Alas, it is true, I feigned to be glued, supporting illusions with a quarter of a nanobyte of psychic power. With Sonic out of the way, he does not belong in this duel to the death, I now trap Tazz in a Trick Room where every single being and nanofibre of existence and non-existence is continually twisted and distorted that nothing neither right nor wrong at any point in time. Delightfully, Tazz embraces his newfound plaything while I claim back my hill.