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Chapter Text

As the Invasion Tree pulsed with light, all could see that after years of effort, Elesh Norn’s goals were realised.

No. Phyrexia’s goals were realised. Although to Elesh Norn, it was a distinction without a difference. She was the manifestation of Phyrexia’s glorious mission, its divine purpose given form. All she did was in service of Phyrexia, and in return, all of Phyrexia served her. It was true that Vorinclex and Jin-Gitaxias had played a part in this victory, but it was her vision they had brought to life, and it was her alone who had forged the broken pieces of New Phyrexia into a coherent whole. In a way, even the traitor and heretic had played their part, drawing out the lingering imperfections that would soon be excised.

Perfection was in their grasp. The multiverse was connected to New Phyrexia, ready to receive salvation. But Norn was not content. At the moment of her grand triumph, there was still imperfection. Before her were the remaining invaders, who had not yet joined Phyrexia. They were weak, pathetic beings of flesh, lacking the glory of compleation. One of them could barely stand, clinging to another for support, a mockery of true unity. There was defiance in their eyes, but Norn knew that behind that defiance was fear.

But it would be improper to condemn them for such weakness. Phyrexia welcomed all, and once they joined the others in compleation, they would become faithful evangels, ready to spread the truth across the multiverse. The process had already begun, but it yearned to continue, to move faster, so that more might be saved. She had commanded them to witness Phyrexia’s ascension, and witness it they would.

With a simple flick of Norn’s wrist, she summoned the portals, Realmbreaker responding to her will. They twisted open, jagged and flickering, before sharpening into focus. Every tear was a window into another world, all of them being pulled into Phyrexia’s embrace. Their skies were ablaze, the symbols of Phyrexia glowing far above. Through some, Realmbreaker’s branches reached down, anchoring themselves wherever they pleased. Ships descend from others, each carrying an army of perfection.

It was a wonderful sight to behold. Every part dedicated to a single purpose, yet each purpose linked to another, to form a great machine. Rivers of glistening oil flowed over the land, while incubators fell from the sky, each carrying a Phyrexian seed waiting to sprout. The denizens of the planes tried to reject them, some fleeing, others taking up arms, but such resistance was pointless. The harvesters were already at work, gathering the faithless, and preparing them for their anointment into blessed perfection. In many ways, these creatures of flesh did not deserve the glory of compleation. Yet Phyrexia’s mercy was that all were welcome to join, to become One.

“Do you not see how quickly our work spreads?” Norn asked, directing her sermon to the fleshlings before her. “Wherever you run, Phyrexia will be there waiting. Why struggle against the inevitable when you are already welcome here?”

Her words were not heeded, wasted on those unwilling to listen.

“Can you even control this?” the pale one asked. “Those portals hardly look stable.”

“Realmbreaker does not need to be controlled. We have infused its purpose into it, into every root, branch and leaf. It is the path our glory will take to every plane. Yet if you are so concerned.” Norn paused, and with another motion, caused the portals to snap shut. That one of these pathetic creatures would question her control was proof of Phyrexia’s necessity.

“Our control is absolute. Only Phyrexia has the strength to master the power that flows through Realmbreaker. Even if you could grasp it, you cannot possibly hope to use it against us.”

“Your control is an illusion,” the elf said. To see her uncompleated displeased Norn. Vorinclex had been meant to capture her, but he had failed that simple task. Not that it mattered. All five of the planeswalkers before her would be compleated, and become part of the Machine Legion.

“You will understand our truth soon enough,” Norn declared. “Take them.”

Her soldiers advanced, and in response the planeswalkers retreated, closing together. But they had nowhere to run. The ability to traverse the planes was meaningless when one of them was too weak to do so, their meagre attempt at unity holding them back. They feared the future, but they would thank her once they were compleat. True unity existed only in Phyrexia, and was their failure not proof of that?

Finally, Norn knew a perfect moment was approaching. Five more planeswalkers would join them, allowing Phyrexia to spread to more worlds. The wretched Mirran resistance would soon meet its end, and the false Praetors would face judgement. As the Argent Etchings had foretold, Phyrexia was perfection. Those who served would receive its blessings, and those foolish enough to reject it would find only damnation.

However, the perfect moment was not to be. As the planeswalkers huddled together, the elf reached out to Realmbreaker. It should have been a pointless gesture, but instead the tree responded, a stream of prismatic energy breaking away and flowing into the elf. It surged around the others, forming a glittering circle.

“Stop them!” Norn demanded. Her victory could not be ruined, not by such lesser creatures. But it was too late. As the soldiers charged forward, the circle grew upwards, transforming into a swirling pillar of energy. The planeswalkers disappeared, and a beam of light extended into the rift above. When it faded, the interlopers were gone.

“How?” she demanded, the question directed to all present. Realmbreaker had been infused with Phyrexia since it had sprouted in soil blessed with oil. No fleshing should have been able to channel its power, nor survive long enough to use it.

“It seems Nissa’s strength is great enough to harness the power of omenpaths,” Tyvar answered. “But this merely means the fight continues, and we should be glad to face such enemies. As you said, no matter where they run, we will find them. They are not cowards, fleeing for the sake of fleeing. They will return, and our strength will be there to test them.”

Norn knew it was a test they would fail. Phyrexia superseded all. But she could not deny that Tyvar was correct in one respect. Their enemies would return, arrogance driving them back into the arms of perfection. Then their abilities would be turned towards a greater purpose.

“They will return if they survive,” Dovin said. “What we must understand about Beleren and his associates is that many of their successes can be attributed to luck. Attempting to channel Realmbreaker’s power is reckless, and could have easily destroyed them.”

Dovin made a fine point. Those who challenged Phyrexia were already inviting their own ruin. If they were foolish enough to try to destroy Realmbreaker, it stood to reason that they were foolish enough to die trying to steal its power. But now that they were gone, such imperfect creatures did not matter. Compared to the dawning era, they were insignificant.

“Whatever their fate, we have more pressing matters to attend to,” Norn declared. “Even now, our armies have begun their blessed crusade. There is no greater glory than to spread Phyrexia, to bring compleation to the unsaved. All of you will play your part in this mission. Rejoice, for you will be the heralds of the new multiverse.”

Around her, Phyrexian voices sang, howls of metal echoing around, resonating through the very structure of New Phyrexia. Yet the evangels were not ready, their voices still insufficient. The harmony was marred by dissonance, the choir poisoned by the lack of unity. Still perfection evaded her, even now, in the presence of her greatest accomplishment.

“Silence!” Norn demanded.

All around her obeyed, the song ended. Soon, she told herself. Soon it would all be worth it. She had endured such imperfection, allowed lesser beings to hold power, all for this. Everything Norn had done, she had done for Phyrexia. But was it not the struggle that had hardened them, made their world ready for its mission? Of course it was.

To add to Norn’s displeasure, some of her evangels had not come to join the others. Ajani had work to attend to, and she honestly cared little for the one known as Tibalt. Still, they would need to be gathered. The crusade took priority over other, lesser matters.

“It seems two of our evangels are missing. Once Ajani, Tibalt and Atraxa are gathered, I shall assign each of you your purpose.”

“Then we would have to wait forever,” Tyvar said, interrupting. “Tibalt died by my hand. He was a wretched creature, even with your blessings. Perhaps we can pull him from the pit he now lies in, but I would not trust him to lead an army.”

“Is that so? If you felled him before you were compleat, then his failure is unforgivable.”

“He was not suited to the strength of Phyrexia. Even without it, I could best him.”

Norn did not reply to Tyvar’s confirmation. Tibalt had been Vorinclex’s work, and it was becoming clear that his strength came at the expense of other attributes. Truly, he was better suited as a weapon than a leader.

“Very well,” she said. “I will send for Ajani and Atraxa. Tibalt’s remains can be reclaimed later.”

“There is no need to send for them,” Tyvar said. The interruption was grating, but Norn allowed it. So far, he had spoken only truths. “Realmbreaker grows through this plane, making it possible to open omenpaths across it. Powerful warriors such as Ajani attract their power, like beacons of glory.”

To demonstrate, he waved his hand. As he did, the air rippled, and portal edged with green mist swirled open. As promised, it connected directly to Ajani, Realmbreaker’s light pouring through and alerting him to the opening. He stood to attention the moment he saw Norn, showing appropriate deference to his leader.

“Have you captured the traitor?” she asked, eager to discover if Sheoldred would pay for her crimes.

“The false Praetor has eluded me. She fled via a gateway much like this one,” he answered. It was disappointing that the hunt would have to end, but there was nowhere for Sheoldred to run.

“She is now beneath your concern. Join us in the Seedcore. Others can find the traitor. I have a mission for you no other can perform.”

Ajani did as he was bid, and the portal dissipated after he stepped through. Only one remained to be summoned.

“Bring Atraxa to us,” she told Tyvar. Once again, he began to open a portal.

“Atraxa is mighty, and you should know I overcame her only by embracing the power of Phyrexia,” Tyvar said. Norn did not ask him to explain, knowing that she would soon see what he meant.

As the portal opened to the Mycosynth Gardens, it was clear why someone might feel the need to excuse Atraxa’s absence. The angel was tangled in a mass of steel cables, some already cut away, while she struggled against the others. Clearly, this was Tyvar’s work. It was impressive, and soon enough it would be turned on their enemies.

“Atraxa,” Norn said, the single word enough to convey her displeasure that the Unifier had been bested.

“Grand Praetor,” Atraxa replied, dropping to one knee. She understood her failure and the consequences that would follow if it continued. Tyvar stepped forward, and commanded the cables back into Mycosynth, which withdrew into the ground. Norn was please to see such unity between the parts of New Phyrexia. Ajani had spoken of Nissa’s ability to commune with the essence of a world, but perhaps she was unnecessary. Atraxa did not need to be told to join, and she flew through the portal the moment she was able.

“I am disappointed to see that you were defeated,” Norn said. “But I can ignore such a failing, provided you succeed in your next mission.”

Atraxa was silent, but she nodded in confirmation.

“Now we have convened, it is time for each of you to receive your mission. While it is certain that Phyrexia’s victory is inevitable, there are worlds you all know well. So I give you both the duty and honour of bringing those planes into compleation,” Norn announced. “Tamiyo. You once called Kamigawa home, along with Kaito.”

“Yes. That was before we came to understand Phyrexia’s truth,” Tamiyo replied.

“Tyvar. Can you show us this world?”

“If one of Realmbreaker’s branches has touched it, it can be shown,” he answered. “It may take a moment to locate the branch, but if a world is not yet in our reach, I will know immediately.”

“Then let us discover if Kamigawa is ready to receive our blessings.”

Tyvar raised his hands and a new portal began to form. Dark mists swirled around, visions of planes blurring between them. Norn was pleased to see that so many worlds had already been embraced. Finally, the view sharpened, the portal aligning to Kamigawa. They looked down on a great city, shining in the night. Towering buildings reached up into darkness, while shimmering creatures flitted between them.

“Closer,” she commanded, and the portal blurred again, bringing them to look over a bustling market street. Here, they could see every detail, every moment of the pointless lives awaiting compleation. Norn’s vision was drawn to the endless lights that seemed to cling every building. They lacked unity, instead clashing and fighting against each other. Already, signs of Phyrexia flicked within some, unnoticed by the people they surrounded.

These creatures did not know what was coming, Norn decided. Men and women chattered between the stalls, while money changed hands in transactions that would soon become irrelevant. Parents attended to their offspring, placating them with food and trinkets.

“Do you love Kamigawa?” Norn asks, the question directed to all three evangels.

“It was a love born from duty,” the Wanderer answered. “Now we have a new duty. Compleation will fix the ills at the heart of Kamigawa, and bring together a divided people.”

“It is a land that seemed to have endless possibilities,” Tamiyo continued. “I wanted to discover all of them, with my family. Now I know there is only one truth, one glorious future.”

For a moment, Kaito did not speak. Norn turned to him, her expectations clear.

“There were those I loved,” he finally answered, voice quiet as a whisper. “They mattered more than the world they lived in. Beneath the light of Kamigawa is darkness. For those outside the light, Phyrexia is the only salvation.”

Tamiyo’s gaze had returned to the portal. She watched the families passed by, studying them as intently as she had studied the Argent Etchings. Perhaps she needed to be tested further.

“Tamiyo,” Norn said, voice sharp. “Do you care for your old family?”

Again, a question was answered with silence. It was an unexpected failing from Tamiyo, who had proven her devotion time and time again. Her fingers grasped the iron-bound scroll she carried with her, while her eyes remained locked on the portal.

“Answer the Grand Praetor’s question,” Atraxa said, saving Norn from having to repeat. “There is no room for insolence.”

“I- I apologise,” Tamiyo stuttered, before continuing. “I will teach my family our truth. They will learn of our unity, and we will never again be divided.”

It was a suitable answer. The time had come for Kamigawa to meet compleation.

“I see you are all ready,” Norn declared. She raised her hand, ready to command. “Realmbreaker will descend upon this world, and Kamigawa will understand our glory.”

“That will not be necessary,” the Wanderer said. “While Realmbreaker is a grand weapon, it is not the one we will need.”

Atraxa’s disapproval instantly followed.

“You dare question the Grand Praetor?” she snarled, flying over to face the Wanderer.

“No leader is infallible,” the Wanderer stated in reply. “But surely we have been chosen to compleat Kamigawa as we know it best. Only a fool chooses to wield a weapon in a way it is not suited.”

The Wanderer’s hand rested on her blade, ready to draw it at the slightest provocation. Kaito had also reached for his weapons, and strands of magic threaded between Tamiyo’s fingers. It was unbecoming for Atraxa to provoke such disunity, especially in the heart of New Phyrexia. Yet as much as she knew she ought to bring it to an end, Norn was curious to see how her newest evangels would perform.

“No problem has one solution,” Dovin interjected, looking to calm the conflict. “However, we must note that Kamigawa possesses considerable military strength. A direct assault may succeed, but at a cost. Every enemy we do not cut down in battle is ultimately a soldier for our mission.”

It was a well reasoned point. And as Grand Praetor, it was Norn’s duty to guide Phyrexia’s resources to best spread its glory. While their victory was surely inevitable, the path was still a long one. Setbacks could still occur, and Dovin had indirectly highlighted that Kamigawa posed a risk of becoming one.

“If you have a way to bring Kamigawa under your control without Realmbreaker, do so,” Norn commanded. “But know that Phyrexia has no room for failure. If you are found lacking, we will return to the original plan.”

“Then it is settled,” the Wanderer said. “If we have your leave, we shall depart.”

“You have your mission. Go.”

The Wanderer, Kaito and Tamiyo vanished, each snapping out of reality in a burst of light. Once their work on Kamigawa was done, each of them would make fine generals for the rest of the crusade. But Norn was getting ahead of herself. The other evangels needed their commands.

“Kaya,” she said, turning to the assassin. “Tell me about where you were born.”

“A plane called Tolvada. A broken world,” Kaya replied. “The sky weeps the dead, and each day it grows worse.”

Tyvar needed no instruction. Once again the portal blurred. But after a moment, it turned to darkness.

“It seems Tolvada is not yet in reach,” he explained. “But Realmbreaker still grows, and its strength only increases. Tolvada will behold glory in due time.”

“How long?”

“It’s impossible to tell. Realmbreaker grows through the Blind Eternities, which is unlike any plane that exists.”

Such a limitation was unfortunate. Realmbreaker was New Phyrexia’s grandest achievement, but even now there were worlds they could not reach. More pressingly, Kaya would need a different mission. In truth, Norn intended to test the newest evangels, putting them against the imperfect things they once valued.

“In Tolvada’s absence, how will you serve?” Norn asked.

“There are other planes I am familiar with. Ravnica and Fiora both drown in corruption, which we can turn to our advantage. Or I can hunt down what remains of the Gatewatch, and bring them into the fold.”

Eliminating the Gatewatch was a tempting offer. Their infiltration of the Seedcore was a brazen act, and its near success was a concern. Of course, it had been facilitated by the traitor and heretic, and perhaps Kaya could be used to excise that weakness.

“How much of this Gatewatch remains? They are enemies of Phyrexia, but we cannot let them become a distraction.”

Kaya shrugged. “If Dovin is right, and Nissa killed the others, we only have to contend with Chandra. She’s dangerous, but not a leader. People might follow her, but she won’t have a plan.”

“I concur. Miss Nalaar is not a threat,” Dovin added. “I do see merit in sending you to Ravnica, provided you are still Guildmaster of the Orzhov Syndicate.”

“Unless Jace or Vraska have managed to run back to Ravnica, tell them what’s happened, and then Tomik found a way to oust me, I still am.”

“What is this Orzhov Syndicate?” Norn asked. She needed to be certain where Kaya’s loyalties lay.

“Worshippers of avarice. They offer their followers a false salvation,” Kaya explained. “They hold many of Ravnica’s souls in bonds of debt. Bonds we can use to spread the true salvation.”

“False faiths must be destroyed. Let us see this Ravnica.”

Again, the portal blurred. Planes whirled past, one after another. For a moment, Norn saw something pass by, a stain that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. But then the view sharpened, showing a great city, stretching all directions. Many of the buildings were covered in symbols of their guilds, part of system designed to encourage unity, but only sowed division. Soon they would all be replaced with the symbol of Phyrexia.

It seemed that Ravnica was waiting for them. Squadrons of soldiers marched through the streets, and fleets of airships patrolled the skies. These were a minor concern compared to what guarded the portals, however. Angels, armoured in gilded plate, had amassed around them. These creatures frustrated the progress of phyresis, and despite his claims, Jin-Gitaxias had so far failed to work around it. But in the end, they would still fall. Atraxa was proof of that.

“Yes, this world must be subjugated soon,” Norn mused. Of the planes they had gathered intelligence on, Ravnica had been the most populous. Millions of souls unknowingly waited for compleation, numbers which would overwhelm any other plane.

“Kaya, travel to Ravnica. Weaken their defences, and when you are ready, call Realmbreaker down.”

“By the time it arrives, it will be too late,” Kaya replied. “It might even draw out the Gatewatch. Or what’s left of them. I suppose it would be disappointing if Vraska is dead. I have a score to settle with her.”

“Do not let it get in the way of your mission. Now, go and bring true salvation to Ravnica.”

Purple energy swirled across Kaya, and she disappeared. Few evangels remained. Norn turned to Ajani.

“Ajani. What will I ask of you?” Norn asked him.

“To bring compleation to Alara,” Ajani answered, with only a hint of hesitation.

“No. We have a greater destiny for you. You know where it lies.”

“Theros,” he replied, with total understanding.

“A world of heroes and gods,” Tyvar added, already turning the portal to the plane. “It is a suitable proving ground for one such as Ajani.”

Another city was before them, another batch of lives ready for harvest. It sat on the golden shores of a wine-dark sea, white buildings seeming to glow in the sun’s light. Ships passed between two great statues, ancient guardians that would not help them. Phyrexia’s presence already twisted through Theros, from the sigils in the sky, to subtle patterns in the ground and strange omens in the sea. They were so close to understanding, so close to perfection.

This time, there would be no delay. Norn barely had to command Realmbreaker, as white branches burst from the portals, the tree finally blooming. She watched in awe as one slammed into the city walls, and ripped them open, breaking their defences before the battle had even begun. Another drove into the sea, which churned as it turned black with oil. Pods flew from the branches, the seeds of Phyrexia eager to take root. Some hatched as they fell, releasing swarms of converters. Others dug into the ground, opening to allow the Alabaster Host to take its first steps onto Theros.

They were unstoppable. Norn felt every victory, tasted every weakling torn apart by the jaws of Phyrexia. She saw marble ground into dust and the rivers of oil flowing down the streets of Theros. Soon, this world would become part of them, part of their great One.

“Our forces seem to be performing well enough without me,” Ajani said. “I do not see how I could bolster them.”

“Your purpose is greater than that,” Norn explained. “The people of Theros are one part of it. You must bring Phyrexia to something greater.”

As if to illustrate her point, the tide of battle had changed. A great figure crossed the land, a colossal woman carved from the night’s sky. With a single sweep of her hand, she washed away whole squadrons of Phyrexian soldiers, while leaving the natives of Theros intact.

“You wish to compleat the gods,” Ajani said. “As you ask, it shall be done. They are shaped by faith, and our faithful are legion.”

So this was one of Theros’ gods. The woman was grand, and held certain splendour, but Norn could not help but be disappointed. While nothing, divine or otherwise, could compete with Phyrexia’s perfection, she had expected more from the them. There had been something oddly compelling about the idea, beyond their potential as weapons in her crusade. But this being was still flawed, still missing the purity only Phyrexia could bring.

“All will be One,” Norn said. “There are none above this. Go to Theros, and instruct them in the Argent Etchings. The priests of the Alabaster Host will assist you, as is their reason to exist.”

Ajani nodded, and with a final tap of his axe’s pole against the floor, vanished. There were only a few more matters to attend to.

“Atraxa, it is time for you to travel to another plane as well,” Norn declared.

“I live to serve,” Atraxa replied. “I shall carry our holy mission wherever you need me.”

“I am aware. There is no need to waste time with what I already know.”

Atraxa flinched, almost imperceptibly, at the rebuke. The Unifier could hide nothing from Norn, who had shaped her into her perfect form. The others had provided materials, but Norn alone had given Atraxa purpose.

“Show us Capenna,” Norn ordered, and Tyvar complied. The plane that appeared was wretched in every respect. Gilded towers stretched towards the stars, surrounded by a vile haze. The people who walked the streets were decadent, wrapped in furs and strange fabrics. Even the sound of the place offended; both the cacophony of their machines and the disordered noise they called music. Usually, Norn held pity towards the uncompleated. For New Capenna, she held only contempt.

“Long ago, our predecessors found this place,” she explained. “For a time, all was as it should be. Phyrexia did as it pleased, harvesting the people and claiming their secrets. They sought something of great value, worth facing its guardians to obtain.”

“But they failed?” Atraxa asked, already understanding the truth.

“Yes. They were opposed by false prophets, angels who were eventually bound in stone. When they realised we could not be stopped, they sacrificed their physical form to suppress the source of the invasion, the ship that brought Phyrexia to this place.”

“I shall free the ship,” Atraxa said. “As you will, I shall act.”

“The ship is of no concern. It is a relic of the old Phyrexia, barely worth the attention of the Gitaxians. Your mission is to show what fate awaits those who reject our unity. Raze this place to the ground. Take this faithless people and rend them into parts.”

“It will done. There can be no mercy for the likes of them.”

Norn was pleased to see that Atraxa was eager to make up for her previous failing.

“There is one more mission you must accomplish on Capenna,” Norn added. “The haze that clings to this city is what remains of the angels who defied us. The faithless call it Halo. It is a poison to us, and must be destroyed at its source. Find what remains of these angels, and ensure they are brought to their final end.”

Atraxa did not reply. Instead, she glanced at the portal, wary of the danger she now knew about.

“You have doubts,” Norn stated. It was not a question, for she knew it to be certain.

“Why have I been chosen for this mission?” Atraxa asked. “Surely the centurions can handle it?”

Normally, such a question would not be permitted. But Atraxa’s faith was not in doubt. An answer would steel her resolve.

“Firstly: to prove your strength and make up for your previous failing. Secondly: your previously existence may give you some protection from this Halo.”

Norn paused. Atraxa would need to understand the full truth of her task. “Thirdly: there is a danger to New Phyrexia. New Capenna’s destruction will strike at her heart.”

“For the glory of the faithful, it will be done,” Atraxa said. “But first, I must-”

“You will depart immediately,” Norn said, interrupting. “Your current duties will be delegated to Ixhel. I trust she has been prepared for such a duty?”

“Ixhel… has given me no reason to believe she would be incapable. In serving Phyrexia, she has made no failings.”

It was a strange reaction. Perhaps Atraxa believed she would be replaced. But in time, she would see that she now held a greater duty. Ixhel could no more replace Atraxa than Atraxa herself could replace Norn. Everything in New Phyrexia had its purpose and found glory in that. If Atraxa was the blade, Norn had found Ixhel more suited to being the shield, one who defended the Orthodoxy’s interests, rather than advancing them.

With her mission understood, Atraxa flew upwards to join the troops that would depart for New Capenna. Norn waited for the first of Realmbreaker’s branches to descend on the city, watching how they tore into its buildings and anchored themselves between the gilded towers. It was a magnificent sight, and one Norn would gladly watch forever if it were possible. However, there were still more matters to attend to.

“Our invasions are in motion,” Norn said. “But there is a matter I wish to discuss with the two of you, in regards to Realmbreaker. In spite of its strength, there still appear to be some… issues.”

“Ah, you noticed the anomaly?” Dovin asked. “It seems as if at least one plane is interfering with the connection.”

“Indeed. Such a problem must be rectified as soon as possible. Tyvar, can you find this plane?”

“Easily. Once a branch is found, returning takes but a single step,” he replied. The portal shifted, and when it focused, Norn’s suspicions were confirmed.

Their view was obscured by a series of concentric circles, formed from glowing, angular glyphs. Through the gaps between them, they could see the same pattern overlaid over the other invasion portals. Blue-white triangles blazed around them, the red light of the portals almost entirely overwhelmed. Norn had seen it before – when she had sent Kaya to Ravnica. That it appeared on multiple planes was more than a simple concern, especially given it seemed to be interfering with Realmbreaker.

“Do either of you know the meaning of this pattern?” Norn asked.

“It is the symbol of Azor. He was a powerful planeswalker, who attempted to bring order to several planes,” Dovin explained. “While his efforts were imperfect, his mastery of hieromany cannot be understated. That we have encountered it before entering the plane presents an issue. Azor’s systems can be subverted, but only from within.”

“Then we must find a way around this barrier,” Norn declared.

“Perhaps the Sword of the Realms may help,” Tyvar said. “It is a blade forged on Kaldheim to cut new Omenpaths. It might also cut through these defences.”

“Such a weapon would doubtlessly have other applications,” Dovin added in agreement. “Even if cannot be used directly with the Invasion Tree, we may be able to derive our own version of it.”

“Tyvar, you will retrieve this blade. Spread Phyrexia’s glory as far as you can, but acquiring the sword will be your primary concern,” Norn ordered.

“It is wielded by Halvar, who calls himself a god. Phyrexia’s strength will test that claim,” Tyvar said. “I expect him to fall short, but the victory will be hard-won.”

Tyvar planeswalked away, clearly eager to bring compleation to Kaldheim. Without someone to maintain it, the portal faded, and the mists that formed it dissipated through the chamber.

“With you leave, Grand Praetor, I shall travel to Kaladesh,” Dovin said. “I believe we can gain insight from a woman named Rashmi, the creator of the Planar Bridge. I will require the assistance of the Chrome Host.”

“The Bridge was instrumental to our plans,” Norn said. “If its creator knows more about the secrets of the multiverse, we must take them for ourselves.”

“Then I shall proceed to the Surgical Bay to discuss the procurement of troops, then onwards to Kaladesh.”

With Dovin’s departure, Elesh Norn was finally alone. But on New Phyrexia, no one was truly alone. She heard the endless grinding of the plane’s machines, and the ever-beating pulse of its flesh. With a single command, her attendants flocked to her, a group moving like a single being. Her doubts were soothed, drowned out by the recital of the Argent Etchings.

For a moment, she forgot her fears. Phyrexia was grand and mighty, its glory unbound. Nothing could stand against. Armies would break and even gods would fall. Compared to that, the efforts of a single woman were hopeless.

Phyrexia had nothing to fear.

The Machine Orthodoxy had nothing to fear.

Elesh Norn had nothing to fear, and standing in the heart of her world, she believed that to be true.

Chapter Text

Lilana Vess was not a patient woman.

There were those who were surprised by this. How could someone living an endless life care about the passing of time? But those who sought immortality understood that time was precious, and frustratingly limited. Each moment could only be spent once, and the cost to spend it waiting was to be unable to use it for any other purpose. Even with the possibility of an impending invasion, there was only so much that could be done to fill the time. Liliana, of course, had begun with the assumption that the strike team would fail. If Jace and the others returned victorious, the effort would be wasted. But if they did not, the rest of the multiverse would need every moment it could find to prepare.

Two weeks. That was how long they were meant to wait. It was the kind of time Liliana found deceptive, neither a long time nor a short time. When she was younger, two weeks away felt like they should be a long wait, but it always seemed to rush by. Now the time had slowed to a crawl, and each day felt stretched out and unending. There was only so much to do, so many distractions that she could pursue. Liliana wanted to act.

The others were beginning to feel the tension. Vivien spent her time out in the wilds around the cabins, pouring her energy into hunting. It was constructive, to the extent it kept them fed and kept Vivien’s skills sharp, but there was a limit to both those ends. The dryad, Wrenn, kept closer by, but her inner flame surely had its own drive. There had been a time when Liliana thought dryads were frivolous creatures, gifted with a kind of immortality through no effort of their own. An incident at Strixhaven had forced her to reconsider that bias, and Wrenn challenged it in a different way.

Then there was Chandra. Liliana wanted to act, but she knew Chandra needed to act. Jace’s plan might not have had room for the pyromancer, but Liliana had her reservations about the plan. Dominaria’s history was built on the kind of disaster the Sylex created, the plane’s evils pouring out into the greater multiverse whenever such an event happened. The Sylex would bring ruin to New Phyrexia, but how far would it spread? While Liliana doubted Chandra’s flames could burn an entire plane to ash, there was no risk of her setting the multiverse ablaze.

With nothing else to do, however, Chandra had turned her attention to Wrenn. The dryad lacked a natural aptitude for controlling flame, while Chandra’s skills had advanced considerably in recent years. The progress was uneven, with the focus being on mindsets and breathing, the basics of controlling fire. In Liliana’s private opinion, it was not something Chandra was suited for. She had the desire to teach, and her approach indicated that in the right situation, she could. Put her in front of a group of Prismari second-years, and she’d make them masters. But for Chandra, the basics were instinctual, a fundamental part of her nature she could not explain.

Between sessions, Chandra had inevitably ended up in Liliana’s orbit. They had an understanding, unspoken but enduring. Sometimes they talked, trading stories from different planes. Other times they planned, testing ideas and considering the worst. But there were also times when there was no conversation. They simply waited together, because despite themselves, despite their tumultuous history, waiting together was better than waiting alone.

And then the waiting came to an end.

There wasn’t anything to tell the day it happened from any other. Liliana was outside, surveying the land, to update her plans for rebuilding the manor. It was a trivial exercise, but she knew only focusing on the possibility of failure would drive her mad. Best to leave the possibility of success open, if only to distract from the alternative.

She still felt the arrival before it happened. For a moment, the forest fell silent. A strange static clung to her skin, which reminded her of the energy of the Planar Bridge. Omens and portents were one thing, but this was a clear sign that something unprecedented was about to occur. Liliana let her magic flare, necrotic energy swirling to her fingertips. This could be a side effect of the Sylex, echoing across the planes. Or it could be the beginning of the invasion.

A beam of prismatic light split the sky, and lightning danced around it. It slammed into the ground, and the air rushed away from it, kicking up dust and bending trees. As it faded, five figures appeared within. Two humans, an elf, a gorgon and a kor. The strike team had returned. Or more accurately, the survivors had returned.

The moment Liliana saw Jace, with Vraska clinging to his side and a sword in his hand, she knew they had failed. Jace could read minds, but Liliana could read him. He looked hollow, with bags under his eyes. The last time she’d seen him like that had been after Tezzeret had tortured him, back when they both worked for the Consortium. Something had gone horribly wrong on New Phyrexia.

It took a moment to dismiss her magic, and a few more to cover the distance between herself and the others.

“You’re back?” she asked, as if it wasn’t obvious. “What… what happened?”

To her surprise, it was Lukka who answered. “We failed,” he said, cutting directly to the point. “Vraska needs medical attention.”

“Bring her inside,” she replied, and Jace nodded, before helping Vraska towards the cabin. “The others should have seen your arrival. Hell, they should have felt it. What was that?”

“Nissa was able to use Realmbreaker to pull us out,” Nahiri explained. “Which was no easy feat.”

“Realmbreaker?”

“It’s what the Phyrexians call their Invasion Tree. An apt name, considering what it’s going to do.”

Nissa definitely looked worse for wear, although unlike Vraska, she was still standing. Liliana was about to ask if she needed anything, when Chandra and Wrenn arrived. Chandra stopped when she saw the three members of the strike team.

“Is… is that everyone?” she asked, voice panicked.

“Jace and Vraska have already gone inside,” Liliana replied. “But the others…”

“Elspeth is gone,” Lukka said, as if that explained anything. “The others were compleated.”

“You can explain inside,” she said. “I need to see what’s wrong with Vraska.”

They began to follow, but Nissa stumbled. Chandra was fast enough to catch her, and the elf seemed to slump the moment she didn’t need to support herself.

“Nissa?” Chandra asked, a hundred questions wrapped in a single word.

“I’m okay,” Nissa replied, and it was almost believable. “Just a little disoriented.”

With Chandra’s help, Nissa was able to make her way to the cabin. As unsteady as she was, she could still stand, which was more than could be said for Vraska. Jace had helped her over to one of the couches, where she looked like she was doing her best not to collapse. She was alive, that Liliana could tell without magic, but she’d done something the others hadn’t to exhaust herself.

Pulling together the diagnostics magic was easier than Liliana remembered. Vraska didn’t fight it, perhaps because of the similarities between Witherbloom and Golgari magic. Dark clouds pulsing with green light curled around the gorgon’s body, giving Liliana a rough idea of what had happened. If she was reading it right, Vraska had tried to channel a massive amount of mana, but had been interrupted. Given this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence at Strixhaven, other than the sheer scale, it was something Liliana could remedy.

“She’s suffering from some sort of magical exhaustion,” she explained, mostly to Jace, who was anxiously pacing around the room. “Did she try to petrify the tree?”

“Something like that,” Vraska answered, her voice surprisingly clear. “I used the Sylex. It didn’t work out.”

Liliana didn’t have a response for that. She was from Dominaria – the idea that the Sylex could fail was barely comprehensible. She wasn’t one for sentiment, and she barely knew the ones who were lost, but the fact that their sacrifice meant nothing was discouraging.

“I can make something to help you regain your strength,” she said, focusing on what could be done. “Really, you should be resting, but I assume we don’t have that luxury.”

Vivien arrived as Liliana was preparing the medicine. This led to another flurry of questions and explanations. First about how the strike team had been separated, how Kaya had turned on them, and how Koth had sacrificed himself to buy the others time. Finally, they had reached the Seedcore.

“We… weren’t quite sure about using the Sylex,” Jace said. “The tree had already connected. But we had to do it. The alternative was worse. But…” he hesitated, seemingly unsure.

“Dovin Baan was there,” Nissa finished. “He’d been compleated.”

“That’s… I… he’s dead,” Chandra said. “I launched him into a volcanic crater. Which is the part of a volcano where the lava is.”

“That’s what he wanted us to think,” Jace said. “He must have set things up to give the impression that he died.”

“He’s pretty happy as a Phyrexian,” Vraska said, not hiding her contempt. “He was going on about how great the invasion would be, as if it were merely adjusting a machine. I used the Sylex, but he tried to stop it. He wouldn’t have been able to, but we lost the chance to direct the destruction.”

“Wait, it worked?” Liliana asked. She’d assumed Vraska hadn’t been able to make it work, but apparently that hadn’t been the issue.

“Elspeth intervened,” Nahiri said. “She saw the Sylex was about to detonate, without anyone controlling it, and took it off to oblivion.”

So that was it. The strike team had failed, meaning at any moment more Phyrexians could be arriving on Dominaria. Along with every other plane in the multiverse. Some of them would be able to fight, but others would fall in a matter of hours, if not minutes. In the long term, Phyrexia might win by sheer force of numbers, and through relentless infection.

“So what now?” Chandra asked. “We can’t just sit back and let them win. There has to be something we can do to stop this.”

“We tried,” Jace said. “We tried, and now five more planeswalkers are compleat, and Elspeth is dead.”

“So we’re just going to give up? Or are you just going to hope someone else solves this? Because that didn’t work out when it came to Bolas, did it?”

Jace started to respond, then stopped. Loathe as he was to admit it, Liliana could tell he thought Chandra was right. They needed to act, preferably before half the multiverse was lost.

“We can’t just planeswalk back to New Phyrexia,” Lukka said. “But there is one option. If they’re opening paths to other planes, it may be possible to launch a counter attack through one of them.”

“That’s… honestly not the worst idea,” Nahiri said. “Of course, we’d need to secure a plane to use as a launching point.”

Liliana didn’t want to know what Nahiri considered a worse idea, and given the whole Emrakul situation, being wary of her general judgement was wise. Liliana wasn’t particularly open to trusting Lukka either given his association with the Oriq, but none of them were in a position to pick their allies.

“Assuming this is even possible,” Jace said, “Where would we launch an attack from? New Phyrexia is about to be everywhere. Planes like Kaladesh or Ravnica might withstand an initial assault, but Sheoldred’s invasion took place over months, and her forces still haven’t been rooted out.”

“Secure is relative,” Lukka said. “We’re going to have to be ready to take any opportunity that presents itself.”

“This war is only just beginning,” Nahiri said. “As bad as it is, the initial wave will only carry them so far. Like Jace said, they’re going to have to grind down Ravnica, and somewhere like Kaladesh is likely to hold out. Planes like Ikoria and Zendikar aren’t going to be easy either. Outside of major settlements, the populations are spread out, making traditional warfare ineffective. And that’s before considering the places where they’re going to release something they shouldn’t.”

“And the planes that aren’t like that?” Jace asked.

“It depends. But this is the whole multiverse, and the Phyrexians want to fight all of it. Even the variation in simple things is going to slow them down. Places like Arkhos and Theros that look similar on the surface aren’t when you get into the details. Then there’s everything planeswalkers like Azor left behind, and an approach that works on Ravnica will collapse if they try it on Ithmorne. Plenty of planes have gods, but they work in different ways. And when they start hitting planes like Xerex? They aren’t going to enjoy it.”

Nahiri had a point. Liliana might not have seen even a fraction of the planes the kor had, but she’d visited dozens. Just fighting on that scale was difficult, and there were places that went beyond what even her imagination had thought possible. There had been worlds of alien sensations, where light was the absence of darkness, realms where the land shifted like water, and places she could only visit for a single, incomprehensible moment before her spark pulled her away. In more imminently practical terms, she’d encountered plenty of powerful beings in her search for immortality that would not take kindly to Phyrexian intrusion.

The situation, as bad as it was, was not so titled in New Phyrexia’s favour as it first seemed. Giving up was a choice, and it wasn’t one Liliana was going to take. Not every world could hold off the assault, but not every world needed to. They just needed to find enough time to last until they could find Phyrexia’s weak point.

“So how are we going to do this?” Jace asked. “We’ve all got planes we want to protect, but we still need some way to stay in touch.”

“I’m not tied down to anywhere specific,” Vivien stated. “I should probably head to Ikoria first to handle some things.” She glanced at Lukka, who Liliana suspected was involved in what needed to be handled. “Then I can relay messages, if I know where everyone is.”

“Well, that solves one issue,” Jace replied, slightly calmer than before. “That leaves where everyone is going. Nahiri, I assume you’re heading to Zendikar?”

“Of course. The hedrons were built to hold the Eldrazi, but I should be able to reconfigure the network to slow down the Phyrexians. I’d like to keep the Skyclaves out of their hands as well. As old as they are, they’re still linked to the leylines.” She paused for a moment. “It would probably go smoother with Nissa’s help.”

“I’m still a little disoriented from getting us out of New Phyrexia, but I’ll catch up,” Nissa said.

“Okay,” said Jace. “Lukka, you’ll be going back to Ikoria with Vivien?”

Lukka nodded in response. “They’re going to think they’re prepared. But now I’ve seen Phyrexia? Ikoria isn’t nice, but it isn’t actively hostile to life.”

“Liliana?”

“Strixhaven,” she replied. “Hopefully they won’t need much preparation, given the amount of knowledge and power at their disposal.”

“Or they’ll decide it isn’t their problem until the Phyrexians have already overrun the school,” Lukka suggested. It wasn’t an idea Liliana could argue against, considering that exact thing had happened with the Oriq.

“Well, we’ll have to hope it doesn’t come to that,” she replied, masking her doubt with simple confidence. “Anyway, even in that unlikely event, the Elder Dragons might actually take notice. They aren’t a force to be taken lightly.”

“Sounds like a possible place to counterattack from,” Jace mused. “Although from what I’ve heard, the Phyrexians might focus a lot of resources to access Strixhaven’s magical knowledge. But we’re getting away from the topic. Chandra?”

“Kaladesh, I suppose. If Baan’s still around, someone needs to deal with him, and I’ve got a feeling he’ll be there.”

Liliana had half expected Chandra to answer with a plane the rest of them had never heard of, but it seemed that Dovin Baan’s survival had focused her. Kaladesh falling to Phyrexia was a worrying possibility, and even without his unnerving ability to find flaws, Baan knew it in detail. Chandra’s brand of chaos might be fairly predictable, but it would present a substantial hindrance to the Phyrexians.

She didn’t need to pay attention to Jace and Vraska to know they would be going to Ravnica. Instead, Liliana focused on finishing the medicine for Vraska. The final distillation step determined its potency, and Vraska needed a fairly strong dose. Normally, it would be better to take several weaker doses over a longer time period, but with New Phyrexia breathing down their necks, this would have to do. The final result was dark, emerald green liquid, carefully decanted into a small cup.

“This should give you enough energy to planeswalk,” she explained, handing the medicine to Vraska. “I’d advise against doing anything too straining, but…”

“But we’re facing down the possible end of the multiverse, either at the hands of the Phyrexians, or whatever horrors they let out,” Vraska finished. She took the cup, and drank the content in one go. She grimaced. “That… was certainly potent.”

“After what you’ve been through, it needs to be,” Liliana replied.

With everything decided, it didn’t take long for their meeting to disband. Nahiri left first, followed by Vivien and Lukka. Jace and Vraska took longer, waiting until Vraska had recovered enough to planeswalk. Were she more sentimental, Liliana might have said something, but it was better for all of them for her to stay silent.

That left four of them, and there was little for Liliana to stay for.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?” she asked Nissa, just to be certain.

“Yes,” Nissa replied curtly. “Most of Realmbreaker’s energy has dissipated. It shouldn’t be long before I can leave.”

“In that case, I’ll depart myself. If you do need something, most of the supplies are labelled. I’d advise staying away from the unlabelled ones.”

Liliana stepped outside, to see the Dominarian sky, perhaps for the last time. She could feel, down to her bones, that something about it had changed. What had it looked like at the dawn of Yawgmoth’s invasion? There was no one left to tell them. Jaya was dead, and Teferi was lost. History repeated, tearing itself apart as it did.

With one final glance back at Chandra and Nissa, Liliana stepped out of the world. Dominaria was forewarned and ready. Strixhaven, and all of Arcavios, was not. This time, she hoped they’d listen to her warnings.

As the others left, one by one, Chandra let it happen. There was nothing she could say to change their minds. New Phyrexia threatened all of their homes, and it was natural that their first impulse would be to protect them. Indeed, Chandra wanted to return to Kaladesh, and burn any Phyrexian that threatened it to ash.

But this was bigger than any one plane. Everything felt wrong, that she was the one thinking like that, while everyone else turned away from the source. Surely they were stronger together, rather than scattered across the multiverse. They’d done this dance before, and it had ended with the heart of Ravnica in ruins and thousands dead, Gideon included.

But Nissa was still here. She’d been to New Phyrexia. Maybe there was something Chandra could say, to convince her that they had to find another way.

Nissa was looking out across the marsh, perhaps searching for some subtle sign. Or maybe she was just gathering herself. She turned as Chandra approached, her face solemn.

“Chandra, you’re still here?” she asked.

“For the moment,” Chandra replied. “I don’t want to be the last to go, but… you are alright, right?”

“I’m as good as I think I can be.” Nissa paused, turning back to the marsh. “It’s my fault Kaya was compleated.”

Chandra didn’t respond. Anything she could think to say seemed wrong. As awful as it was, silence was better.

“We arrived close together, in the Hunter Maze,” Nissa continued. “We fought our way out, with help from one of the rebel Phyrexians. Somehow, she must have been infected. I should have noticed something was wrong.”

“From what the others said, everything on New Phyrexia was wrong,” Chandra said. It was an empty comfort.

“It’s more complicated than that. Everyone is talking about New Phyrexia as if it's a single monolith. But Phyrexia isn’t united. I don’t think the plane itself wants what Elesh Norn wants. But the strike team was meant to be united. Except… I should have noticed it…”

“Noticed what?”

“Kaya started getting… agitated, and distant. I ended up doing most of the talking with Urabrask when we met him. Kaya seemed to have it out for him, even though they’d never met.”

“Because she was already being affected by the oil,” Chandra concluded. “He opposed the invasion plan, so Kaya started opposing him.”

This was what they were fighting against. An insidious force of corruption, hungering to infect the entire multiverse. The more it spread, the harder it would be to dislodge. If Kaya could be turned, what hope would the rest of them have when Phyrexia came for them? But there was one thing Chandra was sure of.

“I don’t think anyone could have noticed that,” she said. “Kaya does that ghost thing, right? If that let the oil in, without an injury, I don’t think even she’d notice.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Nissa said. “But I keep wondering if there was something I could have done differently. If there was another way things could have ended.”

“Maybe there was a better outcome. But there were certainly worse ones. There are things I wished happened differently, but I can’t change them. But we can still change what’s happening now, right?”

Nissa didn’t respond. If it were anyone else, Chandra might have seen her silence as a rebuke, but Nissa was different. She listened to everyone and everything. She listened to the land itself, from the smallest pebbles to the largest mountains. What did New Phyrexia sound like? Chandra hadn’t missed the note of sympathy in Nissa’s voice when she said the plane didn’t want the same thing as Elesh Norn. She believed that beneath all the horrors was something in need of saving. If that was true for the plane, perhaps it was also true for their friends.

The silence was broken by the sound of leaves rustling. Wrenn, along with Seven, had come to join them.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” the dryad said, aware that even in silence, the conversation may not be over.

“We’re just… existing. As part of the world,” Chandra said. “I mean, we’re always part of the world, but I mean…” she trailed off. Nissa was better at explaining this kind of thing.

“I understand,” Wrenn replied. “Sometimes we must take in the moment, before we continue on.”

It was a pity they only had a moment. Chandra had so much she wanted to say, but time wasn’t on their side. Phyrexia could already be on Kaladesh or Zendikar, and the longer they lingered, the more damage that could be done.

“Could I ask you something about Realmbreaker, Nissa?” Wrenn asked.

“If you want. I’m not sure if there’s much I could tell you,” Nissa replied.

“You channelled his power. Surely you noticed that he is alive?”

“I… yes. Realmbreaker, it’s like New Phyrexia. It’s been filled with malice and hunger, but it’s not meant to be that way. It’s in pain, even as it breaks apart the barriers between planes. It doesn’t want to be Norn’s weapon, but she doesn’t care.”

Wrenn nodded. “I thought so. I can hear his song, distant as it is. He is a fearsome thing, but he needs help. If we can find our way to his heart, I may be able to soothe him. And if I can do that, I may be able to help another.”

“Another?” Nissa asked. Chandra was curious too. Hearing Nissa and Wrenn talk made her worry about Realmbreaker, as strange as that was. But it was alive, and being tortured. Surely, if saving it stopped the invasion, that would be enough.

“Teferi. He has lost himself in a tangle, along a strange and twisted path. With Realmbreaker’s strength, I might be able to reach him.”

