Take for instance the phenomena of the Faery realms. Anyone who has ever seen or interacted with the Fae will tell you that they are most certainly real, and show up around us when it suits them. But anyone who has not had this experience will uncomfortably recognize the delusion of those who espouse this experience. It is exactly the same with anyone who has ever had an encounter with aliens, pardon me, extra-terrestrials.

But these phenomena are not relevant at the moment, except as reminders that anything we have not ourselves experienced seems far less likely than the things we have. Which on the face of it seems to make sense, but when you think of the variety of the universe that simply must exist based on everything we know, it seems rather foolish to disbelieve anything we haven’t personally experienced just because we haven’t experienced it.

But I digress. The interesting bit of story I wish to relate to you tonight is one that has troubled the world for a long time. Many are the tales of how once, long ago, the many worlds were actually one world. The realm from which the Faeries hale is actually the same place we inhabit each day. It is also the same place that the dragons fly, and the unicorns frolic, and all other manner of beings inhabit, or have inhabbited at one time or another. Many of our people today will tell you that all of these realms are really the Astral realm, or different provinces of it, and they are real but not quite as real as our own terra firma. The many absurdities of this statement are will not be immediately discussed, except to say that it is absurd to believe in something while simultaneously espousing it’s lack of substance.

The truth, as is often the case, is that nobody today has the whole story, and they certainly are not trying to discover it. Like many historians, they content themselves with the pieces that they understand, that help them make sense of the incomprehensibility of the universe we so plainly fail to see in it’s fullness. The universe we are truly incapable of seeing in such a way.

But I was discussing the idea that all these realms, which most certainly do exist were once all one and the same. Except the one about the unicorns, that is. Unicorns have always been a silly metaphorical myth about the purity of masculine force controlled by the beauty of the feminine. They’re a myth perpetuated by silly girls who can’t get their minds off the idea of a magical horn that will grant them all sorts of pleasure etc. etc. Anyway, the point is, these other realms are indeed real, and there persists the idea amongst many people that at some historical time which we can not now recall all these realms were united in the same space-time and we all somehow coexisted with these magical beings and places (except unicorns).

This concept is very popular among people who like neat little packages, which is to say almost all mankind. But it is of course, an illusion. I will conceed that it is indeed exceedingly likely that at some point in the past, some of these realms may have intersected, or even been the same realm. But the idea that all the planes and dimensions were once one world before some cataclysmic event is absurd, unless you believe in the big bang theory, and somehow maintain that we were all extant as planets and cultures in the crushing force of that singularity before we were cast out into the universe as our own individual planets. If you do believe that, you are far beyond my own humble aspirations towards the understanding of how such things work, and I wish you all the best. Please read no further.

But let us look more closely at one of those realms, that of the Faeries. It’s relationship with our own realm does have a curious past, and it is not unfair to say that they were once the same realm, or at least overlapped to a far greater degree than they do today. There are many stories about wars between men and faeries, and how the gods interacted with both. And there are many tales that tell some plausible version of how our realms grew more distant in the past millenia. Those stories are of great import, and will be addressed in good time, but there is a more important story that has not been told. Because as surely as we can see that the Faery realm was once much nearer to our own, the truth is that before it was so much closer it was much further away.

Truth. Long ago, long before the worlds were pulled apart, they were pulled together, and this is where our story starts.

——-

In the 8th age of the Sidhe court there was a young prince. His name was Bidl. Bidl was the ninth son of the prince of the court of roots, and he was revered by all the realm as one of the most beautiful Fae to ever have walked the lands. It was said that his beauty rivaled that of the ancient goddess Sarrati. He showed favor to no single faery, but bestowed affection and love upon all who came to him.

A note here. The court of the Sidhe of which we know speak, is not the court which our myths would understand. In this time the Seelie and Unseelie did not yet exist. Indeed the division of the fae races into elves, and pixies, and brownies, and kelsies, and other manner of faery was not even a consideration. For ease, I shall simply call them Fae, or occasionally Elf (which originally denoted a Faery of nobility).

Further, and perhaps equally important, it should be noted that the Fae in these times had both more and fewer genders than we consider ourselves to have. Reproductively the Fae were of four genders which we can correllate to a general similarity with male, female, and what we would consider hermaphroditic, and sterile. As all Fae at this time were talented shape-shifters, the presence of genetalia is of less concern then the procreatitive function of the gender. Females could carry children. Males could inseminate females. Hermaphrodites could serve either function (with themselves as well), and the sterile could serve neither function.

