Baron Samedi sat at a rundown bar in New Orleans, the air thick with the scent of stale bourbon and desperation. The low hum of a jukebox played a mournful blues tune, blending with the occasional clink of glasses and muttered conversations from the few living patrons scattered in the shadows. Samedi’s skeletal fingers traced idle patterns on the bar’s worn surface, his top hat tilted just enough to obscure his hollow eyes from view.

Tonight, it was the spirit of a drowned sailor, his translucent form swaying like seaweed caught in a current. He sat hunched over the bar, waterlogged clothes dripping onto the floor. A faint smell of saltwater and decay wafted through the air as the sailor raised an intangible glass to his lips, sipping phantom rum that vanished into his ghostly throat.

“The skull,” the sailor wheezed, breaking the heavy silence. His voice was thick, as though every word had to fight its way through the brine that filled his lungs. Spectral water dribbled from the corners of his mouth, pooling on the bar and then disappearing like smoke. “They’ve got it in Salem. The museum. But it’s cursed, you see. It’s tied to the Star.”

Samedi’s hand paused mid-pattern, his fingers curling into a loose fist. His eyes, hidden in the shadows of his hat, glowed faintly with a cold, blue light. The Star of Chaos again. Every fragment of that infernal artifact dragged him deeper into this war against the Kabal, pulling him into their labyrinthine schemes and the endless chaos they sought to unleash. But this one was different. This one screamed with the voice of Edward Teach—Blackbeard himself.

A low chuckle escaped Samedi’s lips, a sound as dry and hollow as wind rustling through dead leaves. He reached into the inside pocket of his tattered coat and pulled out a small flask. Unscrewing the cap with deliberate care, he poured a single drop of its contents onto the bar. The liquid shimmered, impossibly bright, before sinking into the wood.

The sailor shuddered violently, his form momentarily growing sharper, more defined. His eyes—milky and lifeless—locked onto Samedi with an expression of sheer terror. “You… you’re really going to take it, aren’t you? You don’t know what it’ll do… what he will do.”

Samedi tilted his head, the faintest trace of a grin pulling at the corners of his bandaged face. He tipped his hat to the sailor in mock acknowledgment before standing and sliding the flask back into his coat. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the door, his cane tapping rhythmically against the wooden floor. The sailor’s voice echoed behind him, desperate and pleading.

“You can’t control him! He’ll tear you apart!”

Samedi didn’t look back. He pushed open the door, stepping out into the humid New Orleans night. The air outside was alive with the hum of cicadas and the distant wail of a train. Somewhere in the shadows, the ghosts of the bayou whispered, their voices blending into the symphony of the night. Samedi inhaled deeply, the scent of earth and decay filling his lungs. Then, with a flourish of his cane, he stepped into the darkness, the path to Salem already taking shape in his mind.

*

The Salem Museum of the Occult stood silent under a blood-red moon. To the untrained eye, it was just another kitschy tourist trap, its gaudy neon sign flickering like a dying ember. Inside, tourists would have marvelled at faux grimoire replicas and cheap crystal balls, oblivious to the ancient secrets humming beneath their feet. But Samedi saw through the charade. The glyphs etched into the building’s foundation pulsed faintly, their lines shifting subtly like veins under the skin. It wasn’t just a museum—it was a fortress. The technomagical barrier woven into its structure was potent enough to repel most Magi, let alone anything mundane.

He adjusted his bandages, tilting his top hat against the lunar glow, and muttered something inaudible. The shadows curled around him like old friends, cloaking him in their embrace. It wasn’t just the barrier that gave him pause. The Kabal had stationed their bio-enhanced “shades” inside—cybernetic monstrosities designed for one thing: eliminating anything that wasn’t Kabal-approved. Samedi had faced them before. They were faster than flesh, stronger than steel, and utterly devoid of soul. But even machines had their limits, and tonight, he intended to test them.