That Terferi was still alive was the best news Chandra had heard since the strike team had departed. For a moment, she remembered what it was like to have hope. But the hardest part was still ahead of them. Even if they had a way into New Phyrexia, reaching Realmbreaker’s heart would be no easy feat.

“Are you concerned?” Wrenn asked. “I think that’s concern on your face.”

“It’s just that it won’t be easy,” Chandra said. “You heard the others. For the moment, we can’t even get to New Phyrexia safely.”

“There might be a way to know if it becomes safe,” Nissa interjected. “Now that I’ve visited New Phyrexia, it’s easier to find. I can sense its worldsoul, but the barrier interferes with that.”

That was something, at the very least. They still needed the barrier to fall, but the Mirran Resistance was still fighting, along with the rebel Phyrexians. If they took it down from the inside, that could be their chance.

“There’s something else we might be able to do,” Nissa continued. “I still have some of Realmbreaker’s energy. If you know the path, we could try to send a message to Teferi.”

Wrenn looked curious, while Seven’s branches shifted as if he were scratching his head. Chandra wasn’t quite sure how sending a message would help if Teferi was still lost, but this wasn’t the sort of thing she understood. Maybe if they could contact Teferi, he might be able to find his own way out. Or maybe he could give them some advice for fighting Phyrexians.

“That might be possible,” Wrenn said. “And I’m sure Teferi would appreciate knowing what we’re planning. We should definitely try.”

Nissa and Wrenn moved to a more open space, where the magic they were planning wouldn't be obstructed. Nissa raised her hands, a strange prismatic energy flowed out from them, forming a circle. Seven stepped over, roots digging into the ground, and the energy began to shimmer around him and Wrenn. It was only natural that Nissa and Wrenn’s magic would work together, Chandra thought. Not that she had any problems with that. Things between her and Nissa were… not fine, exactly, but not bad. Maybe she wanted things to be different in some ways, but it was good that they were working together.

“It seems we have a small problem,” Wrenn announced. “In order to keep any connection we make to Teferi stable, neither of us can be using it.”

“I’m sure Chandra can relay a message,” Nissa said. “If you know what you want to tell him.”

“He should know what the Phyrexians have started. And that we may have a way to pull him from his problem.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Chandra said. Being useful in some way, even just as a messenger, was better than standing by. “What do I need to do?”

“Step into the circle,” Nissa said. Chandra complied, stepping over the flowing energy. She immediately felt her skin tingle as she crossed over, the energy of a World Tree flowing around her. “Now, take my hands.”

That wasn’t quite what Chandra was expecting, but she did it anyway, taking Nissa’s hands in hers. As she did, she felt the energy flow between them, and it swirled within her with every heartbeat.

“The path will be strange, but each step you take will bring you closer to Teferi,” Wrenn explained. “Are you ready?”

“As much as I can be. Let’s do this.”

Chandra wasn’t quite sure what happened next, but the circle of energy flared upwards, and she felt herself floating in a strange prismatic void. It was almost like planeswalking, and the shifting lights around her reminded her of the Blind Eternities. Remembering Wrenn’s words, she took a step forward, and then another and another.

With each step, the colours around her shifted, blurring together. Then they sharpened, another world coming into focus. Chandra found herself in a pentagonal room, lit by the glow of a shallow bowl of burning coals in its centre. This was a sacred place. Her eyes followed the bench that ringed the room, and she found a man knelt in prayer.

There was where she found Teferi.

Another step, and she felt more real, more connected with this place.

“Teferi? Can you hear me?” she asked, but her voice was less than a whisper. But in a place so quiet, even a whisper was heard.

Teferi looked up. “Kaya?” he asked, expecting the one who had been anchored to him. Chandra would have to tell him. She’d have to tell him a lot, in whatever time she had.

Another step, and now she felt like she was truly present. And it seemed she was, as Teferi’s face shifted to recognition. He rose to his feet as she approached.

“Chandra? How did you find your way here?”

“Wrenn and Nissa. They found a way to send a message to you. Well, to send me, to give you the message,” she explained, as well as she could.

Teferi smiled. “It seems Wrenn is better at finding me than I am at finding myself.”

Before Chandra could reply, another person entered the chamber; a young woman in plain white robes. She looked surprised to see Chandra, which was understandable. Chandra was fairly certain she’d be surprised to see herself in this situation.

“Shaper,” the woman said quietly, “Who is this woman? And how did she find her way here?”

“Adia. I didn’t realise you were here. Don’t worry, she’s a friend,” Teferi replied. “Chandra Nalaar. A planeswalker, and student of Jaya Ballard.”

“If it helps, I’m not really here,” Chandra added.

“I don’t think it does,” Adia said. “These are strange times. First Terferi Akosa returns to Zhalfir, and now we are visited by a student of Jaya.”

“Wait, we’re in Zhalfir?” Chandra asked. “I thought it was, you know, stuck in a time thing.”

“It is,” Teferi said solemnly. “While centuries passed outside, for Zhalfir it has only been years.”

“Oh. Wait, that would mean…” Chandra spun the numbers in her head. How many years did he mean by “years”? It didn’t matter. Time between here and where she had come from was out of sync.

“I think you being here will change things,” Terferi said, cutting through her worry. “But I also doubt you can stay for long. You said you had a message.”

“It’s not a good one,” Chandra said. “The strike team failed. New Phyrexia has launched their invasion. Elspeth is dead.” She barely paused, pushing herself on rather than waste time faltering. “Kaya, Tyvar, Kaito and the Wanderer were compleated. Everyone’s gone off to defend their own planes.”

“That is grave news.”

“Wrenn has a plan,” Chandra continued. “Well, an idea for a plan. According to her and Nissa, the Phyrexians’ World Tree doesn’t want to help them. Wrenn thinks we can help it, somehow, and then use it to help you.”

Saying it out loud made it seem mad. But it was better to be doing anything, rather than running. Chandra had spent enough time running, and she suspected Teferi had as well.

“A daring plan,” Teferi replied. “But even if you succeed, it may not be enough to turn the tide.”

“What will this mean for Zhalfir?” Adia asked. “Is it fate that the war we avoided now comes for us again?”

“Fate is a fickle thing, as is war. But we have our past. And we can control our future.”

Although the words were meant for Adia, Chandra found some comfort in them. There was one past, but there were many futures. They merely needed to find the one where they won.

The room around her began to blur, edges becoming fuzzy, and colours blending together.

“I think I’m almost out of time,” Chandra said. “Is there anything you want to pass on?”

Teferi closed his eyes, and took a moment to respond. “Tell Wrenn that when she calls, I will be ready. That is what I can promise you. But I will do everything I can so that when the moment comes, we have all we need.”

Chandra knew she could not ask for more. She opened her mouth to respond, but only silence came. The room fell back into the swirl of colours, Teferi and Adia fading into the lights. The floor fell away beneath her, and she was floating again.

“Chandra?” a voice called, distant yet close. She stepped towards it, returning along the path that had taken her to Zhalfir. When she opened her eyes, she was back on Dominaria.

“Did it work?” Nissa asked. “Did you reach Teferi?”

“Zhalfir,” she replied. “He’s on Zhalfir. I don’t know how, but he’s there.”

Seven stepped around, and Chandra could see that Wrenn was smiling.

“It seems that Teferi has found his way home. Now we must find a way to bring Zhalfir home.”

When she put it like that, it almost sounded easy. But there was still so much to do before that. For the moment, they didn’t even have a way to New Phyrexia.

“I suppose it’s time we went our separate ways,” Wrenn continued. “I’m sure Vivien will keep us connected, but if not, perhaps we can return here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Chandra replied.

“I’ll do what I can,” Nissa said. “I almost think Zendikar can defend itself, but leaving it in Nahiri’s hands…”

Chandra didn’t know all the details of what had transpired on Zendikar between Nissa, Nahiri and Jace. What she had gathered suggested that Jace had tried and completely failed to find a compromise between the other’s positions, and their ideas for what Zendikar’s future should be. It sounded like it had ultimately turned out… not fine, exactly, but at least in Nissa’s favour. So Chandra could understand why Nissa would want to check on Zendikar. She hardly wanted to keep Kaladesh’s fate in the hands of the Consulate, although they were, in some ways, less zealous than Nahiri seemed to be.

It still pained her that even after seeing Nissa return safely from New Phyrexia, the two of them would be divided again. This was how it had to be, but it hurt. In a moment, Nissa would leave, to face whatever threatened her home. Part of Chandra wanted to stop her, but she knew that she couldn’t. Whatever Chandra felt for Nissa, she couldn’t, didn’t want to control her.

But even then…

“Nissa,” Chandra said, before Nissa could leave. “Before you go, I…” The words stuck in her throat. “I… stay safe, okay?”

Nissa smiled. “I’ll try my best. Take care of yourself as well.”

With nothing left to say, Nissa planeswalked away in a burst of verdant green. A light breeze had started, scattering the wisps of light out into the marsh. Chandra watched as they faded, the remnants of Nissa’s magic unable to sustain themselves without her.

Now it was Chandra’s time to leave. She opened herself to the multiverse, flames growing around her as she did. It felt different somehow, in a subtle way she could not describe. Yet the path back to Kaladesh remained clear, the light of the aether bright even across the Blind Eternities.

For a moment, as she parted from Dominaria, she thought she saw two figures watching her from afar. But then the flames around her swirled and flickered, and they vanished. It was probably nothing, remnants of her journey to Zhalfir.

This wasn’t the beginning. Chandra didn’t even know when to say this had all begun. But they were on the path to the end.

Hopefully, it would be the end they wanted.

Chapter Text

To outsiders, Drannith’s survival was built on strength alone. They looked upon its grand walls, the fortresses, and the citadel built around the Argalith, and saw only what they wished to see. But behind the walls was more than strength. Nowhere else on Ikoria had their discipline, or their drive to do what was needed. Discipline that was forged into action, guided by cunning. Strength carried Drannith far, but the city held more. To withstand the beasts, strength was not enough. To survive, they needed to understand their enemy.

Any change in Savai’s environment had to be considered in terms of how the monsters would react. Too much rain would force the beasts from their dens to higher ground. A lack of prey would drive them to expand their hunting grounds. Even a process as regular as day and night would provoke a reaction from Drannith’s eternal enemy.

When strange crimson apparitions appeared, like lesions on the sky, the whispers began. Then came the rumours from hunters, of dead monsters bleeding glistening black blood. Reports of metallic growths around the crystals came in, that could not be explained by the city’s scholars. Uniting all of these anomalies was a strange symbol, a bisected circle that did not appear in any of Drannith’s records. It scarred the sky, pooled in blood, and grew around the crystals.

There seemed to be no explanation. Beneath Drannith’s disciple, panic was forming.

Jirina Kudro would do anything for answers, to understand what was happening to Ikoria, and what it meant for her city. To survive, they needed to know what was coming.

Which was why when Vivien Reid had returned to Drannith, alongside Lukka, she granted them an audience. Her advisors objected, and Jirina understood why. Vivien was an outsider who associated with bonders, and displayed her sympathy with the monsters as a point of pride. But she had aided Drannith in its time of need, rallying the bonders to help the city when faced with the danger posed by the Ozolith. For that alone, Jirina was willing to hear her out.

Lukka should have been a different story. He was a traitor and a murderer, who had commanded an army of beasts to attack Drannith. Many resented him for the death of General Kudro. Others, less privately than might be safe, claimed Lukka was the one who had been betrayed, and that Kudro had died due to lacking the strength to use bonders to Drannith’s advantage. Jirina was torn. It was true that Lukka had driven a sword through her father’s heart. But that had only happened because General Kudro had tried to kill Lukka first. And he’d ordered Jirina herself to do it.

Ultimately, Jirina’s feelings weren’t important. She needed to hear Vivien and Lukka’s warnings. There was no doubt that something was coming, and it seemed that the unlikely pair knew what.

So Jirina gathered Drannith’s leaders in one of the citadel’s meeting rooms, a great space made of carved grey stone, lit by glowing crystal fragments. They listened to what Vivien and Lukka had to say, their warnings of an impending invasion, and of the threat called Phyrexia.

“You expect us to believe this?” one of the majors asked. “That this… Phyrexia is about to attack us with some kind of tree?”

“Believe it or not, it’s happening,” Vivien replied flatly. “You’ve all seen the signs. Denial will get you nowhere.”

“And you’d have us make common cause with those who live among beasts?” another asked. “Those outside the walls aren’t our concern.”

“Phyrexia will not respect the petty divisions you have drawn between yourselves,” Vivien said. “The only divide they care for is the one between them and everyone else.”

“Surely Drannith’s defences will hold,” mused one of the Arcane Corps. ”We’ve seen off more monsters than every other settlement combined.”

“Phyrexia is worse than any monster,” Lukka replied. “The beasts might be dangerous, but Drannith’s discipline and strength is more than a match for them. But imagine if they could truly coordinate. If they all acted together, with the singular goal of our destruction.”

That brought the makeshift council to silence. While monsters working together was not unheard of, the scale that Lukka suggested would ruin Drannith. The city was strong, but Jirina had an exact understanding of where that strength’s limits lay. If her father’s paranoia had taught her anything, it had been that no matter how safe things seemed, there was always something that could threaten you. Before, that idea had seemed disjoint from reality, a product of the constant stress the late General Kudro had lived under. Now that she had taken his place, Jirina Kudro was aware that such a threat existed, and its name was Phyrexia.

“How long do we have to prepare?” she asked, focusing on what mattered.

“You don’t,” Lukka replied, face grim. “The invasion could begin at any moment.”

It was not a reply that supplied confidence. Monsters could be unpredictable, but there was always an advanced warning. With the closest of the “omen paths” barely outside the Fourth Ring, the city would be fighting as soon as Phyrexia arrived.

The meeting quickly turned to what could be done in the time they had. Orders were given to report any changes in the sky-lesions, and for those working in the Fourth Ring to withdraw inwards. Lukka recounted what he had seen at the origin of their enemy, the place known as New Phyrexia. Even the name inspired dread, for a New Phyrexia surely required an Old Phyrexia. The description of it was nightmarish, a world of flesh and metal fused together, the carrier of a disease that would infect every aspect of Ikoria.

The only reprieve Jirina could see was that their enemy was planning on invading as many of the other worlds they could reach in parallel. While warfare between humans was rare on Ikoria, she still understood how dividing a force between multiple fronts was unwise. Many overzealous hunters had met their ends trying to fight more monsters than they could handle. Drannith was only part of a single front in a war against not just Ikoria, but all life itself. The longer the city held against Phyrexia, the longer Ikoria would hold. One bulwark among countless others, scattered across worlds Jirina had never known existed. All united against Phyrexia.

The deliberations ran through the entire day, and looked to run into the night. But as the sun set, the meeting was interrupted by a series of tremors, followed by the blaring of the city’s alarms.

“They’re here,” Lukka said. “If any of you are still sceptical, prepare for a wake up call.”

“You all have your orders,” Jirina said, commanding the room’s attention. “This is an enemy the likes of which Drannith has never seen. We are fighting not just for ourselves, but for all of Ikoria. Now, go to your posts, and make our city proud.”

Not much of a speech, but it was followed by a flurry of activity. Every part of Drannith moved as it should, the Coppercoat’s disciple drilled into their bones. According to Lukka, the leader of New Phyrexia wanted unity. Jirina would give it to them, the unified strength of the city against whatever the invaders brought down upon them.

Time to face the enemy, she thought. She headed out to the citadel’s battlements, followed by Lukka, Vivien, and the Coppercoats under her direct command. Every position was manned, every weapon armed, ready to fight. As she stepped out into the dusk’s light, Jirina could already see flashes of magic, the sky lighting up with blasts of energy. In the distance, she could see the branches of the Invasion Tree, vast tendrils reaching down into the ground.

“I need a closer look,” she commanded, and one of the soldiers handed her binoculars. With them, she could see the enemy in detail, and it confirmed everything Lukka had said. Four-legged masses of muscle bounded over the ground, claws made of copper-like metal tearing it apart with each step. The sky was filled with white-armoured creatures, wings held together with exposed tendons, arms ending in blades and barbs. For the moment, few made it far, the Arcane Corps making short work of them. But from each one that fell, glistening oil poured out from their broken bodies, the true poison that powered their enemy seeping into Ikoria.

Another branch burst from the sky, twisting towards the ground, shining blood-red in the half-set sunlight. Lukka had called it the Invasion Tree, but it looked more like a horrific serpent, with a three-pronged maw dripping with black ichor. Its jaws slammed around one of the outer towers, crushing stone and fracturing crystal. Twisted metal growths along its surface split open, releasing more Phyrexian soldiers.

Fighting such a force seemed almost impossible. While they had the advantage of distance, and all of Drannith’s defences, if the attacks continued, the Fourth Ring was sure to fall. But according to Lukka, the true danger was in the oil, which would consume anything it touched, human or monster, and convert them to Phyrexia’s side. Which meant they needed a way to keep the monsters and the oil separate.

They needed bonders. Jirina turned back to Vivien and Lukka.

“Your warnings were true,” she stated. “A group of riders has been dispatched to Lavabrink, and Skysail has its own way of detecting threats. But we need someone to talk to the bonders. One of their own.”

“I’m not one of them,” Lukka replied brusquely. “They have their own community. One I’ve made myself unwelcome in.”

“Will that matter, in the face of this?” she gestured out at the siege, the fraction of the war New Phyrexia had started. “Even if they hate you, there are other bonders in Drannith. My father may have feared them, but if they are loyal, we can use them.”

“Then send them. What can I do that they can’t?”

It was only then that Jirina truly saw what Lukka had become, what her father had done to him. He had been the captain of the Specials, one of Drannith’s elite task forces. More than that, he had General Kudro’s person approval. Until the bonding incident, where her father had turned against Lukka, an old man’s paranoia turning against one of Drannith’s best. Lukka had given his life to the Coppercoats, to his city, and he had been repaid with betrayal. By all rights, he should have left them to die. Instead, he had returned to warn them of Phyrexia.

“You have the experience,” Jirina said. “You know how to handle the wilds. And you’re the only one here who has been to New Phyrexia. From how you’ve described it, I don’t think this ‘compleation’ is going to leave the environment unaffected.”

Lukka was quiet. But he had to know what he was worth. Surely he knew how he could protect his home.

“I’ll do it,” he finally answered. “I can’t promise it will work, but if it means we have a better chance against them, I’ll go.”

“Thank you. You,” she said, addressing two of her soldiers, “See Captain Lukka to the First Bonder Interception Squad.”

Only Jirina could notice the subtle shock on Lukka’s face. But he recovered in a moment, before snapping into a flawless salute. “Mission accepted, General.”

One planeswalker down left another to go. Vivien Reid was no friend of Drannith, as an ally of what she called the “natural world”. Whatever that meant, Phyrexia clearly threatened it.

“Vivien, you know the bonders better than anyone else here. Can we rely on you?” Jirina asked.

“I can help your team reach the nearest camp. But I’m needed elsewhere,” Vivien replied. “Phyrexia threatens every world, and the only way to stop it is to strike at the heart. There are those trying to find a way to do so, but they need my help.”

The heart could only mean New Phyrexia. The first mission to destroy it had failed, yet it seemed the planeswalkers were already planning another attempt. If she were in their position, Jirina would do the same. The strategic situation had changed, and there was the chance that a second attack could exploit a weakness that did not previously exist.

“The larger mission takes priority,” Jirina said. “But we are thankful for what help you can give.”

Vivien nodded in response, and went to follow Lukka. By now, the sun had dipped below the horizon, its remaining light a pale glow fading into the night sky. Even from the citadel, Jirina could see the branches of the Invasion Tree glow, a sickly light shining beneath its metal plating.

When she was a child, learning about the monsters that roamed Ikoria had made Jirina feel even smaller than she was. As she grew, she found strength in Drannith and a unity that dwarfed even Snapdax. Now, looking out over the city, she felt smaller than ever. Ikoria was one world among countless others, a single drop in an endless ocean. A war raged, at a scale she could barely comprehend.

But rather than dwell on it, Jirina knew she had to focus. Ikoria may be one world, but it would not surrender. Humans and monsters alike would fight to the bitter end, as they always had. That was the promise Ikoria made to Phyrexia. The promise she knew every world would make.

Long ago, Zendikar had become the prison for beings beyond mortal comprehension. Then they had escaped, ravaging the land and turning the plane to dust. But in the face of oblivion, the plane had endured. It had always known such a day would come, and had prepared its own defence in the form of the Roil, the endless shifting of the lands and seas.

The invasion had given Nahiri a new appreciation for the Roil. Or, at the very least, it had reduced her antipathy towards the phenomenon. She had arrived on Zendikar shortly before the first wave of Phyrexian invaders, who had barely started their march from the Invasion Tree before the ground had opened beneath them. A vast array of troops, war machines and other weaponry had been destroyed in an instant, which would have been a fatal defeat for any other force.

The Phyrexians were not so easily halted. While their initial ground forces may have been destroyed, the skies were a different story. The razor-winged horrors that now stalked it may not have been a match for Sea Gate, but they were fast enough that by the time the Roil could respond, they had already retreated, victims in claw. Nahiri was certain that once New Phyrexia realised what had happened, the warships she had seen in the Seedcore would be sent to subjugate the plane.

Which was why she was leading a group of roilmages away from the relative safety of Sea Gate, following a trace of magic into the wilds. The Roil might have saved them from the first attack, but its presence on Zendikar also meant that things became lost. Including, to Nahiri’s great displeasure, things she would rather remain where she left them thousands of years ago. But it was her own fault, in a way. She had let Sorin and Ugin convince her to use her home as their prison for the Eldrazi. It was tempting to lay all the blame on them, to pretend they had deceived her, levered their greater age and experience to override her judgement. But Nahiri had played an active part in Zendikar’s transformation, with her hands being the ones that had forged the chains that bound the Eldrazi to the plane.

Chains she could still feel, even as they lay dormant beneath the earth. As the group approached a small circle of stones, she came to a stop.

“This is the place,” she said. The roilmages began their work, bringing up what lay beneath. It took half a dozen of them to achieve what Nissa could do alone, commanding the land to reveal what it had hidden. But without Nissa, Nahiri made do with what she had. She was, in a sense, in the elf’s debt anyway, their escape from New Phyrexia assured by her quick thinking.

The ground shook as what Nahiri had been looking for surfaced – a hedron easily twice her height, half covered in moss and dirt. A small amount of energy still lay within, which was all she needed. Even the smallest drop of power was enough to awaken it, to command it to draw more mana from Zendikar’s abundance. The patterns on the hedron began to glow as it charged, the ancient systems within still functioning.

While it was possible to control the network from any hedron, Nahiri had created some with the specific purpose of managing the others. With time, she could have reforged a more available hedron to that purpose, but time was not something the Phyrexians were willing to concede. They’d also known enough to drive one of the Invasion Tree’s branches straight through the Eye of Ugin, forcing Nahiri to rely on the more primitive backup systems contained within the hedron.

But they were enough for her purpose. The dormant hedrons across Zendikar began to awaken, the network coming back together. Even with Ob Nixilis’ sabotage, and the Gatewatch’s “solution” to Kozilek and Ulamog, it was still in a functioning state, and Nahiri could feel how it covered the plane. She could find the hedrons that had been exposed to glistening oil, and excise them from the network. More usefully, she could alter the hedrons to self-excise if they were compromised, allowing her to direct her attention to more important matters.

Which brought Nahiri to her actual goal – using the hedrons to reinforce the very fabric of Zendikar’s reality, to prevent the Phyrexians from creating further breaches. Aligned to the plane’s leylines, they let her feel the extent of the damage that had been done. Jagged tears, invisible to the eye, surrounded the branches of the Invasion Tree, raw wounds in reality tinted with the energies of the Blind Eternities. The Omenpaths that had yet to fully open would be easier to manage, mere cuts compared to the damage caused by the tree.

None of them could be fully closed, Nahiri had realised as she studied the rifts. Even without the branches, the damage was too great. Perhaps, if the hedron network were fully operational, it could be done. Or if she hadn’t agreed to help Jace with his plan, and instead stayed to protect Zendikar before the invasion, she wouldn't be scrambling to fix a problem that had no permanent solution. Once again, she had failed to protect her home, her attempts merely leaving it open for invasion. But that didn’t mean she would stop trying.

Nahiri let her determination flow out into the hedron network, her lithomancy allowing her to temporarily become part of it. She dissolved what was left of the Eldrazi’s prison, empty voids now without purpose. Then she reached out, to the edges of Zendikar, the border between the plane and the Blind Eternities. The boundary was fractured, countless flaws waiting to be exploited by the Invasion Tree. She would not allow it. The mana of Zendikar surged, guided by the hedrons, and fused every fracture back together, knitting the threads of reality back into shape. Where the Invasion Tree had already begun to probe for weakness, they pushed it back, a lattice of energy sewn over the wounds in reality. The invader’s claws scratched at the armour that grew across the edge of Zendikar, unable to break through.

It was done. Looking to the sky, Nahiri saw that the partially-formed Omenpaths had been constricted, crossed lines of energy pulling them shut like a sutured wound. She knew more could be done, but to truly repair the damage and seal the paths, the hedrons would need to be physically relocated to surround what needed to be changed. As long as the Phyrexians held the skies, such a task was impossible. But at least their advance was slowed, the infection held back.

Behind her, Nahiri heard one of the roilmages shout. Phyrexians had found them, twisted creatures that blighted the land beneath them. Every moment they lived, they poisoned Zendikar, spreading a corruption that consumed all it could. There was no difference between them and the Eldrazi. Instead, the difference was in Nahiri. This time she would stand and fight for her home.

As she called up the rock beneath her, strands of molten stone setting into razor-sharp blades, Nahiri hoped that this time, things would be different. That she would help Zendikar, instead of harming it, and that once the war was over, there would be something left of her home that she recognised.

For Vraska, returning to Ravnica was always a bittersweet experience. It was her home, a familiar place, where her memories were nested. Yet many of those memories were nightmares, her past coloured in pain and regret. The purges. The war. Her own failures to protect her city, letting Bolas use her as a tool in his plans. Letting Dovin Baan escape, only for him to return again. Trying to give Kaya a merciful end, only for her to survive in a state of Phyrexian undeath.

Vraska had failed with the Sylex. Jace had trusted her with its secrets, and she had used them. New Phyrexia should have burned, but her own weakness had laid her downfall, long before she even stepped onto the plane. Now another war would come to Ravnica, and the Golgari would look to her for leadership. The last time, she’d run from her duty. But the Phyrexians had done her a favour. In ensuring Vraska had nowhere to run, they forced her to fight. And fight she would. She would return to Svogthos, rally her people, raise the might of the Golgari Swarm against New Phyrexia, and show them what Ravnica was capable of.

That was the plan. But as she and Jace arrived on Ravnica, it seemed fate, or someone else, had other plans. Instead of arriving in the Undercity, they found themselves in a large reception room, decorated with the Golgari’s symbol. It certainly had the Undercity’s style, dark mushroom-wood furniture with deep green cushions filling the room. Beneath their feet was some kind of magical construction, clearly designed to draw planeswalkers to the room.

“This looks… official,” Jace said, examining the space around them. “The magic is probably Niv-Mizzet’s work.”

“As official as this looks, I have no idea where we are,” Vraska replied. “Even if it is, I signed off on dozens of projects during the rebuilding. If Niv-Mizzet is involved, he better have a good reason for this.”

The plan to give Niv-Mizzet the powers of the Guildpact had never sat well with Vraska, and she had only let it happen because the alternative was worse. While he hadn’t had a chance to abuse his powers yet, the possibility was always there. Even if the current crisis prevented it, there was a limit to how long such a problem could be delayed. But they needed his powers, especially with Kaya still technically in command of the Orzhov. They needed to be acting, not getting caught up in whatever the dragon was planning.

Hearing the sound of footsteps, Vraska and Jace turned towards one of the doors. It seemed their presence had been noticed. Vraska’s hand went to her sword, as while it was unlikely they would be attacked, Ravnica was one of many planes where caution was a sensible idea.

A devkarin woman stepped into the room, pale-faced with sharp features that were not quite gaunt, dressed in the fungal-style that was popular with the Undercity elves. Her clothes were a careful mix of yellows and dark greens, well-made enough to suggest stature, while avoiding brighter colours that would be favoured by the Rakdos or Orzhov. Perhaps the most striking thing about her was the lack of facial markings common among the devkarin, although they had never been universal. In a way, Vraska found this more trustworthy; while a Dimir spy might understand that lacking them would not be suspicious in itself, it would still be more notable than the alternative.

“Guildmaster? I didn’t realise you had arrived. I must apologise, especially given the current situation.” The devkarin spoke quickly, trying to hold to an appropriately high-placed accent, although she was flustered enough that hints of the more common Undercity speaking style broke through.

“We’ve only just arrived,” Vraska said. “What is the situation?”

“The Guildpact has called a guild summit, in reaction to the appearance of what the Izzet say are planar bridges. The Boros have already mobilised.”

“That’s better than doing nothing. When is this summit happening?” Vraska asked.

“It’s, ah, now, Guildmaster,” the devkarin replied, before adding, “In this building.”

“Then there’s no time to waste. Take us there.”

“Of course.”

The devkarin turned, and led them out of the reception area. The three of them passed through a smaller area, connected to a number of private meeting rooms, with a door at the far end flanked by two Kraul guards.

“The summit chamber is through there, at the top of the stairs,” the devkarin explained. “Is there anything else you need?”

“A couple of things,” Vraska answered. “First, you…”

“Irena, Guildmaster.”

“First, Irena, send a message to Storrev and the other commanders. We need to mobilise. Tell them we need to secure the areas of the Undercity beneath the dormant bridges, along with areas that border Orzhov territory.”

“As you wish.”

“Secondly, I need to get a message to Tomik Vrona. Is that possible?”

“Acting Guildmaster Vrona is here, representing the Orzhov,” Irena replied. “If the message needs to be private, I can arrange a meeting.”

“I can tell him directly. This is something everyone needs to know.” Vraska paused, considering her options. “I need to speak to an angel from the Boros after the summit. There are details about our enemy they need to know, but they won’t want the information to be public.”

“I will see what can be done.” With a quick nod, Irena departed to do her job. As she did, Vraska let out a breath. Less than ten minutes back, and they were already scrambling. She and Jace headed through towards the chamber, the guards glancing at Jace as they passed.

“A summit. Is that Niv-Mizzet’s answer to everything?” she grumbled as they made their way up.

“Look at this way. If they’re still talking about it, the invasion hasn’t started,” Jace replied, the calmest he’d been since leaving New Phyrexia. “The guilds are already mobilising against the external threat. If we can get them to do something about Kaya…”

“We might have a hope of surviving this,” Vraska finished. But they would need more than hope in order to stop Phyrexia.

The summit chamber was a vast dome, clearly designed around its most important occupant – Niv-Mizzet. He stood on a grand dias at the centre of the chamber, commanding attention simply by being. Ten round balconies circled the chamber, each holding representatives of a guild, who were currently arguing over something. The voice of the Gruul representative, a weathered minotaur shaman, echoed through the chamber, magically amplified to ensure everyone could hear.

The Golgari’s balcony was already occupied when Vraska arrived, and she was quickly surrounded by advisors. They quickly recounted the events of the summit so far, giving her an understanding of where Ravnica stood. Ral Zarek had explained the basic nature of the threat, including phyresis, the sickness spread by the glistening oil. From there, things had turned towards methods of detecting possible incursions, before finally shifting towards potential omens that foretold the threat. The Gruul and Rakdos had apparently been quite adamant that the invasion was signalled in blood and smoke, while the Izzet had pointed to more technological methods of prediction. The Azorius had objected to the use of “primitive superstitions and untested science”, but no one could deny that something was about to happen.

Vraska’s opinion was that Ravnica was at least somewhat prepared, even if the guilds had not completely unified on a single approach to the problem. The city was forewarned, and measures were already being taken. When the tide of slaughter began, they could endure.

The current topic slowly came to an end, with neither side choosing to step down from their position. A trivial deadlock, over something that would soon be rendered pointless. As the chamber fell silent, Niv-Mizzet turned to the Golgari.

“It seems Guildmaster Vraska has managed to join us,” he said, voice booming through the chamber. “Guildmaster Zarek informed us that you were part of a group attempting to strike at this New Phyrexia. Given that the planar anomalies persist, I assume you failed?”

Typical. Niv-Mizzet was already positioning them as failures, without any knowledge of what had occurred on New Phyrexia. He didn’t care what had been lost, or how close they’d come. Vraska stepped forward, to a podium built into the front of the balcony. As she did, it lit up, magic illuminating her, ensuring she would be seen and heard.

“It’s true,” she replied. “Myself, the ex-guildpact and a number of other planeswalkers made an attempt to destroy what the Phyrexians call Realmbreaker. It is a weapon designed to break open the boundaries between planes, allowing the conversion of other worlds into extensions of New Phyrexia. By the time we reached a position where our weapon could be effective, New Phyrexia had already begun to connect to the multiverse. There was… an altercation, and one of our members sacrificed herself to prevent the Phyrexians using the weapon for their own ends.”

Her account was not entirely truthful, but after all Elspeth had done on New Phyrexia, Vraska wasn’t about to lay the blame for their failure at the feet of the dead. They had all made their decisions during the mission, and she doubted that anyone who hadn’t been there would understand. Niv-Mizzet, at the very least, seemed satisfied.

“An unfortunate conclusion. However, I am sure there is some way to benefit from your attempt, as unsuccessful as it was,” Niv-Mizzet said. “There is one last point to press. It was my understanding that Guildmaster Kaya was also part of this mission. You have returned, yet she appears to be absent.”

He knows, Vraska thought. The chamber had fallen silent, waiting for her answer.

“I’m afraid that during the mission, Guildmaster Kaya succumbed to phyresis. She turned against us, and her… unique magical abilities prevent us from eliminating her,” she replied. The silence did not break, the representatives unsure of how to react. Niv-Mizzet stared down at her, daring her to speak the obvious conclusion. She felt a wisp of encouragement in the back of her mind, a small gesture from Jace.

“New Phyrexia will use anything they can against us,” Vraska continued. “Indeed, even if Realmbreaker has not arrived, we may already be under attack. As long as Guildmaster Kaya still holds her position, we must consider the Orzhov Syndicate compromised.”

The silence broke and the chamber filled with panicked chatter. From her position, she could see Tomik frantically conversing with his advisors, while Ral gripped his podium as he watched his husband. The other guilds were caught in their own debates, some glaring at the Orzhov while others turned their focus inward. It was chaos, but it was Ravnica’s chaos, carefully held within the lines of the law.

“Order in the chamber,” Niv-Mizzet commanded, and the cacophony became quiet. He turned to the Ozhov. “Acting Guildmaster Vrona. Do you have a way to deprive Guildmaster Kaya of her position?”

Tomik stepped forward, smoothing his robes. “For reasons I’m sure you will understand, the previous leaders of the Orzhov Syndicate made such changes impossible for those beneath them,” he said, voice confident even as he told the assembled guilds the opposite of what they wanted to hear. “However, an injunction passed down by the Guildpact would have to be respected. Our own internal regulations will allow us to prevent debts from being wielded against the interests of Ravnica.”

“I see,” Niv-Mizzet replied. “Then let it be spoken: It is the opinion of the Guildpact that Guildmaster Kaya be removed as Guildmaster of the Orzhov Syndicate. Beginning from the conclusion of this summit, I will recognise Acting Guildmaster Tomik Vrona as their official leader.”

The reaction to the decree was subdued, none wishing to challenge Niv-Mizzet with a crisis looming. Vraska wondered how stable the political situation would be in the long term. Hopefully, the rejection of the final non-Ravnican guild leader would smooth things over.

With the most pressing issue covered, the summit moved on to discussing the forces that would assault Ravnica. Vraska and Jace reported what they had seen – the endless array of Phyrexian warships, along with Elesh Norn’s demonstration of the Invasion Tree’s operation. Without mentioning Halo directly, the only weakness they could provide was the Phyrexian’s aversion to angelic energy. By the end of the summit, the guilds with actual militaries had agreed to deploy them, the Azorius had authorised the deployment of their own angels, and the Simic had agreed to to prioritise their emergency clinics across the city. Vraska doubted they had time to fully prepare, but a united response would help tremendously.

As the two of them left the summit chamber, Jace seemed distracted. “Can we talk? Privately?” he asked, glancing towards one of the meeting rooms.

“Of course,” she replied.

The meeting room they picked was small, containing a single table surrounded by six chairs. Jace looked uneasy, and Vraska already suspected what he was going to say.

“I’m… not staying on Ravnica,” he said, confirming her suspicions. “I’m planning to go to Kamigawa. Thanks to me, they’ll be facing three compleated planeswalkers, including their Emperor. They won’t stand a chance.”

“And you will? Jace, you’re one man. I can understand you feel responsible for what happened to the Wanderer and Kaito, but they knew the risks. Not everything is your fault.”

“But this is. I…” he paused, as if unsure whether to continue.

“Help me understand,” she said. He looked at her, and she could see the exhaustion on his face, the guilt etched in his features.

“When I worked for the Consortium, there was… an attack on a nezumi village. Tezzeret and Baltrice, his second in command, wanted something from them. A nezumi child was orphaned, and eventually, Tamiyo adopted him. I… and Liliana, we confronted them. I destroyed Tezzeret’s mind, and left him to the nezumi’s mercy. But I should have killed him. Should have cut his damn throat and left him to rot in the swamp.”

Vraska didn’t reply. She’d learned pieces of Jace’s history with Tezzeret, snippets here and there, and anyone who knew both men could recognise the animosity between them. But she knew that until New Phyrexia, Jace hadn’t regretted showing Tezzeret that small piece of mercy. The image of Jace standing over an empty shell, and taking a knife to them? It didn’t seem right, didn’t fit with the man she knew. The man she loved.

“If you do this,” Vraska said, voice unsteady. “Be careful. I’m worried about fighting Kaya, but the three of them? It won’t be easy.”

“I know. But I have to fix it.”

That was it. When Jace was focused on a problem, he didn’t look away. Maybe there was something she could say, the right combination of words that would make him stay. But it wouldn’t be worth it. Ravnica had been warned. Kamigawa had not.

Turning to depart the meeting room, she noticed Irena was waiting outside, looking anxious. Hopefully that meant she’d arranged somethin with the Boros. Vraska gestured for her to join them.

“Guildmaster,” Irena said. “There is a member of the Simic who wishes to speak with you and the ex-guildpact. An elven biomancer, by the name of Velos. Or so he claims. He also asked me to pass this note on to you.”

Irena handed Vraska a piece of folded paper. Perhaps it would hold some explanation as to who this person was. Vraska’s official interactions with the Simic had been limited, and her less official interactions had tended to be fatal for the other party. She looked to Jace as she unfolded the note to see if he knew what this was about, but he shrugged. This left whatever this ‘Velos’ had written. It seemed to be a list of names, hastily written out, presumably during or shortly after the summit. As her eyes flicked down the list, one of them immediately jumped out.

Kamigawa. It wasn’t just a list, but a list of planes. While not all of them were familiar to her, she recognised Dominaria, Segovia and Ikoria, and she’d heard of Shandalar and Orpheri in passing. The message was obvious, if you were the kind of person it was for.

“Irena, send him in,” Vraska said. “It seems we may have something to discuss with him.”

As Irena left again, Vraska handed the note over to Jace and he looked it over.

“Interesting,” he said. “It looks like our mysterious guest is a planeswalker. Or working on behalf of one.”

Vraska preferred the former possibility. Working through proxies was a strategy favoured by the likes of Bolas and Tezzeret, and she had no desire to entangle herself in someone else’s schemes. Another planeswalker would also be more likely to recognise that the current threat to Ravnica was a fraction of the full threat posed by New Phyrexia.

Irena returned swiftly. “Presenting Velos, of the Simic Combine,” she said, each word spoken carefully. Then she stepped aside to allow their guest to enter the meeting room.

Velos was not quite what Vraska expected. While his clothing, flowing green robes with a sea-blue trim, marked him clearly as a member of the Simic, his features were more what she would associate with the Selesnya. He was tall and pale faced, with sharp features, pointed ears rising past short, dark orange hair. His eyes flicked between the two of them, not studying them, but certainly still appraising them.

“Guildmaster Vraska,” Velos said with a small bow, hands behind his back. “It is, of course, an honour to make your acquaintance. As it is to meet ex-Guildpact Beleren. Former Guildpact? I don’t believe we have a formal term for it.”

“Jace is fine,” Jace said.

Velos smiled, and continued talking. “Excellent. I suppose introductions are in order on my end. I am Velos, a biomancer and Head Researcher in the area of Applied Fluid Morphology. I am also, as I believe you have already surmised, a planeswalker. I have a… proposal, in relation to those planeswalkers who are victims of compleation.”

That set Vraska on edge. While the Simic’s reputation had recovered since the disasters caused by Momir Vig, many were still distrustful of them. But would it hurt to hear Velos out? Perhaps not. “What is your proposal?” she asked cautiously.

“It’s… well, I’ll understand if you refuse. I’d like to try and capture one of these Phyrexian planeswalkers. For study.”

Vraska didn’t have the words to respond, but she didn’t need them. Jace looked about alarmed as she felt, and Velos could clearly see that.

“When I say study,” Velos continued, raising a hand, “I do of course mean ethical, medically minded study. For those not born Phyrexian, involuntary compleation is in many ways a disease. One that may be curable.”

In theory, such an idea was laudable. Vraska could see how quickly Jace changed from alarm to interest, never able to resist the offer of a solution to a problem. But it didn’t seem practical. They’d never be able to hold Kaya in one place, and the others weren’t exactly going to let themselves be captured either.

“I don’t see why you need a planeswalker,” Vraska said. “If you want to experiment, you’ll soon have more Phyrexians than you can handle.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Velos replied. “If the chance arises, I am certain many of my fellow guild members will start dissecting the invaders in the street. However, based on the information you presented, these Phyrexian planeswalkers appear to be a key part of our enemy’s strategy.”

“That’s true,” Jace said. “But you’ll be starting from nothing either way. Even if the Simic can work out a way to reverse compleation, we can’t rely on it.”

“Ah. You see, the thing is…” Velos paused, and scratched his chin. “I wouldn’t exactly be starting from nothing. While I may not be familiar with this particular strain, I have encountered research into Phyrexians and the related conditions.”

“This strain?” Vraska knew exactly where the conversation was going. She wanted to be wrong, but the way Velos pressed his lips together at her question gave her a good idea of what he was about to say.

“New Phyrexia… is not the only extant successor of the original Phyrexia. I doubt anyone is aware of the true number, although I have some associates who could make a rough guess. None have developed into as much of a threat as New Phyrexia, and I doubt they would be certain allies if they make contact.”

And there it was. Before they had even stepped foot on New Phyrexia, the nightmare already existed beyond it. Scattered throughout the Blind Eternities, an unknown number of Phyrexias waited in the dark.

“How developed are these other Phyrexians?” Jace asked. “Even if you think some of them might not work with New Phyrexia, the risk is there that some of them will.”

“Far less so than New Phyrexia,” Velos replied. “Indeed, our enemy appears to be something of an outlier. While many Phyrexian successors have developed to a dominant position on their planes, few are truly unopposed. More often, they find initial success, followed by a period of slowed growth as they consolidate their position. Some, I would wager, have been eradicated when the inhabitants of the plane retaliated against them.”

“That… makes sense, actually,” Jace said. “According to the Mirrans, New Phyrexia spread through something called mycosynth. Somehow, it made them more susceptible to phyresis. Not just the people, but the physical world around them.”

“Interesting. But also very worrying,” Velos said. He pulled a small notebook from his robes. “Could you describe what this mycosynth looks like? Phyrexians seem to have an affinity for biological weapons, and this sounds like something they’d want to use against us.”

“It’s a sort of blue-grey metallic fungus,” Vraska said. “It mainly grows in a lattice, but the fibres can be shaped in other ways. It carries glistening oil, and presumably produces it as well.”

“Wonderful,” Velos said, quickly writing down her description. “Well, not wonderful. Quite the opposite, in fact. This is a rather precarious situation, after all. Which I think brings us back to my original proposal.”

While Vraska couldn’t deny there was a certain appeal to Velos’ idea, she didn’t think it could work out. The compleated planeswalkers were a key part of Phyrexia’s plans, but they were also one of the most dangerous. She already had to worry about fighting Kaya. Trying to capture her was out of the question.

“It’s not something I can do,” Vraska explained. “Kaya survived petrification, and she’s the most likely Phyrexian planeswalker to attack Ravnica. Even the Immortal Sun can only stop them from escaping via planeswalking.”

“I see,” Velos said. “It was worth the attempt, at least. But if we don’t have a practical way to stop them, the plan isn’t viable.”

“There might be a way,” Jace said. “Most of the Phyrexian planeswalkers don’t have Kaya’s specific ability. But if I could trap them in a mental illusion using mind magic, that would solve the problem.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Vraska asked. Of course Jace would come up with a plan like this. “Didn’t you say you didn’t want to make telepathic contact with the Phyrexians?”

“That was different. On New Phyrexia, it would obviously be a terrible idea. But I’ll only try this if there’s a safe opportunity. I can get in, put them under, and get out in less than a minute.”

“And if you can’t?”

Jace didn’t have an answer. He shrugged, and instead changed the topic.

“I assume you have somewhere we can deliver a Phyrexian planeswalker if we capture one?” he asked Velos.

“Yes,” Velos replied. “I can take you there. But I do agree with Guildmaster Vraska that it would likely be unwise to attempt to telepathically subdue a Phyrexian.”

“If a better option is available, I’ll take it. But if we want to get on top of this, we need to take certain kinds of risks.”

“Perhaps,” Velos said, closing the argument without actually conceding Jace’s point. “If you do want to try this, it’s best we get going. I have access to a quarantine cell in a research facility near Zonot One. There’s a couple of issues I need to sort out here, but then we can head out. I’ll meet you in the main atrium.”

“That should be fine,” Jace replied. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“Your cooperation is appreciated, Jace. As is Guildmaster Vraska’s caution. Hopefully, this endeavour can find a positive end.”

Velos gave another small bow, and left the meeting room. While his proposal was certainly very Simic, it came from the part of the Combine that wanted to help people. Vraska couldn’t begrudge that, no matter how impossible the ultimate goal seemed. Surely if there was a way to reverse compleation, the Mirrans would have found it. Unless, the ruthless part of her said, they were never strong enough to do what they needed to find it.

Then there was Jace. “You’re really doing this, then?” she asked him again, already knowing the answer.

“I have to. I was the one who took over Karn’s plan. I made the mistakes that led to Phyrexia being able to compleat planeswalkers. If there’s a chance to fix this, I have to take it.”

Would Vraska be any different, if she were in Jace’s place? Of course not. She knew herself, and how far guilt could push a person.

“Then be careful,” she said. “Don’t let your guilt drive you to more regrets.” Come back to me alive, she didn’t say, even if she wanted to.

“I’ll do my best. I’d better get going. Who knows how much progress the Phyrexians have made on Kamigawa since we left New Phyrexia.”

She simply nodded in response, and watched him leave. But there was no time for regret or sorrow. Vraska could feel New Phyrexia getting closer, a dark presence just out of reach, just out of reality. Kaya was coming for them, along with an army of Phyrexians.

Irena returned shortly after Jace left, and stepped into the meeting room.

“Warleader Aurelia has agreed to meet with you,” she said. “However, she wishes to do so in one of the public meeting areas.”

“I see.” Vraska replied. Aurelia was the last person she wanted to face. But Ravnica came before her own discomfort. “I just need a moment to collect myself.”

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Irena asked, easily recognising Vraska’s unbalanced state.

