It all went by his eyes so fast.

His life.

All of it.

In a blink.

Growing up in Cobbler’s Hold. Terrorizing the smaller kids. Getting away with it because he had been a beautiful child who knew what to say. Becoming an apprentice to the local carpenter. Courting and then marrying his daughter. Getting drafted into the Twelve-Year-War. Getting shot through the guts in his final battle. Lying in the mud, dying and paralyzed. Seeing the ghouls rising from the earth and being turned. Traveling the Wyrding for eight years. Meeting Mordesai and other wonders. Returning to Cobbler’s Hold and crafting a plan to take over Garuccia.

Only to be stabbed in the back by his own ungrateful daughter!

For a moment there was only darkness. It was like sleep without dreams. Time just moved past you and Pietro Capello wondered if everything after getting shot in the final battle had been just a dying dream that was now nearing its end.

Then he heard someone talking and… laughing.

Slowly shapes and colors began to return, and Pietro found himself… in a dimly lit theater. Sitting among a faceless audience. When he looked around all he could see was a sea of people with no features. Only a smile painted on their faces with lipstick. They had no eyes but even then, they could see, and they were all watching…

At the child clown on the stage.

Dressed all in white with the only splash of color on him being the red buttons, lips… and eyes.

“And the next thing I know, my swimming trunks are gone, and I find out the hard way that you get merlings when you become more intimate with a fish than the laws of gods and men recommend.”

The audience erupted in muffled laughter. The kind of laughing that was only possible when you tried laughing without a mouth.

The child clown fell quiet long enough to light a cigarette. After blowing out a smoke ring, he pointed a black talon at the audience. Right at Pietro’s seat.

“What’s this now? We have a celebrity in the house! Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, saints and sinners! Let’s make some noise for Pietro Capello!”

A beam of white light found him amidst the spectators and blinded him. Pietro hid his face behind his white hand and glared at the vampire clown. The faceless audience applauded him and pushed him towards the stage. The vampire clown never stopped looking at him with eyes like scarlet stars.

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“Welcome to the third circle of The Wyrding, Pietro Capello! Land of the dead! Domain of powerful spirits! Congratulations! You made the cut!”

Unsure what else to do, Pietro walked to the stage where the vampire clown was sucking on his cigarette like it was a lollipop.

“What… is going on?” Pietro said while approaching the clown.

The clown laughed and Pietro saw the rows of white fangs filling his maw.

“No one knows! Anyone who says otherwise is selling something. As a comedian, it is my solemn duty to shed light on the absurdity of life.”

Pietro bit his lip. He had never liked clowns. They creeped him out. So he grabbed the little freak by the collar and picked him up. He brought his talons to the clown’s eyes.

“Why don’t you try anyway?”

The clown just grinned… and then turned into black mist in his hands. A trick even he had never mastered. The mist floated around him for a moment before turning back into a clown at the edge of the stage. The clown wagged a talon at him.

“No touching the goods, Pietro Capello. But… why are we here? Simple. We both took a dirt nap but were strong enough to resist the pull of the black gate.”

Pietro growled.

“I’m dead?”

“You are indeed among the dead. You can only kick the ladies around for so long before they stab you in the junk.” The clown said and then stroked his cone hat thoughtfully: “As for why we are here in particular and not some other place? That is also simple. My… quite literally… biggest patron wanted a show, and he is not a man you say no to.”

“Your patron?” Pietro said, incredulously.

“Oh, yes. And let me tell you… he has been dying to meet you. He was quite impressed by all the criticism you laid out on his conquest, and he wants to hear more.”

The vampire clown slapped his palms together.

“My sweets! My adoring fans! My stars in the night! Let’s raise the roof for the man of the hour! One of the great conquerors of The Wyrding! God-emperor of all vampires! A King of the Dark! The Darkest Majesty! Let’s hear it for… Baron Karloff von Stradheim!”

A light fell on the best seat of the house. A private box that stood above them all like a throne and inside it sat…

“Thank you, my jester. That will be all for tonight. I will take it from here. Blessing of the Dark upon your next performance.” Baron Karloff von Stradheim said.

The voice was deep and booming bass that could and had commanded armies. The dark helmet adorned with batwings gave it a metallic echo. When the baron stood up, Pietro realized he was over eight feet tall while wearing his black armor. The legends had it that his family had giant blood in it and now… he believed the tales. A crimson cape flowed behind the baron like shooting star when he jumped out of the box and glided onto the stage.

The clown might have been a fool but even a fool knew when to exit the stage. With a toothy grin, he bowed down to his master before cartwheeling off the spotlight.

The baron looked down on Pietro and the eye slits on his helmet glowed red. It was impossible to meet the red gaze.

“Hello, Pietro.” The baron said.

Pietro sunk his fangs in his lip and backed away, but the baron was too huge to flee from. He filled the stage so completely that Pietro felt like he was standing on the palm of his hand.

“… Stradheim…” Pietro whispered.

“Indeed I am.” The baron said and drew his claymore: “And I can’t wait to hear in detail why my conquest was a failure. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

The baron’s claymore cut deeper than his sarcasm.