Culturally and Societally however, they Fae were of a single gender, and they did not recognize or adhere to any of the strictures that we later attempted to force upon them. The titles of King, Queen, Prince, Princess, and other gender-identified terms are used here so we can have some comprehension of their culture, but indeed none of these terms are accurate. Please take these terms, and all pronouns, as vague indicators at best.

So Bidl, shared his affections with many other Fae, and in so doing was given many opportunities to serve the function we would call fathering a child. And indeed, Bidl wished greately for a host of children who would bear his beauty and memory. This was unlikely of course, the Fae have always been notoriously slow breeders for various reasons. Pregnancy was a period of nearly 5 years as Earth reckons time, during which the mother must not shapeshift too often or risk damaging the child. It has been speculated that the necessity of shapeshifting during the conflicts between Faery and Earth immediately following the events of this tale are what created the vast diversity now observable in the Faery realm.

Too, because of their long life-spans, the Fae would easily have overwhelmed their ability to feed themselves if they bred like bunnies, or even humans. As a result, though Bidl desperately wanted a child with his same dark skin and honey eyes, no child was forthcoming.

Bidl accepted this as gracefully as he could, and took solace in the variety, beauty, and closness of his many lovers. Physical intimacy is a great comfort, and almost casual amongst the Fae, even today. (In truth, humans were once similarly inclined to intimacy, and we tried to force our new morals upon the Fae when that closeness left us. But that is another story).

Time passed for Bidl, and he began to pray at the altars of the ancient gods. Each opportunity he had he would lift his voice in song, or his hands in the creation of art, or his magic in the beauty of creation. And with every effort of his prayer he asked to be granted a child. Surely he was deserving of such a boon. There had been many deaths and no births for several years at the court. Though Bidl didn’t know it, there had been plenty of births in the countryside, away from the excesses and pleasures of the court.

One day, Bidl lay amongst a pair of fair skinned Fae, their pale skin glowing, casting streaks of light against his own darker glow. He caressed the hair of the one to his left and sighed. They were asleep, left their bodies here to seek wisdom and joy in other places, now that the joy of the body had been sated. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling of the chamber, a spiral of silvery-branches woven with silk and spider webs to the specifications of the colden spiral. Sacred to all his kind. He closed his eyes and once more prayed to the Ancient Gods.

And was struck mute for long minutes as a vision descended upon him. He had prayed, and from the Ancient gods an answer had come. He cried before it was even begun, feeling, knowing that the vision he was being given was powerful, that it would lead him to a child.

The room went black, and then there was a circle of light. And a young boy, no more than 20 years old stood there. He looked much likd Bidl himself, dark skin that glowed with a fire of it’s own. Honey colored eyes. But his hair was something altogether new. Not the dark black of Bidl (indeed of most Fae at the time), but fair, so fair as to nearly be silver. And his fingers, long and supple, but not as narrow, or quite as long as Bidls. And not quite as tall.

The boy, Bidls son, looked at his father through the darkness and smiled. And before Bidl’s eyes he aged from the blossom of youth to the beauty of manhood, and Bidl cried further upon seeing such beauty. So like his own, but more powerful for with it came a softness, a vulnerability, that Bidl, being immortal, could never posess.

The boy turned and walked into the distance, and Bidls spirit followed ever so swiftly, chasing the boy out of the chamber, through the corridors and out into the world. He chased the boy down the pathways of the court and out into the wilderness beyond. Through the gardens and marshes and deep into the sacred woods. There finally, he found the boy standing upon a slab of stone at a shrine of Sarrati.

The stone slab was carved with spirals and patterns of magic and changing. And the boy began to shrink. From the fullness of manhood to boyhood, to childhood. And as he became a baby Bidl watched as he was unborn, and there upon the slab laid a woman of remarkable beauty and softness, un-grunting with the power of her labor. The vision faded and Bidl found he was back in his body. His tears had mositened the hair of his lovers. He quieted himself and sent up a prayer of thanks, and began to plan the journey that would take him to that shrine, where he hoped he would find the woman that would bear his son.