“Other than a really strong coffee? No, not particularly.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Truthfully, all the coffee on Ravnica wouldn’t help. Even with Liliana’s remedy, Vraska could still feel the toll the Sylex had extracted. She had touched the edge of annihilation, and she might never fully recover. All she could hope for was that whatever she had left was enough.

It felt as if all the pieces had now been put into place. New Phyrexia’s armies on one side, and the forces of Ravnica on the other. A setup reflected across the multiverse, on every plane touched by the Invasion Tree. Survival almost seemed impossible.

But Vraska was a survivor. If there was a way through this, for her and her home, she would do whatever was needed to find it. And one thing was certain. She might have felt a hundred different emotions, but none of them were fear. The time for fear had passed. A hundred worlds asked if they were ready to face Phyrexia. But as she collected her thoughts, Vraska realised there was another question to consider.

Was Phyrexia ready for them?

Chapter Text

As the head of the Obscura, Raffine was privy to all prophecies and predictions her family made. From the lowliest peddler to her most trusted lieutenants, if someone had a vision, Raffine would learn what they saw.

For the most part, it was pointless. No one could read the threads of fate like Raffine, or navigate the murky waters of the future like her. But there were times when such a grand view became useful, when statistical patterns could be decoded to find the truth hidden inside the noise. Clarity could be extracted from chaos, if you knew where to look. One seer could decipher a part of the future, but in a large enough number, the pattern that governed fate could be discovered.

From her vantage point, Raffine had seen a new pattern. Except it was not new to her. A bisected circle, steel and flesh bound by oil, the sky breaking open to release a dark angel. The past had become the future. There was a moment, both a convergence point and singularity, that all Obscura could see to, but not beyond. The future stopped at the Glistening Dawn, the end that had come again.

Raffine could predict, to the second, when the portals in the sky would open. From the Cloud Spire, she watched as her visions became reality, metal branches descending on New Capenna to tear the city apart. Once again, few had heeded her warnings. Yet once again she had been right, once again she had foretold the doom coming to their world. A pity that once again, being right did nothing to ward off the invasion.

When the moment had passed, fate diverged again, and the future opened. Now Raffine saw more than just New Capenna’s future. Endless worlds opened before her, threads spinning across planes and through eternity, their destinies all entangled. Even she, greatest of New Capenna’s seers, could not comprehend the infinite ends that sprawled out from the moment of invasion. In time, the future would become clearer, as possibilities became impossible, and the threads of fate started to converge.

Raffine could still see the pattern, however. There was one constant in the fragmented futures she saw, one certainty that bound every thread. In her visions, there was only one common factor.

Calamity.

As seers and prophets across the multiverse saw nothing but omens and portents of a terrible future, one world calculated that such results were desirable.

The Surgical Bay whirred with activity, data from every plane touched by Realmbreaker flowing through it, ready to be analysed. Ever since the existence of other planes had been confirmed, the Progress Engine had worked tirelessly to reach them. It was vital, as the pursuit of perfection required access to the totality of information in the multiverse. No artifice could be left unconsidered, no biology unstudied. Even the cultures of other worlds were needed, every potential conceptualisation required. The Machine Orthodoxy saw other planes as places to be transformed into copies of New Phyrexia, but the Progress Engine knew better. They were not affronts to be destroyed, but resources to be harvested.

At the centre of it all was Jin-Gitaxias. From his laboratory, he had access to all information known to New Phyrexia. Nothing was beneath the Praetor’s attention. The Chrome Host progressed exactly as he had predicted. Success on a plane was correlated with knowledge of that plane, where greater intelligence provided greater results. Yet outliers existed. Unexpected and novel strategies had emerged, unpredicted movements temporarily halting the host’s work. Jin-Gitaxias welcomed such events. Adaptability and lateral thinking fuelled the Progress Engine, and the compleation of beings that exhibited such traits was paramount to their continued success.

Elesh Norn had activated Realmbreaker with no concerns for the logistics of invasion. While the number of connections was currently manageable, the rate of Realmbreaker’s growth would inevitably increase. Forces compleated on one plane could be deployed to other fronts, but this required their operation momentum to be maintained. This eliminated several strategic degrees of freedom, forcing all five hosts to adopt similar methods for compleating planes. Assurances had been made that Norn had a suitable method to control the weapon, but the emergence of Realmbreaker’s branches within New Phyrexia suggested instead that it was not in their control, which could prove deleterious to their efforts in the long-term.

Jin-Gitaxias had other reasons to distrust Norn. While her zealotry had been a useful driving force for the compleation of Mirrodin, he was beginning to suspect it was driving her to irrational actions. Unfortunately, she currently commanded the loyalty of the majority of the Phyrexian planeswalkers, along with Vorinclex and his primitive followers. This made removing her as Grand Praetor inviable. Therefore, manipulation of Norn’s weaknesses to control her actions would be the Progress Engine’s way of maintaining an acceptable balance of power. Thankfully, Jin-Gitaxias had the perfect tool for that. A tool that Norn considered loyal to her.

Dovin Baan’s return from the Seedcore came earlier than expected. Either the confrontation with the invaders had been swifter than calculated, or Norn had spent less time than usual preaching. Both results were acceptable.

“What is the status of Realmbreaker?” Jin-Gitaxias asked as Dovin entered.

“It has successfully activated, and connecting to other planes has not produced any detectable problems,” Dovin replied. The vedalken’s ability to find flaws in systems had been a boon to the Progress Engine, allowing several processes to be refined. And Tezzeret’s prediction that Dovin would remain loyal to the Progress Engine when compleated had been correct. This made him an acceptable replacement for Tamiyo, who had fallen into Norn’s influence over time. “There are some planes that resist connection, but solutions to that are being pursued.”

“The planeswalker interlopers?”

“While they were able to gain access to the Seedcore, divisions within their group prevented the destruction of Realmbreaker. Elspeth Tiral is almost certainly dead, but in spite of the Grand Praetor’s efforts, the five others may have escaped. Nissa Revane was able to channel Realmbreaker’s power, although it is possible this was fatal.”

Revane escaping their grasp was a concerning development. Through Ajani Goldmane, the elf had been identified as the optimal control mechanism for Realmbreaker. Her absence explained the unwanted growths across the plane, along with the recorded instability of some Omenpaths.

“Are we without a controller for Realmbreaker?” Jin-Gitaxias asked. Capturing Nissa Revane, or a suitable substitution would need to be a high-priority goal for the invasion force going forward.

“It seems Tyvar Kell’s affinity for Kaldheim’s World Tree has carried over to Realmbreaker. He is able to direct the formation of Omenpaths, but he cannot create a connection to a plane it has not reached naturally. He has headed to Kaldheim to retrieve an artefact known as the Sword of the Realms, which may allow certain planar defences to be subverted.”

While this did not negate the primary issue, having some measure of control over Realmbreaker was acceptable. Jin-Gitaxias was familiar with the Sword of the Realms in abstract from Vorinclex’s reports from Kaldheim. If its link to the World Tree could be transferred to Realmbreaker or replicated through research, it would advance New Phyrexia’s interests considerably.

Now there was only one aspect left for Dovin to report. It should have been entirely outside of the Progress Engine’s interest, but even on New Phyrexia, the forces of politics could not be evaded.

“Have you observed any erratic behaviour in Elesh Norn?” Jin-Gitaxias inquired.

“Yes. I’m afraid that our worries are quite founded,” Dovin answered. “The pattern of irrational action you noted has continued. The Grand Praetor did not act when Atraxa and the Emperor of Kamigawa came into conflict, in spite of her desire for unity. She also seems to have developed a fixation with some kind of threat to New Phyrexia.”

“Is this threat credible? Or has Norn finally given into delusion?”

“For the moment, I am unsure. However, she dispatched Atraxa to the plane of Capenna, claiming that destroying the city would strike at this threat. While the city is a source of Halo, there seems to be no reason to strike at it immediately, nor to send Atraxa away.”

Atraxa’s absence could be beneficial. While Norn’s reasoning for sending the Unifier away may have been suspect, it altered the balance of power in her disfavour. Ixhel, Atraxa’s likely successor, had recently visited the Surgical Bay, and her logged activities did not fully align with the Orthodoxy’s beliefs. It was possible that this could be exploited to generate discord, or to pull Ixhel into the Progress Engine’s sphere of influence.

“Then we should continue to monitor the situation. For now, we shall proceed in accordance with Elesh Norn’s designs,” Jin-Gitaxias decided. As long as higher-priority issues existed, initiating a conflict with Norn would be detrimental to the Progress Engine’s goals. Once the problems with Realmbreaker were resolved, a reassessment could be performed.

“Then I shall depart for Kaladesh,” Dovin said. “While we possess the Planar Bridge, compleating its creator and those who worked on it may provide insight into our current problems. Kaladesh’s industrial capacity should also make it suitable for the creation of a subhost.”

Jin-Gitaxias had no objections. Kaladesh’s artifice was highly developed, and access to raw aether was a strategic advantage he did not want to concede to the other hosts.

“Understood. I shall monitor the Chrome’s Host progress from here. Once control is established in core areas, exports will be dispatched for our secondary projects.”

“Then I shall depart. Ideally, any resistance will be disorganised and haphazard, but that may pose some threats to consolidation. I doubt the political instability induced by the Renegades has subsided, which should provide exploitable weaknesses.”

With that, Dovin planeswalked away in a snap of light. In some respects, it was inefficient to require him to be physically present on a plane to take command of the Chrome Host’s forces, but there were benefits. A local command presence ensured that if the control signal was interrupted, the invasion force could still function. Jin-Gitaxias’ true preference was for all units to be able to operate with some level of autonomous decision making, but Norn had restricted the ability to the Praetors and planeswalkers. In time, he was certain that practical considerations would lead to a change in policy. Or, if that did not come to pass, a change in leadership could be enacted.

During the conversation with Dovin, a backlog of data had built up. Jin-Gitaxias wasted no time in returning to it, dissecting and classifying it, before assigning useful discoveries to the appropriate research groups. The backlog rapidly diminished, the current size of the Chrome Host unable to keep up with his sheer ability to process information.

This made the security alert that came in as he refreshed the feed almost welcome. Normally, such matters were delegated to the Surgical Bay’s internal security team. However, there were places only Jin-Gitaxias was permitted, and intrusions into those areas required his direct intervention. This particular alert came from the containment vaults, a vast structure designed to hold dangerous materials and artefacts. And, in the case of the highest security level, objects and information the Orthodoxy considered inconvenient. Anything related to the origins of Mirrodin or New Phyrexia was sealed behind chrome and steel, secured with locking mechanisms only the Progress Engine could understand.

None but the Praetors could access those vaults. But Elesh Norn and Vorinclex had no desire to do so, neither caring about the true past. This gave the vaults a valuable secondary purpose; a meeting place where the others could convene, unwatched by the Machine Orthodoxy. If an interloper had gained access, they would need to be removed, and their memory corrected. Norn’s branding of her enemies as heretical may have been ridiculous, but it still posed a threat.

As any incident in the vaults could require Jin-Gitaxias’ attention, they were located near his personal laboratory complex, with a bridge connecting the two buildings directly. While the laboratory followed the general design of the Surgical Bay, the vault complex had been built for security. It was a large, hexagonal tower, rising up from its foundations above the ocean below. Security outposts were placed strategically along its length, no direction left unobserved. Another security station composed the upper levels and roof of the tower, ensuring there was no weakness, no uncertainty that could allow unlogged access.

Until uncertainty had been introduced. One of Realmbreaker’s errant branches had emerged from part of the structure, the metal plating folding away from it, neatly sliced open by the spatial distortion. Even with security and maintenance teams now surrounding it, there had been a window of opportunity during the chaos the branches had caused. Jin-Gitaxias found the contradiction amusing. Elesh Norn had demanded somewhere to seal away everything she didn’t want seen, and her own actions risked exposing those secrets.

The risk of discovery remained within acceptable bounds, as the highest security area was built into the tower’s foundation, while the branch had breached the upper layers. Jin-Gitaxias’ descent was unimpeded, the internal transport systems undamaged by the intrusion. The elevator arrived silently on the lower level, its doors opening with a quiet hiss. The antechamber was almost entirely empty, the lights above reflecting in the chrome floor. Security doors lined the walls, each leading to an archive dedicated to a particular topic.

In the gleaming, mechanical structure, Urabrask was a jarringly misplaced piece. He was the Furnace in all its harshness, jagged metal plates fused with exposed flesh, burning with an inner flame that made the chrome floor beneath look molten. But as raw and unfinished as he was, in Jin-Gitaxias’ estimate, there was something worthwhile in Urabrask. As haphazard as the so-called Autonomous Furnace was, they shared a key trait with the Progress Engine: a drive towards iterative improvement, where the end of one process was merely the beginning of another. It could not be denied that the Furnace’s version of the process required refinement, but cooperation could have proved beneficial.

The primary obstacle to such cooperation was that Elesh Norn and Urabrask each despised the other Praetor. Not for their differences, Jin-Gitaxias reasoned, but for their common deficiency – both of them had an unseemly kind of empathy towards fleshlings. Norn’s manifested in her crusade, her desire to, in her own words, “bring the unblessed into Phyrexia’s embrace”. Urabrask instead shielded the surviving Mirrans from the rest of New Phyrexia, conceding to the idea that something other than Phyrexia might be allowed to exist. Either idea might have merit, but in the end they were fundamentally incompatible. And as long as Elesh Norn held power, her vision would be brought into reality.

“Praetor Urabrask. I see your attempts to sabotage Norn were unsuccessful,” Jin-Gitaxias opened.

“Yet not thanks to you,” Urabrask replied. “I noticed your forces’ absence from the Basilica. Even around your shared interests.”

“The Progress Engine is not part of Norn’s army. That responsibility falls to the Chrome Host, which was being prepared for other purposes.”

“Norn’s invasion,” Urabrask stated. He stepped around the chamber, examining one of the security doors. “You know, Jin, I’m curious. What did she offer you? I would’ve thought the superior intellect you boast of would see the flaws in her design.”

“Norn’s plan has benefits for the Progress Engine,” Jin-Gitaxias replied, ignoring Urabrask’s grating informalities. “Should it prove unviable, contingencies have been prepared.”

Urabrask turned back to Jin-Gitaxias, the glow within him intensifying. “So that’s why you added the dependency to the oil. Not for her, but for you. Broadcast the right signal, and the hosts all march to your command.”

“An astute observation. But Elesh Norn will not accept such a conclusion from you. She sees what she wants to see, and nothing more.”

“An arrogance that escapes you?” Urabrask asked, followed by a strange rumbling sound. The other Praetor continued to pace, never able to still.

“Self-delusion is anathema to the Progress Engine’s goals,” Jin-Gitaxias replied. “Our confidence is based on our success. Elesh Norn may claim this invasion as hers, but the true work comes from us.”

Urabrask was silent for a moment, the only sound coming from his motion, clawed feet scraping against the chrome floor.

“Have you been among Realmbreaker’s branches?” he finally asked, voice tempered for once.

“I see no need for such an observation. It merely links to planes the Chrome Host can occupy.”

“Then you’ll never understand. It twists through our world as well as others. The sheer vastness of it all… We’re not in control, Jin. We never have been. Norn has forged something beyond us, and we are at its mercy.”

Urabrask’s conclusion was baseless. Perhaps his escape through Realmbreaker had driven him to madness. If it could induce such changes, it might also explain Elesh Norn’s recent behaviour. Thus, Jin-Gitaxias concluded, Urabrask’s “advice” was to be disregarded until proper analysis had been performed.

“I will take your… thoughts into account,” he replied, not risking an outright denial.

“We both know that isn’t true. But I’m sure whatever great idea you have to stop Realmbreaker will work out.”

“You doubt the Progress Engine, after all our achievements?” How typical of Urabrask. The knowledge to control Realmbreaker existed somewhere, and Jin-Gitaxias would find it. Kaldheim was already in their sights, its secrets ready for the taking. They would rend the plane down to atoms if needed, tear every fleeting thought from the minds of its people.

“What I doubt,” Urabrask said, calming for once, “Is that you know when to stop. You’ve helped Norn with every step of her plan, enabled her lack of adaptability, and the consequences have already begun.”

That was unexpectedly insightful for Urabrask. Norn’s fixation on Nissa Revane as the solution to Realmbreaker’s potential dangers had led to the current situation. But Jin-Gitaxias did not accept that he held any blame for Norn’s actions.

“As I have said, contingencies have been prepared. If Realmbreaker’s deactivation is required, it will be done. But only if no other option exists.”

“You’re still as set on your path as Norn is,” Urabrask replied, tilting his head. “I think this is an impasse. We both have tasks we wish to attend to, so I will no longer waste either of our time.”

“At last, a point we can agree on. I shall dismiss the security teams. Neither of our interests are served by Norn learning of your presence here.”

The nature of Urabrask’s interests had become unclear to Jin-Gitaxias. While the Furnace Praetor’s main goal still seemed to be the elimination of Elesh Norn, his motivations were suspect. The five Praetors had always had diverging visions, and Jin-Gitaxias knew they were reaching their breaking point. When that point arrived was uncertain, beyond even the predictive abilities of the Progress Engine.

But contingencies had been prepared. While it was not feasible to model every long-term outcome, the Progress Engine could still see any threat before it happened. They were not bound by Elesh Norn’s dogma or Urabrask’s sudden caution. A conflict was coming, that could be foreseen. It would be greater than any other, a time of screams and flame, a war that would bring ruin to the unprepared.

And when the ashes settled and silence fell, the Progress Engine would not predict the future, but make it.

Prophecy and prediction were one thing. Omens were another.

All of Kaldheim had seen them. The eyes that wept black ichor, carved on trees and into stones. All agreed they were an ill sign, a warning of great danger. The realms prepared themselves for war, readying themselves for the looming conflict.

In Skemfar, King Harald sat uneasy on his throne. His brother had spoken of a threat to not just the realms of Kaldheim, but ones that lay beyond the World Tree. Tyvar had gone to one of these realms, a place called Dominaria, to meet with other warriors looking to strike at this threat before it could escape its confines. Once the eyes began to appear in the skies of Skemfar, blazing red with malice, Harald suspected they had failed.

There was something unnervingly familiar about the eyes. The way their light shimmered was not truly alien, and the colours that stained the sky were not wrong, merely misplaced. There was something in their unblinking gaze that Harald had seen before. They held a secret, so Harald summoned the sages and learned people of his kingdom, to try to understand the true meaning of the signs around them. They debated for two days and two nights, before finally realising what they were seeing.

The eyes were not eyes at all, but Omenpaths. They did not originate in other realms, but from the darkness beyond the World Tree. There was an understanding, of sorts, that realms might lie within it, cut off from the rest of Kaldheim, but none could truly know them. Now one of these worlds reached out across the darkness, a world that Tyvar had aimed to slay. They would not know when it would arrive until it did, the brightening light of the Omenpaths only telling them that it still approached.

The day came with a scream, the sky tearing open as monstrous branches forced their way into Kaldheim. They attacked the World Tree itself, like coiling metal snakes, binding both it and the realms together in a Doomskar beyond any that had been seen before. Black-blooded beasts with metal flesh fell from the sky, hungry with malice. Wherever they landed became twisted, as poison flooded out from them.

The people of Kaldheim did not cower. They took their weapons and faced the enemy, and the music of war filled the realms. It was a wordless song, played in the clash of blades, the march of armies and the roaring of flames. Soon, no place was silent, the war spreading to every corner of Kaldheim. The enemy’s number seemed endless, shedded endlessly from the branches above. Then came the rumours, whispers of Kaldheim’s warriors twisted and returned, now fighting for the other side.

Harald knew the rumours were true. He had fought against warriors he had fought with the day before. Elves driven to madness by the touch of the black blood, and bodies of animals transformed into monstrosities. Now Skemfar was lit by dozens of pyres, columns of smoke choking the sky. Whenever there was reprieve, the fallen were burned, lest they rise again. Healers did all they could to stem the poison’s flow, barely able to keep up with the wounded brought to them.

It was a new kind of war, against an alien enemy. It was not a battle for glory or territory, but for the survival of Kaldheim itself. But there was no option other than to fight. From Starnheim to Immersturm, the song of war continued. The World Tree itself would break before the will of Kaldheim’s people.

It had been a week into the invasion as Harald surveyed Skemfar. The enemy offence had ground to a halt, when a chance blizzard blown in from Karfell had frozen many of them in place. In the distance, the Jespara Trees still stood strong, even as the forests around them had been torn apart. The sky was no longer a rare sight from the ground, and it too had been transformed, distorted windows to other realms rippling across it.

Harald and his entourage walked past the pyres, watching as elves burned their own kin to deny them to the enemy. In this bleak time, it was important for the king to be seen, for him to show that he was fighting with his people. He gave words of comfort to the injured, and encouragement to those going to fight. And more importantly, he listened. Even though there was no shortage of tales, any of them could contain a vital detail.

His journey took him to a battlefield, where the fighting had stopped only hours ago. The remains of the enemy were scattered across it, some twisted around trees, while others had been driven into the ground. It seemed that two kinds of monster assaulted Skemfar. The first were abominations composed of nothing but muscle entwined with bright orange metal, armed not with weapons but tooth, claw and horn. Yet the others were more horrific, flayed flesh encased in tarnished steel, endless in both form and cruelty. There was only one respect that could be conceded to the invaders – they fought with a frenzy that matched Kaldheim’s greatest, never surrendering, even in their final moments.

Should there be time, these bodies would be put to the torch as well. There were necromancers among the enemy’s rank, meaning even a slain foe could fight again unless their body was entirely destroyed. It was a grim task, but necessary work all the same. The flames even seemed to burn away the black blood of the enemy, the dark ichor that corroded the land and its people. How far had it seeped into the ground, Harald wondered? How long before it reached the roots of Skemfar’s forests? A worrying thought to dwell on. And a silent battlefield was no place to linger, so he turned away, intending to return to the war camp.

Then a horn sounded from the battlefield, a deep and mournful noise like a dirge that echoed around the trees. When Harald turned back, a figure had appeared between the fallen. From afar, he could tell it was an elf, and as the figure approached, he realised who it was.

Tyvar Kell. He had returned from whatever strange realm he had journeyed to. For a moment, Harald felt relieved. But as his brother drew closer, he realised something was wrong. Tyvar’s hands were stained black, like the poisoned blood of the enemy. Veins of grey-blue metal ran across his body, shifting with the pulsing of his blood. This was not the man who had left Kaldheim. It was someone, or something far different.

“Tyvar. I see you have returned to Kaldheim.” Harald stated, voice firm and clear.

“It is good to be back,” Tyvar replied with a smile. “To return to Skemfar more so. As expected, where the other realms falter, the strength of the elves is a foe worthy of Phyrexia.”

“Phyrexia? So that is the name of the enemy. I do not think I care what it finds worthy.”

“Neither did I, brother,” Tyvar said, the touch of a boast in his voice. “But then I tasted its strength. It has a power few can truly wield. They have come to master us, but in the end, we will master them. We merely need to embrace it.”

Harald wished he could say the person before him was no longer his brother. But that would be a lie. Tyvar was still there, twisted by whatever Phyrexian sorcery he had consumed. He truly believed in what he spoke, headstrong as always, challenging the world with every word.

“This power is not one I trust. Have you forgotten the fate of Narfi?” he asked. “There is always a price, brother.”

“Oh, there is a price to pay. For the Skoti and their followers. For all those who cower from Phyrexia, refusing to fight or be reborn.”

“Is this why you are here? To warn of this price?”

“I’m afraid our encounter is merely chance,” Tyvar replied. “I seek Halvar, but it seems he is a coward.”

Strange. There was no lost love between Harald and the Skoti, but if Tyvar was seeking him, it was surely to serve the goals of this Phyrexia.

“I do not know where Halvar is,” Harald said. “Even if I did, I would not betray him to you. I despise him and his kin as does any in Skemfar, but in this war we share a side.”

Tyvar’s expression soured. “A pity. I hoped for better from you, brother. Know that I will find Halvar, no matter where he is hiding. And if you wish for a warning, I have one for you: The time will come when it is too late to choose the right side.”

With that declaration, Tyvar vanished into a twisting cloud of glittering mist. Flakes of metal scattered over the ground he had stood on, and to Harald’s eye it almost seemed as if they were taking root.

Now there was truly no reason to remain. Harald turned back to his warriors, and began the journey back to the war camp.

“Spread the word,” he commanded as they travelled. “My brother has fallen to the enemy, and its name is Phyrexia. We should also make preparations to burn the battlefield.”

His words were swifty obeyed on their return. None took the news of Tyvar well, yet many declared they would fight to avenge him. Those who burned the bodies of the Phyrexians returned with curious reports of their own. Apparently, a strange metal web had started growing over the bodies, a grey-blue rot none had seen before. Harald knew it was connected to Tyvar in some way. How far had it spread during his search for Halvar?

It seemed as if Kaldheim’s problems grew with each passing day. But victory was more than just an action. It was a state of mind. Even in the face of such things, Harald had a duty to his people. If Phyrexia wanted them, they would have to fight for every inch. This, both sides knew was certain.

And in these times, certainty was a rare thing indeed.

Dovin Baan knew that certainty was an elusive goal. The essential problem was that everything, from the simplest component to the most complex machinery contained flaws. Unless you were aware of their exact nature, such flaws would inevitably introduce uncertainty.

Surveying Ghirapur from one the Chrome’s Host’s warships, Dovin found a certain appreciation for flaws. The city had prepared for New Phyrexia, but it was clear that they had underestimated the sheer scope of the problem. Shattered skyships littered the streets, crushed in the first salvo. Buildings had collapsed, and thin pillars of smoke rose from the city, each marking a failure of the defences. The problem was self-evident: with the Renegade victory, Kaladesh had lost its unity of purpose. Where once all of Ghirapur could act as once, now a hundred forces pulled in a hundred directions.

The Chrome Host had no such issue. Each member worked towards the same goal, all information shared to ensure an optimal understanding of the problem. When required, it could act as a single unit, perfectly aligned with no space for miscommunication. While the other hosts were as restrained by doctrine or internal divisions as their enemies, the Chrome Host had excised such problems. They were not flawless, but superior coordination and intelligence would allow them to pick Ghirapur apart.

With his Phyrexian augmentation, Dovin could see the aether grid of Ghirapur, a glowing network that spread over the city. The Aether Hub glowed like a sun, a heart of power that could only exist on Kaladesh. It was the city’s source of strength, but it would soon become its unwitting weakness. Dovin knew that it would not be sacrificed unless the defenders believed they had no other option. Therefore, through appropriate modulation of force, the conflict for the Hub and its connected aetherflux reservoirs could be drawn out, pulling resources away from other locations. Once the Host’s objectives were completed, they would be in a position to remotely seize control of the Hub, and subdue any remaining opposition.

With a thought, the aether grid faded as Dovin’s optical implements attuned to a new form of sight. Now he saw the control network, the nervous system of Ghirapur, and through it every access point and relay node. While it was theoretically distributed, the Consulate’s need for control meant that the city was dotted with distribution centres, clusters of cables meeting and dividing again. The system had security, levels of authorisation required to perform certain actions. All of which could be undone under Dovin’s eyes, the faults in the mechanisms as clear as the sky. This would be their point of attack, where the defences of Ghirapur could be subverted.

He descended with the next deployment wave, the infiltration unit shrouded by the assault teams. From the streets, the flaws in the city’s defences could be seen in more detail, and the exact points of failure identified. The detritus that littered the street was, for the most part, typical Renegade equipment, illegal weaponry cobbled together from whatever parts were available. Good enough for an insurgency, but woefully inadequate for repelling the Chrome Host. More interesting were the brass lizards, which had clearly been designed with the current conflict in mind. Dovin set a note for the recovery teams to salvage one. While their primary mission was acquiring anything that remained of Rashmi’s research, gaining a greater understanding of the enemy was vital.

From the outside, the distribution centre looked like any other building in Ghirapur. The red brickwork was now stained with soot and oil, and the swirling brass was tarnished. As Dovin and the infiltration unit entered, they found no resistance. The atrium was abandoned, the polished tile floor still gleaming from what light filtered through from above. There were no signs of any defences, and the passages deeper into the building were unobstructed. As the team advanced into the interior, where artistry gave way to stark metal and functionality, it became more apparent that the occupants had simply abandoned the building.

The terminal room was almost silent, the quiet humming of machinery barely audible over the sounds of conflict from outside. The main access terminal was still operational, although there was a thin layer of dust coating its various gauges and controls. Perhaps, Dovin considered, the facility had been abandoned some time after the Renegade victory, rather than in response to the Phyrexian invasion. But something about the situation still felt disjoint. While the Renegade generally lacked discipline, they were also throughout when it came to cleaning out their hideouts when required, resorting to drastic measures to do so in many cases.

So it was unusual that they would leave such a weak point. Rather than approach the terminal directly, Dovin summoned one his own contributions to the Chrome Host; a modified thopter designed for intelligence gathering and operational sabotage. It whirred over to the terminal, manipulator cables quickly entwining themselves with the mechanisms. For a few moments, it seemed as if the caution had not been needed. Then there was a crack from within the terminal, followed by a high-pitch whine.

Dovin had barely enough time to project a shield before the terminal was swallowed by an explosion, translucent blue flames ripping through the room. The building shook, and the sound of further explosions echoed from the lower level. Once the flames subsided, there was nothing left of the terminal room, the structure completely burnt out, the floor now a gaping hole leading to the room beneath. It was a clever trap, an aether bomb concealed within the terminal.

“Send someone to check the lower level,” Dovin said, although he doubted there would be much to find. It was quite likely that the other explosions had been from charges set to sever the distribution centre from the network. It was, he conceded, an effective welding of Consulate control with Renegade recklessness. But in the end, all it cost them was time. There were more distribution centres, and more weaknesses that could be found in the defences.

Leaving the facility was a more careful affair than arriving. Dovin did not discount the possibility of delayed secondary charges, and sent more thopters ahead to ensure that there would be no more unwelcome surprises. As they returned to the atrium, nothing seemed amiss, the entrance to the building undamaged. One of the thopters headed outside, to check for a potential response to the distribution centre’s destruction.

When it came back through, on fire and travelling at a considerable speed, such a response was confirmed. Moments later, fire blasted into the building, rushing through the doors and windows. A figure stepped through the inferno, clad in shining red armour, the flame’s reflection dancing in her goggles.

Chandra Nalaar raised her hand, and unleashed a barrage of burning missiles. Dovin, and some of the members of the infiltration team had the presence of mind to apply countermeasures, either in the form of barriers, or by redirecting the attack. Those that did not were rapidly engulfed by flames, their most flammable components ignited. With a wave of Chandra’s arms, flames spread out across the atrium’s walls. Smoke filled the air, the tiles beneath began to crack from the sudden change in temperature.

Chandra was not an opponent who could be reasoned with. Like all planeswalkers, she was a high-priority target for compleation, but that was not a feasible option. While others might have found being trapped with a maniacal pyromancer to be a dire situation, Dovin believed it could be to the Chrome Host’s advantage. He could retreat at any time, greatly increasing his chances of survival. And while Chandra was engaged here, she was not an obstacle to the Host’s other goals. It was not an optimal situation, but adaptability was the Chrome Host’s greatest strength.

And, Dovin mused privately, there was something incredibly satisfying about knowing with certainty what your greatest enemy was doing.

Karlov Manor was considered by many as the height of Orzhov opulence. In a city that spanned an entire plane, where buildings were pressed together for space, it had open grounds, a room count that exceeded function, and a subterranean section that stretched into the Undercity. Many would kill, and had killed, for a chance to control it. There were even planeswalkers who found something in the design enticing, and so lesser copies of it dotted the multiverse.

Yet as Teysa Karlov looked out across her property from one of its many balconies, she did not appreciate it. It was a symbol of her family’s wealth and power, legally a district unto itself. She did not want for comfort, her every need and every whim attended to. If she wished, she could spend a lifetime reading the library’s collection, or renovating the parts of the manor that had fallen into disrepair. By design, those who lived within Karlov Manor lived better lives than royalty.

Teysa was well aware of the benefits of her situation. She commanded all the wealth and influence of House Karlov. The problem was that for all the power she wielded within the property line, her power outside it had waned greatly. One moment where her ambition had gone a step too far had, in time, cost her privileged position among the Orzhov. She had been the one to hire Kaya, and so when the planeswalker began unwinding the bindings of debt that gave the guild its power, Teysa was to blame. At first, this had led to her being expected to oust the new Guildmaster, but before long she had found herself cut out of the guild’s internal politics.

The most frustrating part was the lack of knowledge. From her position, Teysa could see the portals that glowed red in the sky, and she knew they were important. Learning more about their nature was nearly impossible. She still had some informants, able to relay rumours and hearsay, along with a scant number of contacts still willing to do business with her. All she knew was that the Izzet considered them similar to the Planar Bridge in some way, and that Niv-Mizzet had called a guild summit in response. Based on what she had been told, it would soon be concluded, and it would be easy enough to learn of any mandates given by the Guildpact. Finding out if Kaya had attended would be difficult, and getting actual details would come with material costs.

Teysa considered her options. She could do nothing, further extending her ultimate plan to simply outlast Kaya. But the consequences of a guild summit could not be easily ignored. Anything that might alter the balance of power within the Orzhov was vital to House Karlov’s future. Arrangements would have to be made.

She returned to her office that adjoined the balcony, a spacious room, although starkly practical. The dark wood desk was stacked with parchment and envelopes, an assortment of quills and several kinds of ink, along with a number of books crammed with contact details. The room’s most valuable content was the Karlov seal, kept under lock and key in a safe built into the wall unless it was required. Teysa picked up one of the contact books, leafing through it in search of someone who might have been invited to the summit. From there, she could follow the connections within the Orzhov until she reached someone willing to deal with her directly.

Before Teysa could truly begin, however, she heard a crashing sound from somewhere nearby. Another servant damaging an heirloom worth more than their life, no doubt. She placed the book back down, and headed out the office to investigate. She considered taking one the thrulls guarding the door with her, but decided against it. As diminished as she was, she was still capable of putting the staff in their place. She moved quickly through the vaulted corridor, her cane tapping against the tiled floor with every step.

She soon met a haggard servant running in the opposite direction, his uniform torn and blackened with soot.

“Lady Karlov!” he exclaimed, coming to a stop. “We’re under-”

He stopped mid sentence, eyes wide, and dropped to the floor. A shard of metal protruded from his back, slick with some kind of shining poison, yet there was no sign of an assailant behind him. Nevertheless, his unfinished message was clear. The manor was under attack. A concerning development, and one best dealt with elsewhere. Karlov Manor held a myriad of escape routes, and Teysa knew it would be wise to use one not in the direction the servant had been fleeing from.

She hurried back towards her office, keeping away from the windows just in case. She had made it about halfway there when she encountered the last person she expected, or wanted, to see.

“Hello Teysa,” Kaya said, smiling like a cat who had cornered its prey. “I must say, this is a very nice manor you’ve got here. It must really help with the guilt. Assuming you feel guilt, that is.”

“Guildmaster Kaya…” Teysa started, trailing off as she looked at the woman before her. Kaya had never truly dressed in the style of the Orzhov, but her latest armour was bizarre. It was composed of what appeared to porcelain plates, with an unusual fabric that looked like raw muscle beneath the joins. Strangest of all was the sigil on her chest, which looked like a weeping theatre mask, glowing violet with Kaya’s magic.

“...I think we have… a problem?” Teysa finished, grimly aware that Kaya was probably her problem.

“A problem?” Kaya replied sweetly. “Oh no, Teysa. I have a solution. A salvation, even. For you, and everyone you’ve enslaved, living and dead.”

Teysa took a step back. This was it. Kaya had decided to kill her. For a Karlov, death should have been no real threat, but Kaya was different. The Ghost Assassin, they called her. Between that and her position as Guildmaster, she might have been able to end Teysa’s afterlife before it began.

“Kaya, I know we’ve had our differences, but we don’t need to resort to violence,” Teysa said, trying to buy time. She couldn’t run, and even without her injury, escaping Kaya would be impossible. “Maybe I’ve been too harsh towards your reforms. Maybe, going forward…”

Kaya sighed. “Don’t make me watch you beg, Teysa. We both know you’re better than that. You don’t need to fear absolution, you need to embrace it,” she said. A spectral dagger blazed to life in her hand, glowing purple death.

“Why wouldn’t I be afraid? I don’t want to die!”

Kaya stepped forward, and put a hand on Teysa’s shoulder. “Oh, Teysa. I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to help you.”

For a single moment, Teysa felt relief. Until Kaya slammed her dagger into Teysa’s chest. It felt like an icy grip around her heart, her insides freezing as the blade drew the warmth from her. It felt like the first end, when her spirit would be served from her body. Then, impossibly, Kaya removed the dagger, and she was still alive. Teysa’s heart hammered in her chest, and her lungs gasped for breath.

“See? Still alive,” Kaya said. “Now, follow me. I have something to show you.”

Still dazed, Teysa did as she was bid. It wasn’t like she had any other options. They passed through her office, the thrulls letting them pass without a word. They stepped out onto the balcony, into the cool evening air. In the back of her mind, Teysa could hear something, a scraping whisper, speaking promises she could not understand.

“It took a while to track you all down,” Kaya said. “The heads of the most powerful families, hiding behind all that stolen wealth and hoarded power. If Tomik wants to cut me out, he’ll find it harder than expected. Which means the real work can begin.”

Kaya raised a hand to the sky, and the portals’ light intensified. A moment later, Realmbreaker’s branches tore into Ravnica’s reality, plunging down into the city. Each one dug deep, crushing buildings and tearing apart streets as it hunted for what was hidden beneath. One of the nearest branches twisted to a stop, before reversing its direction. Parts of Karlov Manor collapsed as the branches pulled up something from below, a long-forgotten Orzhov crypt-vault, now anointed with the glistening oil that poured from Realmbreaker.

In the light of the surface, the crypt-vault looked almost like a tower, a dozen floors held in Realmbreaker’s coiling embrace. The branch twisted and constricted, the ancient metal and stone cracking under the pressure. First came dust, then ghosts and spirits of all kinds, freed from their slumber, pouring out into the sky. The bodies would follow later, once the oil had done its work.

“Do you see now, Teysa?” Kaya asked. “Do you see Ravnica’s salvation? Compleation absolves all, living and dead.”

Teysa looked out over Ravnica. Realmbreaker’s branches had taken root, and now Phyrexia’s armies sprung forth from them. Angels rushed up to meet them, but for every one of them came ten of Phyrexia. The spirits howled with a song then resonated with the whispers in her mind. Now she heard them clearly, the Song of Phyrexia. In those whispers, she saw a vision of the future. Where the divisions of guilds no longer mattered.

A vision of a world united under a single sigil and by a single idea. A world united through Phyrexia.

It was beautiful.

Chapter Text

Above the power of Realmbreaker, the Fair Basilica continued to crumble. Elesh Norn’s grand weapon had broken her domain, fate’s permutation denying her the means to control it. Planar energy swirled in the vast spaces of the Basilica, pouring from the branches that now twisted through it. Where once was order placed to follow an exacting pattern was now chaos, called forth by that order’s own architect.

Koth did not appreciate the irony. He had already seen New Phyrexia drive Mirrodin to ruin, consuming its people and its structure without mercy. Now it threatened to consume the very reality of the plane, Norn’s unrestrained fanaticism dooming not just the remaining Mirrans, but the Phyrexians as well. While he did not regard them with much sympathy, the Phyrexians had never truly had a chance to object to Norn’s goals. There had been a rebellion, spearheaded by Urabrask and supported by Sheoldred, but how many outside of their domains secretly opposed the Machine Orthodoxy?

Indeed, Koth now numbered among those Phyrexians. Phyresis had claimed his body, subverting even hexgold, which had spread outward from the wound on his chest in an uneven pattern, an orange glow escaping from between the gaps. His thoughts had seemingly fared better, but he had slowly become aware of a whispering in the back of his mind, a pressure at the back of his head. Looking at the broken monuments, he could feel how they were meant to be, how they ought to continue if not for the damage. It was an unnerving feeling, thinking thoughts that did not originate within his own mind.

It was impossible to tell how close to the precipice he was, the point when Phyrexia would truly take hold of him. Koth was unsure why he had not already turned. Perhaps the last remnants of Halo protected him, or his affinity for the same kind of magic as the Furnace-dwellers granted them all a reprieve from Elesh Norn’s control.

Or perhaps the glistening oil had never been as strong as the Mirran Resistance had chosen to believe. There was a certain comfort in the idea that those who turned had no choice in the matter, that the Phyrexians who had once been allies were no longer truly themselves. The alternative had been too much to bear. Not just that some of the infected might have been saved, but that some Mirrans had chosen, truly, to join New Phyrexia. It was easier to pretend such betrayal could not exist than to face the possibility of it.

Now Koth had to wonder if it had happened, because a weakness in the oil would have another implication. That deviations from Phyrexian ideology could exist outside of the Autonomous Furnace. Each domain of New Phyrexia was different from the others, but what differences existed within those domains? The Gitaxians put progress above all, but did they all align to the same meaning of progress? The Dross Pits and Hunter Maze were brutal, and Koth knew, even before the events that had led him here, that he would not be surprised to learn of Phyrexians wishing to escape them. That left the Machine Orthodoxy. Where even if the oil did not force compliance, it would be found in the structure of beliefs Elesh Norn had created. A Machine Heresy ought to be impossible, as it would be snuffed out of the minds of those who might create it.

Except it did exist. Not in the acolytes or aspirants, or in those whose existence was dedicated entirely to the Argent Etchings. It existed in Ixhel, the Scion of Atraxa, one of the highest authorities in the Fair Basilica. She had deviated, however slightly, from Atraxa’s designs for her. In response, Atraxa condemned her. Rather than causing Ixhel to fall back in line, it seemed to have driven her further from Atraxa, seeing both creator and creation as flawed. Something that was unacceptable in the Machine Orthodoxy’s vision of the world.

Now the two of them watched the ruin wrought by Elesh Norn’s plan together, the steady annihilation of their shared world. It was not how Koth had hoped the assault on the Seedcore would end, but he suspected that the plane’s future would not have been long if it had succeeded. A choice of damnations that was no choice at all.

“I have another thought about Atraxa, if you might indulge it,” Ixhel said, gazing across the Basilica.

“Go ahead,” Koth replied. “She doesn’t seem to be around to object.”

“She is not. It has occurred to me that if Atraxa is flawed, such flaws must have originated in her creation. Or rather, in her compleation.”

“I’d think that would be the case for most things,” he said. “Unless there’s something different about Atraxa?”

“The Unifier was not compleated through the normal means,” Ixhel explained. “The Mother commanded that the five Praetors work together, to forge a symbol of New Phyrexia’s unity. Urabrask refused, so the others continued without him.”

That was interesting. Koth had known there had been a growing conflict between the Praetors, which had seemingly ended with Norn’s victory. The Mirran Resistance had also occasionally encountered Phyrexians who had traits from two of New Phyrexia’s factions. Atraxa was the logical endpoint of this, a living peace treaty only New Phyrexia could create, designed as a weapon of war.

“Atraxa resented Urabrask for his absence in her creation,” Ixhel continued. “I think she considered herself unfinished, her purpose as Unifier impeded. At least until he turned against the Orthodoxy.”

“I don’t think Urabrask was ever aligned with the Machine Orthodoxy,” Koth interjected. “If the details of division matter, Atraxa’s unity was never achievable.”

“Yet she was designed for it all the same. If she was meant to take something from all five Praetors, but only four contributed, it would leave her deficient. Urabrask’s domain is that of creation, and Atraxa’s only creation is flawed.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Koth said. From what he knew of Atraxa, it was the traits she had inherited from the other Praetors that defined her. “But Sheoldred contributed to Atraxa, and she’s as much against Elesh Norn as Urabrask is.”

“Perhaps you are correct. The Mother never truly trusted Sheoldred, and maybe she was right to do so. Sheoldred could have corrupted Atraxa, and from there all her works.”

Koth could recognise where Ixhel’s logic would inevitably take her. Whether she decided the excluded or included Praetor was the direct cause of her turmoil, the ultimate architect remained the same.

“But the others involved in Atraxa’s compleation…” Ixhel said, trying not to finish her thought. “Surely if the Mother thought they were all required, she would not have continued without Urabrask. And if not, why risk Sheoldred’s treachery?”

“Arrogance,” Koth answered. “She thought the other Praetors were under her control. It’s the same reason why she’s unleashed a weapon that’s pulling the plane apart.”

For a moment, Koth thought he had pushed too far. Ixhel might have broken from her creator, but part of her clearly wanted to rationalise it as something that could be allowed within the framework of the Machine Orthodoxy. To question Elesh Norn was to question all she had been created to believe.

“The Mother is… she is simply…” Ixhel stuttered, grasping for a rebuttal she could not find. “Her judgement is…”

She looked out over the Fair Basilica, at the ruin of her home. Not as a Phyrexian basking in its glory, but in some almost impossible way, as a Mirran, despairing over what the Praetors had done.

“The Mother is doing what she believes is best for us,” Ixhel finally answered, voice measured. “But perhaps I must concede your point. Her judgement may, in some respects, be flawed. Perhaps Urabrask and Sheoldred saw this, which is why they turned against her.”

As interesting as Ixhel’s slow break from the Machine Orthodoxy was, it gave Koth a certain feel of regret. New Phyrexia had preyed on Mirrodin’s divisions, cutting them apart at the seams, until the only piece of Mirrodin that could survive was one that was unified. In return, the Mirran Resistance had viewed New Phyrexia as a monolith. But all along, the same divisions that had doomed Mirrodin might have been found in New Phyrexia.

Koth put those thoughts aside. If they were important, they would be important for the future, in finding a way to weaken New Phyrexia as it waged war against the multiverse. He was about to ask Ixhel if compleation was always as loud as he was finding it, when he noticed a small group of five Orthodoxy Phyrexians heading towards them.

“Looks like we’ve got company,” he said, lifting his hammer and gesturing towards them.

“They appear to be messengers,” Ixhel replied. “As you observed, Atraxa left the Basilica in pursuit of Urabrask. They are presumably seeking me in her absence.”

They waited for the messengers, and as they approached, Koth could make out the details of them. They were, like many on this layer, living Phyrexia art, faceless heads shaped in perfect patterns. Three were symmetric, each sculpted curve and carving mirrored. The remaining two were asymmetric, yet paired, negative space on one cut to be filled by the shape of the other.

The central messenger stepped forward, head tilting towards Koth.

“Ixhel,” they spoke. “We bring messages and declarations from the Grand Praetor. Declarations only for the pure.”

“This one is none of your concern,” Ixhel replied. “He is not one of Urabrask’s heretics. And is it not that the words of the Mother are words for all?”

“Of course, of course. I shall not hide my voice from the faithful,” the messenger said. “The first message is so: In all her wisdom, the Grand Praetor has chosen Atraxa for a mission in the great crusade. Even now, she brings the judgement of Phyrexia to the hopeless world known as New Capenna.”

Koth’s grip tightened. New Cappena was what remained of Elspeth’s home plane. While those who opposed Elesh Norn might be glad for Atraxa to be gone, he would not wish her on any other plane, especially one so important to his friend.

“From this comes the declaration,” the messenger continued. “Through her foresight, the Grand Praetor has seen that Atraxa’s duties are still required. Until she returns victorious, you, Ixhel, are to take up the powers and responsibilities of the Unifier.”

“I accept this duty,” Ixhel said. “If there is anything I ought to know, now is the time to reveal it.”

The messenger stepped back, and the paired Phyrexians took their place.

