On a summer evening in Gotham, the air was filled with a dull yellow light, the heat hovered above the surface of the earth. The damp smell mixed with the scent of the green grass rose from the underground, creeping in through the crevices of doors and windows, only to float around the upper part of the room.
The guests entering the restaurant were hit by an incredibly rich aroma.
The ones who had received an invitation observed the others discreetly, realizing that they were all familiar faces. They were the Grand Mages and their few remaining apprentices who had gathered in Gotham a while ago to construct the Earth's Magical Defense Network.
Everyone had inexplicable shock etched on their faces.
Their shock had nothing to do with the aroma or the food. It was because of the substantial energy permeating the room, a power they intimately knew belonging to the demons.
"What's going on?!" Jim asked, trembling. Looking down at the food on the table, he instinctively asked, "What kind of meat is this? What meat is this, Shiller?"
"It's Moose meat."
"Impossible!!!" A female mage screamed and began to yell as if she had gone mad. She reached out to grab the meat from the table, but her companion stopped her, glancing at the meat on the table and swallowing hard.
Shiller rose from the head of the long table, raised his glass, and said, "As you can see, our main course today includes red wine-soaked moose leg, rosemary moose ribs, creamy cheese with grilled liver, blood pudding and a vegetable soup with moose meat."
"Are you mad? This is clearly not moose meat!" A black mage yelled angrily: "How dare you... how dare you... you'll be cursed!"
"Of course, different places have different traditions to name meats. To my eyes, laying on the table are strong Moose but to you, they might have a particular name, known as 'Demons'
Everyone froze.
Those who had seen the dishes earlier could not identify the ingredients for various reasons. Strange was a foreign mage and had hardly interacted with the local demons, and Zatanna's power does not come from them. So naturally, they couldn't sense it.
But the Grand Mages present were different, their power mostly derived from angels and demons. Sensing the power of demons had become second nature to them, so they were quite confident that what Shiller said was true. The main ingredient of the dish was a demon.
Because they understand the power of demons so well, they know that the demons laying on Shiller's table are of high-quality power, at least of the Demon General level.
A white-haired old mage tremblingly almost knocked over the plate and asked Shiller fearfully, "You've killed so many demons. The Hell Demon King will not spare you!"
"At least I am still standing here now, aren't I?"
Sitting at the head of the right side, Strange seemed to understand Shiller's intention. He slowly picked up the napkin and tied it elegantly, picked up the fork with one hand, looked around, and said, "Don't you want potent power? Now, the power is in front of you. If you don't want it, I'll consume it all."
With a "pop", the plate was knocked over.
But no one paid attention to the old Mage's condition. Everyone rigidly looked at the lavish dishes on the table. Every wisp of steam rising from them represented pure, unadulterated power.
This power was unlike the power that the demons granted them. Demons usually trickle their power to fragile humans, and they once appreciated this grace.
But the power flowing on Shiller's table now is a surging torrent, with neither giver nor receiver, completely primitive and fierce, yet unmatched in strength.
Their lips began to tremble, their hearts began to surge, and their souls sprouted fangs from their pupils, clamouring to devour everything in front of them. This was the power they could never obtain through grace.
Who hasn't thought of becoming a demon?
Such thoughts coursed through everyone's brain like an electric current, longing for potent, eternal power with no worries, and breaking free from their weak shells, heading towards the promised land in their dreams.
"Shiller." A deep voice rang out.
Shiller saw the reflection of a goat with yellow pupils in the mirror of the side cabinet across the table. He knew that only he could hear Azazel's words at this moment.
"You murdered my subordinates and served them on your table. It's an unforgivable offense, and you will pay the price."
"Why the rush, Lord Azazel?" With a glass in his hand, Shiller looked at Azazel's reflection in the mirror, "I don't just serve your subordinates."
A clang of gold and iron echoed, and all the guests picked up their cutlery with trembling hands, saliva spilling from their mouths, and a blazing fire was burning in their eyes.
Even the team led by Jim hesitated before picking up the cutlery. They had eaten magical creatures before, and the roasted elf deer meat in Maya was quite delicious.
Moreover, this group of people had expended a lot of energy in the war against the vampires. Even if they weren't the type to overly rely on power, the eternal hunger in their souls kept yelling at them.