You know I woke up amid a pile of leaves, crackly twigs, and embraced by the sound of the rustling trees and was spitting out golden foliage that happened to get inside my mouth as I breathed. I tried to spit leaves out from my mouth and tried to find my way out. I groped blindly as I tried to find a way out. And then more leaves fell on me. I tried standing up. More leaves fell.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" I shouted as stood up and frantically scrambled out. I didn't know why I was so unnerved and I don't know if was worried of getting suffocated by all the leaves but by God, did I get out of there fast. I realized that I was in the middle of a forest. A fucking forest. Not so strange in of itself but considering I was in New York the last time remembered, this was some weird crap.

A bird (I don't know what kind) started chirping at me in a way I swore was insulting and saying obscenities about my mother. "Oh, shut up," I growled as I stared maliciously at this stupid fucking bird. "Everybody's a fucking critic, aren't they," I muttered darkly as tried to stand up. Tried, in that I tripped over a root and face planted. The bird started chirping again, but louder.

Grabbing a stick I chucked it at the stupid thing. Not even deigning to dodge it proceeded to chirp at me more. I glared at it. He chirped back. I stood there tall and angry in my leather duster, over a Struts t-shirt, wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, and simple, militant, iron-tipped boots.

I guess it wasn't very impressed by my dark, messy hair, long face with with tired, slitted eyes , scraggly beard and twirled mustachios, and looking like I was a burned-out corporate slave.

Shaking my head and trying to take stock of myself I patted myself down for injuries and found none but did find my key-which was nice I guess, my wallet with my combined life savings of 250 measly dollars, my gun-which was passed down from generation-to-generation for gods know for how long, a myriad of herbal concoctions-which could do anything from forcing a werewolf to change back into human form to giving a man a deadly fit of coughing, which didn't sound so bad until you realized that he would continue to cough until his lungs came out, a bunch of things ranging from a silver-capped wand given freely to me from a treant that lived near a fairy ring for services rendered, blessed by Titania the Summer Queen Of The Fae, and which I carved runes that made it fairly more dangerous than it already was, and a series of protective runes which the most important one was the tattoo on my back that looked like a untidy mix of Pagan Symbols, New Age protection, and Meso-American hexes, and finally a of course my trusty sacrificial knife.

I tried to remember what I did that could've landed me into this situation (the last time I was drunk was weeks ago, I dont remember upsetting any Old Powers recently, and the majority of the warlocks and Paladins I pissed off knew not to mess with me after I beat the crap out of them).

"Well Jack, you've landed yourself into a fine clusterfuck haven't you now" I said as I shook my head. "Surrounded by trees, not knowing where I am, and a bird THAT WON'T FUCKING STOP CHIRPING!" I shouted loudly towards the end. He chirped louder.

Shaking my head and surrounded by tall oak trees that could've been here since before I was born crowned with gilded leaves of gold and yellow, silent except for the noise of the forest, and having nothing but what I had on I walked around fallen logs and twigs and left behind the bird that stared at me as I left and strolled for a while and thought to myself "Wow, I really need to get out more," never realizing how relaxing it is not fighting Old Gods, wrestling trolls, or losing all my money after a rough night at the bar.

Also the scenery was nice I guess. Surrounded by Autumn trees and babbling brooks and what not. The more I walked, the more confident I got.

After I walked for some time I got thirsty, and while I am what some would call a wizard I couldn't throw fireballs, conjure lightning, or even fly, but I did have some fun tricks and used that to bring the water from a nearby bubbling creek near my face, excite the molecules to kill any pesky bacteria, and drank it there.

With a laugh and a leap I ran through the forest thinking "A man could grow to like this," as I grinned wildly. With a hoot and a laugh fraught with wild abandon I jumped up to grab a nearby branch and threw myself into the air. Normally, this would've launched me a few feet at the most -but as I said I may not be your conventional wizard I did have some tricks-I convinced the Laws of Physics that I really should've been launched, Oh say, a few hundred feet instead.

