Tournament - Hannibal Lecter vs. Remy (Ratatouille)

[Culwych1]

Chapter 1

[[Introduction: Epic introduction music as the camera pans over a fiery kitchen.]]

“This isn’t just a cooking show,” booms a voice so deep it seems to resonate in your bones. “This is THE cooking competition of the multiverse.”

The shot cuts to a grinning SpongeBob SquarePants, his spongey arms a blur as he flips what appears to be 100 Krabby Patties at once.

“Ten legendary chefs!”

Next, Mr. Ping is shown folding dumplings with the grace of a calligrapher painting a masterpiece. The dough swirls and noodles twirl as if they’re extensions of his hands.

“One interdimensional kitchen!”

The camera zooms in on Willy Wonka, who unveils a glowing chocolate volcano. Without warning, it erupts, sending edible marshmallows shooting into the air like sugary fireworks.

“Ingredients from across the multiverse!”

Hannibal Lecter appears, smiling serenely as he sharpens a glinting knife. The shot lingers just long enough for you to wonder about his choice of meat before cutting away.

“And of course… the most terrifying judges in the multiverse!”

The camera pans across the judges’ table: Gordon Ramsay is mid-shout, veins bulging as he hurls an insult at someone offscreen. Lord Beerus points lazily at a contestant, his energy flickering ominously around him. Mary Berry takes a delicate bite of cake, shaking her head disapprovingly. Garfield, slouched in his chair, pushes an empty plate away with his paw and deadpans, “I only judge lasagna, and this isn’t it.”

The fiery logo blazes back onto the screen, and the words The Great Kitchen Wars glow as if forged by the gods themselves.

The arena quiets, and the host’s voice booms out: “Welcome to The Great Kitchen Wars! Contestants, please make your way to the arena!”

First to enter is Hannibal Lecter. He strides in as though he owns the place, his three-piece suit impeccably tailored. His eyes scan the competition, calculating, while his thin smile suggests he already knows how this will end.

“I believe,” he says smoothly to the camera, “that cooking is the ultimate expression of artistry.” He glances briefly at the glinting knives at his station. “And precision is everything.”

Behind him comes SpongeBob SquarePants, bouncing into the kitchen with boundless energy. “I’m ready! I’m ready!” he chants, wielding his trusty spatula like a sword. As he passes Hannibal, he pauses, gives him a cheerful wave, and says, “Hi there, mister! Let’s have fun!” Hannibal’s smile tightens as SpongeBob zips off to his station.

Willy Wonka is next, floating in on a candy-powered hoverboard. The camera tracks him as he tips his top hat, tosses chocolate coins into the audience, and winks. “Let the games begin!” he says with a mischievous grin, his candy-striped coat flaring dramatically as he steps off the board.

The towering figure of Casey Ryback is next, silent and brooding. The former Navy SEAL surveys the arena like he’s preparing for war. His knives are laid out with military precision, and his every movement is deliberate. When the camera lingers, he says only, “Let’s get to work.”

Mr. Ping bursts in with a dumpling cart, shouting, “Who’s hungry?!” He immediately begins organizing his station with the precision of someone who’s served ten thousand hungry customers. As he works, he mutters, “My noodles will speak for themselves!”

Then comes Chef Julian Slowik, moving with the eerie calm of a man who sees all life as a perfectly orchestrated menu. He surveys the competition with faint disdain. “Cooking,” he says to no one in particular, “is not just sustenance. It is control.”

The Swedish Chef tumbles in next, juggling knives, bowls, and what appears to be a live chicken. “Bork bork bork!” he exclaims as the chicken escapes, squawking, across the arena.

Chef (from South Park) saunters in, belting out an impromptu song about chocolate salty balls. “Hello there, children!” he shouts, grinning as he sets up his station. “This is going to be one delicious competition!”

Last comes Monica Geller, clipboard in hand, already inspecting her station. “Are these counters even sanitized?” she snaps at a hovering kitchen bot. She begins rearranging her equipment, muttering about the lack of structure in the competition already.

