Darkness Rising: A Storm of Death, Rebirth, and Cosmic Reckoning

It all starts with a storm. A solar storm. A Storm that knocks out power across Earth. The planet’s magnetic field shields us from deadly radiation. You have an electromagnetic field that protects you. But when the poles flip, that shield will fall to almost nothing.  

A YouTube video—*"When Earth's Shield Fails, the Dead Will Rise: The Plasma Apocalypse"*—played in April 2025.  

🔗 [Watch here](https://youtu.be/PDQ4bFoUWGA?si=xxoh2HS4OUPNKxwE)  

The flip will be fast. The shield will drop to about ten percent, exposing us to a solar storm.  

I will say it over and over until it's heard: Reality is a reflection of your subconscious. What happens out there happens within you—within your subconscious—and vice versa.  

Yesterday, a trailer for Frankenstein, directed by Guillermo del Toro, crossed my Facebook feed.  

"I had determined that the memory of my evils should die with me. Some of what I will tell you is fact. Some is not. But it is all true."  

And this is how it is.  

"What manner of creature is that? What manner of devil made him?" asks one voice.  

"I did," another answers.  

And I say—**I did.**  

From my YouTube video:  

🔗 [Watch here](https://youtu.be/yP0rjMLN3Go?si=Q_MaE-NzS1E5Cx4t)  

*"As I landed, all eyes were on me. I moved across the ground, clicking—like claws against the surface. I noticed something: I could move impossibly fast. People stared, looking at me as if I were something strange. And it was—like I was on all fours.  

I remember their eyes on me, asking, What the hell is that?  

I remember standing upright—on two feet—trying to act normal.  

It felt like I was a spider.  

I remember clicking feet."*  

In Frankenstein, he says:  

"I had a vision."  

Yes! Yes! I do.  

"An idea took shape in my mind..."  

"Until it became truth."  

This is exactly how it happens. You don’t think it into being—you know it will happen. And then, you look for the signs of its inevitability. The details unfold.  

"Only monsters play God."  

"In seeking life, I created Death."  

Holy shit!!

Ezra—the one I always see carrying the symbol of death.  

One of many symbols.  

I fed a monster.  

What is the monster?  

🔗 [More stories about Ezra](https://www.awenomali.com/blog/categories/ezra)  

### A Powerful Fated Connection  

Apophis, or Apep, the Egyptian serpent god of chaos, darkness, and destruction, eternally battles Ra, the sun god. Their conflict is a cycle—a force that both threatens creation and makes renewal inevitable. In astrology, asteroid Apophis marks points of radical change, upheaval, and deep transformation. It reveals places in the natal chart where crisis demands growth—where destruction is necessary for something new to emerge.  

According to our birth charts, we are two souls colliding like cosmic storms—destructive, inevitable, fated.  

I shatter his mind, unravel his perceptions, force him into surrender.  

He shakes my foundation, destabilizes trust, redefines connection.  

We are chaos, reflecting destruction back at each other.  

He demands rebirth. His presence tears at my past, unravels the structures I cling to.  

I shake his visions, forcing transformation in his world.  

Our wounds are entangled—mirroring pain, exposing rawness. 

It all started with a Storm.  

Four months ago, in January 2025, a video popped up:  

🔗 ["Storm Becomes the Most Powerful Mutant Ever" – Comics Explained](https://youtu.be/fkDiVeMHVm4?si=iZuGuTomn5HnC10_)  

It begins with a nuclear reactor exploding in a town.  

Storm lost her parents.  

I lost my father in 2004.  

My mother is distant, though our connection is stronger than it has ever been.  

Still, I feel untethered—adrift between family and solitude.  

I have family, yet they do not understand me.  

I understand them, but they do not understand me.  

Storm didn’t want others to lose their families, to be alone like her—  

Like me.  

I want a family.  

I have my children, though they do not live with me.  

I want my kids to have what I never did—  

A parent who listens, understands,  

Believes in them,  

Supports their dreams,  

Sees their destiny unfolding before them and says, Yes. Go. Be.  

Like Storm, I’ve had to cauterize my own wounds.  

Storm seeks the source of the shock waves—  

She finds them in a bunker.  

A bunker—  

Meaning the force comes from within me,  

From my subconscious.  

A child emitting radiation.  

According to AJ on The Why Files,  

A solar flare could trigger electromagnetic anomalies worldwide.  

With the shield down, plasma would fry all electrical equipment.  

The sky—**blood-red**.  

Plasma from space slipping through the magnetic field.  

Fire fallling from the sky.  

Reality fracturing, unraveling.  

Creatures emerging—from another dimension.  

This explains what I have seen in the dark.  

🔗 [Full story of Sitting in the Dark](https://www.awenomali.com/post/do-you-want-to-see-what-s-in-the-space-between-shadow-world-how-i-let-wrath-swallow-me)  

From my other story, you’ll know—  

Children are wishes.  