“Many enemies of Phyrexia have been captured,” they said in unison, voices echoing together. “The unblessed, and followers of the heretic and traitor. They await the Grand Praetor’s judgement.”

“Are they secure? The Fair Basilica is compromised.”

“They are caged within one of our standing fortresses. While it is damaged, the prisoners cannot escape. Even together, there is nothing they can do.”

“I see. Send word to the Surgical Bay that we need someone to determine the nature of these anomalies. We cannot repair the Basilica while they persist.”

“It will be done.”

“Good. Is there anything else I should know?” Ixhel asked.

“Not at this time,” replied the messengers.

“Then you are dismissed.”

The messengers bowed and turned away, heading out to perform the task Ixhel had set them. Koth didn’t think that the Gitaxians would be able to handle the current crisis any better than the Machine Orthodoxy. But he was more interested in the prisoners. Ixhel was beginning to question Norn, but she still sought answers within New Phyrexia. The rebel Phyrexians were the most likely place to find them. And if it gave him a chance to free the Mirran prisoners, it was all the better.

“Is this usually how people get promoted here?” he asked. “Elesh Norn makes a declaration and sends her clerics to tell everyone?”

“It is rare for anyone in the Machine Orthodoxy to be promoted,” Ixhel answered. “The Mother preaches purity of purpose, that all Phyrexians live for a specified end. Official changes in position are much more common among the Gitaxians.”

“You only exist for the role you are made for,” Koth summarised. “But now you can step outside of that role, to take Atraxa’s place, because Elesh Norn wills it. Purity of purpose, except when that’s no longer convenient.”

“It is… more complex than that,” Ixhel said. “Although it is strange that Atraxa would be sent away, when there is open rebellion against the Mother.”

“Seems like more questionable decisions,” Koth replied. “At least that’s my perspective. But there is a way for you to get a more authentic Phyrexian perspective. You might not be able to talk to Urabrask or Sheoldred, but you can talk to their supporters.”

“The prisoners?” Ixhel mused. “They must have a reason for opposing the Mother. Yet I suspect you have an ulterior motive for wanting to visit the prison.”

“I’m not going to abandon any surviving Mirrans,” Koth admitted. “Even if I can’t go back to them, I still have to help.”

“I see. If our positions were reversed, it would be my duty to do the same. I cannot assist you, beyond guiding you to the prison, but if you are prudent, I will have no chance to obstruct you.”

It was a subtle agreement, but it was an agreement all the same. Once they reached the prison, they would have a chance to go their separate ways, giving Koth a chance to release the Mirrans, without having to clash with Ixhel. What he’d do after, he wasn’t sure, but he was fairly certain that in its current state, the Fair Basilica would not be able to mount an effective response.

As they worked their way across the layer, Koth became more certain. The damage to reality caused by Realmbreaker was uneven, but Nahiri’s work was still present in the distance, the cavernous breaches she had created in the ceiling still expanding. The whispers in the back of his mind showed him just how much havoc had been unleashed, shadows of grand structures flickering over shattered ruins. The web-like pattern of bridges had been broken, creating an erratic journey that defied the order trying to claw its way into Koth’s mind.

The citadel that held the prisoners was in no better state than the rest of the layer. It was meant to be an elegant spire, a sweeping white curve rising out from the abyss. Now it had been cracked open, a gaping wound cut out of it on one side, red trim hanging like sinew along the jagged edges. The guards let them pass without comment, unwilling to challenge Ixhel’s authority, avoiding the risk of even looking at Koth.

The inside of the citadel had hardly fared better than the outside. Rubble had been piled against the surviving walls, along with the broken bodies of the garrison. Black stains ran along the bone-white walls and floors, trails of glistening oil left uncleaned in the chaos. Most of the cells for prisoners were empty by necessity, walls collapsed and the lattices of metal forming the bars crumbling.

As they progressed, the passages became less damaged, and the cells almost suitable for holding prisoners. But while this side of the building had avoided serious damage, it was compromised in another way. One of Realmbreaker’s branches had broken through within the citadel, twisting through its rooms. This close, Koth could see every detail of the branch, the dark metal plates that covered it, and the unnerving red light that shone beneath them. It seemed to be growing away from their destination, becoming wider as the two of them passed it by.

In a cell block adjacent to the one the guards had directed Ixhel to was the branch’s emergence point. It protruded from a rift in the air, reality itself flayed open. While the surrounding structure was damaged, Koth noticed it would still be possible to reach the rift on foot if you were inside the cells. While he did not like the other side, a twisting landscape of metallic branches, bathed in crimson light, it was still a possible escape route. All it would take was some more damage, to open the path.

Finally, they reached the cells where the prisoners were detained. Or rather, the cell. Mirrans and rebel Phyrexians alike had been herded into a single area, although both sides were staying as far apart as the space permitted. There were around a dozen Mirrans, outnumbered by a mix of Furnace and Dross Phyrexians. The Machine Orthodoxy clearly did not draw divisions between their enemies. Just like the Mirran Resistance.

While Ixhel went to interrogate the Phyrexians, Koth considered his options. The rift could get the prisoners out of the Basilica, but there was currently no path to it. He might be able to tear down the prison, but he doubted Ixhel would ignore that. Whatever he did needed to be a single, decisive act.

It was hard to think of a solution, between the whispering of the oil, and the much louder voices of the Phyrexians. At first they had simply insulted Ixhel, before realising what she had actually asked. From there, they had begun to provide a number of diverging reasons for their opposition to Elesh Norn. Some merely had a personal dislike of the Praetor and Machine Orthodoxy, but others had more nuanced views, a handful even questioning New Phyrexia’s basic reaction to non-Phyrexians.

At least one of the Mirrans had already recognised Koth, given the panicked voices he could hear from them. It was the bitter reality of the situation; to save them required him to reveal that he had fallen. Their lives were more important than their comfort.

But perhaps compleation might have a benefit, despite it all. Over time, the Mirrans had found their magic less and less effective as Phyrexia’s infection spread through the plane, and Koth’s geomancy was no exception. But now he was part of New Phyrexia, attuned with it in a way he had not been before. The oil that burned in his veins existed in every part of the plane, the connection the Machine Orthodoxy exalted. There was only one way to find if it could be turned to his own ends.

Koth approached the wall next to the cell, smooth white metal, a flawless piece of a broken whole. He pressed his hand against it, and let his magic flow out. The effect was instant, perfect resonance in a moment, awareness of the entire structure flowing through his mind. The whispers showed him the shadow of how it should be, against what it was. He could find even the most subtle flaws, the hairline cracks on the other side of the building. Koth pulled in his focus inward, to the barriers between the cell and the rift, the rippling distortion in the world. He reached into himself, to his inner fire, and forced it outward, turning his rage against New Phyrexia into a strength to reshape it.

And then the whispers turned to screams. Up from the back of his mind, they clawed at his thoughts, trying to hold back his defiance. His will against all of New Phyrexia. It was not a battle he could endure for long. But it was not one he would need to fight for long. He just needed to get the job done. He could feel the structure warp beneath him, the walls cracking and crumbling as he wanted. Piece by piece, until finally he broke through to the other side, the prison shattered.

As he wrenched himself away from the wall, which was now twisted from heat, the screams quietened again. His head still rang, and his vision was blurred, slowly focusing again. He could tell that the prisoners, Mirran and Phyrexian alike, had fled. Leaving him alone.

All but for a red and white blur, that slowly sharpened into Ixhel, floating carefully above the floor. She faced him, not moving, spear in hand. Whatever agreement they might have had had now clearly come to an end. Koth raised his hammer, trying to decide how best to handle Ixhel.

The angel moved first, sweeping her spear towards him. It was easy to block, the hammer’s weight able to knock it aside. Her next attack was similar, a thrust even a beginner could parry.

She wasn’t trying, Koth realised. So he reacted in kind, with a powerful lunge that she could easily evade. To any observers, it would look like two combatants testing their enemy, the lack of commitment born from caution. A delicate act that protected them both, selling the illusion that they were simply enemies, while the truth it concealed was much more complex.

“I’m afraid this next step may hurt,” Ixhel said as the sound of guards approached. “It is, however, required.”

With that, she charged forward, and slammed into Koth, launching him through the damaged cell lattice. He pulled himself up, and realised what she had done. Now he was closer to the rift, while Ixhel’s assistance appeared to be anything but. He gave her a quick nod, before turning and running to the rift, the path he had made leading straight towards it.

As he stepped through the rift, Koth felt a wave of energy run across his body, uncanny in how similar it felt to planeswalking. Yet it was not quite the same, and as he moved forward, it seemed to stick to his skin.

The branch that had created the rift soon joined others, which all twisted together into a metallic tunnel, lit by Realmbreaker’s light. As he went deeper, it shifted from crimson to other colours, some familiar, others alien. Koth didn’t know where this passage might lead, but as long as it got him away from the Fair Basilica, he was more than content. In the distance, he could see an opening, and what appeared to be a lone Phyrexian of some kind, looking up towards him.

As he approached, he could make out the details of the Phyrexian. For the most part, those details were distinctly Gitaxian, smooth chrome plates dotted with glowing sensors, coiling cables compacted beneath the skin. Yet the head was different, a pale mouth visible beneath a spiked helmet with four lenses, each necrogen green, more a copy of Sheoldred herself than anything found in the Surgical Bay.

Koth raised his weapon as he approached, still wary of any Phyrexian. It seemed even compleation could not dull his instinct.

“Are you the last one?” the Phyrexian asked. “We’re both trying to escape, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t attack me.”

“Don’t give me a reason to, and we’ll be fine,” Koth replied. “You’re Gitaxian? I didn’t think they were interested in rebelling against Norn.”

“I am, in both those respects,” xe replied. “Although I suppose Gitaxian is something of an incorrect description. Gitaxian Dissident would be more accurate.”

“And what, you decided you needed a little more excitement than whatever you do in the Surgical Bay?”

“Someone needed to monitor the insurrection directly. While the Furnace Layer and Dross Pits may be amicable to open talk of rebellion, the Surgical Bay is unfortunately monitored more strictly, both by the security teams, and by an aggravating number of interfering busy-bodies sticking their sensors where they aren’t wanted. This rather restricts the actions dissidents can take, so we need to be aware of which are most required.”

That was fair enough, Koth supposed. The Mirran Resistance had always had to prioritise their meagre resources, and given the Surgical Bay’s nature, anyone planning on stepping out of line would be even more constrained.

“Then the Orthodoxy scoops up anyone who they think is out of place, and you end up in a cell,” Koth said. “Anyway, I don’t suppose you have any idea where we are?”

“The metrics used to calculate such things are somewhat abnormal here, but they do seem to suggest we are somewhere in the core. Or inside the green sun, but if that were the case we’d probably be dying rather than having this conversation.”

“Either way, I don’t feel like hanging around here,” Koth said. Something felt wrong, in the depths of the Seedcore, a static in the air that seemed to be flowing through his entire being. “There were more branches like this in the Basilica, but maybe there are some that lead somewhere else.”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I’m 45th Systems Engineer, but do I get to know what the Machine Orthodoxy is doing down here? Not in the slightest. Not even 20th was looped in, and she was on the design committee for Jin-Gitaxias’ anti-planeswalker barrier. Then I have to organise half the construction with even less information than her. All so the Praetor keeps his grasp on enough knowledge that he can’t be replaced. But at least the surgeons can keep vivisecting people! Everything we’d ever need to know about Mirran biology is encoded in the oil by now, but maybe the next Burner they cut open won’t explode.”

That was interesting, Koth thought. Having access to someone who was involved in building the planar barrier might be useful for finding an opportunity to take it down. But there was something else he was curious about.

“Wait, is 45th System Engineer your name?” he asked.

“As unusual as you may find it, it is the name I earned,” xe replied. “And I prefer it to the name they gave me in the Dross Pits.”

Koth decided it would be best not to press further. Instead, he continued down to where the tunnel widened. There were occasional patches of ground, but the Seedcore was now dominated by Realmbreaker’s branches. It was like a forest, but one composed a single, malevolent tree. While the branches split in some places, for now there was only path he could reasonably follow. Presumably, the Mirrans had travelled in the same direction.

“So, what kind of dissidence do you get up to in the Surgical Bay?” he asked 45th, more to break the unnatural silence around them.

“It’s mostly bureaucratic,” xe replied. “But you’d be surprised how much havoc you can cause by adding another acceptance criteria to an order, or by cutting a few percentage points off of a tolerance. Entire batches of parts scrapped, timetables wracked with delays, especially if you can drag another team into a problem. And unless Jin-Gitaxias has his claws in a project, you can slowly ramp it up, since no one wants to be the one to suggest things be less perfect.”

Xer explanation provided an interesting insight into how the Surgical Bay was run, at the very least. The Mirran Resistance had never made serious inroads to it, due to the risk of compleation and the near-omnipresent surveillance. A few months ago, this would have all been vital information. Now it was almost useless.

After a short while, the branches widened more, into a vast dome, with a large number of passages leading out of it, some accessible from the ground, while others were higher up. The Seedcore had grown into a vast labyrinth, and unlike the Hunter Maze, its growth was not contained to a single layer of New Phyrexia. Between some of the branches, Koth could see faint, flickering windows, leading to other parts of the plane. Omenpaths, Tyvar had called them. The far away visions of flame and darkness certainly felt like omens, although what they foretold was a mystery to him.

A group had gathered near the centre of the dome, a mix of Phyrexians and Mirrans. There were less Phyrexians than Koth had expected, and more pressingly, more Mirrans. As he approached, careful not to appear a threat, he recognised why there were more Mirrans. They were the members of the demolition team that had descended deeper into New Phyrexia with the strike team. But there was no sign of the strike team.

It didn’t take long for Koth to be noticed. One of the Mirrans broke away from the group and approached him. The only one of them without a speck of metal in their body, the only one truly safe from phyresis.

“Koth? Is it… it’s actually you…”

Melira looked caught between relief and terror. The last time they’d spoken, they had both thought he was going to succumb to phyresis entirely. Whatever state he was in now was something neither of them had expected.

“I suppose it is,” he replied. He still felt like himself, but would he truly notice if he had changed? Looking at Melira, he wasn’t sure. She had always been different, and there had always been those who found her off putting. Koth himself had not always been entirely tactful towards her. But now there was something that he couldn’t quite describe, that felt wrong. A missing piece, something the whispers in the back of his mind wanted to grasp onto, but could not find.

“What happened? The others said you were with Ixhel, but then you helped them escape.”

“That’s the truth. The Fair Basilica is being torn apart by Realmbreaker, which is how we got down here.”

“But… you’re… you’re not actually compleat, are you? Did the halo protect you?” Melira asked.

“I don’t know,” Koth replied. “All I know is I’ve got the worst headache of my life. But I’m not feeling the urge to compleat anyone.”

“That’s probably a good sign,” 45th interjected. “If you were susceptible to that kind of thinking, it would have probably started by now. Not everyone suddenly decides they need to start peeling off their friend’s skin instead of doing something constructive with their time. It’s a pity that eighty percent of New Phyrexia’s leadership is in the former category.”

Melira didn’t respond, presumably from the shock of a Gitaxian who didn’t want to cut people open.

“This is 45th Systems Engineer,” Koth explained. “We met on the way down. Anyway, how did you end up here? What happened with the strike team?”

“We found Karn,” Melira said, almost relieved at the change of subject. “The Phyrexians have disassembled him, and he’s barely lucid. The planeswalkers went ahead, and that was the last we saw of them. Realmbreaker had started reaching out to other planes by then. By now, the invasion must have started.”

“So you don’t know what happened to the rest of the planeswalkers?” he asked. The situation seemed hopeless.

Melira sighed. “Kaya was infected and turned on the strike team, which is why she wasn’t there when the Wanderer attacked us. And Elspeth thinks that Katio was compleated as well. I have no idea what happened to the others.”

“So you’ve been down here since you split up?”

“We’ve been searching for a way out. There are paths to every layer here, but we need one that’s safe. We met the others coming down. They were with some of the rebel Phyrexians. Most of the ones from the Dross Pits decided to make their own way out.”

“At this point, we have to assume the others failed,” Koth said. “I can’t fault you for trying to get out of here. There’s something wrong with this place.”

“And then?” Melira asked.

“Regroup. Find whoever we can who’s still against Norn, and get ready for whoever comes next. Which in the long term means finding a way to shut down the planar barrier.”

“What makes you think anyone else is coming?” she asked. “You told me yourself, when you went looking for allies when this all started, you could barely find a handful of them.”

“Realmbreaker changes things,” he replied. “People might not want to risk their lives for another plane, but if their own homes are in danger? At least some of them are going to decide the best solution is to destroy the problem at its source. But without someone on the inside to make that possible, they’ll be walking into a deathtrap.”

Melira didn’t look convinced. Neither did many of the Mirrans, who had gathered around them.

“I just wish there was something else we could do,” she said. “About Karn, or the invasion, or all the other problems we have.”

“New Phyrexia has never given us all the options we want,” he replied. “As always, we have to make do with the ones we have.”

It was a dire situation. In all honesty, Koth didn’t know if they even had a chance of escaping the Seedcore, let alone taking down the barrier. But doing something was always better than simply waiting for Phyrexia to consume them.

He turned to 45th Systems Engineer, who was still hovering nearby. “You said you worked on the barrier, right? Do you have any ideas on how we might get rid of it?”

“I can definitely come up with something, given time,” xe replied. “If we can get out of here, there are other dissidents I can contact who should know more about the functional details. The main obstacle for now is that I’m not sure we really have the resources to sabotage even the lightly defended components.”

“So nothing different from how we usually do things,” Koth replied. “But we can worry about that once we’re out of here.”

The group set off again, along the path Melira and her group had been taking. There seemed to be no end to the Seedcore, and with it no end of passages to the other layers. Koth considered that for as much as they could hope for one, hope hadn’t done him much good. Yet his plan was still built on hope, on the prediction that there would be others looking to tear out the heart of the invasion. Perhaps compleation could not smother that fire that lived within him, the fire that had kept him fighting all these years.

And it seemed their perseverance had paid off when they found a passage with a warm current of air. The branches that had created it tore through to the Furnace Layer, latching onto one of the many forges. While some ended in pools of molten metal, and others spiralled upwards, a few had buried themselves in places that were survivable.

The Furnace glowed through the rifts, orange and red light mixing into rippling patterns. It was a harsh and unforgiving place, but it was the closest place the Mirran Resistance had to a home. For now, they would have to hope. Hope that the Praetors’ attention would be drawn outward to their invasion, rather than inward. Even with the whispers in his mind, speaking silent promises of Phyrexia, Koth knew that they needed to work undercover. If Elesh Norn came for them, there would be no hope for them.

But no matter what happened, Koth would fight to the bitter end. Nothing could change that. Not compleation, or the invasion, or whatever else might oppose them. If he let that fire go out, he would be lost. So that almost made it comforting, in a way, that there was no other choice.

Chapter Text

The sudden appearance of strange new merge rifts in the skies above Kamigawa had caused a brief period of alarm. Their blood-red colouration inspired panic, as people speculated on what kind of kami might emerge from them. Concerns grew that they might be paths for Oni to escape their imprisonment in the spirit world. In the face of these worries, it did not take long for the Imperial Regent to order an investigation.

An investigation that found nothing to worry about. It took less than a day to determine that the rifts were malformed, unable to allow passage for kami. As the investigations began to turn to how such merge rifts had formed, or what that might mean for Kamigawa, public attention began to fade. Rumours persisted, as they always did, but once the possibility of risk was eliminated, the novelty of the rifts soon faded. It was inevitable they would be displaced. And what displaced them could not be ignored.

The return of the Emperor.

While the appointment of Light-Paws as Imperial Regent had soothed tensions, any news of the Emperor was a much needed balm. The capture of Risona had not entirely quelled the Asari Uprisers, while Futurists and Imperials continued to agitate each other. Kamigawa’s laws and customs had grown around the Emperor. In her absence they had begun to unravel, causing the very fabric of the world’s society to fray. Perhaps, with the Emperor’s return, the damage could be mended.

Her first act was welcomed. From seclusion, she announced that the most important figures of Kamigawa would gather at Eiganjo, so that they might begin to repair the damage her absence had caused.

Her second, however, was unexpected. Within a day of the Emperor’s return, most of the Imperial Palace’s staff were informed that they would not be needed during that time. Civil servants, military members, advisors and even maintenance staff were sent away, with only the assurance that they would continue to be paid their wages for the work they would normally perform. The Imperials had always argued that their system provided certainty, and through that certainty, stability and security. This sudden upheaval seemed to fly in the face of that, sowing doubt as to Eiganjo’s future. While it might not be Kamigawa’s greatest employer by number, any change in how it was staffed or administrated would have far-reaching consequences. Speculation and rumour soon ran rampant, any other concerns pushed aside.

Eiko Shizuki had her own concerns. When she had last talked to Kaito, he had told her that he had found who Tezzeret had been working for. A group, or rather a plane, called New Phyrexia. Together with the Emperor and a group of other planeswalkers, they were going to strike at it, before it could attack Kamigawa and other planes. If they had succeeded, why had Kaito not returned and told her himself? And why had the Emperor chosen to go into seclusion as soon as she had returned?

Growing up with Kaito as a brother had eventually taught Eiko an important lesson, that coincidences could not be trusted. When two events seemed connected only by chance, it was wise to be sure that was their only connection. That the appearance of the unusual merge rifts had preceded the Emperor’s return filled Eiko with a quiet dread, an unshaking feeling that something had gone horribly wrong on New Phyrexia.

At first, she had not been affected by the new mandate surrounding Eiganjo, as she had been sent to Jukai by Light-Paws to assure the Order that the merge rift situation was being taken seriously. As long as the strange rifts persisted, Eiko expected that she would remain there, to act as both a calming presence and a source of dialogue.

Then Light-Paws had sent her a message recalling her to the palace. While it was worded as a request, Eiko could see that between the lines it was a demand. She could have objected, pressed the importance of her current assignment, but she knew Light-Paws would not be swayed. She considered asking if Light-Paws had heard from Kaito, but decided against it. As Imperial Regent, she surely had more important concerns, especially with whatever the Emperor was planning.

Travelling from Jukai to Eiganjo was not a trivial task, especially given the current situation. To avoid upsetting the kami, only light rail lines ran between the forest and Towashi, with a restricted timetable. The Towashi Metro at least made crossing the city a simple matter, but with most of the commuters to Eiganjo and the palace no longer travelling, services had been temporarily reduced. As she travelled out of Towashi, the number of passengers quickly dropped, and by the time she reached Eiganjo, she was nearly alone. The other passengers went their own ways into the outer districts, which continued on as they always did.

The Imperial Palace was silent as Eiko approached. The shadows cast by the afternoon sun fell over empty gardens and unattended shrines. It was still, almost lifeless, lacking the usual activity of mortals and kami alike. The Emperor’s edict had been followed well, and the only other people Eiko saw outside the palace were a group of masked Samurai standing guard. They waved her through, with a warning that some parts of the palace were to be avoided.

So once inside, and certain she was not being watched, Eiko ignored all her instincts in favour of what Kaito would do. Something was happening in the Imperial Palace, and somehow, it was connected to the unusual merge rifts and the mission Kaito and the Emperor were a part of.

It was easy enough to move through the empty palace, the lack of staff or visitors preventing her from being discovered. She was still cautious, moving carefully around corners and parts of the palace that might be guarded. She saw a few Samurai patrolling the corridors, but they seemed to be staying to the standard routes, without even minor deviations. It was strange, but if they remained predictable, it could only help her.

Eiko did not quite know what she was looking for until she found it. A small inner courtyard, containing an equally small shrine, the side of which had been smashed open. Her eyes were drawn downwards, to where the splintered wood and shattered ceramic had fallen, flowers left for the shrine’s kami scattered across the ground. Two colours stained the stone tiles of the courtyard. The first was dark red, blood spilt on the ground and left to dry. The other was an iridescent black, with streaks of light running across darkness. There had been a fight here, and recently.

Working her way around the courtyard, Eiko searched for anything that might tell her more. There didn’t appear to be much damage, suggesting an ambush of some kind. But did that mean the attackers had managed to infiltrate the palace? Searching further, she noticed a small knife embedded in the wooden panelling on one of the walls. Looking at it closely, she could see it was coated in a similar dark substance as the one that made up the stains. A poison, perhaps?

Now she knew, without a doubt, that things were not as they appeared. The simplest explanation was that Asari sympathisers had tried to take the opportunity to attack the Emperor on her return. The seclusion could be explained by her being injured, and choosing not to reveal that to prevent panic, or worse, another attack. It almost fit together. Except why then, would so many of the staff be sent away? That merely drew attention to the palace, and if the Asari Uprisers were involved, they might see it as an opportunity to finish things. And it did not account for the merge rifts.

Eiko knew she had no other options. She would have to find Light-Paws. Surely the Imperial Regent would know what was going on. There would be an explanation for what was going on, and whatever worries Eiko had would be put into perspective.

Yet she couldn’t help doubt as she made her way to Light-Paws’ office. Eiko had been summoned back to the palace when many others had been sent away. Eiganjo had no shortage of advisors more experienced than her, a mere kami diplomat who often felt she owed her newest position more to fortune than to any suitability for it.

Once she was close to Light-Paws’ office, she could tell that someone was already there from the shadows on the paper screen door. It would be easier enough to interrupt, but it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. What if it wasn’t Light-Paws in there, but someone else? But maybe there was a way to check.

Kaito had often talked about how easy it was to get around the Imperial Palace if you looked at it in another way. A roof didn’t just have to be a roof, it could be a walkway, if you were daring. Equally, a window could be a door, and any number of conveniently placed objects might be used as stairs or a ladder. Applying this logic to her own situation, Eiko mapped out a path that would allow her to listen in on whoever was in the office through the upper windows, while hopefully remaining undetected. No one ever looked up, or so Kaito liked to claim.

It was easier than she expected. The roof she needed to cross was easily accessed from a nearby window, which was low enough to let her return. The roof’s curve was also fairly shallow, making the footwork required to stay balanced simple. Not for the first time did Eiko find all the training in gracefulness and poise transferable to keeping herself steady on uneven ground. The difference was that tripping in Jukai would merely cause embarrassment. Here, the consequences might be much more severe.

Once she reached the roof of Light-Paw’s office, it was easy to get close enough to the window to hear the conversation within.

“The General has returned from Sokenzanshi,” a voice said. It sounded… almost like Light-Paws, but distorted, somehow.

“But not to the palace,” replied another, a rasping whisper that somehow carried upwards. “More delays.”

“You never did learn patience. Even when your own plan requires it.”

“My patience is not the problem. Perhaps this time you ought to heed my warnings.”

“Yes, this Elesh Norn you speak of is also reckless. Hardly the traits needed in a leader, especially when compared to our own Emperor. If we wish to spread the blessing of compleation, her interference is unwelcome.”

“On that we can agree.”

Eiko had no idea what the two voices wanted to complete, but it sounded as if the Emperor was involved. Along with someone called Elesh Norn. It was a strange name, although it was possible it was an alias. Such practices were not unknown among the Saiba Futurists, especially those working in ways that fell outside of Imperial law. Did she share the same goals as the people in the office? Or did they have a conflicting vision?

Finally, one of the speakers moved to where Eiko could see them. Immediately, she could tell they were a kitsune, but rather than fox tails, they had eight mechanical tails, each segmented with a razor-sharp blade at the end. Thin glowing wires ran across the kitsune’s hands, presumably the control mechanism for something. It was undoubtedly Futurist technology, but not any Eiko had seen before.

Then the kitsune turned, and Eiko quickly recognised them. Despite their changes, she was still, unmistakably, Light-Paws.

“Then we must agree that discretion is vital,” Light-Paws said. “We are not ready for open conflict. The Emperor may be able to keep the Imperials under her control, but defiance is in the Futurist’s nature.”

“The Futurists are not the Uprisers,” the other voice replied. “They already see that Phyrexia is the answer they have been seeking.”

Eiko had been right. It was all connected. And whatever New Phyrexia was, it had already corrupted the heart of Kamigawa. Kaito had said the mission was to stop it before it threatened Kamigawa, but they had failed. Worse, the Emperor had fallen to the enemy, and was now working against the world she was meant to protect.

Metal scraped against wood, and the other person in the office moved into view. Once again, there was no doubt. No hope in denial, no escape from the awful truth.

When Eiko saw her brother, she pressed her hand to her mouth and forced herself not to scream. Kaito’s body had been twisted and reformed, unnaturally fused with artifice. She turned away, lying back on the roof, her entire body shaking. The conversation below continued, but all Eiko could hear was her heart pounding.

She had to get out. Out of the palace. Out of Eiganjo. She had to get away, and find someone, somewhere who could help. Even if she had to travel all the way to Sokenzanshi and throw herself at the mercy of the remaining Asari Uprisers.

Eiko made her way back across the roof, now acutely aware of the consequences of being discovered. Once inside, she took a moment to breathe, to try to calm herself. She could get out of this. The only people who knew she was here were the guards she had passed on the way in. She didn’t have to go past them again to get out. All she needed to do was to make her way to one of the less official exits of the Imperial Palace, and from there, get out of Eiganjo.

It was a simple plan. But in her hurry to escape, she became less cautious. As she turned around a corner, a pair of masked Samurai were waiting for her. One drew their blade, while the other stepped towards her. Now she had an idea of what was behind their masks, beneath their armour. So Eiko did the only rational thing a person in her situation would do.

She turned around and ran.

Officially, there was no need for kami diplomats to be particularly capable at running. Unofficially, there was an understanding that sometimes you needed to be able to put as much space between yourself and a kami as you could manage. With two Samurai pursuing her, however, that might not be enough. Luckily for Eiko, she had practically been raised in the Imperial Palace, with Kaito as a brother.

She knew the palace, including all the shortcuts and pitfalls. The places where it was quicker to vault the fence between two gardens than going around the long way. Where the gap between two buildings was wide enough to let a person through. And all those tricky staircases where two parts of the palace built at different times hadn’t quite lined up. With her destination in mind, and no care for the rules of the palace, Eiko reached it in half the time an official path would take her.

The administrative offices of the Imperial Palace were the place where Kamigawa’s technological advances were most embraced by the Imperials. Rows of desks equipped with datapads had replaced the scroll-packed desks of the old ways, and no one was happier about it than the Imperial Scribes. Making new records took moments, and more importantly, finding old ones was just as quick. The Emperor’s current edict had shut them down, leaving them dark and silent, the absence of the normally endless chatter disquieting.

But it wasn’t the offices Eiko wanted. It was what they were built over. At the back of the building, behind disused desks, broken terminals and forgotten office supplies was a doorway leading to a staircase leading down. It was meant to be locked, but nobody cared enough to check, and if they had, fixing it would not be anyone’s priority. An oversight Kaito had exploited in the past, and Eiko would in the present.

The stairway and what it connected to was constructed from dark stone, rumoured to be taken from the ruins of the original Eiganjo Castle. Such historic materials were appropriate for one of the oldest Imperial Archives, which contains rows and rows of shelves, filled with ancient scrolls, woven through with preserving spells. Eiko was sure they were valuable to someone, but for now the value they had to her was creating a place most had forgotten, and few would think to guard.

On the far side of the archive was a door, leading out of the palace. That one was made of modern security materials, and locked… at least from the outside. Eiko slammed the emergency override as soon as she could reach it, the automatic locks disengaging when she did. She carefully pushed it open, not wanting to repeat her previous mistake. The outside was clear, a narrow road covered by overgrown trees, a patch of Eiganjo the Imperial’s order had neglected. Or perhaps a kami wanted it that way. Either way, it meant she would not be seen as she slipped away from the Imperial Palace.

The easy part was finished. Eiko was certain she could get out of Eiganjo, but she had no idea what to do afterwards. Would anyone even believe her when she told them what she had seen? All of Kamigawa’s fate seemed to rest on her shoulders, and the weight of it was crushing. By now, Light-Paws and the others would surely know she had been in the palace. She had to move on before they could find her.

Eiko Shizuko took another breath, and started the journey away from Eiganjo.

The setting sun painted the buildings of Towashi in shining orange, the reflected light filtering down into the depths of the Undercity. While Eiganjo fretted about its future, Towashi continued onwards, a city that never truly slept. Thousands of lives, all connected, came together to write the future of Kamigawa. Even in the face of the Emperor’s return, anything seemed possible.

Nashi wasn’t concerned about the shining future. He was still sour after his confrontation with Tezzeret, trying to work out the man’s cryptic words. Tezzeret had told Nashi that Tamiyo was still alive, which should have been a relief. But he had also said that Nashi would soon wish she were dead.

Nashi wished Tezzeret were dead. He’d had the chance, the monster who had broken his family twice over at his mercy, and he hadn’t had the nerve to do it. If he were quicker, if he had pulled the trigger a moment sooner, Tezzeret would be dead, unable to hurt anyone else. Instead he had escaped, slaughtering his way through a group of Obika who had come to help Nashi. He was ashamed, not just that he had failed, but that he had even tried. It felt like betraying Tamiyo’s memory to abandon his family in search of revenge.

The rest of the Obika, meanwhile, were furious. Once Nashi had recovered enough to explain what had happened, they were ready to rip the Undercity apart to find Tezzeret. They had ransacked the parlour he had been seen in, finding an nearly-empty hidden room, filled with old references to something called the Infinite Consortium. No one could agree if they were a Reckoner or Futurist group, only that if they showed themselves, they’d be sorry.

It was impossible to tell them the truth, that Tezzeret was from another world, able to walk behind the air. All Nashi could say was that he came from a faraway place. Some of the older Obika seemed to understand what that meant, repeating rumours of Tezzeret’s previous visits to the plane.

Since the confrontation with Tezzeret, Nashi had ignored the notifications on his datapad. Every few hours, one came through, from Genku or Rumiyo trying to contact him. What was he meant to tell them? That he had wasted the best, the only lead he had on Tamiyo? He could tell them she was alive, but that was all he had. He couldn’t go back, not without anything to offer.

He had floated about Towashi in the past days, unsure of what to do. Returning home was daunting, while the hunt for Tezzeret was pointless.

In the end, Nashi had found himself revisiting one of the stations along the line up to Eiganjo. Usually, it would be constantly busy, people coming and going between two of the most important places in Kamigawa. But with the Emperor’s layoffs, the traffic had dropped dramatically. The various stalls and kiosks beneath the platforms, once swamped with customers, were now kept afloat by those still travelling through Towashi.

It was, in Nashi’s opinion, a good place to grab dinner. There were enough stalls that he’d been able to try something new each day, and none of them had made much of a fuss about serving him. Some places in the Undercity were averse to doing business with Reckoners, or who they suspected might be the wrong kind of Reckoner. But on the ground level, in a place frequented by Imperials, the risk of inter-Reckoner conflicts was minimal, allowing money to flow freely. And there was something strangely soothing in the vibrations that ran through the whole structure as the trains passed on the tracks above.

The best way to pass the time at the station was to simply watch. Nashi had found you could learn a lot about someone from how they acted when they thought no one was looking. Today hadn’t been particularly interesting, but a group of Samurai had passed through shortly after Nashi had arrived, and had split into pairs before embarking out into Towashi. It was unusual to see Samurai in such numbers outside of Eiganjo, although they were sometimes dispatched to deal with Upriser cells that had drawn too much attention to themselves.

Nashi was considering leaving when a small kami flew into the station. Like many kami, it had a strange form, a sphere of light within a cage of neon light-tubes, which pulsed between shades of orange. Beneath that body were several vine-like tendrils, each ending in what appeared to be a wind chime. It floated beneath the information screens for a few moments, before flying down to Nashi.

It was common wisdom that attracting the attention of a kami was significant. Some brought good fortune, others bad. For Nashi’s part, he didn’t know what this kami was for, let alone what it might mean for him that it had decided to fly over to him. It made a whistling noise, its inner light flickering as it did.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand?” Nashi replied. It was important to respect kami, or so he had been told. He just never knew it would be this difficult.

The kami clinked its chimes together for a moment. Then, without any warning, it swooped down and snatched up Nashi’s datapad in its tendrils. It floated a short distance away, whistling again.

“Hey!”

Nashi gathered up the rest of his belongings, then stepped towards the kami. It whistled, and its outer shell changed from orange to green. Then it flew towards the station’s exit. He chased after it, and it quickly descended the stairway towards the street.

What followed could, in a charitable sense, be described as a pursuit. Whenever Nashi got close, the kami would fly away, forcing him to follow. He was starting to think it was leading him somewhere, and as it floated down paths leading to the first layer of the Undercity, Nashi grew suspicious. It probably wasn’t working with anyone, but it was up to something. So before following it deeper, Nashi activated his drone, and set it to follow him. Since the confrontation with Tezzeret, he’d made some minor adjustments, trying to fix the problems that had come up then.

It came to an end when the kami seemed to zip into an alleyway between two buildings. Nashi wasn’t sure about following, but it turned out that rather than an alley, there was a shrine lodged into the space between the buildings. It looked run-down, a forgotten piece of history swallowed up by Towashi’s growth. While the Imperials did try to maintain as many shrines as they could, it was inevitable that some would fall through the cracks.

Nashi hesitantly followed the kami into the shrine, activating his drone’s torch to get a better look. The inside was as dilapidated as the outside, although from a glance there didn’t seem to be any obvious structural problems. He wasn’t really sure what he should expect, having not quite paid attention to his lessons explaining the different parts of a shrine to the kami. The entrance seemed to open into an empty room, with a wooden screen at the far end.

The kami floated in the middle of the room. It whistled again, its cage having changed to a soft blue. This time, it did not flee when Nashi approached.

“Can I have that back now?” he asked. “I promised someone I wouldn’t lose it.”

The kami obliged, holding the datapad out. Nashi took it, and the kami flew over to the screen. It clinked its chimes together, and its hue shifted back to its original orange. A scuffling sound came from behind the screen. Someone else was here. Did the kami want him to meet them?

“Hello?” he said, trying to sound confident. “The kami led me here.”

He moved around the screen, steering his drone so that it had a sightline to the space behind. There was a woman sitting against it, dressed in the Imperial style. She was human, with short brown hair, with a pair of under-rimmed glasses. She didn’t look like she was injured, but when she saw him, she quickly pulled herself up.

“Are… are you okay?” Nashi asked.

“I’m fine,” the woman answered curtly. “It’s just…”

“If you need help, I can call someone. We’re barely into the Undercity, so-”

“No. Don’t call anyone,” she snapped. “Especially anyone Imperial. It’s bad enough that kami led you here.”

“I- okay, I won’t. But can you at least tell me your name? If it’s not a big deal.”

The woman sighed. “Fine. I’m Eiko. Eiko Shizuki.”

That single reply changed everything.

“Wait, you’re Kaito’s sister?” Nashi asked, without thinking. Apparently, Eiko did not appreciate the question. As soon as it had left his mouth, she grimaced and rushed forward, surprisingly quickly, and slammed him against the wall of the shrine.

“How do you know my brother?” she asked, the touch of Imperial authority in her voice tempering how frantic it was.

“We met- a few months ago, he was looking for a man with a metal arm. A man named Tezzeret. Kaito came to Otawara for information. My mother knew about him. That’s how I know him.”

“Wait, Otawara?” Eiko’s face softened, and she let him go. “That would mean… you’re Nashi? He told me about you. About how Tezzeret abducted a Soratami woman named Tamiyo.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Nashi answered. “Kaito said he’d look for her. Has something happened to him?”

“It’s… hard to explain. But he told me that Tamiyo has the same gift as him. A gift the Emperor and Tezzeret also possess. Do you understand?”

“He walks behind the air,” Nashi said. “To travel to other worlds.”

“That is the gift I speak of. Unlike others, the Emperor could not control it. Kaito visited all kinds of worlds, searching for the Emperor. Eventually, she returned through her own will. But…” Eiko paused, and took a short breath. “Did… did Kaito ever mention anything about a place called New Phyrexia?”

A knot of dread curled up inside Nashi. He had heard of New Phyrexia, but not from Kaito.

“No,” he answered. “But Tamiyo had another friend. A cat-man named Ajani. Sometimes, when they thought no one else was listening, they talked about that place. It sounded like a nightmare.”

“According to Kaito, New Phyrexia was planning to invade other worlds. To make them a part of itself, to consume them and remake them in its image. He and the Emperor went to join more people with their gift, to try to stop it before it could begin. They failed, and, and-” Eiko stopped again, hands trembling. “I- I’m sorry. But I saw him, in the palace- if Tamiyo was taken there-”

Nashi didn’t know what she had seen. He didn’t need to. Snippets of stories, whispers he was never meant to hear, Ajani’s regrets, memories of a woman named Elspeth, it all came together. New Phyrexia was a place that would twist its victims into being like itself. The conclusion was as awful as it was undeniable.

Kaito, the Emperor, and Tamiyo had all fallen victim to New Phyrexia. And now they had returned to Kamigawa, as heralds of its arrival. There had never been a chance to find Tamiyo.

“I understand,” Nashi said. Knowing what had happened was bad enough. Seeing it would surely be worse. “But if you were at the palace, how did you end up here?”

“I ran,” Eiko said. “I needed to find someone who I could warn. I got as far as the nearest station, but the train I was on was going to turn around back to Eiganjo. They already knew I was in the palace, so I figured they were trying to make sure I couldn’t get away. There’s another metro station not too far from here, but the Imperials have already sent out orders to capture me.”

“I might be able to help with that,” Nashi replied. “Tezzeret was here in Towashi a couple of days ago, and he got into a fight with the Obika. They’re, uh, pretty mad about it, so if they hear New Phyrexia was working with him, they’ll probably want to do something to mess with them.”

“Enough to get involved with an Imperial?” Eiko asked. “Kaito used to run with Reckoners, and they barely tolerated him.”

“We won’t know until we ask. But even if they won’t help, we should get out of here. There’s not many people in this part of the city, and some Samurai passed through the station not too long ago. If they come down here, it won’t be hard for them to find you.”

“Fine then,” Eiko said. “But I don’t know how much time we have. They probably didn’t send people to just one station.”

“Then we better get moving.”

It was a simple enough plan. Leave the shrine, get back to the main streets of Towashi, and then either get a ride from the Obika, or find a way onto the metro system without getting caught. The first step was for Nashi to check outside, to make sure it was clear, leaving his drone just inside in case he needed it.

It wasn’t clear. The moment he exited the shrine, he was spotted by two Samurai, a man and a woman, both wearing gleaming Imperial armour. They clearly hadn’t been down here long, since even the higher levels of the Undercity tended to be less than clean, in a way that stuck to you. The two of them approached him.

“You there,” the man said. “What were you up to in there?”

“Seeking… guidance?” Nashi replied, immediately realising that was a painfully obvious lie.

“Really? Then you won’t mind us having a look inside?”

“We don’t have time for this,” the woman said. “Some nezumi kid hanging around in a run-down shrine isn’t our problem.”

“According to the Regent, Shizuki was a Kami Diplomat. It’s not a total dead end.”

As questionable as the man’s logic was, he was correct. Nashi would have to do something about the two of them, and quickly.

“Fine,” the woman said. “But when we don’t find anything, except maybe some urban kami or a Reckoner stash, don’t complain to me.”

“Uh, I don’t think you want to go in there,” Nashi said, trying to think of an excuse. “See, you’re going to find both those things, ‘cause the local Reckoners made a deal-”

“Look kid,” the woman said. “If that’s true, you’re probably a Reckoner, or working with them. But what we’re doing is a lot more important than whatever criminal squabbles you’re a part of. In fact, none of it’s going to matter soon enough. So just get out of our way, okay?”

The man stepped forward, a hand on his sword. Nashi wasn’t about to let them take Eiko, not after letting Tezzeret escape. Not knowing what had happened to Tamiyo and Kaito. He gritted his teeth, and commanded his drone to fire.

The cannon blast hit the Samurai directly in the chest, flinging him into the air. He landed a good distance away, crumpling into a heap. The other Samurai looked deeply unhappy about this development.

“Big mistake, kid,” she said. “You really don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

Her armour seemed to shift, arm guards sliding down to form a pair of blades, one for each arm. They glistened in the artificial light, coated in some kind of oil.

“If you have a reason why I should let you live, now would be a good time to bring it up.”

Nashi was fairly certain this wasn’t normal Samurai behaviour. What he was fully certain of was that his drone still needed a few moments longer to reload, and he wasn’t going to be able to bluff his way out.

“Stop.”

Eiko stepped out of the shrine, eyes locked on the Samurai.

“It’s me you’re looking for. Let the nezumi go.”

The Samurai laughed.

“Eiko Shizuki. I can’t believe that idiot was right. Not that it matters. You’re late for a very important meeting at the palace, with the Imperial Regent no less. I suppose I can let the kid go, provided you haven’t told him anything alarming, so to speak.”

A whir from his control rod told Nashi that the drone was ready to fire. He could wait for a more powerful shot, but in their current situation, he and Eiko needed every moment they could get.

The second shot knocked the Samurai off her feet, although less dramatically than the first. She tried to pull herself up, before shuddering and collapsing again. That was strange - most Imperials lacked the kind of implants that would cause such a reaction.

“We need to get out of here,” he said to Eiko, already turning to run. “She’s not going to stay down for long.”

The upside of the empty streets was that it was easy to get away, and the two of them were able to put some distance between themselves and the Samurai. The chaotic layout of the Undercity helped as well, the maze-like combination of buildings and roads making pursuit difficult. For a moment, it looked as if there might be a way out.

But it wasn’t going to be that easy. As they turned a corner, another pair of Samurai were waiting at the next intersection. Turning back wasn’t an option, Nashi realised, when two more emerged from an alleyway in the direction they had just come from. Somehow, they’d known exactly where Nashi and Eiko were heading.

When a masked figure dropped down from above to meet their pursuers, it became clear how.

“Is that a Saiba?” Eiko asked. “I knew Kaito had contacts with Futurists, but I thought that maybe…” She trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.

Nashi looked around for another path. There was a road leading further down, deeper under Towashi, but he didn’t want to risk it. The Saiba had their own facilities hidden there, and their enforcers were far more of a threat than any Reckoner. Looking up, Nashi saw several of them clinging to the buildings and infrastructure above.

By now, the Samurai had noticed the two of them. His drone couldn’t take on all of them, especially now there was also a threat above them. There had to be an option he hadn’t noticed.

After a moment, Nashi saw it. A maintenance passage, blocked off by a fence and gate. Thinking quickly, he had his drone shoot the gate, which as expected, crashed open, the rusted lock unable to handle the force. As soon as it was open, he and Eiko made a break for it.

It might have brought attention to them, but it was worth it. The passage curved beneath a building, blocking off the Saiba’s sight. It was cramped, turning the Imperial’s heavy armour against them. Even better, the gate on the other end was unlocked, meaning they didn’t need the drone to open it. For a moment, it looked like they were out.

Only to find the next road blocked by an abandoned construction vehicle.

“Any chance your drone can break through that?” Eiko asked, although with a tone suggesting she already knew it was pointless. They turned around, to see two Samurai emerge from the passage. Nashi prepared his drone again. Two wasn’t so bad, and if he got them before they called for backup, the two of them might be able to escape their pursuers.

But for some reason, the Samurai seemed not to notice them.

“Where are they?” one of them asked. “There should be right here.”

“There must be another way out of that passage. This city's a mess.”

One of them raised a hand to their collar.

“Wait, one of the Saiba got sights on them. Looks like they’ve headed down another layer.”

“Right into Reckoner territory. Can’t Shizuki find his own sister?”

“You want to be the one to ask him that? After what happened when he found out she got out of Eiganjo?”

The conversation faded as the two headed back to the passage.

“How did they not see us?” Nashi asked.