The judges take their seats:

Gordon Ramsay slams his hands on the table and yells, “Right, listen up! If you think you can come in here and serve us garbage, you’re wasting my bloody time!”

Lord Beerus leans back, unimpressed. “I don’t care who wins. Just don’t bore me, or I’ll destroy this entire dimension.”

Mary Berry offers a serene smile. “Let’s focus on the heart and balance in your dishes, shall we?”

Garfield yawns, already pawing through a menu. “When’s lunch? And is there lasagna?”

The first challenge is announced: “Chefs, you have one hour to create your signature dish! Show us who you are!”

The kitchen explodes into motion: knives flash, flames roar, and chaos reigns.

Hannibal meticulously prepares a pâté so velvety that the judges are stunned into silence. Gordon mutters, “Where the hell does he get his meat?” but no one dares ask.

Remy (hidden under Alfredo’s hat) orchestrates a perfect ratatouille. The sight of Mary Berry tearing up as she takes a bite becomes an instant meme across the multiverse.

SpongeBob flips Krabby Patties with cheerful gusto, stacking them into a towering burger sculpture. Lord Beerus reluctantly admits, “It’s… oddly satisfying.”

Willy Wonka presents a chocolate fountain that self-assembles into a glowing sculpture of the kitchen arena. Mary Berry calls it “utterly delightful.”

Meanwhile, The Swedish Chef accidentally sets his station on fire but somehow produces a dish involving half a chicken and a tennis ball. Gordon screams, “WHAT IS THIS RUBBISH?!”

Chef serves a rich soul food platter while serenading the judges. Even Garfield stops napping long enough to murmur, “Decent.”

As the timer runs out, chaos subsides into tense anticipation. The first day is over, and everyone readies themselves for the next day .

----

Chapter 2

The next morning, the Interdimensional Kitchen Stadium glistens under the glow of countless galaxies swirling overhead. The contestants shuffle in, some more enthusiastic than others. SpongeBob bounces to his station, humming a jaunty tune, while Hannibal glides in like a shark sensing blood. Mr. Ping is already muttering under his breath about dumplings.

The judges take their places, with Gordon Ramsay immediately slamming his hands on the table.

"Listen up!" he bellows. "Today's theme is A Dish Your Mom Would Be Proud Of! We want nostalgia, heart, and flavour. If you bring us anything bland or pretentious, you’re done."

Lord Beerus yawns, lazily resting his chin in his hand. “And if it’s boring, I might just destroy the lot of you.” His eyes flicker with a dangerous light, and a hush falls over the room.

Mary Berry clears her throat delicately. “What we’re looking for is something that tells a story. A dish that captures the essence of where you come from.”

Garfield glances up from a nap. “Does anyone’s mom make lasagna? Just asking for a friend.”

The contestants dive into action, each racing to craft a dish that honours their roots.

SpongeBob, true to form, starts making Krabby Patties. He sets up an entire assembly line, flipping patties and humming to himself. “My mom didn’t actually cook much,” he explains to the camera, “but she always said a Krabby Patty could fix anything!”

Across the arena, Casey Ryback is moving with deadly precision. He slices vegetables with military efficiency, the blade flashing so quickly it almost hums. “Mom taught me discipline,” he says, dicing onions with the intensity of a general planning an ambush. “Cooking is just another battlefield.”

Hannibal Lecter works in silence, his station eerily calm. A simmering pot sends fragrant steam wafting into the air, and he hums a classical tune as he delicately assembles a dish. "I don’t like to talk about my mother, but she had good taste," he murmurs, placing an artfully carved garnish on the plate. The camera catches a quick glimpse of a perfectly seared cut of meat, though no one seems eager to ask what it is.

Mr. Ping twirls dough with the grace of a master, folding dumplings so quickly it seems his hands are a blur. "My mama always said dumplings bring people together," he says, smiling wistfully. "Every fold is a memory."

Monica Geller, clipboard in hand, is working with military precision. "I’m recreating my mom’s pot roast," she announces, her voice tinged with determination. "But better. Because let’s be honest, my mom couldn’t cook to save her life."

