"Are you in absolute awe of my Mega Death Tree?" the face inside the sun asked.

  Kim squinted, and the visage grew clearer, revealing an excessively well-trimmed beard. This same type of bearded man had served her coffee at Starbucks and appeared in electric razor ads on YouTube. They were the Men With Not A Single Hair Out Of Place. There was music playing behind him, but she didn't recognize it, though if she had to guess, it was from the 70s.

  "You're the wizard Blayre," she whispered.

  "Ah, my glorious rock god reputation precedes me." He ran a hand through his sun-drenched locks, which returned to their previous perfect position. "My father once said, 'Your reputation is all you have, son.' Well, no one has a better bad reputation than me."

  "Release us." She closed her mouth, avoiding another poking vine.

  "I didn't spend so many glorious hours sketching out these rooms, dreaming up hidden doors, capturing creatures in inter-dimensional traps and weaving perfectly woven spells just to whimsically set you free. Free yourselves or die. Oh, and just to be clear, the 'die' part is really the whole point."

  "Yu a dung mass tor!" Damon mumbled. "Maghik mun."

  The words meant nothing to Kim, but the passion impressed her, considering a vine had his tongue in a death grip.

  The wizard rolled his literally blazing eyes. "Oh, I suppose I should show some pity. As my master Axel used to say, 'It's important to have empathy for the ants before you step on them. Then you should feel immeasurable joy.' Then I turned him into an ant and stepped on him." A gurgling chuckle bubbled from deep inside him. "He hid in a bundle of grapes, so I made him and the grapes into wine that I drink to this day."

  Kim's mother had told her many times to start by punching bullies in the solar plexus. Of course, her mom was a cop and carried a gun—so she had a different take on conflict resolution than most adults.

  Besides, the solar plexus option wasn't available to Kim at this moment. But she could punch Blayre in the flatterplexus.

  "You're obviously a brilliant and wise wizard," Kim said, draining sarcasm from her voice. "And never, in all the worlds I've travelled to, have I seen such a perfect beard." She didn't mention that the number of worlds was only two.

  The face glowed with an enormous smile. "It does rock, doesn't it? I like where this is going; please continue."

  "You're going to release us," Kim said. "That way, we can spread the word about your glory. Your brilliance. And your beard."

  "Yu a dung mass tor!" Damon mumble shouted.

  "Flattery will get you nowhere," the floating face said. "But I am not completely unkind. I will loosen a few vines so that your friend can have his last words. He obviously has something of great importance to say."

  The wizard blinked, and the vines loosened a bit. Damon sucked in a deep breath. "You're a dungeon master!" he shouted. "And your song is 'Magic Man', which is a little obvious for a wizard."

  "Metal gods!" Blayre shouted. For a floating head, he could project his voice with incredible power. "If these are your last words, they are an immense disappointment! THEY. DO. NOT. ROCK! I put all this work into my multilayered rooms of destruction, and you can't even come up with a suitable set of last words to entertain me. You're ungrateful." He blinked again, and the vines tightened. "Anyway, the Mega Death Tree will soon suck out all your blood and your Metal Health and give it to me."

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Though the thorns weren't hurting, they were certainly doing their job of exsanguinating Kim. It was becoming harder to put her thoughts together. Her arms grew paler; her heartbeat plodded along. "There must be something we can do," she drawled. "Damon? Damon? Any ideas?"

  "I. Am. Losfer words."

  "Well, maybe I can—ugh—" Kim tried to move her arm, but the will to fight back was sapped.

  "You try out your last words, girl," the wizard suggested. "If they are amazingly desperate, I will write a song about them. Did I tell you I am the greatest songsmith in all Metaloria? And singer. I leave my audiences in trance. Now give me some inspiring desperate last words, preferably in the key of A minor."

  "My uncle will kill you," she grunted.

  Blayre raised his perfectly shaped eyebrows. "Your uncle?"

  "My uncle has [[a very particular set of skills, and he will kill you."

  "Tell me more about this skilled uncle who would kill me," Blayre said. "I assume he's a warlock or a witch?"

  "He's ex-military. And he's…" She was having trouble finding the word. Nice? Well, yeah, but that wasn't intimidating. Strong? Yeah, or he was when he was younger. He used to toss her around like a football without breaking a sweat. "He has a tattoo."

  Blayre laughed. "Now how would this tattooed uncle of yours even find me?"

  "He came to Metaloria with me. He's looking for me." She liked the fact that Blayre's eyes had narrowed. "He was supposed to spawn in the same room as us."

  "What do you know about that?" Blayre spat out the words. One little lock of glowing hair became unkempt. "Tell me right now! Is your uncle alive?"

  "Yes," she said. Though she was far from certain what his fate had been. He could be dead on the ground at the P.N.E. He'd be happy to know he had died at an Anvil concert. No, she had heard his voice in that room. "He lives! And he will find you and smite you."

  "My uncle will find you, too," Damon added.

  "Your uncle?" Blayre turned his head to look at Damon. "Was he in the same room as you when you were brought here?"

  "Uh, no," Damon said. "He was in South Korea."

  "Then your uncle was not spawned on Metaloria. So it is not a loss if you die. But…" He looked directly at Kim."I am curious about your uncle." He wriggled his eyebrows, and her vines loosened. "Tell me his name."

  She thought hard about that. Not that she was having difficulty remembering Uncle Gord's name; she'd been saying it since she could speak. In fact, there was a family story that she had called him Uncle God, a mistake which he turned into a T-shirt and wore proudly. He learned not to wear it to church. "It's Dwayne."

  "Dwayne? That name has no metal. It has no power. Not like Blayre Thunder. Blayre is a rock god name. See how it goes from the hard consonant and gets stronger? Like a metal scream? But I will remember his name. And the room you were in before you spawned here—was there another person with you?"

  "There were about ten thousand of us," she said.

  "You were with an army?" he asked, unable to hide his concern.

  "No. No," Kim said. "We were at a concert."

  "A what?"

  "It—it was a band of minstrels singing," Damon mumbled.

  "Now you are stretching credulity," Blayre said. "Ten thousand people would not gather to hear a band of minstrels."

  "They were the best and loudest band of minstrels called Anvil," Damon added. "With great songs that have marvelous lyrics and incredible stories."

  Kim wanted to disagree with his impression of the concert, but thought it was the wrong time. Plus, she hadn't really been able to discern the lyrics.

  "I care not about this minstrel group." The vines tightened around her neck again until she gasped. "Tell me what your uncle fears!"

  "Country music!" she said. He often made jokes about its being torture.

  "Music of the country," Blayre snorted. "You are going to die, and your uncle will die, and your friend is already dead." Damon's head had fallen to one side, eyes closed. His defence of Anvil may have been his ultimate act. "I shall watch your last moments. And when your uncle comes, I will take his entrails—"

  "Your entrails are the ones in danger!"

  Kim thought she had yelled that, but her lips hadn't moved. Plus, she wouldn't use the word entrails. Had it been her imagination? But that would mean she had to be imagining the great wizard Blayre's eyes widening to the size of boiled eggs.

  A burning jet of fire hit him.

  Kim didn't imagine that part.

  Mostly because her hair immediately burst into flames.