He approached the entrance, his movements slow, deliberate. The cold air crackled faintly as his Agape stirred until he was in full control of the torment of the crying dead. With a subtle flick of his wrist, he called on the spirits of the long-dead witches. They answered in whispers at first, murmurs on the wind, their laughter like the rustle of dried leaves. And then they came—a procession of ethereal forms, translucent and shimmering, their eyes blazing with the fury of lives stolen too soon. They slipped through the cracks in the museum walls, their presence a ripple in the delicate balance of the barrier.

Inside, the shades stirred, their sensors spiking at the sudden influx of spectral energy. They moved with unsettling precision, their joints clicking as they synchronised, weapons primed. The witches descended upon them like a storm, their cackling laughter filling the museum’s sterile corridors. Walls groaned under the force of their rage, display cases shattered, and artifacts clattered to the ground.

Samedi lingered just outside, listening. He didn’t need to rush. The witches would keep the shades occupied. Instead, he focused on the glyphs. The barrier was alive, its technomagical weave writhing like a serpent as it fought to contain the spiritual assault. Samedi crouched low, tracing the edge of a glyph with a gloved finger. It burned faintly at his touch, hissing as though alive.

“Cute,” he muttered, his voice dry and gravelly. He drew a small vial from his coat—indigo liquid swirling within like molten lapis lazuli. It was an essence distilled from the Star of Chaos, a fragment he had risked his unlife to obtain. He uncorked the vial and let a single drop fall onto the glyph. The reaction was immediate. The glyph screamed, its light flaring brilliantly before shattering into a thousand fading sparks. A chain reaction followed as the barrier unravelled, the remaining glyphs collapsing in a symphony of agonised wails.

With the way now clear, Samedi stepped inside, his polished boots clicking softly against the museum’s marble floor. The chaos of battle surrounded him—the shades firing plasma rounds that passed harmlessly through the witches’ incorporeal forms. One shade, a towering figure with glowing red optics, turned its attention to Samedi. Its weapon swivelled, locking onto him in a fraction of a second. Samedi snapped his fingers and targeted the shade’s systems with, visions of amorphous forms now obscuring his vision.

The shade hesitated, its programming unable to parse the anomaly before it. That moment was all Samedi needed. With a flick of his cane, he unleashed a tendril of Agape-infused Thelema, piercing through the shade’s chest. Sparks flew as it collapsed, twitching, its core overloaded.

Samedi smirked, tipping his hat toward the fallen shade. “One down,” he murmured. “Let’s see what other toys the Kabal brought to play.”

*

The vault was a cathedral of shadows, its walls lined with ancient relics exuding power and menace. Flickering torchlight danced over forgotten treasures: cursed swords, eldritch idols, and books bound in human skin. At the centre of it all, the skull rested on its pedestal, encased in glass that seemed more than mere protection—it was a cage, humming faintly with warding energy. Its hollow eye sockets glowed an unnatural red, bathing the chamber in a malevolent light. The runes etched along the inside spiralled inward, forming a labyrinthine map of Choronzon’s gateways, each curve and line a testament to the madness that birthed them.

Samedi paused, his cane tapping lightly against the stone floor. The air was thick, oppressive, as though the skull’s presence warped reality itself. Each step forward felt heavier than the last, the atmosphere pressing down on him like the weight of centuries. His free hand twitched involuntarily, as if the Thelema coursing through him recoiled at the artifact’s power.

Then came the voice, booming from nowhere and everywhere at once. It was a guttural growl, dripping with venom, and it reverberated through the vault like the roar of a storm.

“You think you can take what’s mine, Baron?” it sneered. “Many have tried. All have failed.”

Samedi stopped, his head tilting ever so slightly as he scanned the room. The voice was unmistakable: Blackbeard, Edward Teach himself, the dread pirate whose legend had transcended death. The shadows around Samedi seemed to shiver in recognition.

“I’m not here to debate history,” Samedi muttered, his voice low and laced with dry humour. “You’ve had your time, Edward. It’s my turn now.”

Ignoring the pirate’s taunts, he raised his cane, the polished black wood gleaming faintly as Thelema surged through it. With a sharp flick, he brought the cane down, shattering the glass case in one decisive strike. The sound echoed like a gunshot, and for a brief moment, everything went still.

