Damon fell asleep to Iron Maiden's 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner' repeating inside his head. One of the frustrating things about Metaloria was that he didn't have his AirPods or phone, so couldn't listen to songs. He had to rely on his memory, which, to his surprise, could do an okay job recreating his favorite tunes. But it didn't allow him to just disappear into the song. It required effort, and it was impossible to crank the music up. With the right volume, the rest of the world stopped existing, and the song became a world of its own.

  In his dreams, he was moshing in a mosh pit. Kim was there, seeming to enjoy the moshing, her hair and body whirling like a dervish. This dream slowly morphed into a completely different dream where he was floating in the air, held aloft by Fiora. Who, even in dreamland, smelled wonderfully like flowers.

  The oddest and most frustrating thing about this dream was that his feet were cold. Maybe fiora could breathe fire onto them. A gentle fire, he decided, that didn't fry flesh. But he couldn't bring himself to ask, even in a dream, and soon he knew he'd wake up.

  His feet kept getting colder. Along with his backside. Curiously, he thought he could hear the opening notes of 'Dreams' by Van Halen playing over and over. It was the only Sammy Hagar sung album he enjoyed. It occurred to him he might already be awake. So, he opened his eyes. The rotted wood ceiling was, oddly, only a few feet from him, and he no longer could feel the bed below his back. When he looked out of the corner of his eye, he saw the ratty blankets hung over him like a shroud while he floated in the air. Kim and Fiora slept soundly below him. He tried to whisper, but his lips wouldn't budge. Nor would the rest of his body.

  He drifted towards the window. His body turned in mid-air so his head was aiming at the wall, like a compass pointing north. Damon then picked up speed, and even though he couldn't look, he knew the window was getting very, very close.

  Thunk.

  His head smashed into the wall just above the window. Hard. A chunk of wood fell to the floor, but the noise didn't wake his companions.

  Thunk. Thunk.

  He hit it again and again. The third time was nearly enough to brain him. He couldn't even cry out in pain.

  Wall Hit: -1 Damage to Damon

  Metal Health: 8

  The letters appeared above his head and then vanished. If this continued, he'd be dead soon.

  "Lower," a gravely voice said outside the window. "You stupid elf!

  "Don't call me a stupid elf," another ragged voice replied. "You're a stupid elf! The stupidest."

  Damon, despite his aching head, was momentarily excited. It was the first time he'd heard an elf speak. An elf! Two elves, in fact. And they both sounded like his grandmother Nora. Well, she had smoked a pack a day for eighty years, and that had given her a gruff voice. These voices were male, but they had the same rugged raggedness.

  The second exciting conclusion that struck him like a lightning bolt was: I'm spellbound! He couldn't move, and yet it was thrilling to think that the tingling going across his skin meant a spell was breaking the laws of gravity.

  Thunk.

  Wall Hit: -1 Damage to Damon

  Metal Health: 7

  Damon wondered what would give out first. His head or the wall? Judging by the thickness of the wall, he decided his head would lose. And Kim and Fiora would wake up to find his flat-headed corpse floating in the air.

  "Lower," the angry voice repeated. "Lower! You're useless!"

  "Fine, you run the spell then!"

  Damon dropped about three feet in a heartbeat.

  "See, it's not so easy, is it?" the aggrieved elf said.

  "You shouldn't hand over the spell mid-spell. I wasn't ready."

  Damon spun, losing his blanket. There was more talking, but he spun so quickly that he couldn't hear and grew nauseous. Would the M?tley Stew come out of him like a scene from The Exorcist? At this speed, he would spray the entire room.

  The spinning stopped. The dizziness faded, and as he was feeling somewhat comfortable, he hit the wall once more. Then, he felt cool air. He had ended up on his side, his head out the window, and looking toward the street.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  There were two figures below him. One was holding a scroll, his finger on the words as if he needed to trace them to read. The other was pointing a dagger in Damon's direction. These elves were not like the Hair Metal Elves he'd seen earlier, these two were squat, gnarled and warty, their twisted bodies squeezed into black leather pants and vests and green, hooded cloaks. Their noses were small, but as if to make up for that, their pointed ears were incredibly long. They were both bald. Maybe not having hair was a rebellious statement in this town.

  Metal Health: 17

  Kind: Rock Elf, Male

  Type: 3rd Class Rock Rogue, Shadowblade

  Metal Skill: 3rd Class Shredder, Whammy Whiz

  Metal Mana: 2124

  Proclivity: Norwegian

  Rock elves? Both had very similar Metal Healths. And both were Norwegian. That gave him a chill. The dagger-pointing elf gestured with the dagger. "He's awake," he said. Damon realized one of these elves had bumped him back in the inn. Had they followed since then?

  "Yes, Nikki, we couldn't afford the sleep portion of the spell, remember?" That elf slid his finger across the parchment, and Damon floated forward.

