"Once you've been through hell, there's no turning back".
The first sensation he felt as he regained consciousness was that of cold. A biting, penetrating, almost violent cold. His body lay on a hard, cold, uneven surface. It took him several seconds to realize that it was the damp asphalt of a Paris street.
Isaac slowly opened his eyes, groaning under the pain that radiated from every part of his battered body. He saw the dark sky above him, timid stars barely visible between the clouds, and then felt the light rain falling on his face. He tried to sit up, but his left arm didn't respond, as if paralyzed by pain.
A hoarse groan escaped his throat as he rolled with difficulty onto his side, coughing violently to clear his lungs filled with dust and blood. He was a few yards from the portal, or rather, what was left of it: now totally extinguished, reduced to a blackened metal structure, steaming in the rain.