Then chaos erupted.

A wave of dark energy exploded outward, slamming into Samedi and sending him sprawling across the stone floor. He groaned, pushing himself up as the skull hovered above the pedestal, spinning violently. The red light in its sockets flared brighter, casting grotesque shadows that writhed and twisted like living things. The air crackled with an unnatural charge as Blackbeard’s fiery, spectral form emerged, his headless body clad in ghostly flames that flickered like the rage in his disembodied voice.

“You dare disturb me?” Blackbeard roared, his voice a thunderclap that shook the very foundations of the vault. “Return my skull to the sea, or face the curse of Edward Teach!”

Samedi chuckled, dusting himself off as he got to his feet. He tipped his hat, his grin widening beneath the bandages that covered his face. “You’ve got quite the flair for theatrics, Captain,” he said, his tone mocking. “But I’ve dealt with bigger egos than yours. Let’s see what’s really under that bluster.”

The pirate charged, his headless form wreathed in hellish fire, his massive ghostly cutlass raised high. Samedi didn’t flinch. He raised his cane and drew a circle of glowing sigils in the air, a barrier of Thelema springing to life just as Blackbeard’s weapon came crashing down. The clash sent sparks flying, the sound of metal meeting magic ringing like a church bell.

Samedi pivoted, his movements graceful despite the weight of the encounter. With a flourish of his cane, he redirected the spectral pirate’s next attack, sending Blackbeard staggering back. The skull remained spinning in midair, its glow pulsating in rhythm with the pirate’s fury.

“Enough of this,” Samedi growled, planting his cane firmly into the stone floor. The impact sent a shockwave of Thelema rippling through the room, forcing Blackbeard to falter. Channelling his energy, Samedi turned his attention to the floating skull. It was the source of the pirate’s power, the anchor binding him to the Star of Chaos.

Samedi struck. The cane connected with the skull in a brilliant flash of light; the impact reverberating through the vault. Runes etched inside the skull flared one last time before fracturing. The link binding it to the Star of Chaos severed. Blackbeard’s fiery form faltered, the ghostly flames sputtering and collapsing in on themselves.

“No!” Blackbeard’s voice howled, a mixture of rage and despair. His headless body disintegrated into embers, leaving only his disembodied head floating in the air. The skull dropped to the ground with a hollow clatter, its glow extinguished. Blackbeard’s head spun in place, his fiery eyes glaring at Samedi.

“Bloody Baron,” he spat, his tone now more frustration than fury. “You’ve damned us both.”

Samedi smirked, leaning on his cane as he regarded the floating head. “Oh, Edd,” he said with mock sympathy, “I’m not damned.” He reached out, snapping his fingers. The remnants of the Star’s energy coiled around Blackbeard’s head, binding it in a spectral tether.

The pirate’s head floated toward Samedi, unable to resist the pull. “What are you doing?” Blackbeard demanded, his voice laced with panic.

“Congratulations,” Samedi said, tipping his hat again. “You’re my new sidekick.”

“What have you done, you damn fool?” Blackbeard spat, his ghostly face contorted with rage. “You’ve broken the curse, aye, but now you’ve bound me to you! Do you have any idea what you’ve unleashed?”

Samedi stood silent, his bandaged face betraying nothing but quiet satisfaction. He crouched down, dusting off the now lifeless skull before slipping it into a weathered leather satchel. Blackbeard’s head bobbed beside him, vibrating with indignation.

“Oh, what’s this? No witty retort? No apology for chaining me to your sorry hide?” Blackbeard sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Let me guess—you’re the strong, silent type. Well, this is bloody marvellous. How’s this supposed to work, eh? Brilliant plan, mate. Absolutely brilliant.”

Samedi’s eyes glinted with amusement as he adjusted the strap of the satchel and rose to his full height. He tipped his hat ever so slightly, a subtle acknowledgment of Blackbeard’s rant, before turning on his heel and striding toward the vault’s exit.

