"Why the sudden pause? It's quite ungentlemanly to just stand there," Aeon told him delightfully. "Come, come! I've saved you a seat."
To Hector, the cloudless blue sky around him was a fairly apt description of himself at that very moment. Everything about this magician was inhuman. His hair was long and lusciously silver, tied in a yellow ribbon. A monocle with blue lenses framed in gold adorned his right eye.
His clothes were something that Hector had never seen before. He wore a white shirt with a deep blue cravat tucked underneath a black vest with purple outlines. His pants were stripes of beige and brown, and his feet were concealed in a pair of black riding boots.
There was a vacant chair from across from where the magician sat, as well as a readily-made plate of white cake and a cup with tea already filled to the brim, almost as if he had been expecting him.
"If you're worried about the cake, I assure you it's not poisoned," Aeon said it so casually. "The same goes for the tea."
There was no other choice it would seem. Hector reluctantly approached the gazebo and carefully took a seat in the vacant chair. He hasn't eaten in a while, hence why Hector could feel himself salivating at the sight of the fluffy white frosting of the cake slice.
Hector immediately slapped himself on the face, brushing that hunger away and composed himself. "This is definitely a dream... No way in hell this could be real," he angrily muttered.
"Well, you're not wrong. This is a dream, this world is a dream of my creation." Aeon grinned as he took a sip from his warm cup of tea. "And besides, there's no harm in eating food from a dream."
Hector realized by now that this magician was much more powerful than he thought, resisting even further would do him more harm than good. At last, he finally drank up his tea in one hard gulp. The taste was vegetal yet fruity, maybe a bit of honey in there to sweeten it a bit.
He then stuffed his frail face with the cake, finishing up the slice in a handful of spoonfuls. The frosting was fluffy, and it melted inside his mouth within seconds. None of these dishes felt out of the ordinary, though he felt his stomach getting a little warm.
"Thank you for the cake and tea," Hector stood up impatiently. "I must wake up now."
"So soon?" Aeon seemed quite saddened. "At least, stay for a moment. I have lots of important things to tell you!"
"Listen, sir. I care not if you're going to preach to me some untold knowledge or some great destiny that I don't want any part of," Hector coldly remarked. "You've got the wrong person so that. So please tell me how to get out of this dream or-"
"You would refuse even knowledge that could potentially save your life?" Aeon raised an eyebrow, his words were enough to make Hector halt in his steps. "Come dawn, the blizzard will subside and the Pirate will resume his relentless pursuit for you.
"So I ask you this: if you leave without having to hear my advice, where will you go instead? Will you continue on your hapless journey through a wasteland where there is no sign of life for miles, eventually dying alone on the side of a barren road.
"Or will you choose to be cornered by a terrible foe who has every advantage in his disposal to outsmart and ultimately extinguish your life, regardless of the abilities you've mastered to perfection, in your attempt to save yourself? Be reasonable here, Hector. Leave without my wisdom now, and your uncertain death will become an absolute."
Hector pondered on his predicament for a moment, gazing into the endless field of poppies as he does. He couldn't make himself turn back and look the magician in the eye. To trust him was a double-edged knife; on one hand, he too understands the uncertainty of his survival - either dying in the wastes or in the hands of the Pirate himself - was inevitable in these circumstances.
On the other hand, he had since grown wary of depending on other people, especially from powerful people with massive ambitions. His past experiences from three years ago made him learn this lesson the hard way. From how he observed this peculiar stranger, Hector suspected that his kindness was a facade, a mask to hide his true intentions that he was too scared to imagine.
"I have no choice," Hector sighed in defeat. "Share me your wisdom, magician. Tell me how I could survive this fate before me."
"Head east of here for the Bahljet mountains," Aeon instructed. "There live a pair of witches who might grant you sanctuary in their abode. They bear no ill will to kind strangers, but you have to earn their trust in order to let you stay. Be assertive and truthful above all else, that's all you need."
