87: For Whom The Cowbells Toll

  Riding the lightning, to Damon, was nothing like listening to the album of the same name by Metallica. That was a classic, and whenever songs like 'Creeping Death' or 'For Whom The Bell Tolls' came up, he would shake his head back and forth in unison with the pounding beat. In this case, the lightning bolt was dancing through every part of his body, making every extremity shake in all directions at the same time.

  A similar bolt was making Jam do the same dance, and another bolt forced all the hair to stand up on King Fidd's head. The only thing stopping Damon from dropping that head was the fact that the electricity made his hands clench. Along with his teeth and toes.

  Bang my head, a voice said inside Damon's mind.

  Even if he had understood why he'd heard that voice, he couldn't follow the order. His body was too electrified and beyond his control. He was about to die, which meant all of them were about to die. Blayre was only playing with them.

  "It's time to bang my head, Damon of Earth." This time the voice spoke aloud in a commanding tone. Clearly, this was a hallucination. "Bang my head, young headbanger!" The voice, imaginary as it seemed, was coming out of the king's head. "Do it, Damon. Come on, we'll hit him with the noise like a lowrider with the hair of a dog."

  That last sentence was illogical, but it made him think of the song 'Hair of the Dog' by Nazareth. And that gave him an idea for a beat. He'd show this wizard who they were messing with! It took every ounce of his concentration to fight against the lightning arcing through his system.

  And so he swung the head hard and struck his own leg.

  The sound that came out tinkled in a muffled way.

  Like a cowbell.

  The words floated above the head:

  King Fidds's Internal Cowbell: Special Power of Timing+20

  "Again," the king's head said. "More cowbell!"

  The tink tink tink cowbell sound cut through the thunder and the music that came out of Blayre himself. In fact, it even cut through the chord that was vibrating in the room.

  "Cowbell!" Blayre shouted. "King Fidds has a cowbell inside his skull?"

  Damon banged the head against his leg with more fervor. Electricity was shooting out of his metal fingertips. The lost chord warbled slightly out of tune. At least they were getting his attention.

  "Enough games," Blayre said. "It is time for you all to be blackened." He lifted his hands to cast a spell that was clearly going to top all his other spells.

  Blackened: Heat of the Sun Spell

  A moment later, it felt as if Damon had been pressed right up against the sun. Jam screamed, the king's hair frizzled, and Damon was certain his skin was bubbling like a frying egg. "Goodbye, vermin," Blayre added. "You will never hear metal again."

  And then, just as Damon felt he would explode into a collection of atoms, a shadow descended from the sky. Fiora was falling like a meteor. She spread her wings above Blayre, dropping what looked like a bomb on the wizard.

  No, not a bomb. For it was human-sized and familiar. Kim rocketed downwards feet first, her hands spread out, holding what looked to be a massive black wad of bubble gum. Her very cool boots were smoking as she entered the radius of the Blackened spell. But her speed must have acted like armor, for she brought the black portal down over the head and torso of Blayre.

  The blackened spell was snuffed out. Damon's body stopped complaining about being on fire.

  The black thing that Kim had dropped now surrounded Blayre and was bulging out one way, then another, then a third way and finally exploded outward like a living oil slick but snapped right back. The wizard was completely encased in the shadowlike substance.

  The light that was Blayre was snuffed out. So was the song that had been playing around him. The lost chord fell silent as the guitar broke in half.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Damon took a step forward, still holding King Fidds' head. He helped Jam up, and both of them limped over to Kim and the black substance.

  "I have no idea what's happening, dude," Jam said. "But boy, do I ever have a headache."

  Kim was huffing and puffing as she stomped at the flames eating at her Destroyer Boots Of Major Metal Destruction and they went out. Several of the teeth were melted. She glanced towards her companions. She was about to open her mouth when the sound of whistling air stopped her.

  "Did it work?" Fiora dropped beside her, heavier than usual, clipping Damon and knocking him and Jam over. She grabbed Kim's shoulder. "Did it work?"

  Damon dragged himself to his feet again, and they all looked at the dark form on the floor. It was no longer moving, even though Blayre was clearly inside it. He couldn't see his Metal Health. Was he dead?

  "Yes, it worked," a voice said. Damon thought he was imagining things, because it was his hand that had spoken. Perhaps there was some sort of hallucinatory reaction to being hit by lightning and a blackened spell. The lightning strikes had been seared into his pupils. For the rest of his life, he'd been seeing them.

  "It's not your hand talking," his hand said.

  "But there is talking," Damon said. And everyone was staring at him. "Right?"