“Oh, you’re gonna be a riot,” Blackbeard grumbled, his spectral head bobbing reluctantly behind Samedi like a particularly irate balloon. “You’d better have some grand scheme brewing, or I swear by Davy Jones, I’ll make your afterlife a misery.”

As they moved through the dimly lit museum, the sound of grinding gears echoed in the distance. The shades were returning, drawn by the disturbance. Their cybernetic limbs clattered against the floor, and the eerie red light of their artificial eyes pierced the shadows.

Blackbeard’s head turned, his expression shifting from irritation to urgency. “Oi! Giant crab things inbound! Unless you fancy getting perforated, we’d better move, mate. What the hell are those things?”

Samedi didn’t pause, his gait steady and deliberate, “Robots.” He rasped in reply.

“Row Boats? Just don’t speak if ya gonna talk gibberish. Left! Take the left corridor, you daft corpse!” he barked, his tone halfway between exasperation and amusement. “Or are you planning to waltz through them like a bloody parade?”

Samedi shifted direction, his cane tapping against the floor as he veered down the suggested corridor. The shades’ mechanical screeches grew louder, their pursuit relentless. Blackbeard’s head twisted to keep watch, his voice cutting through the tense air.

“Faster! Unless you’ve got a death wish—or, uh, second death, I suppose,” he quipped, his pirate bravado seeping into every word. “Oh, this is gonna be fun, I can tell. Just you and me against the world, eh, Baron? What a charming little partnership we’ve got here.”

They darted through the twisting museum corridors, the labyrinthine layout working both for and against them. The shades were relentless, their cybernetic enhancements making them faster and more agile, but Blackbeard’s centuries of experience of navigating chaos proved invaluable.

“Down the staircase!” Blackbeard shouted. “And don’t dawdle—you’re already slower than a drunk sailor on shore leave.”

Samedi vaulted down the steps with surprising grace, his long coat trailing behind him like a shadow. Blackbeard’s head followed, grinning despite himself. “I have to admit, you’ve got style, mate. But if we make it out of this alive—well, you alive and me less miserable—you owe me a pint.”

As they reached the main hall, the moonlight streaming through shattered windows painted the room in blood-red hues. The shades closed in, their metallic footsteps pounding like a war drum. Blackbeard’s head twisted around, his eyes lighting up with an idea.

“To the window, Baron! Smash through it—dramatic exits are my specialty!” he bellowed, laughing despite the danger.

Samedi didn’t hesitate. With a swift motion, he swung his cane, shattering the glass in a spray of shards. The Baron leapt through, landing in a crouch on the cobblestone street outside. Blackbeard’s head bobbed through the opening after him, his laughter echoing in the night.

“Well, that’s one way to make an impression,” Blackbeard said, his fiery eyes gleaming with amusement as the shades gathered at the broken window, unable to follow. “I think this might be the start of a beautiful disaster.”

Samedi adjusted his hat, casting a shadow over his bandaged face. Without a word, he strode into the foggy night, Blackbeard’s head floating at his side, still grumbling but undeniably intrigued by what was to come as they headed towards the cathedral.

“Just one more problem I need to deal with.” Said Samedi.

*

The decrepit cathedral stood silhouetted against a fractured, storm-torn sky, its spires clawing at the heavens like desperate fingers. Inside, the air was thick with Thelema, crackling with chaotic energy that danced in arcs of electric blue and crimson. Baron Samedi stood at the centre of the nave, his bandaged face impassive as he leaned on his ornate cane, the skull of Blackbeard dangling in the satchel at his side.

From the shadows, she emerged.

The Baroness was a vision of elegance and menace, her obsidian gown trailing behind her like spilled ink. A crown of shattered bone adorned her head, and her eyes glowed with a cold, unnatural fire. Her voice, when she spoke, was a melody of scorn and sorrow.

“So, you finally came, cherie.” She stepped forward, her heels clicking against the cracked marble floor. “After all these years, I wondered if you’d lost your nerve.”

