47: An Empire of Pain

  Partway down, hair flying, arms grabbing at the wall that was out of reach, Kim heard the voices again. They didn't matter, because she was going to hit the ground like a two-ton heavy thing. It was a saying that came from her uncle: That's gonna hit like a two-ton heavy thing he'd remark whenever someone would do something dumb. She had never liked the saying because it wasn't specific. Why not a two-ton truck? Or a two-ton stack of bricks? And yet, here the saying was stuck in her head, perhaps the last thing she'd think. From this height, even the soft earth would not save her. Bones would break, including her neck. And she was pretty certain she wouldn't end up back at the Anvil concert. No, this would be the end. Her only bright hope was that she'd land on the spider version of Blayre.

  Kim was surprised at how many thoughts she was having; clearly the brain worked in overdrive when trying to stay alive.

  "Stupid spawner," a female guard said, her voice sounding oddly close. Maybe she'd had a bet with the other guards as to exactly when the spawner would fall, and, judging by the judgmental anger in her voice, she'd lost that bet.

  "It's the most idiotic thing I've seen you do," the voice added. Which was strange to Kim because now the voice was far too familiar. "I can't leave you alone for a moment."

  Because the ground was coming up to meet her, Kim decided she didn't have time to defend her intelligence. Instead, she braced for impact, which really involved putting her hands out and closing her eyes.

  At the same moment, she stopped in mid-air and jerked upwards; a sharp pain shot up her leg starting at her ankle. The ground was still ten feet away, and she dangled above it.

  She looked up, and all too familiar dragonspawn was there, holding her by the ankle, wings flapping. "Fiora," Kim said. "Fiora!"

  "I know I'm amazing," Fiora said. "Now, don't vomit."

  Fiora lifted Kim rather easily to the top of the wall, looked left and right to see no guards, and dropped her head first onto a wooden floor. Kim managed a halfway decent defensive roll and ended up in a crouch. "Don't move," Fiora commanded before diving over the wall again.

  Kim drew in a breath. Her ankle throbbed. She gingerly felt her stomach where the thorn had pierced her, and her hand came away with blood. What the thorn had done to her insides she didn't want to imagine.

  A moment later, Fiora landed with Damon in her arms. His hair was longer and wasn't even slightly out of place. He grinned. "Great to see you!" he said. If she weren't on the floor, bleeding, she would have gotten up to … what? Hug him? Yes, that's what she wanted to do. She began pushing herself up with her bloody hand.

  Fiora yanked Kim to her feet. "Oh, a gut wound," Fiora said. "Nasty slow death from those. This is the Wall of Everyrosehasitsthorn. Over ten thousand war pigs tried to take the Dream On Palace. The thorns repelled all of them. Stupid of you to even attempt it."

  Kim glanced down at her hands. There weren't as many holes poked in them as she thought there'd be. Perhaps the wounds had been worse inside her head. But there was still blood coming out of her stomach.

  She looked from Fiora to Damon. "How did you find me?" she asked.

  "The smell," Fiora replied.

  "I smell that bad?"

  "No, you smell like your world. Easy to track. Even Damon smelled you."

  "I didn't," Damon said. "You don't smell to me."

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  "We followed that scent to your fancy inn and later saw you turn away from the palace gates and go in this direction."

  "Why didn't you stop me from climbing right away?" she asked.

  "Damon suggested we not interrupt you."

  "What? Why?" Kim asked.

  "You seemed to talk to someone," Damon said. "So that set off my spidey senses. I didn't want to interrupt until your plan had fully bloomed, so to speak."

  "Or had holes poked into it," Fiora chuckled. "Well, anyway, we'd also picked up some roast venison from a shopkeeper. So, I wanted to finish it. Now why were you climbing this wall and muttering to yourself?"

  Kim looked around. "Blayre was here. Riding on my shoulder."

  Fiora raised her claws. "Blayre is here?"

  "Well, he was," Kim said. "He was in the form of a spider. He jumped off my shoulder."