It was exhilerating. Every afternoon I walk in the front door. My badge lets me through security and I walk down the hall to the second elevator where I press the button for the ninth floor three times. Then I slide my badge into the opening next to the panel and the elevator goes down to the hidden floor. The part of me that has always wanted to be a spy thinks it is all great fun.

There are several patients on the first floor. All of them are people like jessica. Witches that talesin somehow identified and caught to try and study. I at first a wondered that they don’t have more patients escape. Security is tight but these patients can work magic.

I stopped wondering the first time I tried to peform any magicinside.there is a section of the floor I don’t have access to. Only a pair of people ever went through the door at the end of the main hallway. Neither of them was an orderly. Whatever was behind that door was not more ‘patients.’ I watched the tall man head down the hallway towards the door and sent small burst of energy at him. It was my intent to tag him with enough resonance to get some impressions of where he went beyond that door, and what the place looked like.

I say intent because I never got the small spell off. Before I had done more than focused my will I fell over. It felt like I was inside a great dull bell that has just been struck by a mallet. Every time I tried any magic I got the same results with more or less severity. I couldn’t figure out what it was until I saw one of the patients lighting a candle through the small window of an exam room. She did nothing but light it and sbuff it with her thoughts, over and over again as they observed her with all manner of apparatus.

That night I went into one of the small rooms and conjured a flame of fire in my palm. Somehow they had protected the majority of the building from magic, except for these rooms. It took me another month to figure out what they’d done.

One of the witches was more than a little bit ill. One afternoon she was screaming at the peson on duty before me. “Get me to a place that’s not iron bound! I can heal myself please! It’s getting worse by the day.” The other orderly shook his head and walked away.

We were not supposed to talk to any of the patients, just make sure everything was neat and orderly. I entered the womans room and she looked up at me. “Help me!” She was hysterical.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

I’m in pain. I’ve got cancer, something. I need to get some place where I can work big magic. I won’t run I promise.”

Whether she actually had cancer or was only trying to get sympathy I don’t know. “Sorry,” I told her, “there’s nothing I can do for you.” I didn’t believe her. Healing even the most minor injuriees and illnesses had proven beyond me time and time again. I’d begun to believe that it wasn’t really possible to heal magically. I made a note to try and talk to her about it after I busted her out. She was one of three I thought would be worth taking when I eventually left.

I was a few weeks away from giving up on fining a way into the back area when I ran into one of the men I’d seen entering the room walking down the street. I followed him home and stole his Id card the next week. Thirty minutes later I had an exact copy of it and returned the card silently while he slept.

A few nights later I pulled the card out of my pocket and opened the last door. The next room was lit by a small light in the ceiling. Just walking into it made my skin crawl. A closer look at the wall revealed what appeared to be chunks of metal, presumably iron, covered the walls and ceiling. If the presence of iron in the walls kept the patients from doing magic, this much iron must be even worse, so bad that even I could feel it pressing on me. I hurried across the room to an unlocked door and stepped through.

The feeling of pressue immediatelt lessened, but I could feel the room behind me in part of my mind. I found that when I thought about it I could sense the iron deposits stretching inside the walls to either side of me for several yards, then the perception seemed to fade away.

Though they don’t understand it, these bonds they refuse to recognize are the key to the power that they’ve forsaken for so long. Until they take them up their magic will never again color the skies or heal the sick. A fact for which my folk are greatly thankful, and if the tales are to be believed, largely responsible.

But sometimes one such as yourself will ask, and I tell him or her the truth. It comes from somewhere else. You see my friend, there is a place not so far from here where people like you and I are not so common, but also not so uncommon as we are here.

You know of what I speak. Even as your mind is struggling with it you know deep within that you are not like the cowans who come to me begging for help, all the while lusting after the ease with which I shape their futures. They, unlike you, don’t understand what it means when I say that this other place is hiding just behind this one. Their eyes are dull colors compared with the starburst gems in ours.

And like the rest, since you have asked, I will tell you a tale that will change your life forever.

Of course, then I would have said the day was cursed, and I would have spit upon the ground and said a prayer to keep the demons at bay. In fact, I did just that, but it is rare that the cowan god answers us. Although it may seem otherwise by virtue of our so-called luck. Are you god-fearing yourself?

