I. The Devil's Banquet; Wine and Flesh

Knock. Knock.

“Yes?” Adrian called out as a sound broke the silence. The door creaked open, revealing Oz in the doorway. Draped across his arm was a hanger bearing a suit, pressed to perfection.

“Wear this and come. Stan is expecting you in the dining room.”

His words were flat, almost mechanical. He handed Adrian the hanger. Adrian changed quickly, the fabric feeling strange against his skin, almost ceremonial.

“Why a suit?” Adrian asked.

No answer. Not even a glance.

What’s with him… why does he never respond?

Adrian wondered, his irritation gnawing at him as he followed Oz down the long corridor.

They entered through gilded double doors into the dining hall. It was a place that looked less like a room and more like a cathedral to indulgence. 

Crystal chandeliers rained splendour across the hall. The ceiling was ripe with images of winged figures and serpents whilst half faded sigils, that seemed to twist if stared at too long, sparsely decorated the walls.

Can such a huge space even be considered a room at this point? 

Adrian looked around puzzled at the thought. At the center stretched a table so long it vanished into shadows at its ends, lined with more than seventy high backed chairs on either side, ready to host hundreds of guests at a time. Eerily, all of the chairs were empty, their upholstery brand new, as if no one had ever used them since the day they were made. 

The air was thick with the intoxicating perfume of roasted meats and exotic spices. There was a plethoric variety of all types and kinds of food, served on platters that were arrayed like offerings to some ancient god.

There were glazed roasts of meats with skins shimmering like lacquer. Bowls of rice jeweled with saffron and pomegranate were sprinkled about in between. Towers of noodles coiled like serpents around silver forks, waiting in bowls for no one at the almost entirely empty table. Skewers of beef dripping juices lay flat on plates that waited to be touched by famished souls. 

Lush salads topped with candied flowers amongst mountains of pastries, golden and sugared, intermingled with desserts, sculpted to resemble roses, freshly prepared and beckoning for a taste. 

The sheer opulence flabbergasted Adrian. Why was such a spread prepared when there was no one in sight ? It was enough food for an entire town, enjoyed by a gathering of ghosts. In his eyes, it was by far more luxurious than the feasts he held as a king. He felt astounded at the level to which opulence could ascend.

As he took in the sights, Oz led him down the aisle of empty chairs toward the far end of the table, where a man sat, eating without a care and indulging in everything and anything he desired.

Stan Rumley.

His presence radiated authority like a bonfire, every movement a calculated form of elegance. From the slow raising of a fork to the measured cutting of a slice of meat, perfectionism was dialed into every fibre of his aura. 

Adrian felt an unsettling emotion build up inside as he peered at Stan’s face. It was too perfect, as if sculpted rather than born. Even with his hair turning white, there was not a single wrinkle in his skin. His chiseled jaw and beaming white teeth showed perfection that seemed eerily inhuman. 

From head to toe, from his health to his dress, every single thing, every miniscule detail, every iota of every atom seemed catered for and carefully orchestrated to impose and exude a majesty and brilliance unparalleled. It was as if he was shimmering just by sitting there, his eyes pools of black and red wine, unreadable and entirely focused on the task in front of him.

“Sit.” Oz commanded, as if barking orders at a dog, pointing to the chair beside Stan. Adrian obeyed. 

Oz took the opposite seat, flanking Stan like a dark sentinel as the two waited for him to speak. Stan did not acknowledge their presence. Their patience was expected and the two behaved accordingly.

Beside Stan stood a maid. Her duty was simple; with each bite he took, she had to lean in immediately to wipe his lips, beard and mouth with a handkerchief, always gently and without causing even the slightest irritation. The previous maid had paid a heavy price for just such a misstep. 

In addition, even if the tiniest crumb fell to the ground, she was to happen upon it instantly, scooping it into her own mouth without hesitation. Stan hated wasting his food. When his gaze flickered toward any dish, she darted forward at lightning speed to place it within his reach. It was a tight rope to walk as she stood there, perfectly still and ready for anything. Her life depended on it.

