My greeting is a warning; my welcome, a feast. Many flee my herald, yet few resist the priest. I split a thorned chapel, serve custard to the bold, What monarch of the market am I, crowned in green and gold?

What’s black when you get it, red when you use it, and white when you’re all through with it?

Remove my first letter and I silently fly Remove my third for a shipment's contents Remove my last and I gracefully bend But all together, I'm something you find in your kitchen

Born of ruin, I climb unseen, a shadow of fire that’s never clean. No feet to walk, no breath to choke, yet I can kill, for I am ....

My twin is my match, yet I pair with many others. I have always been stepped on, but so has my brother. What am I?