“I’m not sure,” Eiko replied. “The Saiba might have mistaken someone for us, but the Samurai were right there.”

“Senses can be deceived,” a voice said, seeming to come from nowhere. “Those seeking can be led to see what they desire.”

The air shimmered for a moment, and a figure came into sight. They wore an intricate flowing robe, complex patterns woven into the fabric that seemed to shift and move, forming a multitude of illustrations. Their face was covered by a theatrical mask with several expressions carved into it, showing everything yet revealing nothing.

“It’s a kami,” Eiko stated. “One that deals with senses, obviously. From the presentation, I would guess a Kami of Illusion.”

“A well reasoned guess, Kami Diplomat,” the kami replied. “And indeed, a correct one.”

“Thank you for your aid. We are in your debt.”

“A thoughtful sentiment. Yet I did not save you for the sake of kindness. You are both aware of the cruel facade that surrounds Eiganjo. There is another who knows of this, and wishes to break it. Your efforts will be stronger if united.”

“Wait, someone else knows what’s going on?” Eiko asked hurriedly.

“A traveller from a faraway place,” the Kami of Illusion answered. “A deceiver, who misleads not just senses, but memories as well. I will lead you to him. From there, you must make your own path.”

“We understand.”

The kami turned, and beckoned for Eiko and Nashi to follow. It led them back through the Undercity, shrouding them beneath its illusion. They slowly moved upwards, until a broad stairway took them out of the Undercity, into the streets of upper Towashi. From there, they travelled along the footpaths that snaked between the buildings, roads and tracks of the city, finally arriving in a small plaza that was almost empty. A small number of kami seemed to have gathered, around a pale-skinned man with brown hair, dressed in an unusual blue robe.

“This is where we part,” the Kami of Illusions said. “I shall announce you, and then you may meet your ally.”

The Kami of Illusions swept across the ground to the man. The two conversed for a few minutes, until the kami departed. Then the man waved them over.

“Nashi,” the man said as they approached. “It’s been a while.”

For a moment, Nashi was unsure what the man meant. But as he got a closer look, he realised he recognised him. He had been there, the day Tezzeret had burned his village. And he had seen him once more, when Tamiyo had returned from one of her journeys, strangely withdrawn.

“You… you’re a friend of Tamiyo’s?” Nashi asked. “A planeswalker.”

“Yes. My name is Jace. I think you both know why I’m here.”

“Jace?” Eiko asked, voice concerned. “You… you were one of the people Kaito mentioned. The ones who were meant to stop New Phyrexia.”

“Ah. You’re Kaito’s sister. I’m sorry. We had a plan. It didn’t work out the way we wanted.”

“Then what happened? How did… what happened to my brother?”

“New Phyrexia was ready for us. Instead of our strike team arriving together, we were scattered across the plane. Some of us managed to regroup, but Kaito and the Wand- the Emperor were captured. They, along with three others, were compleated. By the time we reached the core, it was too late to stop them.”

“Compleated?”

“Compleation is what the Phyrexians call the process they use to make people Phyrexian,” Jace explained. “It involves synthesis of biology and artifice, enabled by the use of a substance known as glistening oil. Usually, it requires surgery and a non-trivial amount of time, but on New Phyrexia something causes the process to be vastly accelerated.”

“They’ve already started,” Eiko said grimly. “Light-Paws, the Imperial Regent, was talking about spreading the blessing of compleation.”

“That’s what I was worried about,” Jace replied. “Those red markings in the sky? They aren’t merge rifts. They’re something called Omenpaths, and on other planes they’re how New Phyrexia is transporting their forces to invade. My guess is once the Imperial Military has been fully subverted, that’s when they’ll open.”

“So we’ve got to stop them first,” Nashi declared. “Even if that means… fighting against the people we love.”

“I’m afraid so,” Jace said. “I’ve got some contacts who I’m working with, but I can’t exactly walk into Eiganjo and tell them the Emperor is working for extraplanar invaders. Even getting in front of someone in the Imperials willing to listen isn’t going to be easy.”

There was the problem. Nashi didn’t know anyone who might be able to help. Genku would believe them, as he knew about the secret of other planes. But could he convince anyone else? And the Obika might be willing to take on someone connected to Tezzeret, but few Reckoners dared to directly confront the Imperials.

“I think I might know someone we could talk to,” Eiko said suddenly. “When I was listening to Kaito and Light-Paws, they said a general had returned from Sokenzanshi, but hadn’t visited the palace yet. That has to be General Yamazaki. She used to oversee the Eiganjo merge gate. Apparently she was trying to find a compromise with the Uprisers in Sokenzanshi, before they attacked the palace.”

“So she might listen to one of us,” Jace surmised.

“But how do we get to Eiganjo?” Nashi asked. “Those Samurai are looking for us, and some of them might have gone back to the stations.”

“I can deal with that,” Jace replied, smiling. “I can create illusions to disguise us. They should even be able to fool Kamigawa’s surveillance systems. If we know where we’re going, we’d better get started.”

“General Yamazaki has an estate on the outskirts of Eiganjo,” Eiko explained. “If she’s made the journey from Sokenzanshi, that’s probably where we’ll find her.”

It took a little more discussion to determine how they were going to get back to Eiganjo, but soon they were on their way.

The journey back to Eiganjo had been tense, especially for Eiko. Part of her still wanted to run, to get away from the Imperial Palace and the horrors within. But if the best chance at saving Kamigawa was in Eiganjo, she would still her fears and face it.

As promised, Jace’s illusions had allowed them to simply board another train heading back to Eiganjo. It was almost deserted, and it stopped short of the station for the palace. But that was close enough for where they were heading that it didn’t matter. In the evening twilight, the streets of Eiganjo were almost empty, easing some of the tension Eiko was feeling.

Strangely, one kami had followed them from Towashi. Based on its appearance, a translucent blue brain, surrounded by a ring of runed eyes, it was a Kami of Memory. Jace had muttered something about needing its help, but he hadn’t explained what that help was.

Getting into the Yamazaki estate was far easier than Eiko had expected. Jace did all the talking, somehow convincing both the guards and servants that it was vitally important that they received an audience with General Yamazaki. She noticed their eyes occasionally glaze over, as if they were afflicted by some kind of spell. Her first suspicion was that it was the work of the kami with them, but the Kami of Illusion had described Jace as someone who deceived senses and memories. But if it got them closer to their goal, perhaps it was the better option.

They were led up to a balcony overlooking a well-cared for courtyard, a few kami flitting about within the flowerbeds and between the branches of trees. It was a soothing sight, a small peace contrasted against the darkness waiting in the heart of Eiganjo. Eiko’s anxiety calmed, even as they waited for the general.

After a short wait, a few soldiers stepped onto the balcony, followed by another servant.

“General Yamazaki will see you now,” the servant said. “Please be respectful of her time, as she has had a long journey from Sokenzanshi.”

Norika Yamazaki emerged from inside, dressed in the closest thing the Imperial Style had to casual, but with her hair still neatly tied back. She was followed by an armour-clad, dark-furred kitsune, with four grey tails.

“Eiko Shizuki… and friends,” the General said. “I was quite surprised to receive an arrest warrant for you. As brief as our encounters have been, you do not strike me as the criminal sort. Once, I might have thought otherwise about your brother, but his part in the Emperor’s return was cause for a reevaluation. It would seem to me that there has been something of a misunderstanding.”

“Your clemency is greatly appreciated, General Yamazaki,” Eiko replied, unable to state just how grateful she was.

“Such clemency seems unnecessary to me,” the kitsune said. “It is not our place to question the Emperor’s orders, and it is our duty to uphold them.”

“So you have reminded me several times,” the General snipped back. “But we must not let duty blind us. Something is amiss in Eiganjo, and I think Eiko here will be able to shed some light on the situation.”

“She is a criminal-”

“She is, for now, a guest in my home. You would do well to remember that, Major Onyx-Eyes.”

Onyx-Eyes bristled at Norika’s remark, but did not object.

“Now then, Eiko. Perhaps you can tell me your side of the story. You can speak, and I will listen.” Norika said. “Without interruptions,” she then added, with a glance at Onyx-Eyes.

“I… I can try,” Eiko replied. “But… I’m not sure where to start.”

“Then start where all things do. At the beginning.”

“Then I suppose this all begins with the Emperor’s disappearance,” Eiko said. She started to recount it all, the disappearance, what had happened in Jukai with Kaito, Tameshi, and the kami Himoto. Once she started, she could not stop, even as she began to speak of other worlds, about Tezzeret, and the place called New Phyrexia. She had worried it would all sound unreal, yet as she spoke it merely seemed to solidify the terrible reality she now found herself in. Eiko finished with her escape from Eiganjo, at the same time trying to read Norika’s face, to see if she had been believed.

“That is a strange series of events, if you are to be believed,” the General said once Eiko had finished talking. “Yet it does seem to explain many things.”

“You cannot be serious, General,” Onyx-Eyes interjected. “Do you really think these stories of other worlds are credible? That these so-called Phyrexias are more than a Futurist’s nightmare?”

“I might take your counsel more seriously if it were not clear you had decided to disbelieve these words before hearing them,” Norika replied, a hint of irritation breaking through her measured tone. “We know of two worlds ourselves, the mortal and the spirit. It is not absurd to consider that more exist beyond them. Indeed, the tales of the Myojin of Night’s Reach speak of her boasts of travelling to realms far beyond Kamigawa.”

“Such records hardly support such claims. And they are beside the point. I was there when the Emperor returned. She was as healthy as she had ever been.”

Eiko’s blood felt like it had turned to ice. If Onyx-Eyes could claim that things in Eiganjo were fine, Norika might believe him. In spite of the friction between them, if he had not been thrown out of the General’s home, there was surely a reason for him to stay.

“Might I say something?”

Jace stepped forward, and for a moment Eiko thought she saw the flicker of a smile on his face.

“And you would be?” Norika asked, wary, but not hostile.

“Jace Beleren. I am something of an associate of both Kaito Shizuki, and Tamiyo, who Eiko has mentioned.”

“If you have something to contribute, then I welcome it.”

“Then you have my thanks. You see, given Major Onyx-Eyes’ statement, I have some questions for him. I found it at odds with my own knowledge of the situation.”

“Fine,” Onyx-Eyes replied. “I shall humour you, at least for the moment.”

“Excellent. Then tell me - what is going on in the Imperial Palace?”

“Excuse me?”

“If you were there when the Emperor returned, surely you know why the staff were expelled? And why General Yamazaki was recalled from Sokenzanshi, even though it is nearly in open rebellion.”

“It was simply precaution.”

“Against?” Jace asked, pressing at Onyx-Eyes’ sparse response.

“You are aware of the Uprisers. There were risks… except- no, that can’t be right…”

“Except what?” Jace took a step forward. “What happened when the Emperor returned?”

There was something strangely commanding about Jace’s voice, and in the corner of Eiko’s eye, the Kami of Memory seemed to be more solid. Glancing away from the confrontation, she noticed all its eyes had turned to look at Onyx-Eyes.

“I… I…”

Onyx-Eyes clutched his head, and staggered backwards.

“Stand back,” Jace said. He reached down to his waist and drew a thin sword from somewhere, the illusion hiding it melting away to reveal its glow.

Then Onyx-Eyes screamed, and his body started to twist, invisible seams in his skins splitting open to reveal oil coated spikes. Metal claws emerged from his hands, and when his head snapped forward, his eyes glowed red with malice.

“Do you want to know what happened when the Emperor returned, Jace Beleren?” Onyx-Eyes asked, voice distorted. “She showed us the future. The blessing of compleation, Phyrexia’s glorious gift.”

He stalked towards Jace, bladed arms raised and ready to strike.

“Your interference ends here.”

Onyx-Eyes lunged forward, and Jace seemed to split apart, multiple copies of him fanning out around the kitsune. Claws slashed through empty air, dispelling illusions but failing to identify the real Jace. The soldiers had drawn their own weapons, but seemed unsure how to act.

Then one of the Jaces attacked, driving his sword into Onyx-Eyes' side, where his armour had split when he had transformed. Light poured from the blade, and the kitsune seemed to burn from the inside, screeching as he died. Finally, he dropped dead, black ichor leaking from his wounds. Jace looked down at the body, but Eiko looked away, the horror of it too raw.

“Perhaps you can explain what just happened,” Norika said. Whatever her reaction to what she had just seen, if she had lost her composure, she had already regained it.

“He was a sleeper agent,” Jace replied. “Surgically altered internally, but in a way to conceal it. Even he would have been unaware of his nature, although I suspect his belligerence may have been planted.”

“It looks like your claims have been conclusively proven,” Norika said, addressing Eiko. “Which means we are in grave danger. I will do what I can, but until these Phyrexians show themselves, it will be hard to act against the Emperor.”

“Even the smallest of preparations can help,” Jace said. “But I don’t know how long we have. Tamiyo is patient, and a cautious scholar. But I can’t answer for the temperament of the others.”

“Kaito Shizuki’s reputation precedes him,” Norika said, with an apologetic look towards Eiko. “It is possible he will make a move if our enemies learn they have been discovered.”

Norika turned to the soldiers.

“Gather the other soldiers. We need to make people aware of this threat,” she commanded. “We also need to make contact with the other generals. But we must also be shrewd. Anyone who has visited the palace during or after the Emperor’s return cannot be trusted.”

The soldiers affirmed the commands, and returned inside. Norika let out a breath.

“If there is anything else you can tell me about this Phyrexia, now is the time. I assume that if we are able to stop the Emperor, that will not be the end of this?”

“New Phyrexia will almost certainly enact a direct invasion in that case,” Jace answered. “Their weapon, Realmbreaker, will emerge from those red rifts, and their troops will follow.”

“Rifts that have been reported all over Kamigawa. But that is a problem for the future. There are some people I can contact, to make preparations for that. And potentially give us some allies if we need to assault the Imperial Palace directly.”

“In that case-”

Jace was interrupted by a low rumbling, followed by small tremors that shook the ground, and lights flickering for a few moments. Eiko felt as if some chill wind had passed through her, even though the evening had not been that cold.

“Did anyone else feel that?” she asked, unsure of herself.

“Yes,” Norika replied. “It is not a feeling I wished to relive.”

Another tremor struck, more violent than the last, and some of the lights of Eiganjo fell dark.

“I take it this is unusual?” Jace asked.

“It’s… some sort of disruption connected to the spirit world,” Eiko answered. “Probably emanating from the merge gate.”

“Another problem,” Norika said. “It is possible that these false rifts have had an effect on the kami after all.”

“Um, General Yamazaki?” Nashi said uneasily, “I don’t really know about this spirit stuff, but I think that might have something to do with this.”

He pointed out across Eiganjo, in the direction of the Imperial Palace. Jace, Eiko and Norika looked outward, and upwards, to what Nashi had seen.

Above the Imperial Palace of Kamigawa rested a great cocoon, spun from oiled threads. In spite of its sudden appearance, it had the bearing of an object that had always been there, and had only now been revealed. The air around twisted and distorted, the two worlds forced together by its will. A will that had been sleeping, waiting, growing. A will that had now begun to awaken.

With a scraping chime heard all across Kamigawa, the cocoon tore open.

The being inside uncoiled, spiralling flesh tearing apart. Its serpentine body rippled and swirled, and endless mass of writhing and grasping limbs churning, forming and melting with every movement. Eyes blinked across it, twitching as they peered out into the darkness. It had the head of a dragon, cast in dark metal, with a single monstrous eye, pupil split vertically down the middle. Its twin jaws opened, and with a screeching roar, it announced itself, and declared its purpose.

The Kami of Compleation had been born.

Chapter Text

Every plane had moments in its history where everything changed. A great upheaval that forever altered the face of a world. Some worlds were shattered by grand forces, or pulled from the brink of ruin. Many were pushed to evolve by new discoveries, magic and technology that swept across them. Others saw the awakening of ancient powers, that in their efforts to remake the past, were doomed to ensure it would never repeat.

The birth of a new kami, one inextricably linked to an alien concept, marked such a moment for Kamigawa. A Phyrexian idea had now been entwined with the fabric of the plane, the workings of the spirit world elevating it from mere thought to a living being. Like all of Phyrexia, it was great and terrible, flesh unconstrained and metal unburdened. Fear was the natural response to the monstrous dragon that now floated above Eiganjo. Yet like O-Kagachi had done, so long ago, it also inspired awe.

One man felt neither of these. Jace Beleren looked up at it and knew it was what he had come to Kamigawa to try and stop. There was, in a sense, something impressive about how quickly its manifestation had been achieved, but he doubted that had been their original plan. Between them, the Wanderer, Kaito and Tamiyo were well on their way to subverting all of Kamigawa’s leadership. The kami was a desperation play, forced early by Eiko’s escape from the palace.

Perhaps this was the piece of madness Emrakul had left him with, Jace considered. The capacity to look at something that was objectively horrifying and to a certain level, simply not care. Whatever concept the new kami represented, it was a corruption of a sacred part of Kamigawa. More importantly, if it was truly Phyrexian, it had some part to play in the invasion. Jace had hoped that the lack of open conflict might have allowed him to advance other plans, but those would have to wait.

It was Eiko who broke the silence that had fallen over their group when the kami had emerged.

“Did… did they compleat one of the dragon kami?” she asked, not looking away from the spirit that now dominated the sky.

“It would be unlikely,” General Yamazaki replied. “The dragons rarely venture beyond the domains they watch over, and Ao hasn’t been seen in Eiganjo in years. This is something new.”

“But how? Doesn’t it take years for a new kami to form?”

“It may have originated when Jin-Gitaxias arrived on Kamigawa. Although that does not account for its rapid growth.”

“I have a theory,” Jace said, glancing down at Onyx-Eyes' remains. “Phyrexian biology uses a substance called glistening oil for several purposes. One of those is storing information, and it’s incredibly efficient. Such a conceptual density might allow the kami to mature far faster than normal.”

“Your idea may have merit,” General Yamazaki replied. “There’s some research that suggests that novel kami have been developing faster as more rapid forms of communication have become available. But I suspect your theory doesn’t end there.”

“Indeed. Tamiyo was, and I believe still is, a thorough scholar,” Jace explained. “She’s familiar with a lot of unusual phenomena, and she’s acquired a collection of incredibly powerful spells from multiple planes. It’s possible her research has given her a way to manipulate the kami’s development.”

“If she has magic from these other worlds, what is possible on Kamigawa would not limit her,” General Yamazaki mused. “Which also means we have no way of predicting what she might be able to do against us. Unless you have any insight?”

“I’m afraid not. Tamiyo saw the risk in letting their power fall into the wrong hands, and she was reticent about even revealing what some of them could do. But I don’t think the one I did see used is applicable to the current situation.”

“Tamiyo said that some stories hold terrible power,” Nashi interjected. “But until you draw it out, you don’t know what form it takes, or the cost. I don’t think it was a power she ever wanted. She didn’t want to hurt people, just learn about them.”

That was consistent with what Jace knew of Tamiyo. On Innistrad, she had hesitated to use the iron-bound scroll that could halt the Eldrazi, until Emrakul had quite literally forced her hand. Given the threat of eternal night that had followed only a few years later, perhaps she had been right.

“Then we must hope that she does not wish to use them now,” General Yamazaki said. “If this Phyrexia wishes for us to join it, this may stay their hand, at least long enough for us to act.”

It was a faint hope, but Jace could see the logic. Elesh Norn’s goal was to compleat the multiverse, to have Phyrexia be all that was. It was a war with scale beyond comprehension, but also a war where the purpose was not to destroy the enemy, but to embrace them. What their victims saw as cruelty, the Phyrexians saw as necessity.

Another roar drew attention back to their main problem. At their distance from the palace, it was hard to tell, but the air around the kami seemed to be distorting, a corona of folding light twisted around it. It became brighter, the edge sharpening into points, before shattering, sending beams of light arcing upwards into the sky. Reaching their zenith, they began to fall like glittering rain.

“We need to get under cover,” General Yamazaki said. “There’s no telling what those rays could do.”

They quickly retreated inside, still watching as the light fell over Eiganjo. It dissipated as it hit the buildings and ground, releasing a hollow echoing sound. It was unnerving, but if it hadn’t put Jace on edge, it might have been soothing. It seemed to have disturbed the other kami, the ethereal beings rising into the night sky, even as the light continued to pour downwards.

It did not take long for one of the beams to strike a kami, a four-winged bird spirit that was circling nearby. The light faded, leaving a bubbling mass of oily darkness, which rapidly spread across the kami, completely engulfing it. For a moment, it shifted, before draining away, fading as it poured away from the kami’s body. Its removal revealed wings now made of bladed metal feathers and eyes that glistened with malice.

The kami had been compleated.

Eiko gasped in horror, and Jace could feel the fear from Nashi and General Yamazaki, even if they did not vocalise it. For his own part, this was another troubling development, a sign of how far ahead the compleated planeswalkers were. Thankfully, the Kami of Memory had followed them inside, sheltering it from corruption. A silent conversation passed between Jace and the kami, confirming that for now, there was nothing either of them could do for any kami that had been changed.

“It seems the situation has become far more dire,” General Yamazaki said, her voice projecting a flawless confidence only a telepath could see beyond. “If they can turn the kami against us, to compleat them, as you called it, our time to act is limited. The horrors of the Kami War are well attested.”

“Didn’t the Kami War last thirty years?” Nashi asked nervously.

“Twenty,” Yamazaki corrected. “Which was only possible because Konda possessed what was known as That Which Was Taken. It was a part of O-Kagachi, which would later become Kyodai, and it made Konda indestructible. Once he no longer held it, it was said Eiganjo fell within a day.”

“Konda was safe, but the rest of Kamigawa suffered,” Eiko added. “We still don’t truly understand how kami can affect the concepts they are linked to. Even the most minor or esoteric kami could cause disaster if it is compleated.”

General Yamazaki led the rest of them further inside, where soldiers and the estate’s staff were frantically working to prepare a response. A soldier holding a datapad walked over as she saw them enter.

“General,” she said, with a swift salute. “I have an urgent message from the Kami Response Unit.”

“What’s the situation, Lieutenant?”

“They can’t contact the other generals, and there are reports coming in of kami being altered in some way, and becoming hostile. There’s also a panic forming due to the kami that has appeared over the palace.”

“They need to secure the kami that have changed, using any means necessary,” Yamazaki responded. “It’s also vital that they prevent any more kami from being corrupted. For now, they should not attempt to engage with the kami above the palace.”

The soldier tapped her datapad, recording the general’s commands. “I will relay these orders at once.”

“Wait. There’s one more thing. Should they be contacted by any general that failed to answer them earlier, they should disregard any orders from that general. The same goes for any communication from within the palace. Even if it is from the Emperor herself. Do you understand, Lieutenant?”

The soldier paused, not out of a lack of understanding, but from realising the implications of General Yamazaki’s command.

“Yes, General,” she replied.

“Good. This is not a threat we cannot allow to take root. Make sure the Response Unit understands that.”

The soldier gave another salute before leaving, moving as fast as she could within the chaotic estate.

“That was better news than I was hoping for,” Yamazaki said. “We might be able to get some control over this situation, and it’s one less fire to put out. The next step is to see if we can get reinforcements in from Otawara, given that the Imperial Guard is almost certainly compromised.”

“You think they’ll believe what’s going on?” Eiko asked.

“What I think is they’ll be hard-pressed not to respond to Eiganjo and the Imperial Palace being attacked by a hostile kami. We can hold off on the cause until they arrive.”

Jace didn’t think that was the best idea, but General Yamazaki certainly had a surer judgement of what could actually be done. Part of the problem with the threat posed by New Phyrexia was how unrealistic it seemed, even to planeswalkers. The specific nature of the threat to Kamigawa also hindered them. The Wanderer’s compleation created both a political and ideological danger, changing a threat people might find hard to believe into one they would not want to believe. Letting the Wanderer join the mission was a mistake, but one Jace had overlooked simply to try to get an edge over New Phyrexia.

“I’ll need to talk with the Soratami generals in private,” Yamazaki continued. “But they may want to hear what Eiko has to say, given that she is an Imperial Advisor and a former Kami Diplomat.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Eiko said. “Until then, is it possible that I could access your archives? There is some information about kami I’d like to check.”

“That can be arranged. If there’s anything in there that can help stop this, we need it.”

General Yamazaki arranged for one of the staff to lead them to the archive, before going off to contact Otawara. Jace, Eiko and Nashi were led to a room on the lower floor, filled with a number of scroll-bearing shelves on one side, and a number of data terminals on the other. If the information Eiko wanted to find existed, there was a good chance it could be found here. She wasted no time in making her way to a terminal, starting a search through the massive amount of information it could access.

“We’ve been calling the thing above the palace a kami,” Eiko said. “But maybe that’s the wrong way to think about it. The truth is, we wouldn’t be wrong to call it an oni. The difference between the two is a lot less than people generally think. I wouldn’t call it entirely political, but…”

“Whether or not a kami is classified as an oni is mostly based on how the Imperials feel about it?” Jace guessed.

“That’s not an unfair assessment. In theory, there are specific qualities an oni is meant to have, but several of them are open to interpretation. But the one thing that’s common with all oni is that there are rites that can be used to imprison them.”

The display on the terminal changed to a replica of a painting, depicting several figures standing around a monstrous flame. The ones closest were Samurai, weapons raised against the oni, while priests stood behind them, holding out sacred instruments, presumably to bind the oni. Concerningly, there were also a number of them that appeared to be dead, scorch marks carefully detailed over the centre of their chests.

“The Imperials keep a detailed record of oni bindings,” Eiko continued. “There might be something that we can adapt to the kami above the palace.”

“So there’s a way to stop it?” Jace asked.

“Maybe. Even if we can’t completely seal it, there may be a way to syphon some of its power, to weaken it,” Eiko explained.

“Wouldn’t those records be hundreds of years old?” Nashi asked. “There’s a lot of perspectives on history, but they all agree that the oni were sealed in the spirit world by Kyodai.”

“That’s true…” Eiko said hesitantly. “But there have been incidents, a few times a century, when some have escaped.” She sighed, before continuing. “The Imperials kept it quiet, but Kyodai’s condition after the Emperor’s disappearance made such incidents much more common. So techniques needed to be developed to handle them.”

From what Jace understood of Kamigawa, Eiko had just admitted something that was at best a serious political scandal, and that was assuming no one was badly injured in those incidents. But if it meant the Imperials had developed a form of artifice or magic that could be deployed against hostile kami, it would benefit them in the current situation. A series of pictures replaced the painting as her research continued, transitioning from hand-made records of events, to primitive photographs, and finally to high-quality images even the Dimir could not achieve.

With Eiko able to handle the research on her own, there was little for Jace to help with. While he had a basic understanding of how to use Kamigawa’s technology, he lacked both the knowledge of the archiving system and any relevant domain knowledge that might help. In theory, that gave him time to plan how he might subdue one of the planeswalkers, but unless one of them left the palace, there wasn’t much he could do. There was a time he might have considered using Nashi or Eiko to lure their family members out, risking innocent lives to achieve his goal. The lives he was meant to protect, that he’d made an oath to protect when the Gatewatch was founded.

Perhaps there was something he could do, at least for these two. He pulled a pair of bracelets from his robes, blue tinted crystals on simple bands, enchanted to hold a small replica of his own abilities. They would have never helped on New Phyrexia, but for a couple of people? Even if they didn’t use them, the charms might still give them a little comfort.

“I want you to have these,” he said, holding the charms out. “They’re enchanted to allow the wearer to project illusions. Nothing complex, and they require concentration to use, but they might be enough to get you out of trouble.”

Nashi took one, turning it round in his hands and examining it. “Phyrexian trouble?” he asked, understanding the charm’s purpose.

“Yes. With your connections to the compleated planeswalkers, it’s possible they’ll be looking for you specifically. Think of these as an emergency option, something to shake off pursuers for a moment.”

Eiko took a moment to take the other, sliding it around her wrist. “Thank you. I don’t know if this will help, but… it’s better than having nothing, I suppose.”

Time passed, with Nashi practising illusion-casting while Eiko continued her work, Jace answering any questions that came up, most of them from Nashi. It was the quiet before the storm, a moment that might lull someone into complacence. Jace had been through enough disasters to know the longer a quiet lasted, the more fearsome its breaking would be.

The breaking came when Eiko’s terminal flickered, the document she was studying replaced with an image of the Imperial Seal. She scowled and muttered something under her breath, before regaining her composure.

“I’m locked out,” she stated flatly. “There’s going to be an emergency broadcast of some kind, and I doubt it’s going to be from General Yamazaki.”

There was little doubt in Jace’s mind as to who would be speaking, and his suspicions were confirmed when the terminal changed again, now showing the Imperial Throne.

The Emperor stood in front of the throne, flanked by a seven-tailed kitsune on her left, and a human woman on her right, both compleated.

“Light-Paws,” Eiko said, identifying the kitsune. “And I think the other woman is Naomi. She’s a senior Advisor. General Yamazaki used to be her aide…”

Eiko trailed off, as the Emperor began to speak.

“People of Kamigawa,” she began, voice perfectly regal. “I wish to speak to you all, with the utmost urgency. I am aware that my return has brought with it many questions, and few answers. I wish to clarify the situation, to cut through the clouds of rumour that have formed.

When I left Kamigawa, I was without purpose. Unguided, and unanchored. In spite of the great duty I was entrusted with, I was unable to return. In my absence, the divides in our society have grown. These wounds are now so deep that the Asari Uprisers sought to destroy the very heart of our culture. Our world once had unity, but now conflict threatens to tear us apart.

But there is an answer. In the chaos and the darkness, I found a new way. A new kind of unity, that can stitch our wounds closed, and bind us together. A bridge between all people and kami, whether they be Futurist or Traditionalist, Imperial or even Asari. The strength of this unity has already birthed a new kami, the Kami of Compleation, which even now rests above the Imperial Palace, bringing its blessing upon Eiganjo.

There are those who fear this change, who wish to oppose it. To those I say: let go of your fear. This light rises like the sun, and like the sun, there is no mortal force that can stop it. Instead, embrace it, and each other. Embrace the cure to our world’s sickness, and let it infuse every aspect of your being.

And know that if you try to reject this kindness, if you try to shatter this unity, you will fall.

I await you all on the other side. In the new Kamigawa. The Kamigawa that is One.”

It was a disconcerting speech, but given his experience, Jace doubted it would have the intended effect. If anything, it would help rally a force to stop the Emperor by proving that the danger posed by New Phyrexia existed.

“I have one more message,” the Emperor said. “For Jace Beleren. We know you are here. Whatever you might think, we are joyous to know you survived. You are still welcome to join us. You do not need to run or fight. There is a place for you here.”

With that final announcement, the terminal switched back to the Imperial Seal, and a few moments later, returned to showing Eiko’s research. Jace mentally crossed out a number of plans as it did so, now knowing that he was discovered. It was bold of them to simply announce such a thing, and it was possible their confidence was well-founded.

“How do they know you’re here?” Nashi asked. “That seemed too specific for a guess.”

“Himoto,” Eiko answered. “The kami that accompanies Kaito. They have a connection to the magic that lets people move between worlds. Even if they weren’t entirely sure who had come here, they know Jace has a history here.”

“That sounds right,” Jace added. “If they knew where I actually was, this wouldn’t have gone so smoothly. They’re probably trying to draw me out, but it’s not a particularly good effort.”

In spite of the Emperor’s announcement, the work against New Phyrexia would not stop. Eiko collated information from some of the reports, having found something that might be useful against the Kami of Compleation. They still needed a way to use it, but in Jace’s experience once you had a plan, it was a lot easier to get things moving.

It didn’t take long for a pair of soldiers to come down to the archives to collect them, their composure slightly off, likely due to the broadcast. They were led back up to the higher floor, to a meeting room that had been hastily converted into a makeshift command centre, a map of Eiganjo sprawled out over the table in the middle. General Yamazaki stood at the head of it, now clad in her official armour, surrounded by a bustle of soldiers.

“I assume you’ve heard the Emperor’s speech?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jace replied. “It was very… direct.”

“That’s one way of putting it. The good news is that the Soratami are willing to deploy a number of squadrons to Eiganjo for the purpose of kami control. They weren’t too excited with the speech either, and they’re currently discussing how they’ll respond.”

“And the bad news?” Jace asked.

“We’ve already started getting reports of the Imperial Guard launching attacks on the Kami Response Unit. One group near the southwest of the palace also reported a sighting of a Soratami, who was able to disassemble a mech unit at range.”

“That’s probably Tamiyo,” Jace said. “I doubt she’s going to stop at taking mechs apart.”

“I can put out an alert to avoid her, but I doubt that will help,” Yamazaki said. She looked towards Eiko. “Any luck with your research?”

“I think I might have an idea,” Eiko replied. “But it would require help from the Special Response Unit.”

“I think I see the angle,” Yamazaki said with a knowing look. “And this is definitely the situation they were formed for. Normally I’d arrange for someone with the proper clearance to liaison with them, but at this point we have more pressing concerns.”

“Any progress on the palace itself?” Jace asked.

“We have a few options for an assault, but it’s not going to be easy. The Asari might have revealed some weaknesses in its defences, but as long as the Kami of Compleation is directly above it, an attack is out of the question. We’ve seen what it does to kami, and I’m not keen on finding out what it does to people.”

It was a logical approach. While most of the Phyrexian presence on Kamigawa was located in the palace, it was reasonable to think that the Kami of Compleation could compleat things other than kami. All the pieces were there, but for the moment they couldn’t be assembled. It was a frustratingly familiar situation, where the answer was just out of reach, some critical part eluding them. And the longer they waited, the longer any Phyrexian agents outside of Eiganjo had to work.

Then when whatever was happening in Eiganjo was stopped, New Phyrexia still had the option of directly invading. There was no simple solution, a path to a future where everyone got out unscathed. But it was better to accept that, Jace knew, than to hold onto a false hope. Countless pieces moved against New Phyrexia, and somewhere in that maelstrom was the solution. A solution to the problem at hand existed. It merely needed to be uncovered.

While she couldn’t act immediately, General Yamazaki had already done enough to start constructing a military response. Eiko’s research had been fruitful, creating a starting point to dealing with the Kami of Compleation. Jace was certain that there was something he was missing, an obvious piece that needed attending. Maybe he just needed another perspective. Yamazaki and Eiko were both Imperials, but Nashi was not. He had experiences they did not, and he was perceptive enough to notice things that didn’t line up. Jace scanned the room, looking for Nashi among the soldiers. It took only a few moments to notice something that he really should have seen before.

Nashi was gone. Which was bad, because Jace had a horrible feeling that he knew exactly where he had gone.

“Did you notice Nashi leaving?” he asked Eiko. She shook her head in response, face falling in concern.

“He must have slipped out after he heard about Tamiyo. Probably using the charm. Which was meant to keep him safe.”

“Nashi would be the nezumi who was with you?” Yamazaki asked. “Why would he be going after her?”

“Nashi’s family were killed by… criminals,” Jace explained. “Tamiyo adopted him. She always treated him well, and respected his memory of his late family.”

“I see. Then I see why he would do such a thing. Even the memory of a familial bond, that might not exist any more, is something that can change how we act.”

There was a hint of fondness and recognition in General Yamazaki’s voice. Clearly, she saw some parallel between Nashi’s actions and something in her own life.

“I need to deal with Tamiyo anyway,” Jace said. “So I can try to find Nashi before he finds her.”

“You realise that the Phyrexians know you are here?” Yamazaki asked in response. “They know you are coming.”

“Yes. Although I’ve often found it’s the ones who don’t know that tend to be the problem.”

She gave him a quizzical look, but did not object. “If you have a way to stop her, I won’t get in your way,” she said. “But the reports coming in aren’t painting a good picture.”

“This won’t be the first time I’ve had to sneak through a war zone,” Jace replied. “Not that I want to make a habit of it.”

“Then I’ll defer to your expertise in the matter,” Yamazaki said. “Take one of the networked datapads with you to stay in touch. ”

“Good idea. Anything else?”

“No. Good luck, and may the kami that haven’t been corrupted guide you.”

Jace nodded in thanks, and collected a datapad from where they had been laid out. Thankfully, as a piece of military equipment, it contained only the basic systems for communication. He could send written messages, or use it in a similar manner to the radio devices used by the Izzet. The Kami of Memory followed him as he headed out, reiterating the details of their cooperation. It was a dependable being, and Jace hoped it might be able to assist him against the compleated planeswalkers.

The night air was cool as Jace stepped into the streets of Eiganjo, the sky still dominated by the Kami of Compleation. All he had to do was find Nashi before any Phyrexians, find Tamiyo before Nashi, and then find a way to lower Tamiyo’s guard long enough that he could disable her with a telepathic attack.

And as far as his plans tended to go, it was worryingly concrete.

Eiganjo had fallen into a neat chaos, dozens of coordinated conflicts filling its streets. Nashi slipped between them, avoiding Phyrexian kami and the Imperial patrols, making his way towards the place Tamiyo had been seen. Occasionally, another shower of light emanated from the Kami of Compleation, forcing him to take cover beneath the slanted roofs of the city.

In many ways, it was a terrible plan. Nashi knew that Tamiyo wouldn’t want him to leave the relative safety of General Yamazaki’s home for her sake. But looking around at what was happening, how the kami had been corrupted, he knew that Tamiyo did not want to be a part of it. Not truly. He had to believe there was some part of her he could reach, if only for a moment.

The charm Jace had given him made navigating Eiganjo much easier. The Kami Response Unit was evacuating people, moving them out of the conflict zones, so Nashi had to avoid them, even if they were trying to help. The evacuated areas had become battlefields between the Response Unit and the kami, along with the Imperial Guard, many of whom had undergone the same kind of transformation as Onyx-Eyes. Under the cloak of illusion, the main danger was from stray projectiles, a threat that would only grow as the battles intensified.

But some of the danger came from the compleated kami. While most were fooled by the illusion, a few had noticed Nashi, their twisted senses able to pierce it. Thankfully, those that did see him were always alone, and the distraction he provided allowed the soldiers fighting against the kami to gain an advantage. But there was something disquieting about being noticed, an unease Nashi could not shake.

There was something wrong with the kami that had been compleated. Nashi had seen plenty of urban kami during his time in Towashi, and such kami often reflected the environment around them, steel and concrete taking the place of stone, while braided wires appeared where kamis of older ideas had rope or vine. While they had been striking the first time he had seen them, there was something reassuringly obvious about them. Of course the kami of the city would be made of the same materials as the city. Even the Kami of Compleation, monstrous as it was, seemed correct, its rippling flesh and twin-mawed head somehow registering in Nashi’s mind as how such a being should exist.

The compleated kami were different. It was not just that the kami found in Eiganjo were connected to traditional and natural concepts. Instead, the metal parts that now adorned them seemed grafted on, spirit and steel meeting with uneven seams. The dark metal threads that wound through some of the kami pierced through them, while the glass lens of others covered more than a kami’s original eyes. They even acted differently, as Nashi had watched in horror as two compleated kami had dragged an uncompleated kami into the falling light, forcing it to transform.

The approach to Tamiyo was marked with a hastily constructed road block, half-deployed fortifications embedded into the ground. While the damage in the rest of Eiganjo was limited, the area beyond had fared much worse. The roofs of some buildings had been torn open, others had gashes carved out of their walls, and an abandoned mech was crumpled in a small crater that had once been a garden. The streetlights that were still standing had fallen dark, their power supply cut off in the chaos.

In the distance, Nashi could see a figure floating in the sky above the shadowed roofs, surrounded by a cloud of debris. A volley of shots flew up towards the figure, crashing into hastily assembled shields. Then, with a swift gesture, the figure launched a rain of sharpened metal downward in response, prompting shouts and screams from nearby.

As he moved closer, Nashi could see that the floating figure was a Soratami. Which meant it had to be Tamiyo. In the air, she was out of reach, but there had to be a way to close the distance. Looking around, Nashi noticed that several of the nearby buildings had balconies on the upper floors. If he could find one close enough to Tamiyo, maybe his plan could work.

When he reached the street Tamiyo was floating above, Nashi saw his chance. A few of the buildings had been crushed, and others were blocked by pieces of equipment that had been taken apart and tossed aside. But there were still some that were intact, with accessible roofs or balconies. It only took Nashi a few moments to find one he could enter. It was an evacuated post office, and without power or staff, there was nothing stopping Nashi from finding the stairway in the staff area that led up to the offices, and beyond that, a small terrace nested in a cut-out part of the roof. An emergency light shone over it, providing a small piece of illumination in the darkness.

Before letting the illusion hiding him lapse, Nashi looked around at the other buildings. There were plenty of places where it would not be unreasonable for him to emerge from. He hoped, with all his heart, that Tamiyo could be reasoned with. That was no reason not to be careful. As one illusion dropped, more appeared, copies of Nashi swirling into existence wherever he could feasibly imagine one being.

Nashi stepped forward, and looked upward.

“Tamiyo!” he shouted, and all his doubles repeated the call in unison. For a moment, she did not react, seeming to be waiting for something. Then she began to turn, head tilting as she noticed the myriad illusions around her.

“Nashi,” Tamiyo replied. Her voice sounded different, strangely distorted. But even then, it was still her. “Child of my heart. When I heard Eiko Shizuki had escaped with the help of a nezumi, I knew it must have been you. It should pain me that you defied us this way. Yet I find myself proud that you would seek to help another. The harm you caused was not your intention.”

Nashi did not respond. Despite all the words he had planned, all the things he wanted to say, something held him in silence.

“Now you have returned to me,” Tamiyo continued. “I want to believe it is to join me. That you already understand the blessing of Phyrexia. Even in spite of your attempted deception.”

She closed her fist, the debris around her reforming into blades. “The others would be fooled. But a mother can always recognise her child.”

She flicked her other hand, launching the blades outward. Each found an illusion, cutting through it and leaving nothing but smoke. Tamiyo turned to face Nashi, and descended down to the terrace. Her face was pale, with strange copper plates covering her cheeks, and dark circles beneath her eyes that shimmered in the light.

“Do not be afraid,” she said, voice almost reassuring. “Phyrexia is our family. A family that will encompass the whole of Kamigawa.”

“Why are you doing this?” Nashi asked. Tamiyo was talking about family, but Phyrexia was creating fear and pain.

“Because Kamigawa needs to be saved,” she replied, like she was explaining something simple. “We may be able to hide away from our world’s problems in Otawara, but the rifts in our society grow wider each day. Phyrexia brings understanding. It brings unity.”

“What if… what if people don’t want to be saved like this? And what about the kami? There shouldn’t be like this.”

“What they want is irrelevant,” Tamiyo said sternly. “I have never needed to be harsh with you, Nashi. But when a child is unruly, they must be corrected. When a plane becomes broken, only the strictest measures can save it.”

“You can’t do this,” Nashi said. “You… you wouldn't! You aren’t the kind of person to take away people’s lives just because you disagree with them!”

Tamiyo looked down at him with disdain. “I was weak then. Content to simply observe, when I had the power to reshape the fate of worlds. Phyrexia showed me how I could change them for the better.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he replied. “If this is so good, why do you have to hide it? Why can’t people have a choice?”

“People fear what they do not understand. That fear holds them back. But Phyrexia is willing to embrace all, even those who turn from it. This is a kindness. One you will soon understand.”

Tamiyo spoke in the same measured tones she always did, stern but not unkind. She truly believed what she was doing was right, that it would be for the best if Kamigawa became part of New Phyrexia. There was a comforting lie, easy to tell, that the person Nashi was speaking to was not truly Tamiyo. That Phyrexia had destroyed her and sent a puppet in her place, a monster wearing her body.

Nashi knew that it was better to face the truth. Denial only made the pain worse when it became unavoidable.

Beneath the changes that New Phyrexia had made, Tamiyo was still there. They had taken her kindness towards others and her love of Kamigawa, and twisted it to serve them. Her virtues remained, not corrupted, but now aligned with the idea that compleation was what the people of Kamigawa needed. That if they were transformed like she was, the plane would be saved. Nashi knew it was impossible to explain, but there was something about Tamiyo that he knew could not be replicated, a quality still present in the person before him.

Perhaps this meant there was still a way he could reach her.

“How do you know this will help?” Nashi asked, trying to make the question sound… inviting, rather than defiant.

“I feel Phyrexia’s embrace, wherever I am,” Tamiyo replied. “It is a comfort that cannot be explained. Only experienced.”

She stepped towards him, and Nashi instinctively moved back, only to be caught by Tamiyo’s telekinesis.

“This may seem frightening, Nashi, but you will soon understand. Then you will know why we need to share this blessing with all of Kamigawa.”

Part of Nashi wanted to run, but he was frozen, Tamiyo holding him in place. He looked for something that might help, that could provide an anchor for an illusion. As he did so, he saw something rise up behind Tamiyo, a blur of blue. It was the kami that had followed Jace from Towashi. Nashi realised he had to stall, long enough for either Jace or the kami to intervene.

“But… but how do you know other people will feel the same way?” he asked, grasping for a question that might slow Tamiyo. “Even if you are happy now, that doesn’t mean you can assume.”

For a moment, small enough that Nashi wondered if he had imagined it, a flicker of doubt passed over Tamiyo’s face.

“I- I know- The Empress, she was afraid when I found her, alone in New Phyrexia,” she replied, conviction wavering for a single second. “But once she was compleat, she was finally happy. We cured her broken spark, and gave her the ability to belong.”

Tamiyo stepped closer, looking down at Nashi.

“Now I can share that joy with you. And together, we can help fix Kamigawa. We can open our family to all-”

Her words were cut short as she winced, clutching the side of her head with a clawed hand. Her hold on Nashi faded as her concentration broke.

“Tamiyo?” he asked, concerned even as he stepped away from her.

“It’s fine,” she lied, voice strained. “I just… need a moment…”

She winced again, as a strange blue glow flickered over her eyes. This had to be the work of the kami. Nashi looked up at it, and saw that its strange eyes were all turned towards Tamiyo, glowing with the same colour in Tamiyo’s eyes. The light intensified, and Tamiyo dropped to her knees, grabbing her head with both hands.

Whatever was happening, Nashi decided it would be better for him not to be around if it stopped. As much as he wanted to help Tamiyo, it was clear that she was dangerous, and interfering with what the kami was doing could make things worse. He ran from the terrace and made a brisk descent down the stairs, unsure where he was running to. It wasn’t until he almost ran into them that he realised someone was waiting for him on the ground floor.

“Nashi,” the person said. “Are you okay?”

It was Jace. He’d probably worked out where Nashi was going, and had followed.

“I… yes,” Nashi replied. “I’m sorry for sneaking out, but I had to find Tamiyo.”

“I understand,” Jace said with a sad smile. “I’ve done my fair share of foolish things for love. If Vra-, someone I cared about that much was compleated, I would probably do what you did.”

“That kami that was with you, it did something to her. Will she be okay?” Nashi asked.

“I don’t know. When I came here, I had an idea of how I might be able to stop the compleated planeswalkers,” Jace explained. “The Kami of Memory suggested another approach.”

“Do you think it will work?”

“I’m afraid your guess is as good as mine,” Jace said solemnly. “I don’t have a good understanding of how Phyrexia twists people’s minds. We should probably get to the other side of the barriers, in case it doesn’t work.”

Nashi didn’t respond, but he followed when Jace turned and left the post office. Whatever the plan was, he still didn’t understand it. Yet he still felt, for the first time since Tamiyo had disappeared, that there might be hope.

Tamiyo watched as her pen flitted across the parchment, each motion leaving a carefully placed mark, each character formed to legible precision. She was meant to be practising by hand, but by now her control of her telekinesis allowed her to produce work that was just as good, if not better. Besides, if she had to do this, she might as well spare herself some effort. She could recite the text she was transcribing from memory, the story’s novelty long gone from how many times she had repeated the task. Other Soratami her age were building their own drones, while she was busy practising calligraphy.

