Awakening

It was a Saturday when Terry Fitzgerald, age 5, lost his mother, who had died of tuberculosis. It was the next Saturday he found her again, off in a ring of violets, and he ran to her and he never ever came home, though something quite like him did, and his name was Teig Mac Aillen, later known as Ainsley Seth, later known as Mac Aillen again. This man was the destruction of a town called Widders glen, and yet that was not an evil act, because though many men were condemned to hell, Mac Aillen knew not that it was evil at the time. He was merely a predator, same as man is. This fate was more merciful than what the world was soon to know.

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From Hell they come, from beneath the sea. Why can't he see?

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The standing stones and dolmens and burial mounds across europe emptied out, eventually, to the bafflement of the world. Only those that had no one buried were truly intact, but even so, it was odd. Some people swore that Newgrange had new carvings, or that the carvings were moving like worms, or glowing, but these were written off for a time. For a time. Clochafarmore was found covered in blood and intestines, but while a murder was suspected, it was found that the intestines had to be at LEAST 2000 years old, but possibly older. This was odd, for a time.

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You should know them by now. Howling in fear does nothing, nor does whimpering nor fighting. You should know this by now. Peace has been a lie told since man began to think.

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The next few months were unremarkable, except in small towns and allegedly haunted places, and allegedly liminal spaces. There, Ghosts began to appear, Horned and gnashing, not always for long, but long enough to be seen. There were also men who never existed, mutant caterpillars, and Cats with eyes that knew more than a cat should. this was mysterious to younger people, and older people chose not to speak up, for fear of being heard. If only they knew they could have spoken. The nights were colder when they were there.

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Cold cold cold are the stars, where the wandering mind seeks solace. Power is the only true solace, and it is not a solace at all. Prayer be-seeks prayer, but it's always unanswered to those who need it. That is no ones fault, but prayer has never saved anyone, and only provided solace that means nothing.

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It was another saturday that the man named Ainsley Seth destroyed the town of Widders Glen in a mass suicide, according to the news. The truth was, according to a surviving resident, Ash Wednesday, Ainsley Seth was a fucking Devil, a Ghost, A Demon, a Ghoul, ...a Faerie. This was indeed the truth, and the settlements in the woods would come to be evidence, though not yet proof. Strange shapes of metal, Strange houses and fake towns mimicking nearby towns, albeit scrambled, became common place. Some said they could see aliens scampering around them, or flying saucers in the sky. This too, was true, though they are not distinct. But Ainsley Seth only destroyed Widders glen because it may well be his last Feast he'd ever have.

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They are where man is not, And THEY are where They are not. They won, but perhaps THEY won.

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It was a sunday when the Fairies first revealed themselves, they who stole people in the woods and eventually the stars, They who were old when humanity was young, they who were eldritch. They of many faces and many fingers and warps and conquests. They finally chose to make peace with mankind, though there were battles, battles that neither side could win or lose. Vrillon, Lug, The Puca and the Greys, they came forth because there was not much else to do anymore. At least, that is what they said, and it was a liars peace, but they were not themselves the Devils of the last days.



For the seas stirred, with the wrath of hell itself.

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Time is precious, for it is short.

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It was not long before the Black Figures in the sea emerged, cloaked in shadow. People stopped sailing, for all the fish in the sea had died, all the jellyfish mutated, all the whales Devoured. they marched around, as though walking on a floor that was not there, as ash and smoke filled the water. Off the coast of scotland, a foul thing had emerged, rotten, flayed. And with its breath, no more crops grew. It Devoured. It Hated.

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Hell is alive, you should know this by now. It is under the Sea, like a window, another world.

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A Child's drawing, the last moment of innocence depicting the very death of it. This was posted all over the news, when the school was levelled, reduced to rubble so fine that the rain and gore made cement of it again, which was used to make a memorial out of it. The Fairies were not to blame, though they dedicated the monument to themselves, taking the offerings for themselves, Such that they may have strength in the coming dawn. This image was amongst the ruins.

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Brutal was the storm, unrelenting, unforgiving, cruel.

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They were in their car, Sarah and Johnny, just listening to some fun music, perhaps getting up to some indecent things, but that is besides the point. They were parked harmlessly in the field, when they first felt it. It was a deep rumbling, like an earthquake. They panicked, and drove back into town, somewhere in the south of america. No one stopped them as they sped, because everyone else amidst the rubble was speeding too, or dead on the road. They could never be fast enough, but they had to try, outrunning the smoking cracks in the road. It's unfortunate Johnny was born blind in one eye, because where Sarah could only see the outline of the giant in smoke, Johnny was able to see it. All of the souls chained to it, the bubbling of its flesh, the eye on its Chest that was also its head, its grin that could swallow every car in the road if it had wanted. They could never be fast enough. Sarah's ears bled from the screams, but it was quiet just as fast. They could never be fast enough.

