Marvel : I'm in Westview Town-Chapter 146

On the table, an extravagant spread of delicacies stretched out in every direction, leaving no corner untouched. The richness of the feast was overwhelming, and the sheer variety of dishes dazzled the eyes.

The fragrance was intoxicating. It wasn't merely the aroma of fine food—it was something more. Something enchanting. The scent seemed to rise and soar, lifting spirits to the heavens themselves, as if tasting it would awaken senses long dormant.

"These foods are exceptional supplements. For our Angelic lineage, they can delay the effects of aging, which plague even those with enhanced longevity. For you, it will refine your appearance, make your features more radiant and clear, and even purge impurities from your system. The benefits are significant."

Brice smiled as he gestured for everyone to relax and enjoy.

This was not merely hospitality. This was reverence. The Angelic House offered their highest form of respect to guests—and now, to their benefactors. After all, not long ago, these same guests had defended them with unwavering force.

Brice's smile held gratitude deeper than words.

"Brice is right, eat quickly before it gets cold," the old patriarch added kindly, his tone warm and sincere. There was no trace of arrogance in his demeanor—only humble hospitality.

"I gotta say," Finn said, grinning as he glanced over the table, "you Angels really know how to treat your twenty-two guests right."

There was a teasing note in his voice, but he didn't hesitate to pick up his utensils and signal to the others. No need for formalities here.

Truthfully, Finn hadn't expected such thorough generosity. Not from a celestial family so ancient and proud.

"Isn't this normal?" the old patriarch replied with a casual wave of his hand. "You saved us. You fought off those demonic entities that nearly brought destruction to our sanctuary. You're not guests—you're heroes. Our benefactors."

Because of that, nothing but the best was acceptable.

Even the food was infused with their sacred energy. Not magic, not technology—something purer. It hummed with luminous force. Especially for those with mystical training, it was a treasure trove of potential.

"We take the act of honoring our benefactors very seriously," the old patriarch added, voice sincere.

"It's an honor," Finn replied, shaking his head. "We did what anyone should have. Nothing more."

Laughter echoed around the hall as the feast began in earnest. Plates clattered, cups were raised, and the energy of camaraderie filled the space like warmth from a hearth. Dishes were devoured as if the guests hadn't eaten in days.

And then, the shift began.

At first subtle, then undeniable.

A ripple of energy moved through their bodies, surprising each of them. A strange but not unpleasant sensation bubbled in their cores, as though something ancient and powerful had awakened.

With each bite, the mysterious force in the food coursed deeper into their bodies. It wasn't just digestion—it was alchemical. Like sparks flowing inward and assembling into a radiant core.

And then came the heat—low, growing, centered in the lower abdomen.

It clawed for release.

"What's going on? Finn, are you alright?" the two witches asked in unison, concern in their eyes. Their gaze locked onto him, noticing the sweat starting to drip from his brow.

Finn didn't speak.

But it wasn't just him.

Doctor Stephen Strange wiped his forehead too. Even Peter Parker—Spider-Man himself—was squirming in his seat.

Wanda's eyes flared scarlet.

The air shifted.

"What did you do to them?!" she snapped, her tone cutting like obsidian. Scarlet chaos magic surged at her fingertips. She was ready to attack, and everyone in the room could feel the pressure rising.

This wasn't a negotiation.

This was a warning. freёweɓnovel.com

Finn was hers—and no celestial banquet, no Angelic deception, was going to harm him.

"Please, don't misunderstand," the old patriarch interjected quickly, his tone urgent. "As I mentioned before, the food is designed to enhance and purify. These effects are part of that process. There's nothing harmful here—only beneficial transformations."

He was sincere, but also desperate not to provoke a conflict. Not here. Not now. They didn't want to turn a celebration into a war. Especially not with their saviors.

"We're fine, Witch. No need for a dramatic reaction," Stephen Strange finally spoke, exhaling slowly. He gave the patriarch a firm nod. "Thank you. I can feel it—my magical core feels... enhanced. Like I've been aligned with something ancient."

Peter and Finn nodded in agreement, their earlier discomfort fading into awe.

The two witches frowned.

"Then why haven't we felt anything?" the darker one asked.

Before the old patriarch could answer, Finn raised a hand, finally speaking through the sweat and sensation. "It's probably because of your connection to the Darkhold. That tome wraps your body and soul in protective enchantments. It might be blocking external mystical forces—including this."

The witches blinked, digesting the revelation.

It made sense. The Darkhold was a cursed book of immeasurable power. It protected—but at a cost.

Wanda looked at her hand. There had been no change. No warmth. Nothing.

"Could that really be the reason?" she asked softly, almost disappointed.

Finn nodded. "That's just what I suspect. I only understand a portion of how it works."

"But why did you change, then?" asked the darker witch, brow furrowed. "You've dabbled in the Darkhold, too. Haven't you?"

Finn shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe because I didn't dive as deep as you did. Or maybe it's because..."

He turned to the old patriarch. "You'd probably have the real answer."

All eyes turned to the Angel elder, who had grown quiet.

"If I had to guess," the patriarch began, fingers clasped, "it's because your bodies carry a residue of darkness—just enough to interfere. The mystic forces our family wields are bright and pure. That polarity could be the reason."

The room fell silent for a moment, everyone reflecting.

It did make sense.

The Darkhold didn't just teach—it infected. It altered the soul, wrapped it in shadows. Those who touched it often came back different. Powerful, yes—but touched by something deeper, older, and darker.

"I see," Wanda said, looking down at her empty glass, her voice tinged with regret. "That's a shame."

They had drunk the wine too. But unlike the others, they had felt no bloom of power. No warmth. No radiance.

They were women, yes—but also witches, deeply tied to the darkness.

And that made all the difference.

"Don't worry," Finn said with a small smile, sensing her disappointment. "You practiced with the Darkhold. Your lifespan will far exceed anyone else's."

She glanced at him, a faint smile touching her lips despite the situation.

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