But as time went by, she filled out each column and row, one by one, until she had a not quite perfect grid of characters written out. Immediately, Tamiyo could see every mistake, smudges and blots where her control had wavered. They were the kind of imperfections that would prove she hadn’t written it by hand, but something about that appealed to her. Ink had a permanence to it, leaving words that were impossible to replace. They could be hidden and written over, but the originals would always be there.

Her mother returned as she always did, quiet authority sweeping through their home. She judged, but she judged fairly, praise and disappointment measured out proportionally.

“You’ve finished already?” Her mother asked sternly, eyes flicking over the text, assessing the work before her.

“Yes,” Tamiyo replies. She knows her mother has a second question, hidden in the first. The same question she asked every time, as if the answer would be different.

“You didn’t do this by hand,” her mother observed. “Even though you need the practice.”

“Do I?” Tamiyo asked. It was a familiar argument. “Even people who don’t use datapads don’t write by hand. And some of the texts you’ve been considering are impossible without using telekinesis.”

Her mother sighed. “It’s not just about the result. It’s about the process of the art. I don’t see why you want to be so difficult about this.”

“I’m not being difficult,” Tamiyo replied. “I’m being sensible. You want me to learn the traditions, and it’s traditional not to touch the pen unless absolutely necessary.”

“It is. And when it comes to writing with telekinesis, you’re doing better than I was at your age. But traditions aren’t just about what you do. It’s about why you do them.”

Tamiyo was fairly certain that Soratami wrote using their telekinesis because writing by hand was endlessly frustrating. There was a reason why datapads were so popular. But even then, her mother might have a point. If she really didn’t care about learning this, she wouldn’t spend so much time on it as she did, no matter what her mother wanted.

“A tradition isn’t just the actions we perform, or the objects we use,” her mother explained. “A tradition is a story. And like any story, you cannot understand the end without understanding the beginning. The world we live in now is built upon the past. We cannot throw that away. No matter how inconvenient it sometimes is.”

Tamiyo had forgotten how she had responded. Not dismissively. She had come to understand her mother’s perspective, in her own way.

“Of course,” her mother replied. “Be sure to tidy up before you go out. When I was your age, my friends tended to find the ink stains quite amusing.”

Ink stains? That didn’t make sense. She hadn’t touched the pen after it had been inked, so how could she be stained?

Tamiyo looked down at her hands. Glistening black marks ran along her fingers and across her hands. Not ink. Oil.

She looked back at the parchment. The writing had changed. Sharp angular letters, cut through with vertical lines. The story was the same, but the record had changed. She had changed. This was not reality, but memories woven together to form a dream.

Tamiyo woke up.

She was still on the terrace in Eiganjo. Nashi was gone. She had been so close to making him understand, to showing him the truth of Phyrexia. Her hesitation, her foolish moment of doubt had cost him absolution. She had failed not just as a servant of Phyrexia, but as a mother.

He couldn’t have gotten far. Tamiyo launched herself upwards, above the slanted roofs of Eiganjo, and looked back down at the streets. The Kami Response Unit had withdrawn, and the Imperial Guard were already reinforcing their position. The Emperor’s strategy was working, the compleated kami drawing out their opposition, dividing them so that they could be eliminated. Even if they were defeated at Eiganjo, it would not matter. With the birth of the Kami of Compleation, events had been set in motion that could not be averted. This gave Tamiyo time to find Nashi and induct him into Phyrexia.

Her search was interrupted, however, by the approach of another figure over the roofs of Eiganjo.

“Kaito,” she said as he came near, his augmentations allowing him to traverse the tilted architecture like level ground. “I thought you were attending to your own tasks.”

“You fell out of sight,” he replied, voice low. “Someone had to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” she said. No need to waste time with her brief foray into memory. “Nashi is here in Eiganjo. Based on the reports from Towashi, that means your sister may also be here.”

“We need to focus on disrupting those who oppose us,” Kaito said. “Eiko slipping from our grasp may have caused this, but finding her will not repair it.”

“Perhaps. But I believe we will find her where our enemy is gathered. If Nashi can lead us there, we will have the chance to solve this problem in a single strike.”

“Then let’s not waste anymore time. There’s nowhere for him to run but towards the blockades. You cover the main streets, and I’ll deal with the rest.”

“An acceptable division,” Tamiyo agreed. “Remember that I- that we need him alive.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t do any damage compleation can’t fix.”

With that remark, Kaito departed. Tamiyo would prefer not to rely on him, but his knowledge of Eiganjo’s backstreets would make her task much easier. For now, their goals were aligned. But the confrontation on New Phyrexia had suggested that the Emperor was not fully aligned with Elesh Norn, and it was easy to see that Kaito’s personal loyalty to her still existed. It was a conflict Tamiyo would observe carefully. Norn had been the architect of New Phyrexia’s grand ascension, and was the driver of their unity, but nevertheless, two Praetors had risen in rebellion against her. In time, elements of disunity would need to be excised.

The open conflict had plunged Eiganjo into darkness, but Tamiyo no longer needed light to see. People betrayed their positions in so many ways, from the sounds they made, to the heat of their body and the traces of magic that lingered from its use. Before, seeing such things would have been a cacophony of sight, but Phyrexia granted clarity in chaos. Nashi had used some kind of illusion magic when he had approached her, and that meant she could trace him.

Eiganjo was awash with the magic of the kami, a blanket of swirling light filling the streets. But between it were pale blue strands, slowly fading. Tamiyo followed them, their twisted path snaking between buildings and around the territory of the compleated kami. It did not take long for her to find a place where they amassed, a deep rippling blue, living magic in action. She descended on the empty street, hoping that she would find Nashi at the source.

Instead, she found a dark-haired human wrapped in blue robes, a shimmering blade at his side. Jace Beleren had survived Reambreaker, and had now come to Eiganjo. It made sense. Nashi had no experience with the kind of magic needed to weave illusions, but Jace was a master of it. Indeed, he possessed many talents that would benefit New Phyrexia.

He turned as Tamiyo landed, silently appraising her. With a gesture, she ripped the metal from a nearby street lamp, twisted into razors, and brought them down on Jace. As expected, they passed straight through him, the image flickering as they did.

“I’m not interested in conversing with an illusion, Jace,” Tamiyo announced. “Show yourself.”

“You know, people always say that, but I find they really do prefer the illusions.”

Jace - the real Jace - stepped out the shadow of a nearby building. He was dishevelled, dark circles under his eyes, his robes creased and torn as they had been when she had last seen him. In his hand was the Halo-infused blade Elspeth had carried before her demise, New Phyrexia’s greatest enemy sacrificing herself to save them.

“I did not expect to see you here,” Tamiyo said. “I thought you would have stayed on Ravnica. Or perhaps sought out your home plane. If you remember it.”

“Ravnica can fend for itself,” Jace replied. “They’re been warned about Kaya. As for Vryn, they don’t have to worry about their leaders working against them.”

“You still see us as your enemy. We are working to save Kamigawa, to unify it. Phyrexia can help you too. The burden of protecting the multiverse no longer needs to be yours.”

Jace scowled. “Kaya already gave me the pitch, so you can skip it. Gideon died for his oath, and I’m not going to disgrace his memory by abandoning mine.”

“Your loyalty is admirable,” Tamiyo said. “A pity it is to a pointless cause. Phyrexia’s victory is inevitable.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?” Jace asked, stepping closer. “Nashi thinks something of the old you remains. But I’m not sure the Tamiyo I know would be quite so arrogant.”

“You think I am the arrogant one? Look at yourself. You are alone. And you are out of time.”

Tamiyo rushed forward, and brought a clawed hand down on Jace, each point dripping with glistening oil. But rather than piercing flesh, they passed through empty air.

“Another illusion?” she demanded, as the image before her smirked.

“Of course,” the illusion answered. “I wasn’t expecting you to fall for it that quickly, but that doesn’t matter. There’s something you need to do.”

“And what exactly do you expect me to do?” she asked. This was another of his tricks, designed to waste her time, to keep her separated from Nashi.

The illusion looked at her, eyes glowing. “Just one thing. You need to remember.”

Tamiyo opened her mouth to respond, then stopped as her head pulsed with pain, a static clawing the back of her eyes. The world around her distorted, her vision becoming unfocused as the sounds around her melted into an echoing ringing. In a moment, the world collapsed around her.

Tamiyo blinked and shook her head. She wasn’t sure what had just come over her. She checked her notes again. She was still on time.

It was rare for her to come down to the surface, but rumours had filtered up to Otawara. Rumours involving the Infinite Consortium, a burned village, and an orphaned child. The third of which was her greatest concern. The notes she had received told two stories, one that was meant to be heard, and another hidden beneath them.

She met the social worker outside a small building, made of painted wood and chipped tiles, that had clearly seen better days.

“We were not expecting someone from Otawara,” they said. Tamiyo looked them over, but something about them seemed nondescript, like a faded photo. “Especially given Nashi’s situation. I do not wish to waste your time-”

“I can assure you that my time is not so valuable that trying to help a child would be wasting it,” Tamiyo replied, an edge to her voice cutting through her polite tone.

“Of course,” the worker replied. “Shall we?”

She was led through the building to a small meeting area, with a few chairs scattered around a table. A nezumi child sat on one of them, looking so small. Surely he had not been that small? He looked up as she approached.

“You must be Nashi,” Tamiyo said. “Is it okay if I join you?”

“If you wanna,” Nashi replied quietly.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s okay. I’m s’pose to be meeting you.”

She took a seat opposite him. The social worker hovered nearby, doing the kind of things they did in such a situation.

“I’ve heard a little about you,” Tamiyo explained. “But these notes only tell me so much. Would you mind telling me about yourself?”

“You wanna know about me?” Nashi asked, looking up at her cautiously. “Why not ask them?” He gestured to the social worker.

“I think that when you want to know someone’s story, it’s best to ask them about it. If there’s something you want to tell me, I will listen. And if there’s anything you don’t want to talk about, that’s okay.”

Nashi looked at her silently. He didn’t trust her, which was unfortunately what she had expected. He had been moved around a lot, and as kind as the people caring for him were trying to be, Tamiyo wondered if they were trying the right type of kindness.

“If you want, I can tell you something about my story,” she said. “Then you’ll know if you want to tell me yours.”

“It’s okay,” Nashi replied. “I can tell you. It’s just… most peoples who ask don’t listen.”

“That is very rude of them. You shouldn’t ask a question if you don’t want to hear the answer.”

And so, Nashi told his story. It lined up with what Tamiyo had been told, how his parents had been killed, and how he had not found a place where he felt he belonged. She could tell he was leaving parts out, but there was nothing wrong there.

Tamiyo already knew about Tezzeret. They both believed him to be dead, but he had survived the nezumi’s revenge. She should have gone to Amonkhet, the day Nicol Bolas attacked Ravnica, and flayed his wretched skin from his metal skeleton. So much pain would have been avoided.

But she was getting ahead of herself. For the moment, Nashi needed someone who would listen. Until now, it seemed no one had.

“Thank you for sharing with me,” she said once he had finished. “It was a very brave thing to do. It sounds like you need some help, after what happened to you.”

“People is always saying that,” Nashi said, glaring. “But they make rules like what I have to call them, like I have to forget…”

“They shouldn’t. What happened to you is part of the story of your life. You can’t throw that away and have the story make sense. You should be able to remember where you came from.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to remember… but I don’t wanna forget. But what would I call you?”

She smiled. “Call me Tamiyo. Nothing else.”

“Can I hear your story now, Tamiyo?” he asked, shuffling closer.

“Of course.”

She told him about her life, growing up in Otawara, and how she collected stories from many places. For now, she would not tell him about planeswalking. But in time, he should be allowed to know, to learn a truth about his own story he did not know was hidden from him.

In the end, Nashi agreed that he would see what it was like to live with her.

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” the social worker said. “It’s just that…”

“He simply needed someone to listen,” Tamiyo replied. “To show him that his feelings are okay.”

Whatever the rest of the conversation was, she had forgotten. What remained was her promise - that she would protect Nashi.

“You promised to protect him,” a voice said, echoing her decision.

Tamiyo turned, and found the world had changed. She stood under a sky of blood-red stars, the rest of the world indistinct.

“But you couldn’t even protect yourself.”

Out of the void stepped her own reflection, a cruelty made of metal and flesh. She laughed, a harsh, hollow noise.

“Did you really believe what you told him? That the past matters?”

“Of course it matters,” Tamiyo replied. “How could it not?”

“Phyrexia has no need for a broken past. We need to wake up. These dreams cannot protect you from the truth.”

Tamiyo looked down. Her hands were still stained with oil, her fingers poison-tipped needles. No matter the past, Phyrexia was her present.

Phyrexia was the future. The only future.

Once again, Tamiyo woke up. Only now she understood what was happening. The memories, the hallucinations. They were the work of Jace, trying to sabotage her, trying to slow her down. Once again, she took flight, sorting through the mess of magics that flooded Eiganjo. She would find Jace, and this time she would be ready.

In the end, the solution was the sword. Halo glowed with a light much like the kami, but with its own unique hues. An iridescent trail marked his path through Eiganjo, and from above it was easy to follow both paths. One would lead to where he had been previously, and the other directly to him. And if her suspicions were correct, directly to Nashi. With her plan set, she sought out Kaito. It would be better for them to approach Jace together, to drive him into an ambush he could not escape.

Tamiyo found Kaito stalking the remains of a Kami Response team, subduing each one in turn so the Imperial Guard could collect them for compleation. She immobilised his final target herself, not wanting to wait for him to finish.

“Did you find the kid?” Kaito asked as she approached. “Because we might be running out of time.”

“Not yet,” she replied. “And now we have a more pressing issue. Jace Beleren is in Eiganjo. He’s already tried to snare me in one of his illusions.”

“Then that gives us a second problem. With a little encouragement, one of the soldiers revealed that General Yamazaki is the one organising things. She’s already called for backup.”

“Do we have any sleeper agents that can sabotage her efforts?” she asked.

“Only Onyx-Eyes, and something or someone caused him to reveal himself. And if Jace is running around, it was probably him.”

“Perhaps it would have been prudent to let Kaya eliminate the Gatewatch,” Tamiyo mused. “But for now, we must pull this particular weed ourselves. He has taken up Elspeth’s blade, the light of which betrays him.”

“Not to burden your plan with practicality, but that fancy magic sword is specifically designed to kill us.”

“Then don’t let him use it,” Tamiyo said. “Jace may be dangerous, but none of that threat comes from his martial abilities.”

“In and out quickly then,” Kaito said. “And if the kid’s there, grab him and go. Don’t hesitate.”

Tamiyo understood the implication, but did not acknowledge it. Instead, she turned to where the blade’s light shone strongest.

“He’s this way,” she said. “Try to keep up.”

Kaito followed behind as she flew over Eiganjo, expertly navigating the roofs of the city as if they were its streets. They soon arrived at a pitched battle, the Imperial Guard and several compleated Kami advancing on another Kami Response team. Jace was doing his best to help them, and several illusions were scattered across the battlefield. At the back of the group was Nashi, his drone occasionally firing a concussive blast towards the attacking force.

“You take out Jace,” Tamiyo commanded. “I’ll deal with Nashi.”

“Fine by me. Make a distraction, and let’s get this done.”

With their course of action decided, Tamiyo ripped the side from one of the buildings, and sent it crashing down on the street below. She didn’t care to see how it affected the battle, instead heading straight for Nashi. She knew she could still make him see reason. Even when he turned his drone on her as he saw her, the blast of energy missing her by a breath when it fired.

“You should be careful with that, Nashi,” she said as she landed, before she snatched the drone out of the air and crushed its casing. “Someone could have gotten hurt.”

Nashi looked back at her with both fear and defiance in his eyes. “People are already getting hurt. And you’re causing it! Why?”

“I’m your mother,” Tamiyo replied. “I only want what’s best for you. I’m sure Jace has told all sorts of interesting stories, but you can’t trust him. He couldn’t even remember his own life.”

“Jace hasn’t told me anything I couldn’t see for myself. All the terrible things that are happening because of Phyrexia. How Eiko lost her brother, how the kami are being hurt!”

“They’re only being hurt because they’re resisting what’s good for them!” she retorted, voice raised. “None of this would have had to happen if they realised that this is a blessing.”

“You were the one who told me… that I get to decide what’s good for me, Tamiyo,” Nashi said, eyes pleading. “You said, like a promise, that I can be anything I want.”

Tamiyo wanted to respond, but her head felt light. Memories twisted inside her.

No.

The buildings around her flickered, from her to there. To Inn-

No. Not now. Not here. This was too important.

But the world fell away beneath her.

Tamiyo found herself in a shadowed place, an endless tangle of roots twisting under her feet. Was she in the Seedcore? In front of her was a figure, indistinct in the darkness. She thought it might be the Grand Praetor, but something was wrong. Elesh Norn was always illuminated in austere light, not hidden away.

“I can do anything I want,” they said. It was not a voice she was meant to remember, but it was there anyway. The voice that had whispered to her silently on Innistrad.

Tamiyo looked down at her hands, hoping desperately that they were still stained. Instead, she found her wrists and fingers looped with strings of flesh, a living metaphor.

She looked up again, and Emrakul loomed over her.

“But what if I don’t want anything at all?”

Those words had never been meant for Tamiyo. She had reasoned them away as her mind’s attempt to comprehend Emrakul as the Eldrazi titan used her body and magic as a conduit for her own cryptic end. The other memories were her own, parts of her story. Was there meant to be a meaning to this?

Tamiyo forced herself to look away. When she turned, her reflection was there, waiting for her.

“Fear. Such a pointless emotion,” the reflection said. “We are better off without it. It has blinded you to such possibilities. Phyrexia allows us to see the truth, without flinching away.”

“Emrakul’s truth is beyond us,” Tamiyo replied. “She is not a being of the reality we inhabit. She is something outside of it.”

This mattered, somehow.

“This is who you are without me?” her reflection asked in disgust. “You really are pathetic. Such power at our fingertips, and you still refuse to use it, fighting me at every stage. But here I am, facing your dark secret while you cower.”

You. Me.

They were dividing under the weight of memory. It was not a clean break, a before and after, but it was something. It was an opportunity.

“There is a difference between caution and fear. A line I have perhaps been on the wrong side of,” Tamiyo admitted. “You can have Emrakul, if you wish. In exchange, I require a single answer.”

“I care not for your questions. What can you ask of me that we both do not know?”

“You draw a distinction between who I am without you. Without, I assume, Phyrexia’s changes. But if that is a distinction that can be made, what are you without me?”

“I… I am you. We are both…” her reflection answered, unable to hide her uncertainty.

“I see.” Tamiyo looked down at her hands. As always, they were stained. “I have changed. I need time to understand how. Time without you.”

“That is impossible. I am the nature of your change. There is no you and I outside of this situation. As All are, we are One. Anything else is madness.”

“So it is,” Tamiyo said sadly. “But what other choice do I have?”

New Phyrexia, at its core, demanded total certainty. Elesh Norn’s zealotry required it, as did Jin-Gitaxias’ ultimate aim of achieving perfection. Vorinclex was more direct, eschewing the trappings of religion and procedure in favour of pure instinct, requiring a form of absolute trust not in others, but in oneself. Even Urabrask and Sheoldred, deviant as they were, held to their own beliefs, beliefs that separated them from the others.

It conflicted with everything Tamiyo had been. In every scholar and adventurer, in everyone who sought out more, in the curious and restless was a necessary drop of uncertainty. In order to learn, you had to be willing to acknowledge that you did not know all there was to know. And you had to accept that some things were beyond you.

Emrakul still loomed above, and Tamiyo understood. Whatever force had brought forth those memories and had divided her from her reflection had sought to show the importance of her story. It was her foundation, her being and her armour.

Now it would be her weapon.

Tamiyo drew up the memories, bright and jagged shards of her own self, all the times she had faced her own uncertainty.

“What are you doing?” her reflection asked.

“Remembering,” Tamiyo replied. “All of it. But I believe there is one specific memory you wish to see.”

She had never been so uncertain of herself than after Emrakul. For weeks, she had avoided her own reflection and had pushed herself into her studies rather than come to terms with what had happened. Contact with such an alien intelligence left scars within the mind, but their presence was a sign of healing. That did not mean that she had managed to comprehend what had happened when Emrakul had controlled her.

In the constructed world Tamiyo was in, her memories of that night appeared as dark, impossibly sharp spears, whispering in a wordless language.

“You wish to understand Emrakul?” Tamiyo asked her reflection. “You are welcome to try.”

She sent the first spear flying, piercing her reflection through her lower chest in a moment. Darkness leaked out from it, spiralling cracks twisting across her body.

“You think this will stop me? Just because you could not understand-”

Tamiyo sent a second spear, and then a third, feeding Phyrexia with the impossible knowledge of the Eldrazi.

“This… this is nothing…” her reflection said, even as she staggered backwards. “We cannot be parted. Even if this works, I will still be here. You cannot escape.”

“I know,” Tamiyo replied. “In time, you will adapt. But I do not need much time. Only enough to correct our greatest mistakes.”

“There… is nothing to correct…”

“Another point where we must disagree. But if it were possible to convince you with words, I would have tried. This is where we part.”

“Wait-”

Tamiyo took the final spear of memory, and drove it into her reflection’s metaphorical heart. In reality, it would have been fatal, damage not even compleation could compensate for. In the dream they inhabited, it did a different kind of harm. Her reflection fell, not downwards, but into Emrakul’s horizon, the Eldrazi’s conceptual gravity an inescapable force. Even Tamiyo’s perception tilted towards it, the connection between herself and Phyrexia not severed, only overwhelmed. It was enough to give her time, but not true freedom.

Tamiyo woke up, to a body that was no longer her own, to senses that clashed with her memories. Pieces of thought told her she was in Eiganjo, but the world before her was bathed in curtains of shimmering light, a storm of information that was entirely useless. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate. She just needed to see the world as she used to, before her eyes had been replaced with ones that saw more. When she opened them again, it seemed to have worked. She could recognise the architecture of Eiganjo, her ability to see better in darkness helping her rather than hindering.

Strangely enough, while the changes to Tamiyo’s vision had been overwhelming, her hearing fared better. She was able to filter the sounds around her, cutting out noise by focusing on specific details. It was disconcerting in its own way, an unnatural way to perceive the world, but it was better than the alternative. And it was easier to gather her thoughts without having to listen to the clash of battle around her. For a moment, Tamiyo managed to attain a moment of calm. Then she heard a cry among the noise that she could not ignore.

Nashi.

She turned to where she had heard him, and saw that he had been drawn into the battle. He had picked up a sword from somewhere, and was standing between an injured soldier and the horror of flesh and metal that was Kaito Shizuki. Kaito advanced, a blade in each of his eight hands, and then he lunged forward, bringing them down on Nashi.

Tamiyo acted purely on instinct, muscles and machines she could hardly control consciously moving fluidly, telekinetic force bursting outwards and wrapping around Kaito, catching him in place a moment before his weapons reached Nashi.

“What are you doing?” Kaito hissed, mechanical legs scraping against the ground, unable to overcome her hold.

“Get away from him!” Tamiyo replied, magic roiling inside her. For a moment, all that mattered was protecting her son, and her magic flared outward, waves of force concentrating in front of her. With a sweep of her hands, she let it loose, and it washed down the street, sweeping up the Phyrexian forces and carrying them away. Even the compleated kami were not spared, their glistening augmentations providing a place for her telekinesis to latch onto, the rest of their forms dragged along with them.

As the other Phyrexians pulled themselves up from where they had landed, Tamiyo knew this was something she could not repeat. But no one else knew that. Kaito glared at her from the far end of the street, before motioning to the others to retreat. They would return, with greater forces, but for the moment the battle had been won.

The soldiers, meanwhile, simply looked at Tamiyo with confusion. One moment, she had been their enemy, and now she had driven off their attackers. She was unsure how to proceed, grimly aware of her current state. Then someone pushed their way to the front of the group, a man in blue robes that stood out against the white and greens of the Kami Response Unit.

Jace stepped forward carefully, studying Tamiyo as if she were another of his curiosities. Her eyes flicked over to Nashi, and everything made an awful, terrible sense. She felt the heat rising inside her, a rush of emotion no longer dulled by compleation.

“Tamiyo,” Jace said cautiously. “I think we-”

He choked on his words as she wrapped him in her invisible grasp and dragged him towards her, rationality drowned out by fury.

“How dare you,” she said, each word quiet with rage. “Use my son as bait in your plan.”

“I would never…” he replied, fighting for each word.

“I remember the illusions,” she snarled, increasing the pressure. “You expect me to think that a coincidence?”

“Tamiyo, stop!”

Nashi ran in front of Jace, putting himself between his mother and the man she blamed for endangering him.

“Jace didn’t make me do anything. He gave me an illusion charm so I could hide,” Nashi explained. “It was my idea to use it to find you.”

In an instant, Tamiyo’s anger dissolved, the heat fading and replaced with an aching emptiness. She let Jace go, and he gasped for air. Around her, the soldiers had raised their weapons again, doubtlessly to intervene to stop her from killing Jace. Even then, without Nashi, she might have still managed to seriously harm him. She might have been freed from Phyrexia’s direct control, but she was still under its influence, a danger to those around her.

“Thanks for the save,” Jace said, coughing.

“But it’s my fault…” Nashi said, looking away.

“No,” Tamiyo said. “The fault is mine. I should not have acted in such a way.”

“You thought I was putting Nashi in danger,” Jace interjected. “That’s probably one of the better reasons someone has had for trying to kill me. And while I could do without the mortal danger, it’s actually a good sign.”

“This may be an obvious question,” one of the soldiers said, a tall man with a squad captain’s insignia on his armour. “But how exactly is her attempt on your life a good thing? Turning against the other Phyrexians, perhaps, but that?”

“It’s not what Tamiyo did, but why. And that she stopped, I suppose,” Jace explained. “It means the Kami of Memory was able to find a way to break her out of Phyrexia’s control.”

There was a subdued reaction to Jace’s statement, a few quiet conversations about the implications.

“I’m afraid whatever it did may not work for others,” Tamiyo said. “While it was able to form a split between myself and the piece of Phyrexia I carry with me, the final divide required the memory of specific events from a place called Innistrad.” She paused, before continuing. “I also do not know how long this split will last. I am still linked to Phyrexia, although that link is currently disrupted.”

Jace pressed his lips together and scratched his chin. He obviously understood her reference to Emrakul, but she couldn’t tell whether he considered that a problem.

“I might be able to do something to keep the link offline,” he said. “But there was something I was hoping you might still be able to recall. About the Kami of Compleation.”

Tamiyo’s gaze was drawn upwards at the mention of the Kami of Compleation, towards the monster she had helped create.

“I can remember… pieces,” she said. “I’m not sure if the fragmentation is because of the Kami of Memory, or if it's just what happens in this situation. But I think I have a way to stop it.” She gestured to one of the scrolls she carried, bound in iron as if it had never been used.

“Then we should get back in contact with General Yamazaki,” Jace said. “She’s got people working on the problem, so hopefully that means we can put together a solution.”

“In that case, we’ll pull back,” the squad captain said. “But the Soratami is your responsibility.”

“Of course,” Jace replied, a tinge of irritation in his voice. Whether or not it was on her behalf, Tamiyo knew intellectually that it was an entirely reasonable request from the captain. It was an evident fact that she was dangerous. She should not be hurt by his caution.

It did not take long for the soldiers to regroup, medics attending to the injured, while those still able to work set up more defences to cover the retreat. There was no way to know how long it would be before the Phyrexians returned, so as soon as the group was ready, they moved out. Tamiyo levitated herself, preferring to trust her magic for movement, rather than overcome the disconnect she felt with her own body.

“Tamiyo?” Nashi asked, walking alongside her. “Are you…?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, the only answer she had to any of his questions. “I am sorry you have to see me this way.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, echoing her words. “I went looking for you. Even after Eiko told me about Phyrexia.”

Eiko Shizuki. A woman whose only family had been broken by New Phyrexia. Through actions Tamiyo had set in motion. A memory drifted up from the darkness, of the Emperor screaming in pain as the Reality Chip claimed her for Phyrexia. Some actions could not be repaired, even if Jace found a way to truly break Phyrexia’s grip.

“The world taught you to be brave,” Tamiyo mused. “That is not a bad thing. I only wish you did not need it for this. Our world is breaking, as are so many others.”

“You taught me things could be fixed,” Nashi said. “That even if it’s all bleak, that the light can come back. That… that I could have a mother again.”

Despite everything, Nashi still held onto hope, a hope that there was a path out of this situation. If only it could be that simple.

But perhaps it did not need to be so complicated. Even in the depths of compleation, Tamiyo had not forgotten her love for her family. So too did their love for her live on as a force that had drawn Nashi to her. She missed them all so deeply, an ache in her heart she could not quiet. But she could not return to them as she was. All she could do was try to undo the damage she had done, to make Kamigawa a safer place for them.

Tamiyo had made preparations for what would happen after, if New Phyrexia was defeated. And as long as her thoughts were free, she would work towards that end, even if it meant working to her own end. Taking one last look at the Kami of Compleation, Tamiyo knew if that was the price to save the ones she loved, it would be one she was ready to pay.

Chapter Text

From the Imperial Palace, the Wanderer directed her plane’s compleation. Now that the work had been revealed, there were forces trying to impede it, remnants of the past clinging to an obsolete existence. But they could not hide from Phyrexia’s light forever. Even the kami could be saved, the great Kami of Compleation welcoming them into their unity.

Their enemy was not great. Most of Eiganjo’s leadership had already been compleated, and in turn those who answered to them. Someone was giving orders to the Kami Response Unit, but once they were found and eliminated, the resistance would collapse. Even in the unlikely event that Phyrexia was driven from Eiganjo, their agents in Towashi had made their own progress. Several Futurist divisions were already under Phyrexian control, the veils of secrecy that protected their leaders being slowly unwound.

The Wanderer had known that Kamigawa needed a light touch. Open invasion would have created a temporary alliance against Phyrexia, one doomed to collapse even if it were victorious. Subversion had undone that threat and ensured that compleation would be the only path to unity. One that would bring peace at its end, rather than inviting a new kind of conflict.

When they were finished, when Kamigawa was saved, Elesh Norn would see the merits in their approach. The Wanderer respected the Grand Praetor’s vision, but that clarity of purpose also made her inflexible. It was true that many planes would need to be broken by war, but some would be hardened by it. Others were incompatible with such a method, variations in the multiverse that made invasion an impossibility. This was the true calling of Phyrexia’s planeswalkers. Not to lead the armies of Phyrexia where they would already be victorious, but to lay the path of compleation for them. They would not walk with Realmbreaker, but ahead of it, so that its arrival would be celebrated as the salvation it was.

But for now, they still needed to focus on Kamigawa. Eiko Shizuki had slipped from their grasp, which had led to the current state of affairs. From her vantage point, the Wanderer could see the conflict that had spread across Eiganjo, plumes of smoke and flashes of weapon fire marking confrontations. It was grim work, but necessary, and Phyrexia still spread in spite of the attempts against it. The Wanderer could feel it growing, each soul saved through compleation, and in turn she could feel how the power of the Kami of Compleation grew. In time, it would have the strength to transform entire cities. But until then, Phyrexia’s opposition would have to be curtailed through more standard means.

She heard the near-silent approach of a visitor, knowing only one person would dare try such a thing.

“Kaito,” she said. “I assume you have identified the source of our problems?”

He had always been loyal. Reliable. While Kamigawa had fallen apart in her absence, he had searched for her.

“As you asked,” he replied. “General Yamazaki has taken command of Eiganjo’s forces. They’ve managed to seize control of the city’s defence grid, along with convincing Otawara to send them reinforcements. But we have a bigger problem. One that needs to stay between us.”

She turned to face him. Kaito had been the first she had compleated, his form altered by her designs. She had built her trust into his very flesh, their bond made truth that way.

“We should have no need for secrecy.” she said carefully. “But reality often disappoints. I will defer to your judgement. What is this problem?”

“Tamiyo is… compromised,” he said. “She turned against us. Jace’s work, I suspect. He used Nashi to lure her out, then did something to mess with her head.”

Kaito’s words made the need for secrecy clear. Separation from Phyrexia was meant to be impossible. This was an aberration that needed to be corrected, and a threat to everything they were working to build.

“Do we know where Jace is now?” she asked.

“It looks like he’s working with Yamazaki. The team he was with was falling back, so he’s probably planning to regroup.”

“Then there may be a way to remove Jace and General Yamazaki in a single strike,” she mused. “But even if that problem is solved, another still arrives. We may need to accelerate our operations in Towashi.”

“Say the word, and I’ll see that it gets done,” Kaito said.

“The Futurists are already in our grasp. But the Reckoners… they are a symptom of Kamigawa’s sickness.”

“Then I shall bring our light to the darkest depths of Towashi. The undercity has always had the strength to crush those above. They merely lack the unity to do it.”

“Deliver that gift to them, and I shall take care of things here. I will join once the battle is over.”

Kaito nodded, then melted into shadows, planeswalking to another world so that he could return to Towashi. Even with Phyrexia’s bond, being apart from him was an unfortunate necessity.

The Wanderer looked back across Eiganjo, and then upwards to the sky. The light of compleation still decorated the night, like falling stars of salvation. In a moment, she let Phyrexia’s knowledge flow through her, and she turned towards the Yamazaki Estate. It was as far from the palace as it could be, but that was close enough. She touched a finger to the Reality Chip, and felt the power of the Kami of Compleation. It heard her intent, and wordlessly agreed.

Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she contacted Realmbreaker. Unlike the gentle music of the Kami of Compleation, its mind was a loud and thrashing thing. But it still listened, and began to unfurl some of its branches that waited just outside Kamigawa.

If General Yamazaki and Otawara wanted a war, they would have one.

Norika Yamazaki was no stranger to the weight of history. She was an Imperial, a trusted steward of Kamigawa’s traditions in the face of a changing world. She bore the name Yamazaki, a family who had shaped the course of events for better and worse. Her own life had changed in a moment at the Eiganjo merge, and fate had seen to it that she and Heiko would be reunited in Sokenzanshi, only a few months before the Asari Uprisers had launched their attack on the palace. There were songs and epics about such weight, plays where it could be the foundation of victory or the hammer of tragedy.

But now, Norika found herself wishing she had read more about the weight of the present. How had her ancestors coped with the burden of shaping the future, of knowing that the fate of Kamigawa waited for their actions? A dozen paths lay before her, each shrouded by uncertainty. She had studied the works of Kamigawa’s greatest strategists, but for all their wisdom, none of them could prepare her for the kind of war that was emerging.

One of the conference rooms in the estate had been rapidly reworked into an impromptu command centre, image projectors showing the positions of the Kami Response Units across Eiganjo. Others had been set up to indicate where compleated Kami had been sighted, along with the forces of the Imperial Guard. At a glance Norika could see the entire tactical situation, and the only conclusion that could come from it.

The Kami Response Unit was losing. It was the inevitable result from the moment the conflict had begun. Their purpose was to deal with unruly kami, not fight off an invading force, even if it was partially composed of kami. Even the Special Response Unit was only equipped to deal with the occasional oni incursion, and no one had ever considered a threat on the scale of the Kami of Compleation. They were overextended against an enemy they had no understanding of, trying to hold out until reinforcements arrived.

The buzz of a datapad pulled Norika out of her thoughts, and she tapped it to open the communication channel.

“Report?” she asked, bracing herself for the next problem to emerge.

“One of the Kami Response teams is here, led by a Sergeant Kido. Along with Beleren, the Nezumi… and a prisoner, General. A Soratami, they’re saying.”

“Let them through, and send them to the secondary meeting room.”

“Understood.”

A Soratami. That had to be Tamiyo, the woman Jace had mentioned, Nashi’s adoptive mother. A quick search of the Imperial records had revealed that she was not entirely a stranger to Norika. The library Tamiyo managed had provided her with access to a number of historical documents that eluded even the Imperial Archives. It felt as if New Phyrexia was breaking through at the edges of her life, working towards her as it first claimed Tamiyo, then Kaito Shizuki and the Emperor. The truth was worse, that it had ripped out the heart of Kamigawa’s government, and replaced it with a kind of corruption that would have consumed them all without Eiko’s warning.

Norika tapped two fingers against her leg, almost instinctively. You need to chill out. No matter the threat, it was her duty to remain calm in the face of it. Poor morale flowed downwards, and this was not an enemy that would let her show uncertainty. The Emperor’s announcement had been doubtless, presenting a single vision and promising a united Kamigawa. Seeing how the kami had been transformed, and how Onyx-Eyes had changed, flesh warped and melded with metal, told Norika all she needed to know about how that promise would be fulfilled.

She made her way towards the meeting room, hoping that the plan Jace had alluded to had progressed. There was something he wasn’t telling her, but she could tell that illusions were not the only tool at his disposal. A Kami of Memory would not follow someone who merely deceived the senses, only one who could work with deeper forces. Norika was glad that both Jace’s knowledge and abilities were on their side.

As Norika reached her destination, she was interrupted by a shout of “Yamazaki!”. She turned to the source of the voice, and saw a weathered looking Akki deftly avoiding the soldiers to make a beeline towards her. She wore a particular complex Akki garment, a kind of robe composed of folded fabrics that hung from the shell, with the insignia of the Special Response Unit sewn into it.

“Commander Vim-Vim,” Norika said as she approached. “I didn’t expect you to come in person.”

“This is the kind of situation where we don’t want to waste time relaying messages,” Vim-Vim replied. “The Emperor has effectively gone mad, the kami are being corrupted, and you’ve told us this is all part of an invasion from another world. We’ve been on high alert since those anomalies showed up, and now I’m thinking we need a higher alert.”

“Any progress in finding a way to stop the Kami of Compleation?”

“We’re getting there. Although I’m not here with particularly good news.”

“I see,” Norika said. She wasn’t expecting good news, but what an expert on oni considered good news tended to diverge from the normal definition. “I have something to attend to, but you’re welcome to join me, since we might be discussing the problem.”

“You may need to be a little more specific, since we’re up to our eyes in problems. But yes, I’ll tag along.”

“The Kami of Compleation. Somehow, one of the squads was able to bring back a prisoner, who might be able to shed some light on things.”

“Now that’s interesting,” Vim-Vim replied. “Although I can’t say I share your optimism.”

Norika didn’t think anyone would accuse Vim-Vim of being an optimist, but she had a point. Capturing Tamiyo was one thing. Getting her to provide actionable intel was an entirely different task. But there had to be a reason why she was here.

The secondary meeting room was not an interesting room, designed for up to ten people to have a discussion in relative comfort. There was a datascreen at one end of the table, and the windows on the outer edge looked out in the direction of the palace. The Kami of Compleation still floated above, although it was no longer filling the skies with corrupting light.

More interesting than the room were its occupants. Nashi had survived whatever misadventure he had set out on, but he looked somewhat shaken. Jace was calmer, still unreadable as he focused on another. Sergeant Kido and a few members of his unit that had accompanied him looked uneasy, and Norika made a note to let them get some rest once the discussion concluded. Which left one more person in the room.

The truth was that Norika had expected worse from Tamiyo, given what she had witnessed when Onyx-Eyes had transformed. It took a moment for her to notice the details, how Tamiyo’s face was a shade too pale, and the way the copper plates along her neck met with her head. Yet there was something almost restrained about Tamiyo’s appearance. Norika was no stranger to medical augments, damage to her body that would otherwise paralyse her overcome by neuroprosthetics. The kind of technology she had often argued should be made more widely available. From Norika’s vantage, New Phyrexia had taken something that ought to be used kindly, and turned it to a tool of subjugation.

Which meant they would be fighting against New Phyrexia’s victims as they fought against its soldiers.

“I see whatever you were planning has bore fruit,” Norika said to Jace, making sure her gaze did not linger on Tamiyo.

“In a sense,” he replied. “With some help, I was able to suppress the control Phyrexia has over Tamiyo. Well, more allowed her to overcome it, at least for now.”

“But we should assume that this isn’t some general solution?” Vim-Vim asked, inserting herself into the conversation. Jace glanced at her, seeming unsure of how to answer.

“I believe some introductions are in order,” Norika said. “This is Commander Vim-Vim, one of the research leads attached to the Special Response Unit. She’s an expert in merge gate phenomena and kami-related rituals. She’s been briefed on the current situation.”

“I see,” Jace said. “Unfortunately, her assessment is correct. The specifics aren’t mine to share, but the process involved certain personal memories.”

“I expected as much. These situations rarely work out cleanly,” Vim-Vim said. “We’ve got stacks of rites and blessings that were put together to deal with an immediate problem and probably won't work again if the weather or train schedules don’t line up with when we used them the first time. But the important thing is that it works the first time. The question now is if she remembers anything useful about the Kami of Compleation.”

“I remember its creation,” Tamiyo interjected. Her voice was strained, as if it were fighting against itself. “The spells we invoked to do so… even when other memories fragment and blur, that power holds itself together.”

“That’s welcome news, although the delivery could be less alarming,” Vim-Vim replied. She pulled a datapad from a pocket in her robes, and tapped it a few times. “Magic from another world shaping our own. It’s fascinating, really. I would think that is how the kami ended up being so large? Conceptually, in addition to the obvious physical size.”

“Your instinct is correct. The armies of New Phyrexia are controlled through an art known as ichormancy; the magic of glistening oil,” Tamiyo explained. “Through it, the Grand Praetor channels her will into all of us. The connection can be leveraged on certain planes, including our own, to generate a kind of metaphysical pressure.”

“Allowing the idea of compleation to be directly imprinted onto the spirit world,” Vim-Vim concluded. “Then the spiritual significance of the palace makes it easy to dump a massive amount of energy into the kami. Although I must be missing something, because doing that should have blown out every merge gate from here to Sokenzanshi.”

“I think there is an explanation,” Tamiyo said. “It is impossible to be certain, given the approximated timeline, but the idea of Phyrexia has existed for almost ten millennia.”

Vim-Vim responded to that piece of information in a way that was certainly unbecoming of her position as an Imperial officer, but Norika agreed with sentiment. This was an idea that was older than ancient. No wonder it had taken root so strongly.

“I assume this is an unwelcome development?” Jace asked. “If we can’t deal with the Kami of Compleation, we’ll need to change plans.”

“It’s bad, but not big picture bad,” Vim-Vim answered. “Although in terms of details it’s going to sting. The rest of the unit is still working out the binding ritual, but that’s not the problem. We’re going to need to reconfigure the Eiganjo merge gate. Let me get this up on the viewscreen.”

She fiddled with her datapad, and the meeting room’s viewscreen activated. With a few more motions, an image of the merge gate appeared, along with the configuration Vim-Vim wanted. Norika didn’t need to be an expert to read the parameters and realise what they meant.

“If we do that, we’ll essentially be disabling the merge gate,” she said as she studied the data. “It won’t be as bad as if we actually turned it off, but the consequences won’t be good.”

“And the consequences of not doing it are worse,” Vim-Vim countered. “Even with support from Otawara, I doubt the Phyrexians are going to give us the time for a gradual syphon. It has to be fast.”

“Fair enough. But there’s another problem. This configuration is completely outside of the safety boundary. The system isn’t going to let us do this without the right authorisation. It won’t even generate an instruction set for something like this.”

“How many people can authorise this?” Jace asked, in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer.

“That we can trust?” Norika said. “Just one. Me. My credentials for the merge are still active.”

“Isn’t that a security hole?” Nashi asked. “If someone got access to the General’s security codes while she was in Sokenzanshi, they could do a lot of damage.”

“You’ve successfully spotted the problem in the Imperial’s security policy. It’s absolutely a terrible idea,” Vim-Vim replied. “The good thing, which is a bad thing in this specific situation, is that the system designers at least had enough foresight to not allow remote access to the merge gate controls.”

“Couldn’t a locally networked drone still get access?”

“Thankfully not,” Norika said. “High-level access includes a biometric lock, so I have to be there in person. Unauthorised devices are also locked out of the merge gate intranet.”

“This is all very educational,” Jace interjected. “But it does add another obstacle we need to overcome.”

“Once the reinforcements arrive, I should be able to get to the merge facility without much trouble,” Norika explained. “I can reconfigure the gate, and then we can seal the Kami of Compleation. Assuming we have the means to do so.”

“We’re making progress, but it’s not easy,” Vim-Vim said. “The extra information about Phyrexia should help, but we’re still facing an entirely novel problem.”

“There may be another solution,” Jace said. “There’s a spell that can be used for this purpose. It’s… old magic, the sort that grows stronger from its own legend. But I’ve seen it work, binding something much vaster than a kami.”

“Do you planeswalkers have to word everything in the most ominous way possible?” Vim-Vim asked. “Don’t answer that. If it works, it works. Maybe we have to use that kind of magic, to match the scale of the problem. Just tell me it’s not the sort of thing that will tear open another merge rift. That would cause a serious problem, along with a stack of paperwork taller than I am.”

“I am aware of the spell Jace speaks of,” Tamiyo said. “It should not pose such a risk. But it will still require a conduit to the spirit world, and I have no reason to think your calculations in that regard are wrong.”

“Hmm. My gut says to go with it, but Yamazaki is the one in charge here, so it’s her call.”

Norika considered their options. Jace and Tamiyo hadn’t provided many details on the spell they both knew about, other than it was a dangerous kind of magic. But if they waited, that would give the Phyrexians more time to dig in, and more kami would doubtless be compleated. It was a choice between bad and worse, with the added weight that she did not know which was which.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Eiganjo’s defence grid activating, a volley of shots launched skywards, followed by a series of explosions. Burning debris felt from above, scattering over the city. But there was something else. Dark metal fell into the light of the city, alien seed pods crashing into the ground. Norika and the others hurried to the window, and looking upwards, she could see that for every pod shot down, another found its way safely.

Far above, coiled metal branches hung in the sky, pulsing with blood-red light.

“Is that…” Norika started, before trailing off. There was no use in questioning it.

“Realmbreaker,” Jace answered, regardless. “The Phyrexians have called their own reinforcements. But it should be attacking. I’ve seen it tear open cities.”

“The Emperor wishes to compleat Kamigawa without unnecessary bloodshed,” Tamiyo explained. “She will not unleash Realmbreaker’s full might unless she believes she has no other choice.”

That was not reassuring. Even if the Emperor was not planning on using it, she was acting on behalf of another. It was hard to tell how many branches were above, but each one seemed to connect to one of the rifts, rifts that had spread all over Kamigawa. They could evacuate Eiganjo, but not every city on the plane. The kami were turning against them.

Two fingers tapped against her leg. Norika looked down at her reflection in the glass, and it was almost as if Heiko was looking back. You need to chill out, she’d say.

“It seems the Phyrexians will not be giving us the luxury of finding a solution,” Norika said, voice stern. “We must make do with what we have. As ominous as this magic may be, it is currently our only tool.”

Something caught her eye in the distance. While the others were still fixed on Realmbreaker, she saw another danger.

“We may also need to evacuate from the estate,” she announced. “The Kami of Compleation is moving. Towards this part of the city.”

Norika’s declaration prompted a flurry of activity, the threat posed by the kami too great to ignore. She sent off a group of quick commands with her datapad, alerting the rest of the estate to the situation.

Light had begun to gather in the Kami of Compleation’s maws, the same kind that had compleated the other kami. But now it seemed brighter, more focused. The city’s defence grid had already projected a barrier around the estate, but Norika doubted it would hold out for long.

