Villain MMORPG: Almighty Devil Emperor and His Seven Demonic Wives - Chapter 1549

Chapter 1549: Food From a Laboratory
Villain Ch 1549. Food From a Laboratory

Allen slowed his steps as the scent hit his nose like a surprise punch from an unskippable tutorial boss. He squinted toward the far end of the table, where a delicate cloud of green foam sat atop a slate-black plate like a cursed marshmallow.

He sniffed. Then again, slower this time. “What the hell is that?”

Kai, already at the table and adjusting silverware with the surgical precision of a man whose ancestors were probably summoned when a dining set was born, didn’t even glance up.

“Spinach foam,” Kai replied crisply. “Chef said it’s molecular.”

Allen stared. “Molecular? It looks like a science project someone forgot in a Petri dish.”

Emma leaned over the table and inhaled dramatically. “Smells healthy.” She gagged a little. “I hate it.”

Allen pointed at her. “We’re in agreement.”

Kai sighed as he perfectly aligned the last knife to its mathematically correct angle. “Sir, if I may—Chef Michel would be most displeased to hear you compare his signature fusion entrée to something from a laboratory.”

“That’s because it is from a laboratory,” Allen muttered, plopping into the velvet chair like his very existence was a protest. The upholstery was soft, plush, and somehow still cooler than his current mood.

Across the long dining table, Jordan—currently in casual slacks and a black silk shirt with zero wrinkles, naturally—looked up from his tablet. The glow of the screen painted a soft blue reflection against his glasses. Beside him, Alex stood like a statue, holding a bottle of sparkling water and watching the world like it might owe him money.

“You and Emma came down together,” Jordan said, lowering the tablet onto the table. “That’s an unusual sight.”

Allen leaned back, gave a half-shrug, and looked like he was still recovering from the trauma of surprise affection. “Yeah, I have to admit, that was unusual. She snuck into my front room and hugged me like a hungry cat spotting fresh tuna.”

Emma plopped into the seat beside him, already snagging a breadstick with zero shame. “It wasn’t that bad, you know.”

She stole a bite of the chicken. Chewed. Smiled like sunshine.

Allen and Jordan both stared at her in sync. Deadpan.

Jordan leaned closer to Allen, lowering his voice. “Is it because I gave her permission to join the event?”

Allen nodded solemnly, arms crossed. “Yup. She looks so happy I almost feel guilty.”

“I am happy,” Emma chirped, still chewing.

Jordan sighed, though a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I guess she really wanted a part in Hell’s Gate.”

Allen scoffed lightly. “Well, didn’t you say she wanted to be the Devil Emperor before the role fell to me?”

Jordan chuckled. “She almost was. During the early dev cycle, I let her take control of the Emperor’s avatar during one of the closed betas. She was promising. But… too reckless. Too confident. Treated the avatar like a toy. Didn’t respect the role.”

Allen turned toward her. “You played around too much?”

Emma stuck out her tongue. “It was fun. And besides, I was the boss. Until someone,” she jabbed a thumb toward Allen, “came in and turned it into a psychological horror show.”

Allen smirked a little. “Not my fault I know how to pace a god-tier entrance.”

“I paced mine!” Emma said with exaggerated defense.

“Right off a cliff,” Allen shot back.

Emma opened her mouth, paused… then grinned. “Okay, that one was kinda funny.”

Jordan sipped from his wine glass, shaking his head. “That’s the thing. The Emperor is more than stats and stage presence. It’s about knowing when to hold back. When to make them crawl.”

“I can make people crawl,” Emma protested.

Jordan raised a brow. “With confetti bombs and off-key theme music?”

Emma gasped. “That was ONE test!”

Allen tilted his head. “Wait—you designed that music track that loops ‘BOW TO ME’ in auto-tuned chipmunk voice?” He heard it in the closed beta test, and it made him cringe.

Emma glared with mock betrayal. “That was an art piece.”

Kai coughed, politely. “May I serve the entrée?”

“No,” Allen and Emma said at once.

Kai bowed slightly. “Noted.”

Jordan chuckled and waved for him to proceed anyway. “Go on, Kai. Let’s not disrespect Chef Michel. He might poison us next time.”

Emma leaned in and whispered. “Wouldn’t be the first time he used fear seasoning.”

The spinach foam was plated with microscopic garnishes that looked like edible flower petals and something resembling dehydrated olives. The grilled chicken, at least, looked normal—juicy, charred at the edges, and resting on a bed of buttery garlic rice that made Allen’s stomach stop complaining about his sister for five seconds.

Alex adjusted Jordan’s napkin before stepping back with military precision.

As silverware clinked and everyone slowly began to eat, the dining room settled into its usual semi-formal hum of luxury and quiet judgment.

The chandelier above glowed with soft amber light, reflecting off the wine glasses and the polished black stone of the long table.

Emma was still smiling. Her feet swung under the table like she was twelve again.

She chewed and finally said, “You know… even if I didn’t become the Devil Emperor, I’m kinda glad you did.”

Allen looked up. Everyone did.

That was rare.

She didn’t say it mockingly. Didn’t smirk. Her tone was light, but the meaning sat heavy.

Allen swallowed his bite. “…Yeah?”

Emma nodded. “You’re good at it. And you’re scary. But not like, kill-the-world scary. More like… make-people-question-their-life-choices scary. That’s better.”

Jordan raised a brow at that. “Poetic.”

Emma winked. “I am a poet. I just don’t write anything. Well, Allen does.”

It made Allen cough. “Spoken like a true menace,” he muttered.

“You love me,” she said, sing-song.

“No comment,” Allen replied, stabbing his rice.

Jordan leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, watching the two of them with something bordering on satisfaction. “If this keeps up, maybe she’ll actually become useful.”

“I’m always useful!” Emma said, dramatic gasp included.

“To whom?” Allen asked.

“To the people who believe in chaos as a lifestyle,” she replied with a grin.