What am I?

The consequence shudders in the earth.

Fire billows smoke, but the smoke isn't there. How can the divine call for order but produce me instead?

Angles with wings of feathers and demons with backs of jewels, they swell in the darkness, like water to the moon. 

I wake in enlightened dark and remember the words that spilled blood; the fangs of a hound upon the hide of a wolf; scars upon a being was a wound upon the living. I have felt pain.

Struggle though you might, the space between the iron and sensitive skin is the questions that have lead me to the moor. 

The consequences shudder in the earth. 

Words make images that die in their eyes. my power is not lost but I have none. 

I am only this and the extraordinary is not fear.