  "He's silent at least," Nikki said. "And he looks quite petrified. I bet you five copper pieces, Mick, that when we cut open his brainpan, he'll have that same look."

  Damon opened his eyes wider.

  "I lost that bet last time," Nikki answered. "Now, we just have to get the rest of him out."

  Mick moved his finger on the scroll, and the motion reminded Damon of someone running a trackpad.

  THUNK.

  Wall Hit: -1 Damage to Damon

  Metal Health: 6

  The bones in his shoulder sent a complaining message that informed him they were going to break soon.

  "See," Nikki rumbled. "It's not so easy, is it?"

  Mick the elf drew a finger across the parchment again, and Damon went forward into the air, this time clearing the open window. There was a squeezing at his feet, and then the momentum stopped, and his ankles hurt.

  "Hey, what stopped him?" Nikki asked. "Pump up the spell."

  The elf made a quick circular motion across the sheet, and Damon flew forward through the open window. He didn't hit anything, but there was still a crash and the sound of something breaking.

  He was now floating above the street, right over the two elves, who had very wide eyes. Damon could see the glowing Metal Health above their heads more clearly. Their numbers had turned yellow, which he guessed might mean they were surprised.

  "The spawner belongs to me," Fiora said from directly behind him.

  Damon moved his eyes just enough to see the dragonspawn floating in the air, hanging onto his ankles. She had left a Fiora-sized hole in the window and wall. She dropped to her feet, and Nikki held up his dagger. Mick threw the spell sheet at her, but it fluttered away as if it didn't want to be a part of this imbroglio.

  Damon didn't flutter to the ground. He suddenly dropped and hit the street. Hard. He had learned a new lesson: a spell scroll only works if someone is holding it.

  Nikki stabbed at Fiora, but her fist struck his head.

  Fist: -12 Damage to Nikki

  Metal Health: 5

  She hit him again. It was like watching a hammer smash in a pointy-eared spike. He collapsed. It was clear he would not be getting up again without help.

  Mick had drawn a curved short sword, which he swung back and forth in a haphazard arc. "Don't you come any closer, dragonspawn," he said. "My powerful and fireproof comrades from Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap will be here soon. Very soon. I mean it."

  "Let them come," Fiora said. "I have removed several hundred arms and legs from elves. I'll start with your right arm."

  The elf looked down at his right arm. Damon thought Fiora was being brilliant by saying specifically which arm she would start with. Because the elf clearly had no difficulty picturing it.

  He dropped the sword, turned and began running.

  Beginning to run was all he accomplished: in that he moved his feet and was truly committed to all the motions of running, including kicking up dust and donkey manure, but Fiora had grabbed the top of his head and jerked him high enough that he was doing this running motion in the air.

  The street was empty, though a few people were watching from their windows. Fiora shook him hard enough that three of his teeth rattled and fell out. They were made of wood.

  "Why did you steal my companion?" she demanded.

  "You are being a greedy guts!" the elf replied. "You can't keep this valuable spawner to yourself."

  "This spawner is worthless," Fiora said.

  "Hey," Damon said. He'd gotten to his feet. But he couldn't come up with a counterargument and was growing concerned about how cold his bare feet were.

  His boots landed right beside his feet. Did I summon them? He wondered. Am I suddenly that powerful?

  "I thought you'd need them," Kim shouted. She waved from the broken window of their room. She then leapt from the window. It wasn't an enormous leap, but her hair floated majestically in the air. She landed, cat-like, beside him. She was holding his cloak and the Screaming Eagle Staff. "I brought these, too."

  "Thanks!" He pulled on his cloak, stuffed his feet into his boots and lifted his staff. She unsheathed her sword.

  "You can't keep his powers to yourself," Mick repeated.

  "What powers are you talking about?" Fiora said.

  The elf's legs dangled. "He has rainbow vision."

  Fiora turned to look at Damon. "Do you know what he's talking about?"

  Damon shook his head. "No. No, I don't. I don't know. Not at all." Her numbers had turned a dark angry red.

  "Damon," Fiora said. "Are you telling me the truth? Do you have rainbow vision?"

  "I don't know what that is," he lied. It was becoming clear to him, as he saw the Metal Health on the elf dropping to 11 points, that his gift was an example of how knowing too much was bad for you.

  Fiora turned back to the elf. "Why do you think he has the sight?"

  "We were paid to debrain him and we would get to keep one-twelfth of his brainpan's contents." The elf licked his dry lips.

  Fiora lifted Mick even higher. There were more heads sticking out of windows now. Every visible gawker had beautiful hair, even though some of them must have just awakened.

  "Who paid you to do this?" Fiora shouted. She shook the elf with even more vigour.

  The elf drew in a breath. "It was the–"

  Thuck!

  A glowing golden arrow was sticking out of Mick's chest. Damon read the inscription above the arrow:

  Arrow of Straight Through The Heart +25 damage.

  Here was another example of how knowing too much could be bad for him.