Meanwhile, The Swedish Chef is wrestling what looks like a live lobster, screaming, "Bork! Bork! Bork!" as it escapes his grasp and skitters across the arena floor. Gordon Ramsay shouts, "GET A GRIP, MAN!" but the Swedish Chef is too busy flailing to respond.

Willy Wonka, on the other hand, is crafting something magical; a dessert that seems to shimmer with light. "My dear mother adored sweets," he explains, sprinkling edible glitter over a towering cake. “She always said, ‘A little sugar solves everything, but I was never allowed sweets - oh no, definitely not.”

Chef Julian Slowik, with his unnerving calm, prepares a minimalist plate of foam and mist. “This dish represents my mother’s intangible presence in my life,” he says cryptically. Gordon squints at the plate and mutters, “It’s *beep*ing air, mate.”

Chef croons a soulful tune as he fries chicken. “Mama always said love was the secret ingredient,” he sings, tossing seasoning with theatrical flair.

Alfredo, as always, struggles to look competent while Remy does all the work. They’re crafting a ratatouille so vibrant and aromatic that Mary Berry looks teary-eyed just watching.

The clock ticks down, and the judges begin their rounds.

First, they approach SpongeBob, who presents a tower of Krabby Patties. "They’re like hugs from your mom!" he says brightly. Mary Berry smiles kindly. “Charming presentation, but it’s… very one-note.” 

Beerus takes a single bite, frowns, and says, “Pathetic.” SpongeBob’s face falls.

Casey Ryback presents a hearty meat-and-potatoes dish with perfectly seared steak. Gordon Ramsay nods approvingly. “Technically flawless.” But Beerus takes a bite, grimaces, and spits it out. "This lacks imagination." 

Casey protests, “I don’t think you know who you are talking to. I’m a master of all arts; culinary, martial, zen, I can play the guitar as well as stop terrorists and…” 

Before he can finish, Beerus flicks a finger, and Casey is launched into the sun.

“Next,” Beerus says with a satisfied smirk.

The Swedish Chef presents a dish so chaotic it defies explanation. There are crunchy bits of toast, a screaming lobster, some chocolate goo, a turnip and what looks like contents from the bin. Gordon screams, “THIS IS A DISASTER!” Mary Berry winces as she prods the plate. “It’s… crunchy?” 

Beerus incinerates the dish with a single glare, and the Swedish Chef is disqualified. He flails his arms, shouting, “Bork bork bork!” as he’s escorted out.

Willy Wonka presents his glowing dessert, which dazzles everyone. “Interesting,” Mary Berry says diplomatically, though Beerus raises an eyebrow.

Mr. Ping’s dumplings win over Mary Berry, who sighs happily after a single bite. "This is comfort food at its finest," she declares. Gordon Ramsay nods. "Simple, but brilliant."

Finally, the judges reach Hannibal, who unveils an intricate plate of tender meat in a rich reduction. Mary Berry takes a bite and gasps. “This is… divine.” Gordon stares at the plate. “What is this meat?” he demands. Hannibal simply smiles and says, “An old family recipe.” Beerus takes a bite and purrs, “Delicious.”

Alfredo (with Remy) serves their ratatouille, which Mary Berry declares, “Perfection on a plate.” Gordon calls it “absolutely stunning,” though he squints at Alfredo’s odd mannerisms.

As the contestants step back, the camera catches Hannibal leaning toward Willy Wonka. “You must come to lunch sometime,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. “I’d love to discuss your work… in detail.” Wonka chuckles nervously and nods. 

“Tonight then” murmurs Hannibal. 

The judges deliberate. Casey Ryback is gone, launched into the cosmos by Beerus, and The Swedish Chef is disqualified. The remaining chefs breathe a sigh of relief, though Willy Wonka’s laughter seems a little more strained than usual.

As the camera fades to black, the voiceover intones, “Next time on The Great Kitchen Wars… FIRE IN THE BELLY!”

---

Chapter 3

The morning begins with a strange silence in the Interdimensional Kitchen Stadium. The usual chatter and clanging of pots are missing. Contestants shuffle in, glancing uneasily at one another. Gordon Ramsay is already pacing near the judges' table, his mood sour.