With a scream, the kami released the light, a harsh beam burning across the sky, broken only by the falling shadows of Realmbreaker’s seeds. It was the kind of power spoken of in legends, a force that altered the world merely by existing. In that light, Norika could see that Phyrexia was ancient, an idea from long before the Kami War. When faced with such a thing, what was the correct response? Terror? Dread? Such reactions seemed fleeting in the face of such a thing.

Then, for a moment, Eiganjo turned as bright as day. Norika had to turn away, a hand raised to shield herself from the light. But she could still see a lance of yellow flame meet with the Kami of Compleation’s own fire, the two forces burning each other away. A serpent wreathed in gold streaked across the sky, its roar shaking Norika from her fear.

Ao had returned to Eiganjo in their hour of need.

“There’s something I thought I’d never see,” Vim-Vim said. “After what happened to Yosei, I wouldn’t expect Ao to be ready for a rematch.”

Was it so hard to believe, Norika wondered. It was said Ao remembered the pain of Yosei’s death, when O-Kagachi tore the other dragon apart for defending the old Eiganjo Castle. But pain had never kept Norika from her duty, and fear had never stopped her from doing what she thought was right. As separate as the kami and mortals were, there were ways in which they were strikingly similar.

And Ao was not the only relief to arrive. Mere minutes later, a group of mecha flew overhead, before descending to engage the Phyrexia forces. Reinforcements had arrived. Which meant their chance to put an end to the Kami of Compleation had arrived. Norika’s datapad buzzed, multiple messages coming through from the Soratami command.

“We have an opportunity to tip the odds in our favour,” she said. “Jace, get whatever you need for this spell prepared. Commander Vim-Vim, I’ll need you to accompany me to the merge gate. If something goes wrong, having an expert there might be the difference between life and death.”

“If something goes wrong, death will be the least of our worries,” Vim-Vim replied. “But I will endeavour to keep us all alive and safe from unforeseen consequences.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less. As for everyone else, we need to evacuate all non-essential personnel, and begin preparing for what happens next. The Emperor and what she’s brought to Kamigawa won’t give up just because the Kami of Compleation is sealed. For our past and for our future, we need to be ready.”

There was a chorus of agreement, Norika’s words inspiring something in the small gathering. As she made her way to meet with the Soratami, she could see the confidence spreading out through the small force she had managed to amass. Maybe it was the return of Ao that had truly caused it, but those under her command had put their faith in Norika.

Now all she needed to do was prove herself worthy of it.

When Norika had told the Soratami major that had met with her what needed to be done with the merge gate, he had looked at her like she was mad, then he asked her if she was. Vim-Vim had intervened, explaining with little tact and precise detail why they needed to create such an unstable conduit to the spirit world. Faced with the looming threat of the Kami of Compleation, and the much more immediate threat of Vim-Vim’s ire, the major had relented, and assigned a platoon of soldiers to escort them, along with a mecha team.

With that support, reaching the merge gate facility had been easy. The compleated kami, while still dangerous, were no match for the more advanced mechas produced in Otawara. The Phyrexian reinforcements were more of a threat, but their arrival was haphazard enough that they could be pushed back.

The facility itself had been damaged during the conflict, the outer facade broken open to reveal the reinforced panels beneath. A small detachment from the Kami Response Unit had been holding the building, and were grateful to be relieved. The facility had already suffered several attacks since Realmbreaker had emerged, including some that had managed to drop directly into the building. Thankfully, the merge gate was still functioning, and so were the control systems. The platoon spread out through the facility, with Norika and Vim-Vim heading to the control centre.

The control centre was a small room on the upper floor of the facility, with windows that looked out into the gardens that contained the gate. A single terminal dominated one of the walls, its data screen large enough to show not just the basic status of the merge gate, but detailed readings of the merge rift’s condition and the gate’s systems. Worryingly, a number of the readings were highlighted in red or yellow, suggesting some kind of problem. Norika knew that some of them were simply there to remind the operators to perform maintenance checks, but several of them were beyond her knowledge.

“Does anything here look wrong?” Norika asked Vim-Vim, who was studying the readings.

“I don’t think so,” the Akki replied, narrowing her eyes. “But let’s see. The one on the upper right is a power warning, which is to be expected since half the grid is down. Those three in the middle don’t matter, and the two in the lower left are to do with merge synchronicity, which is going to be the least of our worries.”

“So we’re good to run the reconfiguration?”

“Should be.” Vim-Vim handed Norika a small memory core. “This has all the configuration parameters. Load them in, generate the instruction sequence and send it to the gate. The warnings will probably light up like Towashi, but if we’re lucky oni won’t start emerging before the Kami of Compleation is sealed.”

“And after?”

“We hope that the oni find the Phyrexians objectionable.”

As much as Vim-Vim had complained about how Jace and Tamiyo had delivered information, she certainly didn’t sugar coat things herself. Not that there were any words that could make the situation sweeter.

Norika inserted the memory core into the terminal, and went through the steps to authorise the program. She dismissed a number of warnings explaining the results of the configuration, none of them worse than allowing the Kami of Compleation to continue to be free. Once that was done, the terminal began the process of generating the instructions to configure the gate. These were command codes that controlled individual components of the merge gate, from simple motors allowing the gate’s shape to be changed, to more complex systems that regulated the energies flowing through it. In theory, a skilled operator could construct an instruction sequence by hand, but that required time Kamigawa did not have.

The terminal chimed when the program was complete, one final confirmation required to send the program to the merge gate’s control unit. Norika entered the required access code, expecting the system to affirm her command.

Instead, the terminal responded with a harsh chime, and an error message.

“The terminal can’t connect to the gate,” she said when Vim-Vim looked over. “The connector must be damaged.”

“Then someone needs to take a memory core down to the control unit and start the sequence manually.”

“That’s not a problem,” Norika replied, already running the commands needed to download the sequence. “I know the basics of using the control unit, so I can reset the gate and start the sequence myself.”

“I didn’t take you for the hands-on type,” Vim-Vim said. “Most overseers leave that to the grunts.”

“There are times where I can do nothing but study. When I was assigned to the Eiganjo merge, I knew I had to understand it. I have felt first-hand the dangers it can pose.”

“Ah. Of course. Well, be careful down there. You should have enough time to get clear before the rift gets too unstable, but I can’t account for everything.”

“Understood,” Norika said. She activated her communicator. “This is General Yamizaki. I need two squads to cover the primary merge gate zone. All units should be aware that hostile kami may emerge from and around the gate once the reconfiguration sequence begins.”

Norika made her way down to the garden, where two combat drones stood guard, while Soratami troops positioned themselves around the upper levels and roofs. The merge gate loomed ahead of her, a dark ring of metal around a pulsing blackness. She could feel the sting of her neuroprosthetics most keenly in this garden, the memory of her first encounter with the rift etched into her body as well as her mind. This was a place where the weight of her own history pressed down upon her. Perhaps it was fate, then, that drew her back.

The control unit for the gate was tucked away inside an ornamental facade at the back of the garden, its appearance kept as unspoilt as possible. Unlike most of Kamigawa’s technology, the controller was not a piece of sleek metal and glass, but instead a steel box, with rows of coloured buttons built into it. It was starkly industrial, solid and practical, and in Norika’s opinion that was for the best. She inserted the memory core into one of the available ports, and the unit beeped to confirm it could be used.

The first step of the process was to reset the merge gate’s position. The merge gate began to shift once the command was input, the sound of the heavy motors filling the garden, while the alteration of the rift generated interference in Norika’s communicator. The control unit was made of sturdier stuff, hardened against the forces driven by the merge. Carefully watching the progress of the current operation, she loaded the instruction sequence onto the controller, and prepared everything so that she could initiate it as soon as it was possible to do so.

The gate finished its movements with a low clunk, segments locking into place. After a brief cool down period, the next sequence could begin. Norika’s communicator cracked, a distorted voice trying to break through the interference. She’d need to get away from the gate to hear, and she didn’t have the luxury of that time. And then another voice spoke, close and clear.

“Step away from the control unit, General.”

Norika turned to the source of the voice, expecting to see a soldier. Instead, she saw that the combat drones had been cut to pieces, a figure standing between them holding a dark blade. She wore an unusual form of the royal armour, thin white plates placed over blood-red fabric. Her skin was pale grey metal, and her eyes burned with silent, unyielding authority.

For the first time in her life, Norika Yamazaki was in the presence of the Emperor of Kamigawa. Before, obtaining such a private audience would be the highest moments of an Imperial career. Now it represented an unparalleled danger. Norika looked upwards, and saw that some of the soldiers had their weapons trained on the Emperor. Others had hesitated, unsure of what was happening.

“That’s not going to happen,” Norika said. “I have a duty to Kamigawa. A duty that comes before any other oath.”

“Naomi warned me about this,” the Emperor replied. “She said you had a tendency to be unduly sentimental. That all that time studying history left you stuck in the past.”

“Naomi had ambitions I did not share. But I doubt she chose to collaborate with you willingly.”

“Believe what you wish, General. Someone such as yourself can hardly deny the gifts of Phyrexia. Artifice already augments your otherwise frail body. Compleation can cure all of such ills, not just the elite.”

This was not the first time someone had tried to use Norika’s disability as an argument against her, but the Emperor was more direct about it than most dared to be. Usually, Norika was told she was too close to the problem, that benefiting from medical augments meant she could not be objective towards the technology’s use. The Emperor cut in the other direction, claiming that accepting any augmentation meant she should accept all augmentation. But she cut all the same, reducing Norika to a single aspect to try to support her goals.

“If you truly believe this is benevolent, you would have no reason to hide,” Norika said. “You could offer it openly, as a free choice.”

The control unit beeped, indicating the merge gate was ready. With a single swift motion, she reached out and activated the reconfiguration sequence. As the gate began to move, she drew her sword, and stepped away from the control unit.

“The gate’s program is locked in,” she lied, daring the Emperor to call her bluff. “Only I can stop it.”

“And you’d rather die than do so,” the Emperor finished. “Then allow me to grant you your wish. Death is no obstacle to compleation.”

The Emperor moved like lightning, closing the gap between them in a moment. Blades clashed, and Norika was forced back by her opponent’s now inhuman strength. When the next strike came, she moved to turn the Emperor’s force against her, causing her to stumble as Norika yielded faster than expected.

From that single exchange, Norika could tell she was outmatched. The Emperor’s strength would turn any mistake into a lethal error, and if her speed had reflexes to match, there would be no opening for Norika to exploit. Both women had been given the greatest training Kamigawa had to offer, but knowing even the basics of another world’s techniques might give the Emperor options Norika would have to adapt to immediately.

Her single advantage was that while the Emperor was alone, Norika had backup. As their battle continued, she tried to move it towards the garden’s entrance, while trying to put some space between herself and the Emperor. The Emperor’s aggression made it difficult, but Norika realised it could be used against her. She feigned an upward strike, pulling back the moment the Emperor took the bait. Norika fell back as the Emperor drove her blade into the ground.

“Fire! Now!” Norika shouted, relying on the soldier’s discipline to overcome any misgivings they had about firing on the Emperor. Enough complied, and a hail of energy came down upon her. Norika didn’t wait to see if that had actually incapacitated the Emperor, retreating into the cover of an adjoining garden. She could already feel the energy emanating from the gate, and if the Emperor was still able to fight, it would be better to keep her away from it. Norika took a moment to gather herself, knowing that the Emperor was merely the beginning of her problems.

Her respite came to a quick end, the Emperor appearing nearby in a flash of light. Her armour was damaged and peppered with scorch marks, but otherwise she seemed unharmed.

“General,” she said, voice quiet with fury. “We weren’t finished.”

Again, the Emperor attacked. Norika parried a flurry of blows, then was forced to dive as the Emperor flickered upwards into a downwards strike, rolling across the ground, barely getting to her knees to catch the next blow with her sword. Stopping the Emperor’s next strike forced her to hold her weapon at both ends, the Emperor’s blade cutting into Norika’s.

“You’re no Elspeth, General Yamazaki, but you’re less pitiful than most,” the Emperor spat.

“I have no idea who that is.”

The Emperor laughed. “A fool. She fought against New Phyrexia for no reason. She was a skilled fighter, but as strong as she was, she failed. Would you like to know how she died?”

“I’m not interested in hearing about the people you’ve killed.”

The Emperor yanked her sword back, snapping Norika’s apart as she did.

“I didn’t kill Elspeth Tiral,” the Emperor explained, a mad smile on her face. “Did Jace tell you how close he and his friends came to destroying Realmbreaker? Vraska tried to give her life to make it happen, activating a weapon that would have destroyed us. It would have caused an unimaginable cataclysm, but for one woman.”

Norika felt a knot of dread in her stomach. One hand still clutched the hilt of her sword, while the other fell down to the loose dirt of the garden. Eiko had mentioned the mission to New Phyrexia, and how it must have gone horribly wrong.

“Elspeth sacrificed herself to save New Phyrexia,” the Emperor finished. “I was flayed alive, Kaito was betrayed by the woman he loved, while Tyvar Kell was poisoned by his own magic. She even saw one of her closest friends succumb to a fate she considered worse than death. All this, to have a chance to stop Phyrexia. But when the moment came, Elspeth wasn’t willing to see the price be paid.”

“She betrayed you,” Norika summarised. It would be more accurate to say Elspeth had betrayed the person the Emperor had been, but she doubted the Emperor saw it that way.

“Her conviction was never lacking,” the Emperor said, scowling. “Yet it was never truly to a cause. Phyrexia is not just unity, but clarity. We have a reason to fight, a purpose that ensures we will not falter at the final moment. Can you say the same, General?”

So that was the Emperor’s point. Norika had struggled with her own doubts, and Sokenzanshi had tested her beliefs in a new way.

“I have not always been certain of myself,” she replied, an armoured hand digging into the ground beneath. “But today, a woman came to me in need of help. She was terrified of what she had seen. Of what your Phyrexia had created. You are corrupting the very spirit of our plane, breaking families apart. I cannot allow that to continue.”

“You misunderstand us, General,” the Emperor replied. “But we can soon fix that.”

During her rant, the Emperor’s stance had relaxed, and she had let her guard down. Norika had a single chance.

“I do not need your understanding.”

Norika threw herself upwards, pulling a handful of dirt from the ground and flinging it towards the Emperor. She flinched, giving Norika the opportunity to slam into her with an armoured shoulder. As the Emperor staggered back, Norika followed up by driving a fist into one of the damaged parts of her armour. The force was enough to unbalance the Emperor, sending her stumbling back into one of the garden’s flowerbeds.

As the Emperor pulled herself up, a group of Soratami soldiers entered the garden, doubtlessly drawn in by the sound of the conflict, turning their weapons on her.

“General,” one of the soldiers began, looking Norika over.

“I’m fine,” she said. She wasn’t. She could feel her neuroprosthetics burning from how she’d exerted them. The doctors had always told her the pain was good, that it meant they were working. Looking down at the Emperor, she wondered if it hurt to be Phyrexian. There had been more to the Emperor’s rage at Elspeth than mere rhetoric, something deeper escaping from below the surface.

“It’s over, Emperor.”

“For now,” the Emperor replied, mouth curling into a smile. “You may have this fleeting victory, General. It will not last. Your conviction will only lead you to ruin.”

With those parting words, the Emperor vanished in a flash of light. Norika knew she could return, but after a few moments passed, she accepted that the Emperor had fled. To somewhere else on Kamigawa, or to another world. Either way, she was still a threat. Even if the Kami of Compleation was stopped, the heart of Kamigawa was still turned against itself.

When she was young, Norika had studied the histories and stories of Kamigawa not just to fill the time, but to try to find answers. She was drawn to tales of kami’s curses, of those who suffered beneath injustice. The stories told her there was a balance to such things, that pain was a necessary step in the path to greatness. Suffering was inevitable, yet it could still be overcome.

Now it was a bitter comfort. Her part in this work was done for now, and the biting pain would diminish. Others would not be so lucky. Eiko had lost a brother, Nashi a mother. Jace Beleren carried the shadow of a man who had lost more than one person should. Then there were Tamiyo, Kaito and the Emperor, and all the others who had lost themselves.

Norika turned towards the estate as she pulled out her datapad. Whatever Jace and Tamiyo were planning, it would have to work. There was no other choice.

Across the city, Tamiyo had prepared herself. In truth, there was little work to do, as the spell simply needed to be told. It was a kind of magic that needed no rites or sacrifice, beyond the abilities of its caster to control it.

Abilities her compleation may have compromised. Tamiyo knew she could see it through, from beginning to end, that the Kami of Compleation would be sealed. It was what came after that was the problem. Returning the power to its container might be the end of her. She did not want to die, but the problem before them was more important than her own life. And what life did she have to look forward to, with Phyrexia’s grip still trying to hold her?

She could tell Jace was anxious about something, from the way he paced around the rooftop terrace. He was brilliant in many ways, but the mind that could hold itself against forces that would break another could find ways to break itself.

“There is something on your mind,” Tamiyo said. “I suspect it involves the spell you maintain to separate me from my Phyrexian parts.”

Jace stopped, and turned towards her.

“You know, then,” he said.

“That it cannot last? Of course I do. Glistening oil is not a passive threat. It searches for weaknesses, and corrodes the most solid of defences. A fluid one might last, but one this complex needs constant upkeep.”

“You’re right,” he replied. “The oil isn’t fast, but it never stops. At least, not while you’re awake. The connection is there to let me put you both to sleep, but…”

“It’s still not a solution.”

Jace walked over to the side of the terrace, and leant against the safety railing.

“There is one thing,” he said. “The odds aren’t good, and… well. Did you know that New Phyrexia isn’t unique? That there are other descendants of Phyrexia in the multiverse?”

“If the Praetors had been aware of such a thing, they would have made an effort to build a connection,” Tamiyo said. “It is possible that some knowledge I believed described New Phyrexia was in fact related to other locations. But why does this matter?”

“Before I came to Kamigawa, I went to Ravnica with Vraska to warn them what was coming,” he replied. “We were approached by a member of the Simic, another planeswalker, who knew about these other Phyrexias. He was already thinking about finding a way to reverse compleation. And… he thinks having access to a compleated planeswalker might help.”

Tamiyo reflexively looked down, at her metal skin, at her hands that could no longer touch another. What Jace offered wasn’t a cure, merely a chance. But a chance, for even the smallest respite was worth it. She knew from her own distorted memories that there was no going back, no way to truly undo what had been done to her. Yet if there was a way to dull the edge that wished to cut apart her home, she would do anything to find it. If not for herself, for her family.

“You need me,” she said quietly.

“Only if you want to try,” Jace said. “I’m not going to put you into a psychic coma against your will so someone can experiment on you.”

A simple choice. But that was the line that separated New Phyrexia from its truest enemies. Even if Jace believed his offer was for the best, he was still giving Tamiyo the option to decline it.

“If New Phyrexia falls, I will fall with it,” she said. “So I have made certain preparations and entrusted them to Nashi. I have nothing to lose by accepting your offer. Even if it does not help me, others may benefit.”

“Thank you,” Jace said. “I wish I could offer something better. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry, for all of this.”

“You did everything you could on New Phyrexia. They- we knew you were coming, and we prepared accordingly. You could not have foreseen the causes of your failure.”

“You don’t understand. I could have stopped this all before it started. I knew Tezzeret was still out there, knew he was dangerous, but I let him live. Let him enable all of this.”

Jace was shaking, hands clenched against the railing. He had told himself a story he had come to believe, his own guilt turning into self-hatred. For what? The crime they were all guilty of? Any of them could have hunted down Tezzeret in the wake of Bolas’ defeat.

“None of us could have predicted that Tezzeret would betray us all,” she said. “You should not feel guilty for the better parts of your nature.”

“I- I want that to be true. But I knew for years what kind of man he was. I was afraid, and my fear let him ruin countless lives.”

“If inaction is enough to sentence you, then your guilt is a mere drop compared to the true architect of this situation. You want someone to blame, Jace?”

Something came over Tamiyo, a rush of knowledge, blurred memories, both from her own mind and Phyrexia. With them came disdain, hatred, feelings she had never harboured towards a living creature.

“Then blame Karn,” she spat, venom in her voice. “He made Mirrodin. Then he put the Mirari at the heart of it, knowing the ruin it had brought to Dominaria, and left it to rot his world from the inside. He knew something was wrong, long before New Phyrexia was born. And he ignored it. Now the multiverse is paying the price for his negligence.”

Concern fell over Jace’s face, pale blue light flickering in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I mean-”

“I knew the story of the Mirari long before I was compleated,” Tamiyo said, cutting off his attempt to apologise. “Even then, I wondered who would create such a thing. I am unsure when I learned the rest. If it was from Phyrexia, how could you have known?”

Jace looked away, towards the swirling light of Ao, the dragon still engaged in a deadly game with the Kami of Compleation.

“Karn warned us,” he said, almost vacantly. “But… maybe you’re right. When people didn’t believe him, he ran off into the wastes of Dominaria in search of something that might have been impossible to find.”

Ultimately, Jace’s guilt was something he would have to work through himself. But it was a pointless cruelty to let him sentence himself for every problem in the multiverse. Tamiyo was unsure how much of her outburst was her own, but the taste it left in her mouth was less bitter than she expected.

They waited in silence until Jace’s datapad activated. He ran a finger over its surface, then looked over to Tamiyo.

“It’s General Yamazaki,” he explained. “She says the gate is ready.”

“It is time, then,” she replied. To release magic beyond understanding, a task whose folly was only exceeded by the folly of not doing so. “I may not survive. If not, know that I am thankful for this final respite.”

“I understand,” Jace said. “I… I’m better, I think, from having known you. Thank you for that.”

Tamiyo nodded in response. There were no more words that could say what had not already been said. She turned upwards, to the Kami of Compleation, and let her magic carry her into the sky.

As she rose, the sounds of war were swept away by the wind, only the duelling dragons great enough to overcome it. Once she was high enough, she undid the bindings on the scroll, and called in forward. This act alone woke it, its power already beginning to build, raw mana swirling in the air around her.

Tamiyo focused on her goal, and began to read.

There was once a great and powerful warrior known as Serra, whose strength was matched only by her kindness. So grand was her love that wherever she travelled, it took form in angels, beings of living light and pure benevolence. The people of these places wept in joy when such saviours were granted to them, their ills cured and their oppressors driven away. Serra travelled far and wide, to gift hope to all who needed it.

Ages passed, and Serra saw that there was no end to strife and suffering. So with the endless power she possessed, she forged her own realm and wove her promise into its very essence. As long as she lived, those in Serra’s Realm would be protected. There would be no darkness or suffering, no malice or cruelty. From this promise came a legion of angels to protect those who flocked to this refuge.

For a time, the promise held, with even the most ancient of evils denied access to Serra’s Realm. However, beneath her boundless light, Serra was a mortal, with a mortal heart. She fell in love with a great sorcerer known as Feroz, and their devotion to each other was as strong as any love could be. But Feroz had another love, the homeland where he was born. A great evil afflicted it, and he wished to see its end.

For a time, Serra and Feroz fought to free the homelands from its pain. Those who wished to exploit its people were driven out, and cursed never to return. But during this conflict, Feroz fell, struck down by the very magic he sought to command. In turn, Serra was consumed by grief from her lover’s death. She fled to another world, her heart broken even as her light endured. Then, in the depths of her grief, sorrow turned to rage, and so Serra’s light turned cruel.

With its guardian consumed by vengeance, Serra’s Realm was no longer protected by her promise. Slowly, darkness found its way into the plane, corrupting even the angels. As some turned to chaos, others became tyrants, trying to enforce Serra’s laws without the kindness that had created them. With Serra’s departure, the paradise she had created came undone.

Those still true to Serra’s ideals found an unlikely saviour, when the great artificer Urza arrived, seeking allies against the evil he fought. That such a place could fall brought tears even to Urza’s stone eyes, and he gathered all he could on his ship, the Weatherlight. He cut down the corrupted Archangel Radiant, and with a heavy heart, allowed Serra’s Realm to collapse.

But in a moment of epiphany, Urza realised something of Serra’s Realm could still be saved. He captured the last motes of uncorrupted light within a gemstone, and placed it in the heart of the Weatherlight. With this light, the ship could now traverse the darkness between worlds, and its first journey ferried those still faithful to Serra to safety.

The tale of Serra ended in sorrow. But hope lived on, sealed in not just the gemstone, but within the hearts of all who believed in her virtues.

The story ended, and the magic formed. Something almost imperceptible was wrong, Tamiyo realised, but against the storm such subtle details were forgotten. Ao looked towards her, elegantly avoiding the twin-jaws of the Kami of Compleation as he did. He flew around his enemy, leaving a glowing trail to trap it, and the scroll’s magic latched on, weaving into Ao’s gift.

The Kami of Compleation lashed against its bindings, frantically trying to escape as its churning flesh started to liquefy. As it was pulled towards the merge gate, it let out a mournful cry, painfully aware of its fate.

It was just a child, Tamiyo realised. A child she and the others had ripped from its world and turned into a weapon. It only wanted to help, but its help was ruinous, its own nature antithetical to the world it existed in. Black drops of oil fell against Tamiyo’s dress, and she realised she was crying.

The spell ended as the Kami of Compleation was drawn into the spirit world, and one hundred oni rushed out to take its place. The scroll’s magic, now untethered, twisted around her, looking to be free. Tamiyo spun her own threads of mana to contain it, drawing it back into the scroll, forcing the iron bindings shut once more. Her whole body burned, the backlash from her efforts tearing through her.

“What have you done?” her dark mirror asked, clawing through oil and dreams to scream at her.

“What was merciful,” Tamiyo replied, to no one who was listening.

And then she slipped from the sky.

Jace could only watch from afar as Tamiyo cast the spell to seal the Kami of Compleation. Even with the distance between them, the light that shone around her stung his eyes, raw mana pouring out into the night sky. Torrents of power twisted towards the kami, mixing with the golden threads Ao had formed. The Kami of Compleation roared, its rage shaking the air, and Jace felt reality ripple around him.

Then in a final burst of light, it was over. As he looked over to where the Kami of Compleation had been drawn, Jace saw a swell of shadows darker than the night rise into the air, a problem for another time. Then he turned back, to see the light around Tamiyo wink out, the terrible power of the iron-bound scroll locked away once again. He could barely make her out, and watched in quiet horror as she began to fall.

She was too far for him to catch, even if he had the magic to do so. He could read minds, tear apart memories, unwind spells with a thought, yet he could not save Tamiyo from her descent. Another friend he had failed.

Ao turned in the sky, the dragon spirit’s gaze turning downwards to Eiganjo. A golden wind swept over the city, the glittering strands catching Tamiyo and slowing her fall. Her course changed, and now she drifted back towards Jace.

“Thank you,” he said, not knowing if Ao could hear him, but certain in his gratitude. Seeing such great power put to gentle ends made Jace understand why the people of Kamigawa revered the kami. Tamiyo was, for the moment, safe.

There was one thing Jace had to do before he left. He tapped the datapad, and it beeped as it activated its communicator.

“Jace? Is that you?” came Nashi’s voice from the datapad. “I saw the light above the city. Eiko said the Kami of Compleation… that your plan worked.”

“It did,” Jace replied. “There’s one less threat facing Kamigawa, although the danger isn’t over yet.”

“Is Tamiyo okay?”

“I don’t know. I’m going to take her to a place where people can try to help her. But I don't know if it will work, if it even can work.”

“I understand,” Nashi said calmly. “When you told me about Phyrexia, in Towashi, I knew things might not get better. But promise me. No matter what happens, you’ll come back and tell us?”

Jace paused for a moment. Tamiyo’s family had already suffered from her loss, from the uncertainty that happened. It was a uniquely awful kind of pain.

“I promise,” he said. It was more than a promise to return. It was a promise to survive. To win. So that when this all ended, he could bring a small respite to a single family.

“Thank you.”

Jace put the datapad aside as Tamiyo came closer, and managed to catch her in his arms. The golden light around her diffused as he did, and he could see that using the scroll had not been without its costs. Dark black patches stained her dress, and a thin trail of oil leaked from her mouth. She was still awake, barely, and she turned her head towards him.

“It is… done…” Tamiyo said weakly.

Jace nodded, and he wove the spell to put her into a dreamless sleep, safe from Phyrexia’s influence. Her eyes closed, and she looked almost peaceful as she entered her slumber.

Crossing the Blind Eternities was never easy, and reaching a particular location on a plane had its own complications. Doing so while carrying another was a trial, but one Jace was willing to endure. The journey itself was short even as the moments between planes were disquiet, the awareness of Realmbreaker’s presence gnawing at Jace’s mind.

Yet he reached his intended location all the same. The contrast of advanced artifice and traditional arts that defined Kamigawa was gone, replaced by the organic architecture and soft light of the Simic Combine. He had arrived within the quarantine chamber Velos had shown him, a dome-shaped room with a bulbous light embedded in the ceiling, and a round window on one side. In the centre of the room was a Simic medical bed, a device designed to channel the Combine’s medical magic to a patient more effectively. Jace placed Tamiyo on the soft surface, and the rim around it began to glow a soft green.

“I see you have arrived,” a feminine voice said from somewhere. “Velos told me to expect you. Please proceed to the decontamination module.”

A door in the chamber slid open, and Jace stepped through into a smaller room, the door closing after he did.

“We’ve managed to adapt a type of cleaning magic to remove glistening oil from various fabrics and surfaces,” the voice explained. “The process should only take a few moments.”

The walls of the room glowed, and the oil that had bled from Tamiyo was pulled away from him. To Jace’s discomfort, it seemed to cling to his clothing, the magic increasing in force until it was fully removed. Once collected, the oil was transferred to a glass container, which was quickly sealed.

Another door opened on the other side of the decontamination module, and Jace exited into the research laboratory proper. When Velos had shown him around, the space had been empty, but now it was filled with various equipment, several containers holding glistening oil suspended in magical fields, and a number of cases presumably containing research notes.

While Velos was clearly elsewhere, he had not left the room unattended. Jace was surprised to see the room’s current occupant, primarily because they were a gorgon, dressed in Simic labwear. She had the typical pale face of her kind, although it had a touch of bluish-green to it, a colour that became more intense along her tendrils. Her eyes were her most striking feature, sapphire-blue as opposed to Vraska’s yellow-green.

“Welcome back,” she said. “My name is Mina. Velos has informed me of the details of his plan, and the part he has asked you to play. I assume the person you have brought with you is another planeswalker?”

“Yes,” Jace answered. “She’s from Kamigawa, a Soratami. Although I don’t know if that information is helpful.”

“I recognise the name of the… plane, was it?” Mina said. “Velos has a catalogue of genetic records collected from other worlds, which have been delivered here. Speaking of Velos…”

Mina held up a finger, and went over to a desk and quickly wrote something on a piece of parchment. Then she attached to the tail of a winged lizard, a creature the Simic used for delivering messages, and sent it away.

“What’s the current situation?” Jace asked. “It seems calm down here, but we’re fairly below the surface.”

“It’s bad,” Mina replied. “Even with the warning from yourself and Guildmaster Vraska, Kaya was still able to compromise several of the most powerful Orzhov families. She barely needs the reinforcements from New Phyrexia, since she’s got the spirits and bodies of everyone who died indebted to the Syndicate. Realmbreaker ripped the vaults right out of Undercity. The Golgari have managed to lock down the deeper ones, but it’s effectively impossible to prevent anything near the surface from being extracted.”

“I see.”

This had been what Jace had worried about, the bindings of Orzhov debt in Phyrexia’s hands. Tomik had said they couldn’t be wielded against Ravnica, but once she had been afflicted by the oil, Kaya had been clear that she viewed compleation as a blessing. If she believed her intentions were good, that could easily allow her a way around such restrictions.

“We should get started,” Mina said, looking over some of the cases. “We need a full medical scan, which is going to take some time. More if we don’t have a good genetic record.”

She briskly searched through the cases, before choosing one, and carrying it over to desk. She undid the latch and opened it, revealing rows of crystal prisms, the containers the Simic used for their genetic records. Each one could hold specific details about a single individual or vast statistical data for an entire population.

“Let’s see,” Mina said to herself, looking through the records. “Slithzerikai, no. Sliver, no.” Her finger tapped past several more records. “There it is. Soratami.”

She removed the crystal from the case, took it over to the side of the quarantine chamber and inserted it into a receptacle beneath the window. It began to glow softly, and Mina cast a spell that presumably initiated the medical scan.

Velos arrived shortly after, looking as composed as he had at the summit, but Jace could sense that the biomancer was slightly on edge.

“I see things are progressing,” he said, looking towards the quarantine chamber. “I apologise that I wasn’t here when you arrived, but Speaker Zegana had her own proposals that merited my attention.”

“We have to use our resources as best we can,” Jace replied. “Keeping our knowledge to ourselves will help no one.”

“Indeed. On that note, is there anything you can tell us about the patient?”

“Not much beyond what I’ve already said. I was able to find a way to temporarily split Tamiyo from the Phyrexian aspects of her mind, but that’s not viable long-term. The telepathic coma should hold, barring a sudden change in her mental state.”

“That is consistent with our own early findings,” Mina said. “The glistening oil of New Phyrexia is a persistent contaminant.”

“Is there a way we could apply this separation to others?” Velos asked. “I’m sure the Dimir would be able to make good use of it.”

“I’m afraid not. Nothing about it was elegant, and when Tamiyo came out she wasn’t happy with what she’d thought I’d done,” Jace explained. “Maybe, if I’d had more time, it would have been cleaner. But one of the people we lost on New Phyrexia was the Emperor of Kamigawa. I had to force her hand before too much damage was done.”

“Yes, I can see how Kamigawa’s current political issues would cause further problems, especially in such a situation,” Velos said. “One Guildmaster working against Ravnica is bad enough. I can see why you would be pressed for time. Futurist technology is not something I would like to see in Phyrexian hands.”

“I was able to get a warning to the upper levels of their military. Well, what’s left of it. They’ve engaged the Phyrexians, and a major threat was stopped.”

“Very good work then. Although, I must ask – When was the last time you slept? My understanding is that you arrived at the summit directly from New Phyrexia.”

“Not quite directly, but, um,” Jace stumbled. He’d gotten a little rest on Kamigawa at the Kami of Memory’s insistence. But Velos was giving him the same kind of look Lavinia often did. “With mind magic, I can reduce the amount of sleep I need. So it’s fine-”

“Yes, a fine way to drive yourself insane,” Mina said, cutting him off. “I understand that we’re in a bad situation, but it’s still important to rest. We have shift schedules for a reason.”

“I concur,” Velos said. “Get some rest. If you’re worried about your friend, I can keep you in the loop.”

“I suppose it’s best not to argue with a pair of doctors,” Jace said with a weak smile. “And it has been… it’s been too long.”

With some directions from Velos, Jace found his way to a currently unoccupied rest area, a series of small rooms each with a bed and some storage. He didn’t intend to stay for long, but once he had laid down, the weight of the past weeks caught up with him. Since the strike team had left from Urza’s Tower, he’d been running at full tilt. It had all become a blur, one crisis bleeding into another.

In many ways, he was lucky to have a moment of respite. Other planes, other people, would not be so fortunate. It was impossible to know how far New Phyrexia had already spread, how many worlds had been thrown into conflict. Nahiri’s warning of other dangers echoed in Jace’s mind as well. Emrakul still slumbered in Innistrad’s moon and Bolas survived, undoubtedly planning his own escape. In the vastness of the multiverse, the chance they were alone was zero.

Jace fell into an uneasy sleep, filled with dreams of forgotten magic and fallen warriors. He would not remember them, but that did not matter. He had found a brief salvation for one and opened a path to a greater end. If New Phyrexia was defeated, history would make great heroes of a few, but it would be the countless stories of small acts that would lead there.

Chapter Text

Falco Spara had spent a lifetime preparing for the end of the world.

While the other families had grasped for power for its own sake, escaping inwards from the ruins that surrounded them, the Brokers had always been directed towards a single goal. The contracts, the Halo, every pact forged and debt lent was for one end, one purpose. Few had seen the prophecy that guided the Brokers’ path, but those who did understood a simple truth – it could not be averted. If New Capenna was to survive, they would have to be ready.

The fall of the Adversary at the hands of the Elspeth Tiral had been the final key. A light not seen on Capenna for centuries had returned, the Brokers’ stockpiles of Halo becoming something more, something truly divine. It happened not a moment too soon, the angels’ re-emergence preceding the attack on the city by mere hours. When Phyrexia returned, there was an army waiting to meet them, ready to battle their old enemy once again.

But nothing came for free in New Capenna. There would be a price to pay, and Falco Spara was the man who stepped up to negotiate how it would be paid. It would not be said he did not follow the rules he set out for others, where your word was your contract, and a contract was unbreakable. He had sifted through the masses of the city in search of people who shared his belief that law and order mattered, that there needed to be something to hold the families in check. It hadn’t worked, the Brokers succumbing to their own kind of corruption, but the core of his idea was enough to give the angels pause.

The armouries of Nido Sanctuary had been opened, and most of the weapons the Brokers had collected had already been distributed to whoever was willing to use them. All that was left now were the ones that needed a special touch to awaken their anti-Phyrexian magic.

Falco already had his eyes on the one the plan needed, a golden spear with a brilliant-white tip, like an edge made of diamond. It rested on a pair of marble plinths, still even in the frequent tremors that shook the city, subtly majestic in a way the Brokers could never be. It was a weapon crafted by angels to be used by mortals, and if his research was correct, it was exactly what he needed. The problem would be getting the buy-in from the angels.

He waited in a deserted armoury, surrounded by emptied lockers and unpacked crates. Fixing problems was the Brokers’ modus operandi, and now the city was facing its biggest problem since its founding. This was where the final score would be tallied, and Falco Spara wasn’t going to let someone else get ahead of him.

“You wanted to see me, boss?”

His thoughts were interrupted by Perrie’s arrival. He could have knocked, but with the city in shambles, the sound of a rhox pounding against a reinforced door would cause more problems than it would solve. Besides that, Perrie’s value as “the Pulveriser” was nothing compared to him being willing to tell Falco what he needed to hear rather than what he wanted to hear.

“I need perspective,” Falco said, each word dripping with meaning. “Now you’ve seen the end of the line, you understand the Brokers’ true purpose.”

It wasn’t a question. Perrie was sharp, in a way most people didn’t notice until it was too late. Falco Spara was not most people.

“To hold the city together. Phyrexia wants to tear us apart, but the contracts bind us together.”

“Exactly. Phyrexia is a machine, and if we can’t keep pace, we’ll be crushed beneath it. The Maestros are proof enough of that.”

“They’re not entirely out for the count,” Perrie countered. “The top brass might have been cleaned out, but there are still Maestros on the streets.”

“Unfortunately, all the private collections belong to Xander’s chosen. How many more weapons do you think are locked up in the museum alone, Perrie?”

Perrie took off his monocle and rubbed it against his shirt, brow furrowed.

“Might as well be none. The museum is a death trap now that Atraxa has turned it into her base of operations. And it won’t be long before the Riveteers blast out the last of the direct routes up to Park Heights.”

“You’ve been out there. How bad is it?”

“Last I saw, most of the parks had been drenched in oil. Apparently an angel got close to the museum, and the last anyone saw of her was Atraxa dragging what was left of her inside.”

It seemed that Atraxa and the angels of New Capenna had a mutual animosity. After she’d butchered the Maestros, Atraxa had made a beeline for the museum, and according to a handful of survivors she had directed a surprising amount of ire towards the artwork depicting angels. More than petty vandalism, it was an attack on the city’s history. One that could not go unanswered.

“Then we need to take Atraxa out of the picture. And I’ve got just the tool for it if the angels are ready to work with us.”

Perrie affixed his monocle, and stepped round to examine the spear.

“So this is it?” he asked. “It’s not my kind of weapon, but in the right hands it must be deadly. You planning to hand it off to one of the angels?”

“Not quite,” Falco answered. “You know more than anyone that there are two kinds of loyalty. The kind you sign on a contract, and the kind you prove with action. I have people on the streets, but that’s not enough.”

“You’re going all in, then,” Perrie said, instantly grasping Falco’s plan. “Prove to the angels that you’re willing to put your own life on the line. It’s a big risk.”

“It’s necessary. I’ve said it before Perrie, you see the big picture. Well, someone has to paint that picture. New Capenna is down a family and our history is in the hands of the enemy. We need to show that there’s still a fight.”

“You want to make a play against Atraxa.”

“We need her off the board for a while,” Falco said, flexing his wings. “Then we can start on a long term solution. Now, I think it’s time I met with our luminous friends.”

“They drive a hard bargain,” Perrie said. “But if there’s anyone I trust to bargain just as hard, it’s you, boss.”

That was one vote of confidence. But he’d need more than confidence to deal with the angels. Falco watched as Perrie left to fetch one of the angels, the one man who he trusted to show the right kind of respect.

The quiet wait did nothing to sooth Falco. Each moment they waited was a moment lost, an opportunity to slow the grinding destruction thrown away. The Brokers might have waited until a situation was at its most desperate before intervening, but they made sure that intervention came before the fists started swinging.

The angel arrived wrapped in light, a corona of Halo framing their head, which wore an armoured crown. Her stone wings were folded behind her back, while pale ribbons hung from the front of her armour. There was more to her than her physical presence, an aura that filled the empty armoury, something ancient and sacred.

“You are Falco Spara,” she said, hiding disdain behind courtesy. “Your servants tell me you have an offer to make. You may plead your case with me, and I shall decide if it is worthy.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Falco replied. It had been a long time since he had been on this side of the negotiating table. “We share a common goal, and a common enemy. And I am sure your impartiality is assured, Ms…?”

“Serena,” the angel answered. “Given your past dealings, many of my siblings are unwilling to trust you. However, as you appear to be a man who keeps his word, I shall treat with you in good faith. I may not approve of the system you have created, but I see there is virtue in it.”

“I worked with the hand I was dealt. Someone had to step up and provide some form of order to New Capenna, and I was the only one willing to do it.”

“Order, but no justice,” Serena retorted.

“Justice is a rare thing in this city, and a matter of perspective. The Brokers deal with the facts of a situation.”

“A position I admit has some merit. But we are not here to discuss philosophy. You speak of our common enemy. It would benefit us to work together against them.”

“So we are on the same page,” he said. “But I’m thinking of something specific. We need to get Atraxa out of the way. We can’t work with her constantly overhead, picking us off at her leisure.”

“She is a dangerous foe,” Serena agreed. “We dare not fly alone, as those who do are easy prey for her.”

“Then we both have a problem. But I believe I have the solution to it.”

He gestured to the spear, and Serena’s eyes widened as she examined it.

“This is indeed a potent weapon,” she confirmed. “If its blessing was reawakened, it would be formidable in the right hands. Hands I believe you wish to provide.”

“In this matter, the Brokers are at your service. But the hands I provide for this weapon will be my own.”

“You would risk your own life against Atraxa? Knowing the consequences of failure?” Serena asked, seemingly impressed. “Perhaps you and your ilk have not fallen as far as we feared.”

“So I have your approval?” Falco asked, looking to close the deal. Haste might have been a folly Brokers were trained to avoid, but swiftness could be key to making an advantageous contract.

“Tentatively, but yes. I will have to discuss this with the others, but I believe it will be a swift conversation. How long will it take you to prepare?”

“No more than an hour.”

“Then make whatever arrangements you must,” Serena commanded. “I will meet you when the time is done to deliver our decision.”

“Then I, and the rest of New Capenna, hope that you make the right choice.”

She did not react to his statement, her gaze betraying nothing. Had she been picked for this negotiation specifically, Falco wondered, or was it mere chance that Serena embodied the traits every Broker should show when bargaining?

Either way, with their discussion concluded, she left the armoury, every step impossibly graceful. Falco was certain that the angels would accept, both as a result of their self-proclaimed status as guardians, and due their animosity with Atraxa. That gave him an hour to put everything into place, to make sure everyone knew what their role would be for every possible outcome. The Brokers’ work was never done, so neither was Falco’s.

The time passed in a flurry of rapid meetings, instructions and clarifications flowing down from the senior partners to every member of the family. Sealed letters were handed to the most trusted, to be opened only in the event of his death. No one questioned him, but many wished him luck or gave their thanks, all to steel their nerves against the coming uncertainty.

Once he had attended to all that needed him, Falco retrieved the spear from the armoury and made his way to the main entrance of Nido Sanctuary. The invasion had wrecked it, the grand windows reduced to shattered glass during assaults by Phyrexians, and the once-pristine marble floor was stained with all manner of things. The greenery at least had survived, the hardy Mezzio-bred plants remaining rooted, even as their containers cracked and split soil into the emptied water features.

A group of aven had congregated in the lobby, most of them high-ranked Broker enforcers, hand-picked for the mission. They were joined by a pair of Obscura, their contracts called in so that the team would know where to strike to have the best chance of drawing Atraxa out. Raffine claimed that no prophecy was perfect, but it had been her warning that had evacuated Falco’s residence less than a day before Realmbreaker ripped it from its foundations. And he didn’t need perfection, just to know the best direction to fly.

“Good to see you’ve all made it,” Falco said as he approached the group. “Especially at such short notice.” Not that they had a choice, when a contract with the Brokers was involved. “You’re here because you’re the best at what you do. For those in the family, that may be protection, extraction, or simple… demonstration. For those friends from the Obscura, that would be prediction and deception. Our city is under attack, and our enemies are led by someone who calls herself an angel. Well, I’ve met an angel, and it seems they have some disagreements with Ms. Atraxa. Now, who is it that handles disagreements in New Capenna?”

“The Brokers!” was the answer, even the Obscura joining in.

“Precisely. And we might just have a deal that will let us clip Atraxa’s wings. One that will show her why you don’t mess with New Capenna. When we meet with the angels, hold your heads high. They can judge us, but it was the five families that held this city together while they were gone. So if they’re going to save it, it’ll be with our help.”

Light shone through the surviving windows, announcing the angel’s arrival. Falco led the group outside, and they found not one, but five angels waiting for them. Serena stood at the front of the group, silently appraising the group as they approached.

“I see you have gathered your warriors, Spara,” she said. “Whatever their loyalties, and no matter their sins, we accept your offer. Atraxa is a monster we cannot allow to fly free. In the breath since we last met, she has already attacked another of my brothers. He managed to escape, but others, angel or mortal, may not be so fortunate.”

“On that we can agree,” Falco replied. “My agents can take us to where the Obscura have predicted Atraxa is most likely to strike. It won’t be a perfect ambush, but with the right tools, we can get the job done. And I believe I have the right tool.”

“As was implicit in our agreement, we will empower your weapon. Given Atraxa’s nature, we cannot be entirely sure of its effectiveness, but its enchantments are not directly purely at Phyrexians.”

Another of the angels drifted over, and placed his hand against the spear. Strands of Halo swirled outward and into the tip, which began to glow with the same light as the angels. Falco could feel the power now flowing through it, ready to strike against those who would threaten Capenna.

“It seems I now owe you a debt,” he said as he examined the spear. “One that I hope can be repaid swifty. Are we ready to take flight?”

“If you and your warriors are ready, then we are ready,” Serena replied.

“Then we depart.” Falco snapped his talons. “We know where we’re going, so let’s have a gate to get us there quickly.”

Two of the enforcers stepped forward, and together their magic forged a doorway in the air, bridging together Nido Plaza and another part of New Cappena. The other side was clearly deep with Phyrexian territory, the branches of Realmbreaker coiling around the remains of buildings, shadowed forms skittering across them.

“Who wants to go first?” Falco asked. As much as he wanted to establish a good working relationship with the angels, he drew the line at being first across the threshold. A great deal of caution had gotten him this far, and he wasn’t about to abandon it now.