Soaring through the forest I forgot that I was in a fucking forest and smacked my head into river. Soaking wet, I trudged out with a sigh I collected the water from my clothes into a orb of water in front of me and launched it out in front of me lackadaisically.

After leaping around at a more sedate pace with nothing but my thoughts, I thought to myself "At least I still have the same clothes I had on as the last day I remember," I stumbled. Tumbled out of control. Hit my head on a tree. But my pale face and body-that didn't look incongruous to a corpse, shaking hands that made me look like a Parkinson's victim, and dilated pupils couldn't simply be attributed to shock or pain.

I shakily tried to stand up. I fell. I tried to stand up again. I fell again. Trying to stand up more slowly and succeeded but was wracked by a series of vomiting that force me back onto the ground and spewing partially-digested food onto my jeans. My mind was a jumble. I limped out of there and near a tree. I sat against it. Trying to calm myself and collect my thoughts, I looked at the tree so I could have something normal and tangible and utterly mundane to look at.

I saw a giant verdant tree with a hollow in it that looked incredibly attractive right now that had low-hanging fruit that looked soft and red and absolutely delicious( which also had a raccoon squirming its way up to steal a piece of fruit).

I sat there trying to calm my racing heart but as the raccoon skirted behind me with a piece of the same-said fruit, I stopped myself as I heard a loud shriek from behind and I turned around to find it dead with a chunk of the fruit still in its mouth. After pondering what could've killed it, (I mean we were completely alone and there were no obvious arrow or wound that signaled to me what killed it), I saw roots burst out of its stomach and promptly proceeded to wrap itself around the raccoon, quickly covering its whole body.

I admit, I shrieked like a little girl after I saw it pick itself up, rush back to the tree, and jump into the hollow which closed itself up and made a rather disturbing crunching sound. "Damn", I said to myself as I leapt to my feet with a shaky voice and wide eyes. "Damn. Damn. Damn. Fuck. Shit" I muttered to myself like an addict with withdrawal. "What the fucking fuck is going on here," I said as I scrabbled away from the awfully normal looking tree. "shitshitshitshitshit. fuckfuckfuckfuck," raced through my mind as I realized a tree fucking killed a raccoon and took over its body and jumped into the tree and got eaten. I vomited again.

At least I tried to, but I was all out after the little fit I had last time. I tried to check my shuddering breathes but all that did was make me all the more aware of the weird shit around me; the fact that there was always the sound of a woman singing in the background that I ever quite noticed, a disturbing lack of large animals in a such prime real estate, and holy shit was that the same bird!

"No, Jack. Stop. You're going crazy," I thought to myself, as I tried again to calm myself. You might wonder why I was so scared. I mean, hitting my head couldn't have knocked a screw loose, now could it? And a parasitic tree is scary, but don't we already know about parasitic mushrooms right?But remember when I said that I had the same clothes on as the last day I remembered? Well, I was wearing the same clothes I wore on the day I killed myself.

I sat in a clearing that had no trees around for 15 meters and after gazing at it with my True Sight, detected no demons, hidden monsters, or traps nearby (in which I also cast a myriad of charms-a compulsion on any sentient organic beings to not pay to much attention to me among others, a hex to send a kinetic explosion towards their way, and a series of protective glyphs that squirmed on an invisible globe about 3 meters above me) and sat down to mediate for a period of time.

After a period of time I felt more confident after parsing through the relevant data and figuring out just what happened.

During the last day I remembered it was more or less average, I had been commissioned to find a relic for a relatively famous individual, The Historian.

Having been alive longer than any mortal had been and after meticulously making certain all references to his past had been purged, not much is known about him except he obsesses over anything obscure or weird. He hates outside contact for fear of someone stealing his precious artifacts and hates anyone knowing anything about him, in fact legend has it that he burned down the Library Of Alexandria after someone had found out his true name.