“Right,” he snaps, slamming his hands on the table. “Where the bloody hell is Wonka?”

Lord Beerus, looking supremely uninterested, picks at a speck of dust on his robe. “He’s withdrawn,” he says lazily.

“Withdrawn?” Gordon’s voice rises an octave. “*beep*ing withdrawn?! This isn’t a bloody day spa! You don’t just withdraw!”

Mary Berry tuts sympathetically. “He left a note, Gordon,” she says, holding up a piece of paper with a neat flourish. “‘Dearest judges and contestants, I must attend to urgent matters in the Factory. Do carry on without me. Yours, Wonka.’”

Gordon snatches the note and crumples it. “Factory? What is this nonsense?”

Lord Beerus yawns. “He’s gone. Let’s move on before I decide to destroy something.”

Gordon Ramsay steps forward. “Listen up! Today’s theme is Fire in the Belly! We want heat, we want spice, and we want passion. You’ve got one hour to deliver something that’ll knock our socks off, or you’re out.”

“Or,” Beerus adds with a slow smile, “I’ll simply obliterate you. Saves time.”

Garfield glances up from a nap. “Spicy lasagna? Anyone? No? I’ll just be here.”

The timer starts, and the kitchen explodes into motion.

SpongeBob SquarePants immediately begins assembling a mountain of Krabby Pattie, with spicy sauce. Mr. Ping twirls noodles in one hand while stirring a pot of spicy broth in the other. “My fire noodle soup will bring tears of joy, or at least clear sinuses!” he says confidently. Chef Julian Slowik works in eerie silence, assembling a plate of what looks like… mist. A faint reddish vapor rises from his dish, but there’s no actual food to be seen. “The spice,” he says to no one in particular, “is implied.” At the far end of the kitchen, Chef is frying chicken wings in a bubbling cauldron of molten hot sauce. He hums a soulful tune as he works, occasionally breaking into song: “Spicy wings gonna blodw your mind, they’re gonna set your taste buds on FIIIIIIIIIRE!”

The clock winds down, and the contestants present their dishes.

First up is SpongeBob, who proudly unveils his “Super Spicy Krabby Patties.” The stack of burgers glows faintly red from the sheer amount of hot sauce. Gordon takes a bite and immediately chokes. “WHAT IS THIS?!” he roars. “It’s like eating lava between two pieces of cardboard!”

Lord Beerus spits his bite out dramatically. “This is an insult to spice. And to food.”

Mary Berry, ever the diplomat, manages a polite, “Well, it’s… enthusiastic.”

SpongeBob’s smile falters. “But… but they’re Krabby Patties!”

“Get out,” Gordon snaps. “You’re eliminated!”

The judges gather around Chef Julian Slowik’s plate, which is nothing more than a cloud of spicy mist wafting above an empty plate.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Gordon asks, poking the air with a fork.

“It’s a representation of fire,” Julian explains. “A sensory experience designed to…”

Beerus growls and incinerates the plate with a flick of his finger. “This isn’t art school,” he says. “It’s food. You’re eliminated.”

Julian nods serenely and walks away. “A fitting end,” he says as he exits.

As he walks out, SpongeBob sidles up to him. “Hey, now that we’re both out, you wanna make burgers with me later?” he asks Julian hopefully.

Julian smiles, an unusual expression for his normally intense face. “That would be… sublime”

As the kitchen clears, the remaining contestants begin cleaning their stations. The camera lingers on Hannibal Lecter, who sidles up to Chef with an easy smile.

“Your wings were impressive,” Hannibal says smoothly.

Chef grins. “Thanks, baby. I’ve got the magic touch!”

“Indeed,” Hannibal replies. “We should have dinner sometime. I’d love to hear more about your techniques… and obviously taste your seasoning.”

Chef, oblivious, laughs. “Sure thing, man! Just name the time.”

The camera pans away as Hannibal’s smile lingers, sharp and unsettling.