Samedi tilted his head, his silence louder than words.

“Still not speaking to me?” she hissed, her voice laced with venom. “You think silence will absolve you? You think I’ve forgotten?” She gestured broadly, her hands trailing ghostly flames. “This is what you left me for. Chaos. Power. Him.“ Her gaze flicked briefly to the floating head of Blackbeard, who rolled his fiery eyes.

“Oh, don’t drag me into this lover’s spat,” Blackbeard grumbled. “But if you ask me, you both could use a drink and some therapy.”

The Baroness ignored him, her focus entirely on Samedi. “You took everything from me that night. My heart, my life, my humanity. And now… now you waltz in here like a shadow out of the past, thinking what? That I’ll just forgive you?”

Samedi finally moved, a slow, deliberate motion, as he took a step forward and removed his hat. He let it fall to the ground, exposing his bandaged face to the dim light of the cathedral.

The Baroness flinched, a flicker of something—grief, maybe—crossing her face. “Don’t you dare,” she whispered. “Stop pretending to regret what you did. Don’t pretend you’re the man I once loved.”

Samedi raised his cane and tapped it against the marble floor, the sound reverberating like a gunshot. The energy in the air intensified, swirling around them both. He raised his free hand, and from the shadows emerged the spirits of the long dead, circling him like a ghostly retinue. Their presence was a reminder of the power he had gained—and the sacrifices he had made.

“Typical,” the Baroness snarled. “You always relied on the dead to fight your battles.” She raised her arms, and from the air materialised shadowy tendrils, writhing and snapping like vipers. “But I’ve embraced something greater than death, mon amour. I’ve embraced the void. Let’s see how your ghosts fare against it.”

The clash was sudden, violent, and all-consuming. The Baroness unleashed a torrent of void energy, black and hungry, swallowing the light as it surged toward Samedi. He countered with a wave of spectral flames, his ghostly allies shrieking as they hurled themselves at the darkness. The cathedral trembled, its ancient walls groaning under the strain of their power.

Blackbeard’s head floated to the side, watching the chaos with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “I’d clap if I had hands,” he muttered, “but this is escalating faster than a mutiny on a pirate ship.”

The Baron and Baroness circled each other, their attacks clashing and rippling outward in waves of destruction. Samedi moved with an almost inhuman grace, his cane striking the ground in rhythmic beats that summoned bursts of Thelema-infused power. The Baroness was feral and precise, each strike of her void tendrils aimed to pierce his defences.

Finally, their powers collided in a blinding explosion of light and shadow, throwing them both back. Samedi landed against a crumbling pillar, his hat somehow finding its way back into his hand. The Baroness knelt on the ground, panting, her once-imposing form dimmed but still burning with raw fury.

“You’re a fool,” she spat, her voice trembling with emotion. “The cause you fight for will consume you. You’ll end up just like me—broken, hollow, and filled with nothing but hatred.”

Samedi slowly approached her, his footsteps echoing in the silence that followed. He crouched down, his bandaged face inches from hers. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, their shared history hanging heavy in the air.

Then, to her shock, Samedi reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. The gesture was gentle, almost tender. She froze, the fire in her eyes flickering uncertainly.

“This changes nothing,” she whispered, though her voice had lost its edge. “You think you can undo the past?”

Samedi said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. He stood, adjusting his hat before turning away. Blackbeard’s head floated to his side, smirking as always.

“Touching, really,” the pirate quipped. “But you might’ve wanted to finish her off, mate. She doesn’t strike me as the forgiving type.”

The Baroness watched as Samedi walked away, her hands trembling with a mix of rage and something she couldn’t quite name. For the first time in years, she felt the void within her waver.

As Samedi and Blackbeard exited the cathedral, the storm outside subsided, the first rays of moonlight breaking through the clouds. Behind them, the Baroness rose to her feet; her fists clenched.

“This isn’t over,” she laughed hysterically, her voice filled with a dangerous determination. “It’s no fun. Driving you crazy is my greatest pleasure.”

© Aiwaz, 2025. All rights reserved.