And in a time where names aren't names but rather Names, it seemed rather sedate for a man as paranoid as him.

I was sleeping in my apartment when one of his Agents, the Scribes burst in with scrolls out, ready to unleash upon me anything from a storm of locust left over from the Old Testament to a flurry of mini-dragons made out of lightning.

Thankfully, I'm not a complete fool and installed a series of defenses from floating land mines that exist only in the umpteenth dimension to anti-matter shaped charges to dark energy fueled lasers that could cut through concrete like a surgical knife through rotted flesh.

And the Scribes' weren't very sturdy beings to begin with with them being made out of tanned human skin and whatever weird stuff The Historian decided to cram into them.

Still, not willing to die to my arrogance I put on my leather duster and put a talisman in my left hand and my silver sacrificial knife-an athame into my other and stood there like I saw this kind of thing everyday (which I did) and acted like I was bored more than anything else.

"Done getting your ass handed to you yet, Historian," I said lazily to the remaining Scribe that managed to survive the maelstrom of destruction I had unleashed, knowing The Historian was watching from behind their beady eyes.

The relatively uninjured Scribe walk towards me as if it hadn't just seen its brethren destroyed in an instant before him. It ignored the chaos around him-the papers strewn everywhere, the char marks on the ceiling, and the holes in the neighboring apartment.

You know you would look most splendid preserved and in a jar. And having you in multiple tiny little pieces. Floating. Around. In. A. Dozen. Different. Jars," he casually spoke in an all-too-serious tone which told all that he didn't even think of anyone as a person, just an interesting little trinket yet to be collected.

"Anything else you care to monologue about? Or is this the day I find you and kill you?," I said in a cheery voice that sounded all too happy to commit wonton violence. A smirk is all I received in return from The Historian, at least what seemed like a smirk because all the Scribes had for mouths were a black blot of ink. "Jack, you sound so much like your father," causally remarked The Historian.

I struggle my urge to ask him about my father, a figure which rumors abounded about but which little actual knowledge existed. "And?", I said as nonchalantly as I could not giving a single sign that I cared in the slightest. "Really Jack, I expected at least a little interest. No sense of wonder? No awe of the unknown? Or maybe you already know everything there is to know about that elusive figure," He said mockingly to me.

I didn't say anything, refusing to talk to him any longer than I had to.

"Anyways Jack, He said sensing my disinterest "I found an interesting little thing recently, an Artifact Of Power, said to be able disrupt the power balance of the world, shatter the world, and make a vagrant into a god. It is currently in the vault of the Smithsonian Museum about to be a part of a showcase on ancient cults," The Historian said in a bored little voice which seemed inconsistent with what he had said.

"Let me guess, if I don't get this for you then you'll bend your considerable might into screwing me over and killing me?", I asked ever so nonchalantly.

"No, Jack. I'll send demons to haunt your dreams, beings born from your forgotten childhood fears to plague you, and you'll see them every time as you so much as blink," He hissed as the Scribe leaned in and grabbed my face. "You'll never sleep again, for fear of seeing Hell. So cut your shit out or I'll show you horrors that would drive even the Gods to madness, and you will have three days to accomplish this," He announced in a tone that brokered no argument. "Well, if you put it like that then I'll have to do it of course," I said shakily.

He smiled the widest smile I've ever seen, the smile of a man gone mad long ago with nothing but dusty old things to keep him going.

"But I'll expect a reward nonetheless and if you try to bully me into doing anything else, I'll show you why I am a Power and a Domination in my own right," I pronounced with steel in my voice and a not-so-subtle promise of revenge.

To my disconcertion, all he had in response was a wider smile.

"Good, Jack. Very good indeed," He said silkily as the Scribe began to crumble into ash before me. "And I'll of course send someone by to fix up that unfortunate little hole," as He left.