  "We are not lucky enough to have him die in that form," Fiora looked down at the ground, perhaps imagining squishing him and his tiny locks. "Hmmph. He must be gone now. It is not like that blabbermouth to be quiet."

  "Where were you guys?" Kim asked.

  "Well…" Damon cleared his throat.

  "You might as well sing your own praises," Fiora said. "I'll try not to throw up."

  48: In Heaven and Hell

  Only a few hours earlier, Damon was inside the digestive sac of the Mot?rkraken. He was no longer a collection of thoughts; he was food. A happy, happy meal.

  One thought came to his gaming mind. He was curious about the fact that his Metal Health was at 0 and he wasn't dead. Would he die when it hit -1? He no longer felt his body. But his thoughts became bigger. Any moment, losing that next point of damage would claim his life. That wasn't a bad thing. He was food now. And he felt totally cool with that. Plus, when he thought about his life, he'd accomplished so much. Damon had rolled a 20 at least 45 times in various D&D campaigns. He'd played the guitar solo in 'Back in Black' note for note, even with the same vibrato as Angus Young. And he'd read every George RR Martin book—considering their length, each was like climbing Mount Everest. And his greatest accomplishment was not being angry at George RR Martin for not yet finishing the A Song of Ice and Fire series. That was true Zen.

  He'd even held a girl's hand at an Anvil concert. Well, grabbed is more like it. To protect her. He should have asked permission, of course, but there hadn't been time. And the hand of that girl had brought him here.

  He wished he could tell her, whatever her name was, how much he appreciated seeing Metaloria. And how much he loved being in this warm, wonderful place where he currently floated.

  Ah, this is too many thoughts, he told himself. It is time to become one with that bliss.

  But then, for no reason he understood, he thought of rhubarb. Specifically, it was the rhubarb pie that his Aunt Lorna would make and his mother would force him to eat, mostly by staring him down. What kid refused dessert?

  He hated rhubarb. Almost as much as he hated country music.

  Damon swallowed. Rhubarb was, like the inside of the Mot?rkraken's digestive sac, an acidic thing. Why did something horrible come to his mind? Especially when he was so close to heaven. In fact, a song with heaven in the title was playing in the background. What was the band's name? Warrant.

  The rhubarb disrupted his bliss.

  He could use the rhubarb, he realized. Not the actual stuff because that was back on Earth and he hoped it didn't grow here, but the concept of rhubarb. He had been wrong about trying to decrease the creature's numbers. The Mot?rkraken was too powerful.

  But even octopus types had things they didn't like.

  And so he sent the image of the rhubarb pie to the Mot?rkraken. He added to that sending the disappointment of it being the only choice instead of pumpkin pie. He recreated the way rhubarb went down his throat, bitter and acidic. The way it upset his stomach.

  Bad food! the Mot?rkraken said. Bad. Get out!

  The Mot?rkraken rumbled as if it were shaking its body. The digestive sac vibrated. Even as the acid burned him, Damon kept holding that image of the rhubarb pie and shoved it right into the donut-shaped mind of the creature.

  Evil! The Mot?rkraken shouted in his head. Why do you give me such unpleasant thoughts? You are making me feel the rage! Begone!

  With that, the monster disgorged them. For Damon, everything was suddenly going backwards. And he knew if he even bumped his head or cut himself on the thing's beak, he would die. He hit the ground hard enough that he rolled several feet, suddenly blinking at the brightness of dawn.

  "Oh, look, a cow's leg," Fiora whispered beside him. In his peripheral vision, he squinted, seeing Fiora holding something. He didn't look directly at it. "Oh, and there's a villager's arm, and three sheep's heads."

  "Please don't mention them," Damon whispered. "If I throw up, I might die. Literally."

  Tentacles hovered in the air and the blackest, angriest set of eyes glared at him. The numbers above the Mot?rkraken's head were glowing red and angry.

  Rhubarb, he sent toward it. Rhubarb.

  Bad food, the Mot?rkraken sent back. Then it turned tentacle and ran.