Villain Ch 1947. The Banquet of The Damned [Part 1]

They just followed him through the door.

Into the banquet of the damned.

Except… there was no banquet.

Just more hallway.

And more meat.

Red groaned the second they stepped inside. "I knew it. I knew it wasn't gonna be that easy."

Mastercraft stared up at the walls. "This place changes every time we blink. It's like a Picasso painting had a baby with a nightmare."

Allen didn't say anything. He still held the silver plate like it was fine china and not a cursed organ dish that once belonged to a cannibal ghost butcher. The heart didn't pulse anymore. But it radiated heat. And smell. Like sugar-glazed blood.

Alex, clutching his staff, muttered, "I don't wanna die here."

They kept walking.

The hallway stretched forever, lit by dying bulbs that flickered like candle flames in a storm. The wallpaper peeled like skin. The air was damp and warm and smelled like wet velvet and butcher paper.

They took a left, then another left, then a right. The door behind them vanished.

And then came the whispering.

Not words. Just… breath. Like wind through bone.

They turned a corner and…

Ghosts. Again.

Dozens.

Pale, half-formed things with melted faces and missing limbs. No legs. No eyes. Just floating, groaning spirits, hovering over the warped floor like they'd been dragged out of Hell with their screams still caught in their throats.

Red didn't hesitate. "Cover me."

He charged in.

Mastercraft swung wide, his hammer igniting with spiritual flame. "Let's go! If I have to be here, I'm getting EXP!"

Allen didn't even flinch. He just sidestepped one of the shrieking specters and stabbed it casually as it passed. Smoke curled from his blade like a silent signature.

Alex, meanwhile, stood in the back and screeched like a microwave being murdered.

[Holy Blessing cast]

[Barrier applied to Al (unnecessary)]

[HP recovery in progress]

The horde screamed and shrieked and swirled around them, phasing through walls, grabbing at armor, flickering with glitchy, dreamlike spasms. Their laughter sounded like broken flutes and dying birds.

Then the children appeared again.

Not happy this time.

The girl came from the wall, eyes glowing. The boy dropped from the ceiling, cleaver-first. Both locked eyes with Alex.

"Oh come on!" he shouted. "What is it with me?"

"Because you're adorable!" the girl cooed, voice all cracked sweetness.

"Because your soul smells like pudding!" the boy giggled.

Red slashed at the boy, Mastercraft hit the girl with a flaming pot he picked up from his inventory, and the kids vanished into smoke again—cackling the whole way.

"Why do they always go for me?" Alex gasped, trying to catch his breath.

Allen, stepping over the twitching remains of a ghost, replied calmly, "They like you."

"That is not a compliment."

They pressed on. Fifteen long, chaotic minutes. Endless turns. Ghost after ghost. Screams echoing. Cries repeating like a broken record.

Then they found it.

Or thought they did.

A hallway wider than the rest. Two ornate doors at the end—massive things carved from dark oak and bound with silver runes. Candles floated mid-air. The carpet was clean, deep red, dustless. The doors themselves glowed faintly. Purple light leaked from beneath them.

It felt final.

Red stared. "That's it. That's gotta be it."

Mastercraft was already uncorking a mana potion. "Alright, drink up. Buffs up. Heal up. This is Final Boss zone if I've ever seen one."

Alex fumbled with his inventory. "I think I left my emergency mana flask in the kid's room."

Red gave him a look.

"I'M JOKING."

Potions were downed. HP bars were topped off. Spells activated.

Then Red reached for the door.

[ACCESS RESTRICTED: THE DISH MUST BE CARRIED TO ENTER]

[REQUIREMENT: MOST PURE MEMBER OF THE PARTY MUST CARRY THE OFFERING]

All four of them blinked.

Then turned to Alex.

Alex blinked back. "No."

Red pointed. "You."

"No!"

Mastercraft crossed his arms. "It's in the quest log, man."

Alex's voice rose three octaves. "Why me again? Why not Red?"

"I murdered thirty-six people in the last ten minutes."

"Ghosts," Allen corrected.

"Yeah, ghosts."

"Mastercraft?" Alex hoped.

"I threw ghost children into a fireplace."

Alex turned to Allen. "You?"

Allen smiled. "They called me a monster."

"Oh gods."

Allen held out the plate. "C'mon. You're the chosen one."

Alex looked at the heart. Still slightly warm. The meat shimmered like it had been glazed with regrets and sorrow. The silver platter steamed gently in his shaking hands.

"I'm gonna need so much therapy after this."

He approached the door like a sacrificial lamb walking toward a wolf's wedding.

The moment the platter was held forward, the doors creaked.

Then opened.

And what lay beyond wasn't screaming. Wasn't gore. Wasn't cursed walls or weeping paintings.

It was elegance.

A grand dining hall with ivory floors and long mahogany tables covered in silverware and crystal goblets. Velvet drapes hung from the ceiling. Candelabras floated overhead, casting a warm, golden glow.

Seated at the head of the table was Mariella.

Radiant.

Smiling.

Dressed in a gown of flowing black lace. Her eyes sparkled like stars, and beside her sat the ghost twins—cleaned, dressed in frilled outfits. The boy had a bowtie. The girl had ribbons in her hair. They looked human. Almost.

All around the table—guests.

Ghosts in suits. Women in ballgowns. All of them pale, flawless, beautiful. Eyes hollow but faces calm. Like memories frozen in time. They clapped slowly, politely.

Allen stepped in first.

Alex behind him, holding the dish like a holy relic.

The room smelled like lavender and candle wax. Not death. Not meat.

Mariella rose from her seat. She spoke.

"Welcome, honored guests. You've brought the final course."

Red's mouth opened. Then shut. He whispered, "What the actual hell."

Mastercraft leaned over. "Why is it beautiful?"

Alex couldn't move. "It's worse. It's so much worse."

Mariella smiled. "Please. Sit. You've done well. So few make it this far. And fewer still bring the meal with such… care."

Allen nodded. "The objective was clear."

She turned to him. "And you—are not what you seem."

Allen's smile didn't falter. "Neither are you."

Mariella giggled. "Touché."

The guests turned in unison. Their smiles widened.

The twins pointed to the table.

Allen looked to the others.

"Dinner's ready."

Alex whimpered. "We're the dessert, aren't we?"

And the doors closed behind them.

Sealed.

Soft music began to play.

And the banquet… began.

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