Hector heeded these words into account. "But don't think I'll be grateful. I'm tired of owing people anything."
"I understand." Aeon nodded, before pulling a silver stopwatch out of his pockets and checking the time, returning his eyes to Hector with such fear and astonishment. "You don't have a lot of time, I'm afraid. In thirty minutes time, the Pirate will find his way here in search of you. So until then, ta-ta!"
Aeon gleefully snapped his fingers, and Hector immediately fell through the field of poppies and into darkness. Then he woke up, back in his dingy bed in the catacombs. Now knowing what he must do, he quickly gathered his belongings and rushed upstairs.
He returned to the main hall, where the frozen bodies lay. Hector firmly gripped his hammer with both hands, the sigil of the Forgemasters engraved upon it glowed in a dim blue light as it served its purpose once more.
Thirty minutes of preparations have passed and, as expected, the Pirate unceremoniously barged into the castle through the front gates, which was slightly open. Standing alone in the empty courtyard to meet him was Hector himself, calmly clutching his sword.
As the Pirate slowly approached him, his cloak made a high-pitched melody as the multitude of feather-shaped daggers sewn into the thick fabric clashed and struck each other with every step he took, making certain ringing sounds similar to wind chimes.
As the Pirate plucked a dagger from his cloak, Hector finally decided to enact his plan before he would be sliced up by them. Making a fist with his right hand, a rogue arrow suddenly flew toward the Pirate's left flank. Had the Pirate not instinctively swerved his body to evade it, it would've hit him.
Hector immediately backed away as archers, now reanimated from the dead, erupted from above the walls and shot arrows upon the Pirate, who shielded himself with his cloak. In quick retaliation, the Pirate whirled his cloak around in a mad fury, a flurry of daggers flew off and pierced through the heads of the undead archers, killing them instantly.
"Arise, I say! Rise and tear him apart!" Hector commanded hastily, raising his sword as a signal.
At once, more of the once-fallen soldiers, now monstrous and misshapen from reanimation, emerge from the snow and make battle with the Pirate with their swords and axes daring to cut him up.
Hector expected the Pirate to be overwhelmed with numbers but his foolish expectations were proven horribly wrong. After kicking a sword of a soldier's hand, the Pirate threw his tricorn hat against another, which unexpectedly sliced their head off clean. The hat then ricocheted off a wall and struck a few more in the process, only to bounce off another wall and rinse and repeat.
As for the Pirate himself, Hector was both astounded and terrified at how he fought and moved at lightning speed. He danced through his enemies like water, slicing them up as he does. And whenever he found himself cornered, he climbed up the wall with only his bare hands and somersaulted right through them.
After lodging the sword deep into an undead's neck, the Pirate pulled out from underneath his cloak three wooden staves each connected by a metal chain, wielding it like a mace to bash his opponents' heads in.
Only to then unsheathe both the left and right staves, each revealing a thin blade underneath. Holding onto the middle stave, the Pirate spun the weapon with both hands, building enough momentum to eventually cleave a dozen heads off as he does.
Eventually, the horde was no more as the last few were finished off by the ricocheting hat, which ultimately landed back into the hands of the Pirate, who calmly placed it back on top of his dark brown hair. Hector retreated deeper into the castle with the Pirate in pursuit.
In the main hall, also emptied, the Pirate threw another dagger at Hector's path, forcing him to flinch and stop in his tracks. The Pirate used the opportunity to tackle him into the ground and kick his sword away. But right before he could stab him full of holes, Hector whistled loudly.
Bursting from the ceiling, a swarm of harpies swoop in and snatched the Pirate with them, soaring back to the shadowy ceiling to gobble him up. Hector caught his breath as he retrieved his sword but as he was about to make his way up the tower, he was caught off-guard by the harpies screaming in the darkness.
One by one, the harpies fell onto the floor dead with several chunks of their skins and limbs missing. And then the last one fell, with the Pirate using her as a shield from the fall. As they roughly landed against the floor, the Pirate quickly bit her neck and pulled out a massive chunk of it.
