You are a scientist who has been comissioned by a Branch of the Order Syndicate, (a splinter faction of the Order that tolerates monsters to a certain degree.) to develope a (perfectly legal) spray. The spray uses special chemicals that not only cover the body in a miscroscopic, insivisble film that sticks to demonic energy particles and builds up around them, (to stop them from emtering the body.) but also negates the effects of ingested demonic energy products.
One could eat a whole garden’s worth of wrapping vegetables and wash it down with an Alraune nectar and holstaur milk cocktail, before getting shot in the chest with a magazine of demonic-silver bullets while standing next to a lilim, and suffer no ill effects. You currently have a few batches of the substance ready, as well as all the blueprints for machinery and the chemical formula in a hard drive on your desk. You even have a sample of the finished product in an aerosel can on your desk. (Apple scented.)
As one could predict, you are about to make fat bucks selling this to the Order Syndicate when the door to your lab is blasted off its hinges. A multitude of mamono of many species burst into the room, and point guns at you.
“STOP! IN THE NAME OF LOVE, WE FROM CONTINUED DEVELOPEMENT OF THIS DANGEROUS CHEMICAL! PUT DOWN YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD AND HAND OVER ALL CHEMICAL SAMPLES!” yells the ringleader, stepping closer.
WWYD?