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Pray, For it is a final comfort to what is to come. When death comes, go gentle into that goodnight, because the only other way is to go in pain.

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The Giants and "Devils" Were relentless in their onslaught, Horned beasts, colossal mummified men, giants who were but half a man, the left or right, and bubbling mutants of indescribable size and color Beyond "dark" filled the streets. There was Resistance in where they first started, Britain, which was the site of the first fairy betrayal, where they, in a haste, began sacrificing anyone who crossed their raiding paths such that their fairymetal would be stronger, to better wound the devils who had come, and soon, eventually, it was not even regarded as a betrayal, for anything to save Britain, and perhaps the world, was an acceptable sacrifice with many a man volunteering himself to be slaughtered and crushed under tread-and-hoof, but ultimately, the Great Surrender had to happen, or else the genocide of mankind there would not be as quick as it was, or as painless as it was, When the giants brought their fists down on the coasts of the islands, sending it crumbling into the burning abyss below. This was mercy with what was to come.

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You should know this is pointless by now.

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It was the last stand of Mann and Ireland that first brought down even a single giant, as the old knights of Britain, those who still remained, fled West, the end of the round table known well across the lands of the sidhe, and it was then the Horn was blown, because perhaps the knights of the west would know better how to fight, and perhaps that was True. The giant rose with the moon, and knew this would be the day he would die, but he and the last of his men would not die alone, at least. Fionn Knew not the words to speak, and instead merely passed out weaponry, new and old, to those who sought shelter in his caverns, along with Drinks, because this was the kind of thing that was best not sober. And They clashed with the giant that had marched, bearing an eye, leg, and arm, a wrought club, and uncountable stone apples. They fought, and were decimated, but ultimately Fionn and a hundred men managed to cleave from it its one leg, then its arm, and then tore its eye out, leaving it to screech in rage as they rolled it into the ocean.

How could they have known?

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The world away knows fear as well.

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It was across the sea that the Great Benanndonner, whos eye was on his chest, whos head rose above a second head, and above a third, and Buggane the foul toothed ogre marched upon american soil, ripping apart the land as they saw fit, and creating new islands from the rubble and teeth and rage that they shed. Each one the size of an island themselves, the military was doing their best, but there are no missiles of iron and magic, though there was something better, something worse to use, but firing it was a grave sin. But, then, its a graver sin to let giants live, after all. And so the weapon used only twice was fired upon them, into their mouths, and as their heads scorched into oblivion, there was finally a sigh of Relief, that now, three giants had been slain.

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Jack the giant killer killed the devil---but there is still possession, there is still hell, there is still Satan in this world.

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Finally, bombing raids commenced around the world, almost immediately. But how could they have known? There, from the ashes, rose many a thing, of those who did not survive. The Foul Caoranach was still pregnant, and she always was, and from her gut and gullet came Bennandoner and Fachan, they who had souls, and from the burning corpsen rage of Buggane rose a rage even greater than the flame which had slain him, a whirlwind of torment and teeth and molten ash, carving a line through whoever was unlucky enough to live this long, with the souls of the dead being fed to the great standing stones in the center of the sea. Soon, the flame cooled, and Buggane was reborn, hairless, faceless, but alive. He rotated in his skin, to adjust himself, then rotated his skin to readjust, lifting up the mountains of the world and throwing them about, destroying as many of the fairy ships that'd taken to the sky as possible. They would not get to win again, steal their world again, and neither would mankind.

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Stand alone or stand together, But stand. it is dignity.

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The Armies of men crumbled, the armies of the sidhe crumbled, once crippled by mankind, after all. And though they tried to Guard it, there was no way to guard this last relic: The beating heart of a child, and inside it the three great worms. The Second greatest king of devils, who's eyes were so heavy they had to be held up with forks, who was so bald that he too, like the nuckelavee before him, was flayed, held it up to the sky, and screamed out the name of Mechi, and so emerged the three great worms: One of many hands, with a human face in the center and a human mouth on its scalp, One who was a Draconic being, deprived of its scales, shivering in the cold, bringing back the Great Stormwoor whos' corpse was iceland, and the Final worm, Who was not a worm or serpent but a horse, clawed, with burning black eyes and spouting flames from its nose, standing within a chariot with the other two worms leading it, the worms barfing out a destructive light like the aurora borealis. The worms drove to a greater chariot, near the lake na suil.

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Brutal is the sun.

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And so rose the final giant, he who would crush the Olympus of earth and dwarf the Olympus of mars, blindly fumbling, until he found the chariot. Until he found his Eye. and he spoke to the slaves upon his eyelid, as he placed it back into his eye: "Open my Eye, so I may see my kingdom.

And it was flame.

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