No matter, I’ll warn you though, that all the tricks which cowans use to confound us will not work for you. You’ll not be protected by turning your coat inside out, or turning thrice around. Perhaps an iron nail would help, but you’d find yourself struck ill just as quick as you start keeping it in your pocket.

So I was walking through the forest in the afternoon of a very special day, and I remember that the moon was already high in the sky looking down at me like some great blind eye, showering me with pale light that made what shadows were in the forest all the deeper despite the warm sun. And I was almost to my kinsmans home but there was a fresh brook babbling just out of sight, around the bend and through those trees I saw over there. I could hear it, and smell the water, and I had time to spare, for I was fit and fine and new well how long it would take to finish the trip.

So I left the path and stepped into the between space of the forest, made doubly strong by the dual light of sun and moon, and thricely strong by the fog that had long since sunk into the damp earth. And I headed towards the brook which I knew was there and went around the bend and through the trees. And went further through the trees and over a low hill.

And I went then further across a field, and through an archway of aspen, and found that I did not know where I was. I could still hear the brook, but I knew it was no longer before me, but I could not tell where it was. I looked to the sky and could not find the disk of the moon, and all too quickly the sun began to set upon me.

And as I was a god fearing man I began to pray. I called to God and to the Saints, and to all the angels of heaven, and I begged them to give me a sign that might bring me safely to my kinsmans home. And as I had done before, my fervent prayer led me to an ecstasy that opened my eyes, and I found that I was not alone, kneeling in the dirt in the quick-fading light of the sun.

In front of me there was a man, neither short nor tall, but shorter than I and taller than you. His eyes were the most notable thing about him, bright starbursts of bronze set in the deepest copper disks and surrounded by rings of blue the color of the midnight sky. They seemed to gather up all the fading light and use it to glow.

Now, being heady with what I thought was the ecstasy of god, I boldly stood before him and pronounced how happy I was that god had sent a messenger to guide me to the safety of my kinsmans house. He said nothing, only smiled and turned from me. He began to walk, quickly, away from me and I followed, stumbling clumsily over ground which seemed to give my guide no trouble at all.

It was night, and the sky was full of stars that glittered in the firmament, and the disk of the moon had returned to her place in the sky, pregnant with mystery and potential light. I walked for what felt like days, but could have been no more than a few hours, as the moon seemed to move only slowly across the sky. Several times we stopped to rest, and I set upon a rock or the crook of a tree as my guide consulted the heavens or stars.

Finally we passed through a tunnel of willow trees which grew along the shores of two ponds separated by a thin strip of land. When we reached the other side I was stunned by what I saw. This was not the home of my kinsman, or any land which I had ever dreamt of. Nor was this the kingdom of heaven, nor certainly hell, for neither could be both so beautiful and so infernal at once.

There before me was a city, most assuredly a city or a citadel, or perhaps a palace. Its guise seemed to shift moment by moment, appearing at first to be build of spires of crystal and light, and then to be trees wrapping each other in loving embraces to form buildings, and then to be a temple grown of fires through which birds flew and sparks of light danced.

It was then that I realized my prayers to the cowan god had not been answered, and had not protected me. I had been caught in wanderlust and carried by my now-absent guide to the place of the faeries. And I knew beyond a doubt that I would never see my home again until they willed it. What I did not know was what I would learn from them, and what I would bring back when eventually they did send me home.

But that my friend is a tale for another night, and in answer to a different question. You asked where magic comes from, and now you know. It comes from a place that is around the bend and through those trees, and if you follow the guide you may bring some back yourself. Or you may be lost forever.

The full moon is very soon. Possibly tomorrow night, I’m not sure. I can feel it. My room i sreally dark right now. I’ve got all the blinds down and closed so the only light is the faint glow from the laptop, the clock and a bit of ambient light filtering through the blinds and from the hallway. I’m not really tired at all, but at the same time I’m fucking exhausted. I feel creatively drained and I’m not sure why.

I’ve been getting the feeling that I’m not writing enough lately, but I’m writing more than I ever have before. I think it might be that I’m not writing enough Fiction or Poetry. I might need to take some time to work on some less serious stuff. But of course finding that time is not as easy as I would like it to be. There is this story on my mind. It’s part of a novel, possibly a novel in it’s own right. I wrote a couple short pieces of it on this blog last summer. It’s a story about Gregory and Jared and lots of other people.