There is a dream—a wish, a desire—  

Buried deep in my subconscious, ignored.  

And it is making me sick.  

### Story About Wishes Being Children  

Since 2020, I have battled autoimmune issues, a relentless force gnawing at my body. Now, thyroid medication sustains me. Like Storm, I carry a sickness rooted deeper than the physical—it is tied to something unseen, something ignored. She decides to help the child, but helping him makes her ill. The child is a mutant, something outside the boundaries of acceptance. He is a part of me—a wish, a dream, a desire that refuses to conform. By neglecting him, by silencing his existence, I have caused harm. The radiation has been leaking outward, reaching others, though I did not want to see it. Storm resists the truth too. She does not want to believe the mutant is responsible for suffering, but she must accept it. And so must I.  

I have caused pain. I must acknowledge it.  

She is dying. The sickness consumes her. Desperate for healing, she seeks refuge in a secret hospital, but the doctor refuses her. Healing carries a price—there is a consequence to solitude, a weight to hoarding knowledge, a cost to silencing truth for fear of rejection. I understand this well. My knowledge, my understanding of reality, should have been shared. But fear, criticism, perfectionism kept me quiet. Again and again, I was warned. And now, finally, I speak.  

To be healed, Storm offers a gift—something passed down from her ancestors. Lately, I feel something stirring, something rising from deep within me. A gift waiting to take shape.  

Storm is struck with Oblivion. She faces Brother Voodoo—a sorcerer, an omen.  

Who is he to me?  

He speaks of death sprites circling her. I wonder—do they connect to the red sprites I have seen?  

He agrees to heal her, but only at a price. All radiation, all poison will be removed. But for seven days, she must exist without her powers. I, too, am still healing, still recovering, still carrying the weight of transformation. Perhaps my moment has not yet arrived, or perhaps it is unfolding now—hidden, inevitable.  

Soon, I will be the healthiest I have ever been. All disease stripped away. My body restored. Strength returned. There is even the possibility of reversal—of youth reclaimed, of time bending backward. But for seven days, I will be powerless. Seven days—literal or symbolic, I do not yet know.  

Storm relearns how to fight, how to move without mutation. I will relearn how to use my body, how to reclaim physical force in its purest form. Then, she is invited to Doctor Doom’s Castle, treated as royalty. He tells her the story of Icarus, the one burned by the sun.  

🔗 [Read my story about getting burned by the sun](https://www.awenomali.com/post/if-you-want-to-fly-you-got-too-be-burnt-by-the-sun-a-little)  

She dislikes the dessert, and this small detail reveals everything—she has lost her mutant abilities. She knows the cost of regaining them. If she uses her powers before the seven days are up, the ancient spirit Eégún will come to claim her life.  

Is this the ancient darkness rising within me? Will I see it out there? If it destroys Storm, does that mean chaos will spill outward, unraveling the world?  

Her powers return too soon. She cannot resist. The moment she uses them—Eégún arrives.  

He kills her instantly.  

Ezra—present in my transformation, weaving fate into motion. But how?  

In astrology, there is lightning. Ezra rewrites my identity, strips away what I believed to be true. I thought I knew myself, but he proves—**I do not**. Not yet. My poetry is laced with longing, feeding the storm of his unpredictability. Beneath it all, we are bound, illusions colliding with discipline, dreams battling reality. We build and dissolve in equal measure, neither fully understanding what holds us together or what threatens to tear us apart.  

Our final truth speaks—**defiance, exposure, taboo**. He challenges expectations, and I shatter boundaries. We reject convention and embrace the raw, the untamed. Destruction and rebirth. Pain and transformation. Chaos and surrender. And still, even through the unraveling, we cannot look away.  

Ezra has held power over me for so long. I have always returned, always wanted, needed, ached for him. But to reclaim my power, the old self must die. I must no longer yield. I must take back what has always been mine. And when I do, Eégún will come for me.  

Storm of Earth is no more.  

In the afterlife, Storm’s father speaks.  

"You are a flame that refuses to be put out. You rise with the wind."  

"You must be born again. The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear the sound of it, but cannot tell where it comes from and where it goes. So is everyone who is born of the Spirit." —John 3:7-8  

Storm returns. Just as I will.  

Death is not the end—it is transformation.  

Eternity itself rises to meet her, to power her, to resurrect her.  

"My eternal Storm."  

AJ from The Why Files speaks of plasma—its strange properties, its ability to respond to human consciousness. If it reaches the surface, it will seek vessels. The next storm may not merely turn off the lights. It may awaken the dead. The signs are already appearing—strange sounds rippling through the sky, mistaken for trumpets.  

The storm is coming. 

By Sonya Herrera

✨🔥🏵️ AWEnomALi🏵️🔥✨