After a few minutes he left I went to the front of the room and tried to close my ramshackle excuse of a door, only to have it collapse as soon as I touched it. "Maybe I shouldn't have put so many of them on the door," I thought as I went back to the living room and collapsed onto my lime-green couch that could have been any color before I found it on the street.

"What have I gotten myself into now?" I thought as I shook my head. "Its too early for this crap. I need a drink,"

Much has changed since magic and the rest of the world collided. When the existence of magic was shown to be very much real and not just some superstitions of peasants relegated to old stories and fables told to children, nor some form of mass delusion via ergot poisoning, nor even as tricks played by stage magicians that relied on sleight of hand and an ignorant audience the world was shaken.

If they found in a way that was constructive-like an elementalist holding back a flood by moving rock and earth to form a blockage in the river like they had when the Orion LLC. decided to cut corners and chose to build the dam out of sub-standard materials and if not for the intervention of a nearby magic caster millions of live would've been lost.

Or if they found out magic by seeing it as a peaceful thing-like when clerics risked their lives to heal as many of the sick as they could during the outbreak of the superbugs in Africa that look poised to wipe out the rest of the world because politicians were too busy trying to find out a way they could make a profit from the chaos by selling overpriced and ineffective vaccines to the people too ignorant and desperate to know any better, but they found out in the worst way possible.

They found out in the form of a mad conjurer that set upon the normal populace which nothing to do with the magical world a plague of terrors which caused many men, women, and children to be slain at the hand of monsters they couldn't even kill and which wiped out militaries around the world.

What use is a tank against a being that had no physical form? A gun against a being that existed solely within your mind and drove your heart to explode from the inconceivable terror you experience? What use was even a nuke when you didn't know where the attack came from and when you can't trust the very judgement of your commanders?

The world leaders convened in Switzerland and nothing was accomplished. All that was done was an increase of ill will between them as the Western Powers blamed China, Russia, and the Middle East and claiming that this was some kind of biological weapon they had been cooking up. They fired back with accusation of that this was surely the work of nanobots they had planted into their water to break their nations.

As the world balanced on a knife's edge and as the Mad Conjurer continue to evade the combined military forces of the Elementalists' Guild, the War Mages, the Dark Cabal, the Conjurers' Union, even the infamous Third Eye Corporation had no luck in divining his location, and as even the Independents joined in to end this madness, nothing seemed to work.

When his location was finally realized to be in Shadows' Reach-a place where spectres whose bodies were never found lurked, where the zombie corpses of Behemoths walked, and where the gestalt of the Gods that were forgotten by their followers laid-no one wanted to be the first one in, even knowing the consequences of dallying could result in a nuclear winter.

They finally decided to not send in an army, which would've alerted the Mad Conjurer, instead they elected to send in a small group of powerful, infamous, and expendable people, of which I was one.

There was The Eclipse-the oldest undead known to us and said to be powerful enough to make the Black Plague look like a preschooler's wet nose, Evan the Indomitable-strong enough to hold back an army, Timothy Dodger-a time-lost street gang boss that somehow entered our time a few years ago and somehow managed to gain absolute control over the magical underworld in under the space of a month, Sister Josephine-a former cut-purse and now a rabid Crusader against all things Dark, Arcane, and Sin in general which caused no small trouble to the rich men and women around the world (magical or not), and then there's me.

A man armed with a Living Coat and a blade that seemed to cut through all, morally ambiguous but not quite Light or Dark, winning battles without throwing a single blow, and said to be able to know the Flow of Time.

It's astonishing to find out that all of it was nothing but a good con game. I'm not a brawler, I don't have much else than a set of tricks, and the majority of my reputation was built up by nothing but a series of rumors spread by none else but Yours Truly.

It's not to say I can't be incredibly frightening or dangerous (I can quite handily slaughter a roomful of people but if people know that I kill everyone I fight then the day I get bested I would have no chance of getting spared as opposed to a slim one) but it's amazing what a dangerous story can do for a man, much more than I would've ever thought possible. I can silence a roaring mob with nothing but a disapproving glare, people crosse the street as soon as they see me, and let me tell you, you wouldn't believe the free stuff I get.