For a moment, the Pirate stared at Hector. His hat was on the floor a few meters away from him, letting the Forgemaster see his face in all its glory. His hair was long and unkept, his olive face was bloody from the guts stuck in his teeth, sharply fanged and angular.
Even his eyes were depraved and emotionless, like a predator. His right eye was a typical Wallachian brown, but his left was oddly akin to a wolf; it was a fusion of almond and gold, surrounded by a black hole. His face grimaced, disgusted at both what he's done and the person right in front of him.
It took Hector a while to recognize his face. It was the same man who once defied his late master Dracula three years ago, shortly after he laid waste to the city of Targoviste. He was convinced that Dracula had killed him after that, yet now he stands before him as the harbinger of his death. The Pirate growled, then he smiled maliciously at Hector as he noticed the Forgemaster's immense fear in his pale face.
As if compelled by his own emotions, Hector bolted out of the scene and made his way toward the upper levels at a frantic pace. The Pirate was still hot on his trail, looking more unhinged as ravenous than before.
Hector whistled once again, calling forth a massive minotaur that burst into the stairwell between him and the Pirate. It tried to ram him down with its horns, but the Pirate jumped out of the way before it crashed into the wall. The Pirate plucked another dagger off his cloak and pulled out a thin rope.
Tying the rope to the dagger's ring pommel, the Pirate repeatedly swung it at the minotaur from afar. Whenever the Minotaur tried to swipe him away with its claws, he'd run up the wall and climb over it, dragging his dagger through his skin in the process.
The minotaur, now more pissed than before, attempted to ram its horns at the Pirate one more time. Only for the Pirate to blind him by throwing his hat at its eyes as it ran. He swerved just as the Minotaur stuck its horns at a wall, unable to pull it out.
With a couple of pipe bombs he pulled out of his arsenal, the Pirate climbed on top of the Minotaur's head and jabbed it deep into its bloody eye sockets. When he leapt off its back, he pulled on the thin strings keeping the fuse pin tight.
Upon pulling it off, the bombs ignited and exploded the Minotaur's entire head off, its innards painting the grey wall red. The Pirate brushed a speck of it off his cloak before turning his attention back to Hector again, who made a panicked ascent toward the last tower, exhausted all of his options and his army of night creatures depleted in a single battle.
Up there, he finally met a dead end. The remains of a tower high up the hill where the barren castle stood, surrounded by a dense fog that kept him from knowing how deep a fall from that height would be. The only thing worth noticing in there was the frozen corpse of a nobleman, its body slightly close to the edge.
Hector tried to turn back, but it was too late. The Pirate had reached him and nonchalantly tried to swing his cutlass sword upon unsheathing it. Hector tried to block his advances with his own blade, but the Pirate was too quick with his hands. He immediately disarmed Hector of his weapon, throwing it into the cold abyss.
Unarmed, Hector was defenseless as he barely evaded another attempt to gut his stomach open. At once, his fire dragon came out of its hiding place from Hector's coat and began spewing fire from its mouth in an attempt to protect its master.
Alas, the Pirate immediately plucked another dagger from his cloak and threw it at the dragon, severing its tiny little head and simultaneously scarring Hector in the face. Hector, clutching his right cheek as it bled profusely, started to crawl away from the Pirate who seemed to savor his despair.
"No escape, Forgemaster," the damn Pirate finally spoke in an empty yet deep voice, thickly seasoned with an accent that even Hector couldn't recognize. "From yer crimes, from yer fate, and from yer death."
Oh how this seemed familiar, Hector thought. His life has always been at the mercy of beings far more powerful than him. And each of them he would remember towering over him as if he were an ant compared to their towering height, making him feel hopeless and worthless.
But as the Pirate plucked three more daggers meant for his doom, Hector made a crazy decision. With the corpse next to him, he clutched it tight as they both fell off the tower, escaping from the Pirate's wrath and into the misty depths of uncertainty.