Gregory is special. He’s born special. Magical. At a young age he is taken from his parents and put in a hospital facility where he is studied. The government, or possibly some shadowy organization that is *not* the government, wants to figure out what makes him tick. Jared is also special, but unlike Gregory he wasn’t born that way. He studied for years and in time began to be able to perform real magic, which he has passed off as stage magic for years.

Jared is special in another way though. He has vision. He sees a world that is transformed by magic. Magic that is controlled and guided in a way that magic has never been before. He creates an organization where he teaches people Magic. He also breaks Gregory (who becomes his lover and sometimes servant in a sometimes very unhealthy relationship) out of the facility where he is kept, along with other magical children and adults.

Of course there are witches and mages out there who don’t want magic to go public. And there are plenty of people in the established authority and shadow authority who want control of people who’ve managed to access and use magic.

Jared is a little (to put it lightly) obsessed with the idea of legacy. Part of him wants to live forever. Part of him wants to build a legacy that will change the world forever and live on in that way. Sometimes his drive for legacy leads him into making very bad choices, such as his early, and stupid, attempt to expose the real witches he comes into contact with on his quest for magic.

As he concentrates, the orb begins rise from the table, steadily levitating until it is above his head, showering it’s light upon his pale scalp. Gregory flexes his mental effort slightly and the light brightens to the warm glow of a setting sun. He focuses for a moment and fixes the orb where it rests, hovering in the air near the ceiling and uncrosses his legs. He rolls up onto the balls of his feet and the pool of fabric slides down his legs, leaving only his toes and heels exposed. He moves the table into the corner and returns to the center of the room, almost missing the presence of a man standing in the dark of the next room, just out of the lights glow.

“Who’s there?” He asks, wondering why anyone would be here at this time of night. Nothing he was doing was anything they hadn’t seen him do and studied for months already. There was no reason for them to be surprised.

“It’s me.” Jared says, his voice soft as he steps into the light. Gregory pauses for a moment when he sees the young orderly. Not wearing his white uniform, but dressed all in black. The fabric was tight to his torso, it’s sleeves ending about four inches above the wrist, where a silver band circles his right wrist. His black hair braided tightly and pulled up behind his head. Gregory has a momentarily chaotic vision of the other mans body pressed against his, skin sliding together, generating heat through friction and exertion.

Jared’s expression quirks for a moment, arching an eyebrow. He blinks and seems to refocus. “If you want to leave we have to go now. I can’t stay after tonight.”

“What? Why? What’s going on?”

“We don’t have time for all your questions Gregory. I don’t know that we have time to be talking here. You need to trust me.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Because,” he smiles and extends his hand, “you aren’t alone in the world.” His hand opens and above the palm a purple flame springs to life, dancing in the air, shooting sparks up towards the glowing orb that still hovers near the ceiling.

My organs are human, if somewhat oddly functioning. My heart beats about ten times each minute during strenuous activity. While asleep it is far less. I have never been ill. I have never had an infection.

They tell me that my genetic material is unusual, that it is not human. How different they do not say. I only know that I can do things that my parents couldn’t, that nobody human could.

I have felt different for nearly a decade now, ever since my parents brought their holy child to the Doctor to show him what I could do.

I moved my fingers and swirled the coffee in the doctors cup. I used to do it to amuse my baby sister. I’d sprinkle some pepper into the water and swirl it around until a miniature tornado moved inside the glass.

I have not seen my parents or sister since.

They tell me that I am not human. I have always believed them, but now I doubt. What is it that defines a human? Is it our bodies? Our genes? Our soul?

I feel human. My heart hurts for the parents that I will never see again. I am lonely, and I will never have anyone to love, because I will never be allowed to leave this place. I long for the life I might have had, although I can hardly imagine it. If I could, I would leave this place, with it’s pale orange walls and sterile floors. But I will never be able to do so.

I will stay here until I die, unless Jared keeps his promise to me…

–

“I’m fine, Mom. Really, just take me home.” Jaysen pleads. Jacqueline, pale hair glowing sunlight, glances at the EMT behind her son. When he nods she returns the motion and presses her lips tightly together.

“Come on then Jaysen. Lets go.” Jaysen says goodbye to his coach and teammates as his mother picks up his bag and stands impatiently by the door. He looks longingly back at the gymnasium where the competition continues without him. Rubbing his temple he puts his sunglasses on as they walk through the sunlit hallway towards the parking lot, trailing after his mother.