But by now you must be wondering how did the world not find out about magic sooner? Knowing that the march of time would eventually lead to conflict between technology and wizardry, Merlin summoned up the Father Of Lies himself, Lucifer and made a pact with him give me power beyond imagine for but a hour and I will be yours forever Merlin was able to fashion what was thought to be impossible before; a pocket dimension big enough for millions of inhabitants and gave us a last safe haven against the spread of craft.

But his wisdom and cunning was not at an end; for not willing to be dragged to Hell, he imprisoned himself inside of a crystal so that he shall never die and The Devil will never have him.

But as you see, all it takes is one bad apple to have our Eden be taken from us.

Shaking myself out of reminisces of the past I stood up, splashed some water onto my face, and walked out to my favorite bar The Red Cap.

Stepping out into the bustling streets of Avalon I was assaulted by a barrage of the senses, from the way power thrummed in the air from the auras of the combat mages patrolling the streets to the heady perfume of incense being hawked by the Serpent traders with scaly skin, forked tongues, and hissing voices saying how they were having a sale on protective charms against demons (and reminded myself to buy some on the way back) to the smell of the fried gremlins-on-a-stick to the sight of Headless Horsemen on the same road as a Bicorn on the same road as a car from 250 years in the future.

As people caught sight of me, they quickly decided they had to be somewhere that was decidedly not here. Walking down the dimly lit streets where the only source of light was the blue lights powered by the souls of those unfortunate enough to owe a large enough debt to Wyndharl Energies, and would continue to power them until they paid of their debt.

If you were stupid enough to be in Avalon, then you better be able to dance on the head of a pin

Smiling to myself and enjoying the suddenly empty sidewalk, I strolled down quickly the block since no matter how big you are there is always someone bigger than you. After walking for sometime, my sight was caught by a giant mantis getting thrown out of a window and I stopped to see the ensuring fight.

A monk clad in white stepped out over the broken glass and glared at the mantis. Already back on its feet, the mantis let out a chilling battle scream and launched itself with its powerful hind legs towards the monk.

Quickly dodging the flurry of blows which left an unsettling whooshing sound in their wake, the monk closed in and unleashed a storm of blows onto the mantis which sent it somersaulting through the air and slammed into a light post.

With nothing worse than a cracked carapace, he quickly threw himself back in and his moves which were already quite fast became too fast for normal eyes to catch and forced the monk back further and further until they were back at the window.

By now a crowd had formed and a series of bets were being placed, instead of enforcing the peace the Patrol Mages chose to place some bets themselves. Cutting through brick and mortar like paper, the mantis's arms which were more like blades scored a long cut across the monks torso spraying blood everywhere.

After pressing his advantage, the fight rapidly shifted to the mantis's as he amputated his arms and leaving his body without a head.

Shrieking his victory in an alien dialect, he wasted no time in eating his prey which was when the Mages promptly shot it in the back with fireballs, lightning, and bursts of gravity which left him as a compact piece of charred insect because while we turn a blind eye to death, we always clean up afterwards.

Noticing that The Red Cap was close, I turned back around and sauntered towards it.

It was located between an extra-dimensional call center and a wannabe demon king's lair, which led to all sorts of interesting times in the bar. Like that time when a fifth-dimensional being popped in for a drink and left the furniture morphing into all kinds of interesting shapes for weeks after or when a group of would-be adventurers got the wrong address and interrupted a poker tournament that was going on, we didn't take too kindly to that and cast on them a cyber-curse which caused them to speak in binary and grow an unhealthy fetish for computers.

I opened the door with a light heart because nothing makes up for an Immortal blowing up your apartment and threatening you with horrors beyond imagination better than senseless death and a nice, cold pint.