As the contestants leave for the day, Gordon Ramsay turns to the camera, his voice heavy with frustration. “Two gone, and one quit - this is *beep*ing ridiculous. Whatever next!

---

Chapter 4

The Interdimensional Kitchen Stadium hums with quiet anticipation as the contestants arrive, their numbers now reduced to four. Hannibal Lecter strides in first, his polished shoes clicking against the tiles, his posture as composed and unbothered as ever. Alfredo Linguini stumbles in behind him, nervously adjusting his apron while trying to look confident. Remy, tucked under his hat, whispers directions to keep Alfredo focused.

Monica Geller follows, clipboard in hand, inspecting her station with laser-like precision. Mr. Ping wheels in his cart, grumbling under his breath about “fancy food” and “how dumplings are plenty elegant if you make them right.” But as the contestants look around, one station remains empty. The famous South PArk Chef is nowhere to be seen.

Gordon Ramsay stands by the judges’ table, already frowning. “Right,” he snaps, “where the bloody hell is Chef?!”

A kitchen bot whirs forward, holding a neatly folded note in its robotic claw. Lord Beerus lazily takes it, unfurls the paper, and clears his throat. “Ahem. ‘To the esteemed judges and contestants: Thank you for the opportunity to compete in The Great Kitchen Wars. However, I have decided to bow out of the competition for personal reasons. It’s been a wonderful experience, but I must follow my heart elsewhere. Yours soulfully, Chef.’”

Gordon snatches the note out of Beerus’s hand, glaring at it as if it might burst into flames. “Follow his heart elsewhere? What kind of *beep*ing nonsense is this? He was bloody singing about spicy wings yesterday!”

Mary Berry, ever calm, gives a sympathetic sigh. “Perhaps he had a change of heart, Gordon. We must respect his decision.”

Lord Beerus shrugs. “He’s gone. Move on. Don’t bore me.”

Garfield, who has been napping at the table, cracks an eye open and mutters, “Pretty sure he just went looking for lasagna.”

Hannibal Lecter, standing at his station, smiles faintly. “It’s such a shame,” he says smoothly. “He was wonderful company at dinner last night.”

Alfredo looks up at Hannibal, confused. “You had dinner with him?”

“Indeed,” Hannibal replies, his voice like silk. “We shared fascinating conversations and I sampled his seasoning, but trust me, I’m sure his presence will still be felt in this competition.”

Alfredo opens his mouth to respond, but Remy tugs his hair sharply, silently warning him to let it go.

“Right!” Gordon barks, slamming his hands on the table. “Today’s theme is high cuisine. We want elegance, beauty, and absolute bloody perfection. Bring us something worthy of the gods, or don’t bother showing up!”

Lord Beerus leans back, inspecting his claws. “If your food bores me, I’ll destroy your entire station. Consider that motivation.”

Mary Berry nods serenely. “High cuisine is about balance, refinement, and heart. Make us proud, chefs.”

Garfield stretches and mutters, “As long as it’s lasagna, I’m in.”

The contestants spring into action as the timer starts.

Hannibal Lecter works with the precision of a surgeon, slicing and plating with methodical grace. The aroma wafting from his station is intoxicating, though no one can quite identify the source of the meat sizzling in his pan. Alfredo Linguini, guided by Remy, scrambles to keep up. “Calm down, Linguini!” Remy squeaks from under the hat. “You can’t rush perfection!” Alfredo nods nervously, stirring a pot of creamy risotto. Monica Geller assembles her dish with the perfectionism of a sculptor, plating her ingredients as though they were museum pieces. “High cuisine is all about precision,” she mutters, adjusting the garnish for the third time. Mr. Ping, in contrast, works with fiery determination, stretching dough for dumplings and boiling a rich broth. “They want fancy? Fine!” he mutters. “I’ll give them dumplings so good they’ll cry!”

The timer buzzes, and the contestants present their dishes.

Hannibal Lecter unveils a plate so stunning it draws gasps from the judges. A perfectly seared cut of meat sits atop a truffle-infused purée, drizzled with a dark, glossy reduction. Gordon Ramsay takes a bite and freezes. “This… is bloody brilliant.” He looks up at Hannibal, his eyes narrowing. “What’s the meat?”

