this time—none of them said a word.

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