This odd ritualistic performance unfolded in silence. Cut. Bite. Wipe. Drink. Repeat.

Adrian watched on, horrified. Conversely, Oz folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, tilting his head down and closing his eyes. The only sounds that filled the hall were of Stan's chewing and the ruffling of the maids clothes as she jumped around like a circus clown, doing her utmost to appease her master.

Finally, with a theatrical flourish, Stan dropped his knife and fork, absolutely satiated to the limit. A goblet of wine appeared in his hand almost before the utensils hit the plate, another maid wasting no time in anticipating his move. He drank from it tentatively, swirling the wine in the glass first to even out the taste, bringing it to his nose for a sniff before sipping a little. He smacked his lips with satisfaction, inebriated by the taste of the spirit that had been aged for decades.

“Ahh, red wine. The blood of kings, the nectar of rulers.”

As if on cue, servants emerged from the shadows and began clearing the colossal spread with terrifying speed. The fantastical banquet vanished within mere moments leaving only Adrian’s gnawing disappointment as his stomach growled audibly, betraying him.

Stan did not turn to look at him, only responding to the irregular intrusion of his auditory senses with a snap of fingers.

Instantaneously, a servant laid a steak before Adrian. It sizzled, fresh off the griller, its aroma both rich and intoxicating. The juices hissed against the plate as steam rose up in front of Adrian. On the side was a healthy serving of potato salad whilst the rest of the plating consisted of mushrooms and carrots amongst other stir fried vegetables in a mysterious oyster sauce, adding a deeper flavour to the overall profile of the dish that beckoned Adrian for a nibble. His mouth watered uncontrollably, drool trailing a mark down his chin which he quickly wiped away with his fingers.

"Adrian I presume.” Stan stated, his tone casual. 

Adrian nodded in affirmation, trying his damnedest to reign in his excitement at the sight of the food.

“I am Stan Rumley, master of this estate. Oz briefed me of your arrival. Let's cut to the chase. Tell me, boy...” Stan leaned forward, eyes sharp

“...what drives you?”

Adrian thought for a second, the answer was crystal clear in his mind. He did not hesitate in his response 

“I want power."

Stan grinned 

“A universal desire. Unfortunately, not all who crave it are worthy. Few ascend. Are you willing to do what it takes?”

Adrian hesitated as memories of the sacrifices he had committed as king flooded his mind, followed up by Diana's warning. Stan and Oz had their eyes trained on him, but they were not the only ones. The servants of the estate watched intently from the shadows, posted in position without movement and in absolute silence. While he could not see them, he could feel the endless stream of eyes fixated on him. It felt like lying in a coffin built with thorns and needles. Every move was crucial, the silence, palpable.  

“I am.” Adrian responded firmly, ready to face whatever came his way, trying to maintain an expression of determination. Inside he was terrified, but anything was better than going back to his depressing life, one where he was dismissed as a loser and respected by no one.

“Good.”  Stan swirled his wine, watching the crimson liquid whirl like a miniature tornado, it's reflection glinting in his eyes.

 “But you may only be a man of words so let's put that resolve of yours to the test. I want to know, when faced with a storm, would you protect what you love or would you run? After all, true determination does not fold like paper under the weight of destiny." 

Stan spouted riddles into the air before turning to face Adrian, setting his drink down on the table in the process.

"In front of you is a steak. It was carved from human flesh."

Adrian’s heart lurched. 

“Excuse me...?”

“Now, boy, show me your resolve.” Stan commanded.

“You can’t be serious...”

Adrian lamented as Stan leaned back in his chair and continued to sip his wine, a devilish smirk painting itself in his expression .

 “Let us see how far you will fall before you rise again.” Oz chimed in, his words slicing through Adrian like a blade.