  "King Fidds is doing the talking," Kim said.

  Damon lifted the head to see that King Fidds's head was looking well, not fit as a fiddle since vines were hanging out of his neck, but he was smiling. "It worked," he said. "You have disconnected Blayre from the lost chord. I don't know where you sent him. But he is forever bound."

  "It is a really, really terrible place," Kim said. "He won't like it at all."

  88: We Care A Lot (Not)

  "Do I have a visitor?" the voice in the darkness asked.

  For Blayre, it was a very unpleasant voice that gave him a very unpleasant and familiar feeling. A moment before, he had been connected to the most powerful and wonderful chord in all the universes, and he was one with Metaloria. A sustained magic had twinkled at his fingertips, and an angelic heavy metal singing had reverberated in his ears. His most complete and perfect destiny was here. Blayre would control that power completely. He would be a god of metal and crush all his competition.

  Then, a moment later, he was covered in darkness. The lost chord was silenced. He was alone in a pitch-dark cave that smelled like a giant had burped out a cheap ten-year-old beer.

  Well, not entirely alone, because someone had just spoken to him. "Who dares to talk to Blayre, the most powerful of all wizards in Metaloria, a rock god among mortals and other rocking creatures? Bow before me and beg for forgiveness before I thunderstrike thee straight to Hades."

  "Blayre! Blayre!" the voice said, and its familiarity was growing in his mind. He could almost picture the face of the person speaking. "Oh, this is wonderful! You are here to visit me. This is so perfect and beautiful and glorious."

  "Who dares talk to me in such a familiar manner?"

  "I am the Pit of Never Ending Sarcasm," the voice said. "Don't you remember? You made me. You turned the great and outstanding Lord Garn?t Dubrow of Dubrowham inside out, stretching all of his sarcasm around an empty hole that became me, The Pit Of Never Ending Sarcasm."

  Blayre tried to cast Light in the Black, the simplest of spells. And nothing happened. The smallest kernel of panic sprouted in his heart. "Dubrow? Is that really you?" he asked.

  "I am the pit now and no longer Dubrow," the pit said. "It's so very great to see you."

  "You don't really mean that," Blayre said.

  "You are correct. I was being sarcastic."

  "Oh, metal gods, no," Blayre whispered. He had made this pit, and it was now bigger than him. But it couldn't be more powerful; it couldn't contain all that was Blayre. He just hadn't tried a powerful enough spell. That was all. He blasted out Ride The Lightning, and it fizzled into some tiny sparks. He'd torn apart castles with that spell! Next, he shot Great Balls of Fire out of his fingertips, but they did little more that plop on the ground and go out.

  "I suppose you're just discovering that I am endless and never-ending," the pit said. "You made me that way, remember? Thus the name: the Pit of Never Ending Sarcasm. You must be so happy about that now."

  "You're being sarcastic again, aren't you?" Blayre said.

  "Yes, you'll get used to it. I will take all the joyful moments you've ever had and paint them all black."

  "I will destroy you and grind you beneath my sandal-clad feet," Blayre growled, though even he would admit he hadn't put his whole heart into the threat.

  "Speaking of your feet," the pit said. "I've always wanted to tell you that it is not very metal to wear socks in your sandals. It's just, well, unsightly."

  Blayre looked around despite the fact that all he could see was darkness. "You aren't being sarcastic right now, are you?"

  "That was the truth. They're attractive feet otherwise." A long pause. "Now that was sarcasm."

  Blayre drew in a deep breath, making his voice calm. "My feet don't matter. What matters is I—I can make you whole again, Dubrow. I will bring you back to your former self. We could rule the world side by side."

  "I told you, I am the Pit of Never Ending Sarcasm now. But we could work together."

  "We could?" Blayre asked. "How? Anything you ask for is yours. I promise!"

  The pit sighed. "We could sing a duet together. Do you know the song 'Seasons in the Sun'?"

  Blayre shook his head, forgetting again that he was in darkness. "I have never heard of that song."

  "Ah, well, you will learn it. Also, I'm going to sing sarcastic limericks since I know you love them so." The pit then drew in its nonexistent breath and sang:

  "There once was a man from Blayretucket,

  Who kept all his spells in a bucket.

  But his pal, named Dubrow,

  farted like a cow,

  And as for the bucket,

  Blayre shucked it."

  "No," Blayre said. "That's not even a good limerick."

  "There will never be another work of quality again," the pit said.

  And then the Pit of Never Ending Sarcasm began to sing 'Seasons in the Sun'.

  Endlessly.