He’d never missed a landing before. He’d never even fallen before, not accidentally. His eyes hurt, even behind the dark glasses the sun seemed to burn through them, piercing his head painfully. He gets in the passenger seat and keeps his eyes closed for most of the drive home.

“I told you I didn’t think Gymnastics was a good idea. I told you you’d get hurt.” His mother said when they were at home. “You had to do it though. Just had to be special.”

“I didn’t fall because of gymnastics Mom, I had some sort of freak headache.”

“Stress is what did it!” She was ramping up into hysterics, Jaysen had seen it a dozen times before. “The paramedic says your blood pressure probably spiked and caused you to black out.”

“They don’t know that Mom, it’s just a guess. I’m fine, I just need to take some Tylenol and I’ll be good as new, you’ll see.”

“I will not see. You’re going to the Doctor tomorrow, and you’re not going back to gymnastics. And that’s final.”

Jaysen, knowing better than to try and argue with her when she was like this, just hurries out of the room. He dumps Three Tylenol into his hand and swallows them with a chug of water from the bathroom sink, then hurries to his bedroom, leaving his mother fuming in the kitchen.

—

After her son has gone upstairs Jacqueline calms down quickly. She takes a deep breath and goes into the bathroom. She rubs her right arm and pulls up the sleeve. A small pink birth-mark is situated right over the vein about halfway up her forearm, shaped like a fat little ‘s’. She frowns and leans in towards the mirror, turning on the higher powered lights. She blinks her eyes a few times and looks at her eyes. The pale gray is shot through with white lines, bursting from the tiny pupil and bisecting a halo of the deepest black that lines the disk. She takes some Tylenol herself, sighing in sadness before getting up to make dinner.

The lightning bursts out from my mouth and eye, running along my face and down my throat, tracing the paths of least resistance down my body, wrapping around me until my entire body was burning with it. The whip struck me again, across the shoulders, and the golden glow of the lightning wrapped itself around the falls, drawn off of me. I found air somewhere, and I did scream. The pain of the whip was nothing, it was warm pressure, living heat against my skin. I screamed now as the power was ripped from my skin. The falls of the whip came down again and again, each time they drew back the power went with them, being dragged away from my skin. I could feel my eyes bleed to black, and the light was all too much.

I close my eyes against the light and the whip kept falling. As always happens, I start struggling. I know it’s no use, but the pain is too intense to do anything else. My body fights because it has no choice. The steel around my wrists heats up and cuts against me. I twist and writhe, jerking towards the wall to try and escape the whip.

The gatherer laid on harder and I opened my eyes. The light of my body was still bright and the power kept being pulled from it. I squinted at him and saw the hilt of the whip in his hand glowing with the magic harvested from my body. I pulled away and his dark eyes flickered with anger as he struck me again. I began to cry, as I always cry, and my tears were a stream down my face. I was no longer screaming, I had no power to do so. His forearm was beginning to glow now, soaking up some of the power in the whip. He began to strike me with more force, and I felt the power begin to draw back inside of me. My body jerked as the whip struck harder than ever before. And I felt a stinging pain in my hand.

Time slowed, stretching into one of those long moments where you know you have as much time as you need to do what needs to be done. I didn’t have anything to do, but my body had different ideas. I looked up at my wrist, and I saw it. There was a sharp spot on the manacle, it had nicked me. There, near the bottom of the metal was a spot of blood, moving down my forearm slowly. The power that had begun to draw back inside me burst back out against my body, brighter than it had been before, and my eyes adjusted to it. There was no pain to the fire now, just a welcome sense of peace. The power wrapped around me and there was something different about it.

The gatherer’s eyes widened with hunger. I could see his desire for the power that was pouring off of me now, greater than it had ever been. He swung the whip, but it never struck me. He began to scream. I saw the whip explode into fire, gold and purple, and the fire rushed up his arm and consumed him. His scream was over as quickly as it had begun. I fell to the ground, only peripherally aware that the fire had bled off my skin and that the chains and manacles that held me were gone. The floor beneath me began to burn with that fire, and it poured out from me, engulfing the room. The support beams were devoured and the ceiling began to fall. I had just enough time to rise up onto my hands before losing consciousness to the destruction and pain that engulfed me.