The steak glistened under the chandelier, every detail pleading for indulgence. The aroma clung to Adrian’s senses like a newborn clings to it's mother's teat. 

He trembled, caught between revulsion and hunger. But somehow he found the strength to grab the fork. It was a half-assed attempt with no further plan in mind. Simple, blind obedience.

“Hesitation is considered a weakness here. Are you going to continue trembling like a leaf? Go on already!” Oz intoned.

"Hush now, Oz. This is my favourite part. I adore watching the humanity leave their eyes." Stan interjected, gleeful at the thought of Adrian's corruption. 

After battling internally for some time, Adrian began crumbling, the pressure crushing his morals into mince as he cut a piece of the steak, symbolising his solidarity with Stan's authority. However, it was not enough.

Juices bled across the plate, scarlet. Screams of his sacrifices erupted in his mind as he stared at the blood oozing out of the meat. Visions of the people he had slaughtered played in the reflection of the chandeliers, shimmering in the liquid that spread across the plate. They mocked him as he drew the morsel closer, until suddenly, with closed eyes, he raised it to his mouth and forced himself to chew.

Stan watched on, his whole body turned towards Adrian, eyes open wide like a curious toddler observing a new behaviour.

Adrian chewed dejectedly, tears erupting with regret until his eyes shot open with relief 

“It’s… beef?”

Stan burst into laughter, slamming his goblet down as he pounded the table with his fist over and over again.

“Of course it is! Did you really think I’d serve human flesh to a peasant? How absurd. Ridiculous! Absolutely ludicrous!”

Relief washed over Adrian, but it was quickly soured by unease. 

Peasant… ? Does that mean only royals are worthy of eating human flesh? A delicacy? I don't even want to imagine the possibilities...

In a split second, Adrian's train of thought fractured as vertigo surged through him. The world spun violently as he lost control of himself. His limbs grew heavy and his eyes began to close shut as he began to fall under.

Damn it… did they drug me...?

His head crashed into the plate Infront of him, causing the juices of the steak to fly up and mix with his freshly shampooed hair. Some of them flew in Stans direction, but he was protected by a maid that jumped Infront of him.

Potato salad makeup was now smeared across Adrian's face as the juices of the steak began to seep into his collar and tie. Darkness consumed him as he was pulled under to the sound of Stan's hysterical laughter, mocking him with every cackle.

“What an absolute twat!" 

Stan berated, throwing the remainder of his wine at Adrian's unconscious body. The wine splashed against the poor lads head, dousing the back of his skull and trickling down his cheeks and into his gaping mouth.

"Take him to the my chambers.” Oz ordered.

The Servants waiting in the Shadows appeared without delay, lifting Adrian’s limp body and dragging it away, into the darkness.

Stan rose soon after, fixing his royal beige coat that sported a magnificently crafted peacock shaped pattern. Before he walked away, maids brushed invisible dust from his suit and made sure every crinkle and crack in his attire was gone. Once he was prim and proper, he was ready to leave, but not before some final choice words for Oz.

 “Excellent work once again, boy. My bastard daughter was worth something after all. Your continued loyalty has given meaning to the stain upon my heritage.”

Stan commended his grandson, pompously leaving the room. 

Oz's face betrayed nothing. Not a single hair moved out of place, his breathing steady and unchanged. He remained at the table long after the others had gone, a solitary figure in the silence of the emptied hall, alone with his thoughts. 

"My bastard mother...huh?" he questioned the air, slowly lifting himself from his seat. He put the chair back in its place, perfectly aligning it with the table. Not a millimeter was out of order, a sign of his deeply ingrained perfectionism.  

In the next instant he retrieved a gold plated pocket watch that cracked open to reveal a picture of his late mother. Oz stared at the image for a few moments, taking in a deep and calculated breath, before replacing the antique back in his coat's inner breast pocket. 

"Is now the right time, mother ?" he thought to himself, a memory of Lucy playing in his mind. It was engraved within him, softening his expression for the first time.