Hannibal smiles serenely. “I took inspiration from a chef I knew.”

Mary Berry dabs her eyes. “This is simply divine. So rich, so full of flavor.”

Lord Beerus tilts his head, intrigued. “Impressive.”

Alfredo Linguini steps forward with his wild mushroom risotto. Mary Berry beams after her first bite. “Oh, how delightful! So creamy and balanced.”

Gordon nods. “Good job, Linguini. This is the finesse I’ve been waiting for.”

Monica Geller presents her scallop tart with citrus foam. The presentation is flawless, but Gordon frowns after a bite. “Scallops are overdone. Good plating, but you need more balance.”

Mary Berry nods politely. “A commendable effort, nonetheless.”

Finally, Mr. Ping rolls out a stunning platter of dumplings shaped into a phoenix, complete with fiery chili sauce for the wings. Mary Berry gasps. “Oh, how creative!”

Gordon takes a bite and raises an eyebrow. “Good. But it’s still just dumplings.”

Mr. Ping bristles. “Just dumplings?! Do you have any idea how much heart goes into these?!”

“They’re delicious,” Mary says gently, “but we were hoping for something a little more elevated.”

“Elevated?!” Mr. Ping’s voice rises. “Dumplings are the most amazing dish in the world, you can ask my son!”

Gordon steps forward “A dumpling is a *beep*ing dumpling, and who the *beep* is your son and why the *beep* are you talking about him? You are OUT!”

“I cannot believe this!” shouts Ping as he storms out of the arena, wheeling his cart behind him. “My son will hear about this!”

With Mr. Ping and Chef gone, the judges announce the finalists: Hannibal Lecter, Alfredo Linguini, and Monica Geller.

“Next week,” Gordon growls, “is the grand finale. Bring your best, or don’t bother showing up.”

As the contestants leave, Hannibal glances at Monica. “You must come to dinner sometime,” he says smoothly. “I’d love to hear your thoughts on my New York-inspired dishes.”

Monica hesitates, then nods. “Sure… sounds nice.”

“Maybe tonight then…”

-----------------------------

And so we come to the final in the Interdimensional Kitchen Stadium. 

Hannibal Lecter stands at his station, his posture regal, his knives laid out as usual. Every movement he makes is deliberate, as though the competition has already been decided, and he is merely fulfilling the motions of destiny.

Across from him, Alfredo Linguini, sweating profusely, glances nervously at his opponent. Under his hat, Remy is whispering frantic directions, pulling on strands of hair to keep Alfredo focused. “You can do this, Linguini,” Remy mutters. “Just follow my lead.”

One station remains ominously empty. Monica Geller’s name card has been removed, her absence unexplained. Alfredo dares not to question these disappearances, particularly when Hannibal is around.

Gordon Ramsay steps forward, his commanding voice echoing across the arena. “Right, listen up! This is it, the grand finale. We only have chefs today as once again, we have a loser who has withdrawn, but we will have one *beep*ing winner. Today’s theme: Your Favourite Dish. We want something that represents everything you are as a chef. You’ve got two hours. Don’t mess it up!”

Lord Beerus yawns, his golden eyes flickering with faint interest. “And don’t bore me. The loser’s station might not survive.”

Mary Berry smiles kindly. “Remember, chefs, this is your chance to leave a lasting impression. We want a dish that’s not only delicious but tells your story.”

Garfield stretches and mutters, “As long as it’s not carrot lasagna, I’ll live.”

The final….BEGINS!

 

[Callisto]

Learn More About
Hannibal Lecter
Read more about Hannibal Lecter at Wikipedia
Official Site: Universal Links: Wikipedia.org hannibalstudiolo.com lectersgirl.com

Remy (Ratatouille)
Read more about Remy (Ratatouille) at Wikipedia
Official Site: Disney Links: Wikipedia

[Twogunkid]

Beerus is the real judge to please and Remy seems the type to wow the critics.