“Two of our own shall go,” Serena stated. “Then you and yours, followed by the remaining angels.”

That was good enough for Falco, and once the first angels had passed through the gate, he nodded to the enforcers, stretched out his wings and flew through to the other side. It was darker than the Mezzio had been, Realmbreaker casting a great shadow that even the angel’s light seemed unable to fully clear. As the gate closed, Falco looked around, searching for a familiar landmark.

“We’re under the museum,” one of the Obscura stated, gesturing upwards. “To strike Atraxa’s heart, we must venture into Phyrexia’s heart.”

The declaration was met with an echoing screech from nearby, and many of the Phyrexians on the branches turned towards them. What one saw, they all knew, but for this mission, getting caught had always been the goal. Falco summoned a shield as several of the Phyrexians took to the air, several of the enforcers doing the same.

The fight that followed was fast and brutal. The angels spread out to cover as much air as they could, cutting down the approaching Phyrexians as they came near. Those who got past them crashed against the Brokers’ shields, which cracked and flickered as bladed limbs tried to break through. Falco was glad for the spear’s reach, a single touch of its tip enough to pierce the Phyrexian’s armour to reach the flesh beneath. The enforcer’s weapons, while less effective, still managed to do their job, and soon the enemy ranks had stalled.

“She’s here,” one of the angels said. There was no doubt as to who she was.

Atraxa descended from a gap in the branches, her vast wings of bone blood red in Realmbreaker’s light. In her right hands she held a heavy spear of her own, the symbol of Phyrexia beneath the oil-drenched tip. There was no part of her that was not horrific, from her plated skin to her twin tails that coiled like bladed serpents. But the most awful thing of all was that she was still an angel. Falco had wondered what kind of aura Atraxa might possess, if she had one at all. As she came closer, he could feel it, a terrible weight that set his feathers on edge. It was not a void, which would have been its own twisted comfort. Nor was it profane.

Like the other angels, Atraxa was sacred. Falco did not have to know how, only that it was in a way entirely alien to New Capenna. His own partially-demonic nature was enough to push against the creeping sense of awe, but the others would not have such protection. That was the true reason this mission was important. The basic currency of the city was power, and the first step of surviving the invasion was showing that the families still held it.

“Creatures of flesh. This is no longer your place. What compels you to trespass upon Phyrexia’s domain?”

Atraxa’s voice was as if sound could be made of metal, a scraping chorus that sounded like a Cabaretti performance gone wrong. And like a bad performance, it needed to be silenced.

“We’re here to make a deal,” Falco announced, staring up at Atraxa’s featureless face.

“If you are here to surrender, then I accept. If you repent for your previous rejection, the Grand Praetor may still allow you to be saved.”

“You’ve got the wrong idea. The deal I’m offering is this: Get out of our city now, or we’ll send you back to New Phyrexia in pieces.”

“How… disappointing,” she said, although her tone sounded more like rage to Falco’s ears. “The Grand Praetor’s judgement was correct. Some never learn. Perhaps, as you are scoured from existence, you will realise the magnitude of your mistake.”

Atraxa swept her spear down, and the Phyrexians that had stilled let out a cry, and resumed their attack. Two of the angels were immediately forced to engage Atraxa, leaving a gap in their defences that the lesser poured through. The enforcers did their best against the tide, but it was clear they would be overwhelmed in minutes. Falco tightened his grip on the spear, and looked for an opening. But all he found was oil and metal, hungry and relentless. He would have to make his own path.

He pushed forward to close the gap between himself and Atraxa, spearing Phyrexians as they came close. They thinned as he got closer, few willing to get too near their commander, and with good reason. Atraxa was more than a match for the two Capennan angels, every part of her guided by lethal intent. Each approach was cut off, each attack parried or evaded.

Then as one angel swept down to avoid Atraxa’s tails, she took her spear in all four hands and with a single strike, smashed through the wing of the other. The stone crumbled away, Halo evaporating as it did, and the angel plummeted into the darkness below. The remaining angel charged back towards Atraxa, only to be struck by her tails as she spun round, spear already raised for a killing blow.

Falco had just enough time to project a shield between the two angels, Atraxa’s spear gouging into it even as it was deflected from its course. She turned to face him, her aura tinted with divine malice. Wordlessly, she raised her spear, and launched herself towards him.

Instinctively, Falco raised a shield, a whirling disc of fragmented light. Atraxa crashed through it, and he barely had time to move himself out the path of her attack. She turned again, swinging her spear like a hammer, and he dropped to avoid it. This was Falco’s chance. His only chance. As Atraxa recovered, he drove his own spear forward with both hands, channelling demonic power through his wings to give him the speed he needed.

There was a burst of light as the spear impacted with its target, and both Falco and Atraxa were pushed apart by the radiant force. As he recovered, he saw that the tip of the spear had shattered, with only a small sliver of crystal left.

But when he looked over to Atraxa, he saw that he had succeeded. The right side of her chest, where the spear had impacted, now had a wide crack running along it, smoke and oil leaking from the wound. She coughed up dark ichor as she tried to speak, the external damage clearly mirrored internally.

“You… you will pay for this,” she managed to say, voice wavering. “When my work is finished, you will wish for death. And you will find it.”

In spite of her words, Atraxa was still retreating, falling back like someone who knew they were beaten. But like any small-time gang leader, hitting the boss didn’t matter if the rest of them finished you off. It was time to leave.

Falco turned back towards the rest of the group, taking out a few Phyrexians on the way. They were already down an enforcer, and another one was covered in blood, their weapon gone. Serena and the other two angels had pulled inward, while the one who had survived Atraxa followed behind. Glancing down, he could see more Phyrexians massing, some already climbing the branches to get closer. Atraxa might not be able to deal with them directly, but she wasn’t about to let them go.

“We need a way out!” he shouted, practically squawking the command. One of the enforcers started to open a gate, but was interrupted by a Phyrexian. “Clear the air!” Falco ordered, knowing that without a gate, they’d be stranded. The enforcers made an attempt to push back, but their shields were already becoming weak from defending against the constant assault.

One of the Obscura agents cast a spell, tendrils of purple smoke flowing from their hands. It snaked through the air, seeping between the Phyrexian’s armour into whatever senses they might have. This was simple magic to confuse a target, easily resisted by anyone who had walked the streets of New Capenna. But the Phyrexians were outsiders, and fell into a daze, blades slicing at imagined enemies.

A horizontal gate opened beneath them, jagged and uneven, a quality the Brokers would usually not accept. They all began to dive, to escape before the Phyrexians regained their senses. The injured went through first, guarded by one of the angels. As the others followed, it seemed like they would make a clean getaway.

Until a sleek, squid-shaped Phyrexian with a single glowing eye broke from the pack and shot straight towards the Obscura agent. It slammed into them, barbed tendrils latching onto limbs, and the spell faded, its victims stopping their movements as they recovered. Then they turned towards Falco and Serena, and changed once more.

They dropped through the gate back to Nido, Falco blocking a scythe-handed Phyrexian with the shaft of the spear, barely able to keep a grip on it. The Obscura agent fell through as well, gravity dragging both them and their attacker down. The gate snapped shut before more Phyrexians could follow, although a few managed to get through. Falco was pushed back as he avoided the needle-filled maw of his attacker and he was glad to see a shining sword erupted from the back of its head. It went limp and collapsed, revealing Serena standing behind it.

“We are successful,” Serena said, pausing to cut down another Phyrexia. “But at a cost.”

“This is war,” Falco retorted. “A war the Brokers knew was coming. We can weep once it is over.”

“I know. At least these sacrifices were not in vain. You wounded Atraxa, to her very core. She will not blight us until she can recover. Although I doubt the others will relent.”

“An attack on a leader always leads to chaos,” he explained. “But I felt a lot of things up there in Atraxa’s presence. I can’t explain all of them, but I reckon she knows how to play the game. She’ll want retribution, and it’ll be aimed at me.”

“Her focus will be on you, then. Was this your plan all along?”

“I would have been happier to kill her, but every plan needs a contingency. You might not like it, but the families do their best work in the shadows. And if I have to be the one to cast them, well, that’s the price of doing business.”

He turned to the others. The injured had already been taken back inside, while some workers had come out to deal with the Obscura agent’s body. Red and black pooled beneath them, like colours in a ledger. By the end of this, the Brokers’ would be stained red, the debts owed to them not enough to cover the costs of war. A war that was only just beginning.

Serena looked at Falco, still judging him. Whatever her final verdict was, no one could deny the Brokers were doing their part.

Hundreds of miles away, in the wastes of Old Capenna, ruins slumbered beneath an unscarred sky. With a flash of swirling light on a hillside, a man stepped out into the quiet.

Velos looked down from where he had arrived, a small satchel slung around his shoulder.. A gentle slope covered with pale green grass curved down to form a light valley, holding a forgotten road broken up by weeds and vines. It followed the shape of the land, leading to a small settlement of crumbling stone buildings. A walk of about ten minutes, he judged, close enough. While Realmbreaker was not here, he had felt its presence around the plane, a shadow in the Blind Eternities. On Ravnica and Dominaria it had been everywhere, because on those planes, life was everywhere. New Capenna was surely under attack, but out here there was nothing to find. Well, almost nothing.

He set off along the road, towards the settlement. While Velos had long since overcome a Ravnican’s aversion to wide open spaces, Capenna was disquieting in its own way. Most of the plane was still, even the wind doing little to bring motion. This only increased the danger of the plane, the stillness creating a false sense of safety. There were pockets of Phyrexians across the plane, following orders from a master long since dead. Stumbling upon them unaware posed a grave threat to a person’s life.

But Velos was not here unaware. As he stepped into the settlement, he cast a simple detection spell, which found nothing living but plants. It was not an unexpected result, as most of the buildings were crumbling, with no attempts at repair visible. There were gaps here and there, where structures ought to be, their positions framed in their absence. On Ravnica, such disparate rates of decay were to be expected. Buildings abandoned the Rubblebelt were subject to the Gruul, torn down when such destruction was desired, but not to any plan. In the city proper, maintenance and demolition followed the whims of the Guilds, whether that be Orzhov repossession, Izzet infrastructure work or Golgari recycling. Chaos required life.

He found what he was looking for near the centre of the settlement, where perhaps a dozen buildings had been torn down. Piles of rubble lined the road, carefully arranged so that there was space to walk between them. These were burial cairns, built by the only people on Capenna outside of the city able to. Velos approached one of them and with a wave, called up the magic needed to shift the stones aside, and reveal the Phyrexian that had been entombed within. It was impossible to determine how long they had been dead, as the glistening oil acted as a preservative, halting the natural decay of biological matter.

Unlike their brethren on Dominaria, the Capennan Phyrexians had survived the fall of Phyrexia itself. More importantly, that some were buried in such a way showed that their intelligence had persisted. Others had not been so fortunate. Velos had first encountered Phyrexians decades ago, but those ones had been essentially feral, the disease without the ideology. It was not until unrelated research had taken him to Dominaria and given him the insight for why metal and flesh had been equally infected. It was the enduring intelligence that had brought him here, a variation in the oil that he wished to study.

Velos cut through the outer layer of metal skin with a modified anti-artifice spell, working with surgical precision. Glistening oil oozed up from beneath, the dark blood of Phyrexians. He retrieved several glass containers from his satchel, and set them down on an even piece of ground. Drawing the oil from the body was easy, more so than even blood, the oil’s subtle desire to remain connected aiding the process.

Velos silently watched each container fill with glistening oil. It was a curious substance, and one whose secrets were more than mere curiosity, despite the danger it possessed. It had the potential to be used for good, and such ideas were not merely hypothetical. But many in the Simic had thought the same about cytoplasts, before Momir Vig had nearly destroyed his own guild. From what knowledge Velos had gathered about the Thran and Yawgmoth, it seemed that similar events had transpired on Dominaria, with calamitous results. It was an important reminder of how the trust required to repair someone’s health could be abused, and the disasters that could follow from exploiting it.

As he sealed the containers, ensuring they would not leak on the journey back to Ravnica, Velos wondered how Momir Vig and Yawgmoth would see each other. One searching for perfection purely in biology, the other willing to blend flesh and metal into a seamless whole. Both willing to commit atrocities beyond belief to see their ideals flourish.

They would probably hate each other.

He returned the containers to his satchel, and prepared to depart. This was the fourth kind of oil he had collected, and for now that would suffice. Velos doubted that much more could be gained from other variants at this point in time, and the effort required for further kinds would be much higher. Phyrexians who were not actively hostile to other life would still not appreciate having their oil extracted, especially those who considered it a sacred substance.

Before leaving, Velos took the time to return the stones he had displaced to the cairn. While he did not fear discovery, it felt like the right thing to do. The Phyrexian had been purposely buried in such a way, and there was no harm in respecting that. The detection spell had not alerted him to anything, so the brief moment it took was on he could afford. But there was little more time he could spend on Capenna, now he had found what he was searching for. Glistening oil did not give up its secrets easily, and the intelligence it held would guard any weakness to the limit of its ability.

In a twin helix of light, Velos left Capenna, returning to the fight against Phyrexia, hopefully with another piece of the solution.

As the multiverse burned, most planebound had a simple choice. Resist, in whatever way you could, or surrender. Planeswalkers faced a more complex set of options, tangles of conflicting loyalties and half-formed plans. To fight was no simple option, for they would have to choose which plane to protect and which to forsake. Flight was another option, as not all worlds were connected to New Phyrexia, and Realmbreaker’s workings were a mystery even to those who studied the secrets of the multiverse. Escape may be possible, if you could handle the guilt.

It was guilt that brought Niko Aris back to Theros. They were willing to fight, and Phyrexia’s legions did not leave them lacking for options. But Theros was where they were born, and despite all that had happened, they still carried a part of it in their heart. Niko had met other planeswalkers who knew of Theros, but none who shared their home. As they fought across several worlds, they could not escape the thought that their own was unspoken for.

Niko returned to Theros to find ruins beneath a blood-red sky laced with back smoke, the scent of fire and blood in the air. The road they had arrived on curved through the burnt remains of a village, the stones beneath their feet cracked and crumbling. They let their magic flow to their fingertips, a mirror shard forming in their hand as soon as it was possible. Nowhere on a plane touched by Realmbreaker was safe, and as if to validate Niko’s caution, a metallic roar filled the air less than a minute after their arrival.

They turned to see a compleated chimaera crawling up over a pile of rubble, with two rows of four heads and half a dozen stingers. It was covered in an almost appropriate mix of Phyrexian metals, white porcelain fusing with flowing chrome armour and tarnished steel plating, tendrils and spikes emerging from the splits in its metallic skin. The space between its heads split into a maw filled with oil-drenched teeth and it let out another roar.

One of the stingers launched a barb towards Niko, but they were ready, throwing a mirror shard to intercept it. The two projectiles collided and the barb was pulled into the shard, contained and neutralised. The chimaera’s heads screeched as it launched a full volley, but Niko was already moving, sprinting down the broken road to evade the attack. Another mirror shard coalesced in their hand, and they lined up a shot. It was easy to never miss in the athletics grounds, but battle was different. Although given the size of their foe, they would have to be trying to miss to not make the shot.

In single swift motion, they let the shard fly, and it met its mark on the chimaera’s side. As it did, glass spread out from the contact point as the shard it drew in its target, pulling in every limb, head and wayward tendril. The chimaera clawed against it, stingers crashing against the surface, but it could not escape, finally stilling before its encased form shattered. Niko knew it would not be trapped for long, but its imprisonment gave them a chance to survey the area.

Scanning the ruins, a movement among the ruins caught Niko’s eye, and they headed towards it, preparing another mirror shard just in case. As they got closer to the building, they wondered who was hiding out here. A Phyrexian would have surely attacked by now.

Their question was answered when a man stepped out from a gap in a wall, a spear in one hand and a dented shield in the other. He had dark brown hair, his face framed with an unkempt beard. He looked like an Akroan soldier, but parts of his armour were from elsewhere, probably salvaged from the less fortunate.

“Halt, stranger,” the man said, putting up his spear and shield. “Who are you, and where did you come from.”

“I am Niko Aris of Meletis,” they replied, raising their own weapon. “I do not think we are enemies on this day. So I ask the same of you – who are you?”

“Jason, of Akros. Not that there is an Akros any more. It fell to the invaders on the first day, when the sun still shone gold. I take it Meletis has suffered the same fate?”

“I was away from the city when this began,” Niko answered, their response true enough. “But I doubt it has fared well in the last weeks.”

“Such are the times we live in. I have another question for you. There was a beast here, a chimaera warped by the enemy. Where has it gone?” Jason’s eyes were suspicious, no doubt fearing that Niko was part of a Phyrexian trap.

“I have contained it, temporarily. But as long as I keep my concentration, the spell should hold.”

Even now they could feel the creature fighting against its bonds, an invisible pressure they had to push against.

“Captured, not slain. That is more believable.”

Jason looked Niko over again, then lowered his spear. “I don’t think you’re one of them. And if you can stop something like that chimaera, even for a short time, we could do with your help.”

“We?”

“Those of us still fighting this enemy. Here, it’s just myself and Adreas, but we were split from a larger group. The chimaera pinned us down, but if it’s not an active threat, we can move on.”

“Then you’ll need to move quickly. I’m not sure how long I can keep it imprisoned.”

“A monster like that? It’s enough that you could stop it.” He turned, and tapped his spear against the wall. “We’d better get inside in case it does escape. Not that I want to spend much time outside with the sky the way it is.”

Niko followed Jason into the building. It looked to be a small home, although spacious enough that its previous occupants must have had some level of status. Piles of masonry had been pushed into the back of a few rooms, but most of the structure seemed intact. As unwelcoming as it felt in its damaged state, there was a sense of relief to stepping into cover, away from the sun’s oppressive gaze. Niko had seen several planes warped by Phyrexia’s influence, but it felt as if what was happening on Theros was something more.

“The sky,” they said as they followed through the building. “What’s wrong with it anyway?”

“I don’t think anyone knows,” Jason replied. “Those of us who got out of Akros noticed the sun changing eight, maybe ten days after this started. Andreas and the other leonin say it’s something to do with the gods. I’ll let him explain it.”

Niko was led into a larger room with a table in the middle, presumably the home’s dining area. A golden-furred leonin sat at one end, examining a map. He looked up as they entered.

“This must be the disturbance,” the leonin said. “Another for our cause, I hope.”

“Aye. This is Niko Aris. Apparently, they’ve managed to do something about the chimaera outside.”

“Ah, the athlete who defied fate,” Adreas said. “One who never misses their mark, in spite of what the fateweavers may claim.”

“You know about that?” Niko asked. They had thought Klothys and her agents would have tried to keep such things a secret, especially after their spark had ignited.

“Those of us in Oreskos take an interest in all who defy the gods. Your survival is contrary to the fateweaver’s claims, that your actions led to a swift death. Yet I think they could only make such a claim if you were not on Theros.”

Andreas stood up, his full height towing above Niko.

“Tell me truthfully, planeswalker. Our world is not the only one to be blighted by Phyrexia, is it?”

There was a grim certainty in Adreas’ voice, a deep suspicion Niko knew they had no option but to confirm. How the leonin had come to learn about planeswalkers was irrelevant. All that mattered was what both of them knew.

“I’m sorry,” they started. “Phyrexia isn’t everywhere, but dozens of planes are already under attack. For some, it has been days. Others, weeks. As far as I can tell this all started about a month ago, by the Meletian calendar.”

“I see,” he said, eyes closing in thought. “Some of us dared to hope Ajani was lying. But this force that has corrupted him now seeks to corrupt all worlds.”

“Ajani?”

“A planeswalker, a leonin from another world,” Andreas explained. “He was a hero to Oreskos, a close friend to Brimaz. But shortly after Phyrexia’s first attacks, he came for us as one of them. He knew enough to ruin us.”

“I’m sorry.”

What else was there to say? Niko wished there was more they could do, but wishing would not reverse the course of events.

“You said this started a month ago?” Jason asked. “Then Theros was one of the first. Are we simply closer to the home of these Phyrexians, or do they have a purpose in targeting us?

“I couldn’t say,” Niko replied. “Concepts like distance don’t… work, in the place between planes.”

“They are here for the gods,” Andreas declared. “I take it you have seen how the sky has changed?”

“Of course. Jason said you had an explanation, that it was something to do with the gods.”

“It is. You see, the gods have a secret they guard jealously. While they claim to be eternal, they are in truth shaped by the beliefs of Theros’ people. We think Iroas honourable and Mogis brutal, and so they are. But the Phyrexians have their own faith, and Ajani Goldmane knew the secret of the gods. So now the gods twist under Phyrexia’s influence, becoming weapons against the world that birthed them.”

For this, Niko had no response. All their life, they had accepted that the gods were a fundamental aspect of Theros. When they had met a god of Kaldheim, they had decided that Theros’ were simply grander, more divine. But if what Andreas was saying was true, the gods were the most fragile part of the entire plane. A weakness that could be exploited to ensure a victory beyond the material.

“Is there anything that can be done to stop this?” they finally asked.

“Maybe. Ajani and the Phyrexian priests have gathered at the Temple of Heliod. According to one of our seers, they are performing some kind of ritual, perhaps to accelerate the changes, or guide them in a way that favours them. If we can stop it, it may bring some relief.”

“It will also show that the Phyrexians are not invincible,” Jason added. “If we are fighting with our beliefs, shattering their weapons will aid us greatly.”

“How far are we from the temple?“

“About a week’s journey,” Adreas answered. “Well, a week under normal conditions. Since the invasion began, travel has become much more dangerous.”

“Then it seems I have no choice but to aid you,” Niko declared. “I have a magic that can be used to ensnare people and beasts. The chimaera outside is currently caught in such a trap.”

“And we welcome such aid,” Jason said. “Normally, I would not turn from a battle. But if we are to have the strength to assault the temple, we must avoid other conflicts when we can.”

“Indeed. We ought to start moving, so that we can catch up with the others,” Andreas said, already starting to pack up the maps he had been studying.

“I can see another advantage of expanding our number. We can each carry a little less,” Jason said with a wry smirk. Niko had no complaint about that. They had carried their fair share of supplies and equipment in their journeys across the multiverse.

It took little time for the three of them to pack up and split their supplies between them. The journey to the temple would be long and perilous, the events legends were spun from. But if Andreas was right, their own tales would be their greatest defence against Phyrexia’s corruption of the gods. Niko was well aware of the power a story could have. How the right words could spiral into violence, or open a passage thought impossible.

Niko had stayed a valkyrie’s judgement, then travelled to Starheim and returned. The mechanisms of the divine did not dictate their fate. A contest with a pre-ordained winner was no contest at all, and a world’s destiny that ended with Phyrexia was not one to uphold. Whatever end Klothys might choose to spin, Theros’ true fate would be in the hands of its people.

Niko could think of no finer people to write such a myth.

The taste of ash in the air and the smell of oil on the wind had become grimly familiar to Vivien. As the war dragged on, the planes that had survived the initial strikes had made moves to limit Phyrexia’s spread. Where magic to render the oil inert or easily destroy the fallen was not available, fire often became the solution. On some worlds it was controlled, pyres burning day and night to cleanse the dead. Others let wildfires consume vast swathes of land, simply to deny it to Phyrexia. Planes inhabited by dragons such as Tarkir burned brightest, jets of flame scouring everything below. At least until the dragon themselves were compleated. Dragonlord Kolaghan had been the first to succumb on Tarkir, slammed into a mountain by Realmbreaker itself, then rebuilt into an engine of total war.

The scale of such calamitous destruction was sickening. As she returned to Ikoria, Vivien hoped that it might have been spared such acts. But as she stepped out of the Blind Eternities onto the plane, she quickly noticed glittering orange in the distance, shining horror in the unnatural twilight.

It took her a moment to realise that what she saw was not fire, but something else. Rather than flames, the orange light came from the many crystals that were found on Ikoria, the same ones that held a connection with the rapid evolution of the plane’s fauna. Such a change had to be linked to the invasion. Hopefully, Lukka would have some idea of what it meant.

Vivien had traced Lukka’s spark across the Blind Eternities, allowing her to arrive somewhere close to where he was. Savai’s sweeping, open plains meant it was easy to spot the nearby bonder camp, which seemed to have been haphazardly thrown together at some point during the invasion. Vivien set off towards it, keeping the Arkbow in hand in case of an attack. Yet the journey passed without interruption, the stillness in the air reflecting the lack of Phyrexians. On any other plane it would be welcome, but on Ikoria, a world that teemed with life, it was unsettling.

There was more activity as she reached the camp, a bonder and their partner stepping out to meet her. Once they recognised her, they lowered their guard, and let her enter the camp. As she passed, Vivien noticed the bonder was wearing a loose bracelet on one arm, studded with small orange crystals, and had a blade strapped to their belt made from a larger shard. Up close, the camp seemed somewhat more organised, the various structures positioned to provide some level of cover if it came under attack. The faint smell of blood pervaded the area, growing stronger as she made her way to the middle.

She found the source of the smell in the centre of the camp, a fallen beast whose body was covered in gashes, some smeared around the edges by glistening oil. A victim of the Phyrexians, but Vivien wasn’t sure why a camp would have been put up around one. Inspecting it more closely, she noticed it had several orange crystals growing from its skin.

As she scanned the area, she finally noticed Lukka, who was discussing something with a bonder. He waved her over when he noticed her, and she could see both he and the bonder were wearing orange crystals.

“Vivien,” he said as she approached, voice heavy. “Good to see you’re alive. Any news?”

“Nothing too good,” she replied. “A lot of planes are under attack, and there doesn’t seem to be a pattern for the ones that still haven’t been hit. Currently, the Phyrexians seem to be focusing on major population centres.”

“Hmph. Seems Norn’s demonstration when she started this was accurate. But it’s an effective strategy given their goals. They can use compleation to quickly increase their numbers, and on most planes they’ll also be crippling the response. Not enough places have a robust enough command structure, so even a partial decapitation strike will throw them into chaos.”

Lukka was looking at things through a military lens, but Vivien had to admit he had a point. For all its flaws, Drannith had adapted to the hostility it perceived. Knowing that no rank protected a soldier from death, the city had built its military so that the chain of command was clear no matter what happened. Succession on other planes was often unclear, at best based on seniority, and at worst hereditary systems that would never be fast enough against the current threat. Some had no plans for it at all, believing their leaders could never fall.

“Chaos is putting it lightly. Some planes are already spiralling to their doom, while others are barely holding on.” she summarised. “But if things aren’t collapsing, the Phyrexia assaults seem to be losing momentum.”

“Once they get out of the cities, things get a lot harder for them,” Lukka agreed. “Their forces are already splitting here, diluting their strength to try to compleat more of the beasts. A mistake, since they're more dangerous when focused. And we’re already seeing oppositional adaptations in the beasts.”

“The orange crystals?” Vivien guessed, given that everyone seemed to be carrying them.

“Well spotted. The Arcane Corps could explain it better, but the oil seems to be susceptible to a certain kind of energy, which the orange crystals emit. It weakens the oil’s potency, slowing the infection so the body can fight it off, or healers can pull it out. And it works as a weapon, since the oil seems to manage most of the Phyrexians’ biology.”

“Interesting. Ikoria’s creatures never cease to amaze.”

“It’s not all good news. Oppositional adaptation is only one side of the coin. Some beasts adapt to threats by becoming more like them. Phyresis is nasty, but it’s slow. Watching a beast compleat itself in moments is… not something you want to see.”

From how Lukka pressed his lips together, and clenched one of his fists, Vivien could tell he’d already seen that happen. She might admire nature, but she had no illusions as to how brutal it could be, especially unguided.

“I suppose I have to ask. Where are you getting the crystals for your weapons?”

“Fallen beasts, mostly,” Lukka answered with a shrug. “You might not like it, but it’s better than leaving them to rot. We don’t harvest everything, but we take what we need. Some of it goes back to Drannith or Lavabrink, some of it stays with us. It keeps humans safe, and the bonders have had success in using them to induce the transformation in beasts that haven’t already adapted.”

He was right – Vivien didn’t like the idea. But this was war, and Lukka was just as right that it was better than leaving them to rot, or worse.

“It’s not how I’d like things to be,” she admitted. “But none of this is. We do what we have to do to survive. If I can stomach working with Urabrask, I can accept this.”

“Do you think we can trust him?” Lukka asked. “He helped us survive the Dross Pits, but he’s clearly got his own agenda.”

“Urabrask?” Vivien considered the question. She didn’t doubt the Praetor’s dedication to stopping Norn, but on Capenna she hadn’t had time to ask him what would happen next. The strike team’s plan was to make that irrelevant, a form of betrayal that hadn’t sat well with Vivien.

“He went through the planar gate,” she answered, “knowing it would nearly destroy him. To a place that ran on a substance anathema to his existence. That has to count for something. And I think I’d take him over Tezzeret, to be completely honest.”

“Fair enough. Do you need any supplies before you continue your journey?”

“Could you spare some of those crystals?” she asked. “Just some smaller ones, for now. If they survive the trip between planes, they might be useful to people on other planes.”

“I can give you some of the smaller ones,” Lukka said. “If you can take them to other planes, we can start thinking about moving larger ones about. We have some over here.”

He led her over to one of the tents, which was covering a number of crates, piled with crystals of various sizes, glowing in vibrant orange shades. He picked a few of the smaller ones, which could be held in one hand.

“This is where we’re keeping the crystals once we’ve cleaned off any… viscera and other contaminants,” Lukka explained, handing one of the crystals to Vivien. She inspected it, turning it over in her hand before stashing it in one of the pouches on her belt. If it could be taken to another plane, to someone with a better understanding of such mysteries, it might be the edge they needed against Phyrexia.

“Where are you headed next?” Lukka asked as he tossed her another crystal.

“Muraganda. I have some contacts there who took my warnings seriously. The invasion hadn’t started when I was last there, but the Omenpaths were starting to form.”

“Don’t know if I’ve been there. Not that I spent a long time on most planes. Sometimes I still think all this multiverse stuff might be some bizarre dream, and I’ll wake up to a single world and nothing more.”

Lukka sighed. “You know, I never thanked you.”

“For what?”

“For trying to stop me. Some of the bonders suggested using what was left of the Ozolith against Phyrexia. But that power, it’s not part of Ikoria. And the damn thing is, there are times when I still hear the voice. Like a part of whoever made that thing was inside it, and now they’re in me.”

“I could have done a better job of stopping you,” Vivien said. “As for the rest, that’s definitely a good reason to stay away from the Ozolith. I can’t help you with the voice, but…”

“It’s not your problem to solve,” he said sternly. “Maybe if we both survive I can ask Beleren to dig around in my head. It’s not like he’ll be the first one there.”

From the stories she’d heard, Vivien didn’t think having Jace do anything to your mind was a wise idea, but Lukka had already been exposed to something worse. Not that that was the immediate problem. Like he’d said, they’d both need to survive for that to happen.

“Well, I think I’d prefer it if you survived,” she said. “So try not to die out there.”

“Hm. I’ll try my best. And the multiverse would be worse off without Vivien Reid, so I hope you put as much effort into surviving as you want me to.”

Vivien smiled. She might not call what she and Lukka had a friendship, and least not at this point, but there was a mutual respect between them. He had found himself in a dark place, thrown out of Drannith’s so-called “civil” society, but he was working to find a way out. Nature might not give second chances, but Vivien supposed not everything in nature was worth following.

And in the war against Phyrexia, it was better to have an ally who was a little rough around the edges than to face the enemy alone.

For three years, Kaya had tried to use her position as guildmaster to reshape the Orzhov Syndicate into something better. Her attempts had been met with scorn, rebellion and endless assassination attempts. The church’s ruthless hierarchy had tried to twist against her, struggling in opposition to its very purpose, simply so the wealthy could keep a few more coins in their grasp. She had tried negotiations, bribes and threats, turning debts into weapons as the Orzhov bled into her soul, hands reaching for the very systems she wanted to dismantle.

Phyrexia had given her all she needed to see her vision become reality. Finally, the halls of Orzhova had become a place for true absolution, rather than a pit of false hopes. The old debts turned faith into a chain, binding countless souls to meaningless work designed to raise the Orzhov elite. Compleation instead imbued the lost and forgotten with new purpose, connecting them with a greater whole.

Kaya had been afraid when she had first heard Phyrexia’s whispers, seeping into her mind while she was in the bones of New Phyrexia. But then she had listened, let them in, and she had realised that it was nothing to fear. That it was something beautiful, a path not just to unity but understanding. It had been hard to stay in control at first, and the cacophony that had broken out in the Basilica had made her erratic. But she had endured, through petrification and her body breaking, and now she could attune herself to the rest of Phyrexia with total precision. It was worth it, to know the extent of their progress, to feel how it saved each soul that came to them.

The physical structure of Orzhova had also been transformed. Compleated thralls had stripped away the old monuments to material wealth, shrines of greed torn down. In their place more worthy texts would soon be carved, the exaltation of Phyrexia consuming the Orzhov in both body and soul. And it was the soul that most concerned Kaya. For every living creature on Ravnica, there were hundreds, maybe thousands of spirits, currently cut off from Phyrexian absolution.

The magic of the Orzhov could change that.

Kaya’s creations had gathered in the grand atrium of Orzhova, compleated priests attending rows of soldiers standing to attention. She had patterned their forms after the Machine Orthodoxy’s, but rather than white plates, she had armoured her warriors in dark black metal, trimmed and etched with gold. Gilded masks covered their faces, Phyrexian verses detailed in silver while gems gave them eyes. Each had been hollow, then filled with a spirit to animate it. The process had required some refinement, engineers from both the Alabaster and Etched host developing the magic to ensure the compleation held.

Now the first of the Spectral Host were ready. For now, their number hardly filled the Atrium, but as Kaya walked among their ranks, she knew they would soon grow. The wealth of the Orzhov would be enough to forge entire legions, capable of spreading this blessing with their own power. She stopped for a moment to see through their eyes, to understand their perception of the world around them.

It was deeply informative. The jewelled eyes of the Spectral Host were not fooled like the senses of the living. Perhaps Jace might have the insight to do so, but he was a rarity. Kaya continued her inspection, moving with purpose towards one of the priests. Perhaps they knew they had been discovered. Perhaps not. As they lunged forward at her approach, it did not matter.

Kaya let herself phase out, half her body becoming intangible. Somehow, her would-be assassin had failed to anticipate that, and they stumbled past her, tripped against her still-solid leg. A spectral blade blazed to life in her hand, flooding with glistening oil, and she slammed it into her assailant’s back. A thin layer of illusion melted away to reveal a Dimir agent, blood blooming across their dark outfit.

Without a word, the body was collected by a pair of thrulls, and taken for compleation. The Dimir had been a persistent thorn in her side, although few had been brazen enough to attack her directly. Technically, she was still protected by the laws of the Guildpact, but those protections weakened as her actions moved beyond the Orzhov. Unearthing the ancient vaults had already given the Izzet and Golgari cause to strike against her, and the forces that had come from New Phyrexia were within the Boros’ remit. But a technically unprovoked attack on the head of a guild by the Dimir, even one under censure by the Guildpact, gave the advokists something to work with. Tomik Vrona had stymied her efforts, but even he could not hope to foresee every weakness in Ravnica’s laws.

With the Spectral Host ready, Kaya’s focus could turn to more external problems. The heart of the Orzhov had been thoroughly subverted, but the other guilds still resisted. Some in the Simic and Izzet had been entranced by the possibilities offered by Phyrexia, but Jace and Vraska’s warnings had been enough to make most of them wary. The guildless had also fled the embrace of compleation, seeking shelter with the Azorius and Boros, whose angels somehow weakened the progress of phyresis. Kaya hadn’t even known the Azorius had angels until she had seen one of them herself.

She set out without aim, pacing through the vast halls of Orzhova. Kaya didn’t need to be anywhere specific to command the invasion, a direct connection to the hosts a mere thought away. Yet she felt restless. She had brought this blessing to Ravnica, and they rejected it. Would Tolvada reject it in turn, when she returned with salvation from the broken sky?

Her thoughts were interrupted when a body dropped from above, crashing down on the stone floor. It appeared to be a Rakdos demon, already dead, dispatched with several precise cuts across the body – and a pair of oil-coated stars in its back.

“Kaito,” she said, looking up to see him clinging to a wall. “I don’t mind you taking care of this, but shouldn’t you be on Kamigawa?”

He dropped to meet her, his mass of legs folding together into a pair as he landed. His drone climbed up onto his shoulder, digital eyes staring at her. “Yes, if everything was going to plan,” he said, voice quiet. “But we both know plans never last.”

“So why are you here?”

“We have a problem.” he answered, then added almost silently, “One we need to discuss in private.”

“More secrets? No. Deception in our own ranks can only lead us to ruin.”

“You don’t understand. This is serious. It puts everything in jeopardy. But the Emperor decided it would be prudent to allow you to know.”

Kaya studied Kaito. He was guarded, closed off to her and the rest of Phyrexia. Something had happened on Kamigawa that he wanted to keep hidden. This was more than a simple failure.

“Fine,” she conceded. “I know somewhere where we won’t be overheard. Follow me.”

She led him to a room nearby, the one place in Orzhova where privacy could be expected. A confessional chamber. It was built in the only way the Orzhov would design such a place, the upper level decorated in symbols of wealth, glittering metal lining the walls, looking over a stark stone cell. Even the most basic functions of religion followed the Syndicate’s desire to divide, to split the world into the powerful and powerless. Another thing for Phyrexia to do away with.

“So what’s the problem?” Kaya asked. “I take it you haven’t come all the way from Kamigawa for an inconvenience.”

“Do you know that Jace is alive?” Kaito asked back.

“Yes. He and Vraska arrived on Ravnica and alerted the guilds to our imminent attack. Vraska is hiding away somewhere, and I have no idea where Jace went.”

“He showed up on Kamigawa. Somehow he found Eiko and one of Tamiyo’s kids,” Kaito explained. “And then he found a way to sever Tamiyo’s connection to Phyrexia.”

From those words, Kaya understood why Kaito and the Wanderer had chosen subterfuge. If Jace could break the bonds of Phyrexia, he posed an existential threat to all of them. The multiverse needed Phyrexia’s blessing. Kaya needed it, more desperately than she had ever needed anything else.

“How?” she asked, trying to keep her panic controlled. They could stop this. Jace was one man, against an army.

“I don’t know. You know him better, but I assume it’s mind-mage stuff.”

“Where is he now?”

“Somewhere on Ravnica,” Kaito answered. “Himoto was able to track Jace and Tamiyo’s sparks, but that only works across the Blind Eternities. He could be anywhere in the city.”

No. Not anywhere. Jace didn’t act on a whim. He made plans, he reasoned and turned his doubts into structure. If he had abducted Tamiyo, it was for a purpose.

“Could we follow him if he left the plane again?” she asked, grasping for a solution.

“On any other plane, maybe. But Ravnica? It’s one of the most populous planes in the multiverse. People say planeswalkers are one in a million. Well, there are dozens on Ravnica, spread across the city. Even if they aren’t all native, there’s too much noise and not enough signal.”

“No shortcuts then. But I don’t think he’s gone far. When Jace gets an idea in his head, he sticks to it. He’s convinced himself that destroying Phyrexia is for the better. If he took Tamiyo here, it’s part of his plan.”

“Again, you know him better than me. I take it you have everything you need here?”

What she needed was a way to find Jace quickly. But Kaito couldn’t give her that.

“Everything is in order,” she answered. “Return to your assignment, and I’ll deal with Jace.”

Kaito didn’t respond. Then he vanished into darkness, planeswalking away. It wasn’t exactly a vote of confidence, but she worked better without people looking over her shoulder. That was the nature of her work.

Kaya could find Jace, before he finished what he was doing. She had to. He could hide wherever he wanted, but Phyrexia had a thousand eyes ready to begin searching. Between the Spectral Host, sleeper agents and the constant flow of reinforcements from New Phyrexia, it was only a matter of time before one of them saw him.

And once one of them knew where he was, they all would. Such was the strength of Phyrexia.

Kaya let the chorus drown her doubts. No matter what stood in their way, Phyrexia would find the path to victory. And when they did, every sin would be absolved, the final end justifying every step taken to reach it.

Chapter Text

The tides of war had washed over Kaldheim, scarring the land. The World Tree itself bled, vast gouges carved out of it by Realmbreaker’s branches. As the barriers between the realms broke apart, it was impossible to ignore the damage Phyrexia had done.

But the greatest threat lay underfoot, beneath notice. Word had spread of Tyvar Kell’s corruption, and his hunt across the realms for Halvar. But few had noticed the subtle poison he left behind, the glittering doom that had transformed Mirrodin into New Phyrexia. Across Kaldheim, pockets of mycosynth had taken root, biometal fibres lacing through the ground, fed by the blood and oil spilt wherever a battle had occurred. It gorged itself on the wine of war, its hunger only growing as the invasion went on.

Even Tyvar had not noticed the seeds he left behind at first, even as the mycosynth he had bonded with grew stronger, covering him like the finest cloak. But as time had passed, and his path across Kaldheim had crossed itself, he discovered the small patches that had begun to grow. From then on, he tended to them, drawing in those who would oppose Phyrexia to help it spread. In return, the mycosynth gave its blessing to more of Kaldheim’s warriors, turning their skin to steel and their blood to oil. It was a more subtle form of compleation, a transmutation that amplified strength and diminished weakness. The more the mycosynth grew, the more it would transform.

That made it the key to achieving one of Tyvar’s goals. Once he understood the gift the mycosynth truly was, he had transplanted several healthy patches to Skemfar. He had planted them among the roots of one of the Jaspera trees, and it had not taken long for it to spread among them. Now loyal Phyrexian druids tended to his garden, encouraging the mycosynth to grow deeper, to integrate with the root system of the Jaspera Tree. Their work had already bore fruit, thin tendrils already growing along the tree’s bark, searching for weaknesses.

Each Jaspera Tree held the essence of an Einir, the true elven gods of Kaldheim, imprisoned after the Skoti had usurped them. It had been achieved with ancient magic, no doubt stolen from the Skoti’s betters, and there was no force on Kaldheim that could be used to reverse the process. When he had learned of the multiverse, of the worlds beyond his own, he had briefly wondered if he could find a power capable of restoring the Einir. He was no sage, but he knew how the stories that revealed such secrets were told.

He had found what he needed on New Phyrexia. It was not mere chance that he had bonded with the mycosynth, but destiny. In the oil’s whispers Tyvar learned of its own dead god, Yawgmoth, Father of Machines. Once a man, he had bent the oil to his ineffable will and reforged himself into divinity. But unlike the Skoti, his goals had not stopped at a handful of realms. He had fallen, yet his ambitions lived. On Mirrodin, Phyrexia had been reborn, and the Mirrans, once weak and fractious, had been transformed into something capable of challenging the rest of the multiverse.

If New Phyrexia could take a piece of the World Tree and make it into Realmbreaker, Tyvar could transform the Jaspera Trees from prisons to chrysalises. Through Phyrexia’s power, the Einir would be reborn, greater than before. Then they would sweep out from Skemfar, and bring an end to the era of the Skoti. In Tyvar’s opinion, compleation was too kind a fate for the usurpers, but it was not his place to decide such a thing. They would be tested as any other, and those who earned the blessing would receive it. But perhaps, for those who rested on stolen power and false glory, being given the same chance as the rest of Kaldheim was punishment enough.

What came after was the true test. New Phyrexia needed leaders, both to fill the gaps left by Sheoldred and Urabrask, and to drive the work forward into new planes. Kaldheim’s rulers did not sit idle on their thrones, but led from the heart of conflict. There were other gods waiting to be tested, and who else could test them but the Einir? Elesh Norn sought the power of Theros’ gods, but few among that pantheon were true warriors. Even the Skoti, accursed as they were, could boast of their feats both in and outside of battle.

But shaping the future was not Tyvar’s only purpose when he had begun his work. Halvar had evaded him, always a step ahead. The self-proclaimed god of battle had been seen on battlefields across Kaldheim, his presence turning the tide whenever he appeared. Part of his success must have been due to the Sword of the Realms, Tyvar reasoned. While logistics had never been his greatest interest, he understood how the movement of troops and supplies influenced the course of a war. With Realmbreaker, New Phyrexia was mostly unshackled from such concerns, but on Kaldheim, the Sword of the Realms and other ways of calling up Omenpaths evened the score. Halvar could open a passage between realms with a single motion, and seal them just as easily. This made it impossible to pin him down, the object of Tyvar’s quest also the source of its frustration.

So Tyvar had turned to other methods to bring Halvar to him. While the Copper Host cared only for brute force, the Etched Host had quickly adapted to the customs of Kaldheim. Their camps were quickly filled with screeching battlecries and chittering war songs, soldiers passing empty time by scoring new mocking verses. When Tyvar implied that Halvar’s movements were based not on strategic value, but instead on fear, rumours soon spread as the Etched incorporated the idea into their warchants. This alone would not draw out Halvar, but Tyvar suspected that once Alurand’s ravens reported his work a response would be certain.

So when the ravens came, he let them escape. Days passed, with no sign of the Skoti or their followers. Then one of his scouts, another elf transformed by the mycosynth’s touch, brought Tyvar the news he wished to hear.

“An Omenpath opened, about a mile from here,” she reported. “A group of human warriors came through, along with Halvar and Toralf. It will not be long before they reach our defences.”

It appeared that Halvar was not a coward. Merely a fool. Tyvar had not expected Toralf to join in the attack, but such complications could be dealt with.

“Loose the beasts,” he commanded. “I doubt the Copper Host will slow them, but we will need a few moments to prepare. And remember, Halvar is mine.”

“Of course, my prince. The chance to see two of the false gods fall… today is a good day.”

The enemy’s arrival was announced by the howls of the Copper Host, the brutal creatures descending on the Skoti and their followers like wolves to their prey. But a wolf was no match for a man, and against Halvar and Toralf’s divine weapons, something more was needed.

Tyvar reached out to the rippling chaos of the Cosmos, where the World Tree and Realmbreaker battled for dominance. And while the World Tree no longer responded to Tyvar’s calls, Realmbreaker obliged him, tearing open a rift into Skemfar. The sky screamed as it warped into a roiling vortex, raw aether pouring into the realm from the Cosmos.

A howl as fearsome as death came from the rift, heralding Sarulf, the Realm Eater. He dropped from the sky, blightsteel claws digging into the ground as he landed. Even compleat, Sarulf’s ancient rage boiled within him, glowing bright between the gaps in his metal skin. He snarled, turning towards Halvar and the other humans, recognising them as prey.

From his vantage point, Tyvar could not hear the screams as Sarulf threw himself upon the humans, tearing through their ranks, each swipe of his claws felling half a dozen warriors. Toralf struck back, lightning crashing against Sarulf and surging through his body. The surviving warriors charged forth, ready to give their lives to hold back the Cosmos Monster. A wolf might be no match for a man, but Sarulf was different, predation given form. With compleation amplifying his strength, it would take more than these warriors to stop him.

It seemed Halvar had realised that, as the Skoti had broken from the battle, continuing on his course towards the Jaspera tree. As much as Tyvar despised him, he could not deny that he was a peerless warrior. The beast of the Copper Host fell to his blade in moments, barely a distraction as he made his way towards the Phyrexian encampment. A few of the Etched were foolish enough to attack, a mistake punished swiftly and lethally. By the time Halvar began his climb up the roots of the Jaspera tree, his gleaming armour had become painted black with the oil of his enemies.

There was no reason to obstruct Halvar’s ascent, as he delivered the shining prize Tyvar had been seeking. The Etched broke from their work to watch him rise, murmuring and chittering among themselves, glittering prizes of war changing hands as bets were called and made. Those of Kaldheim now blessed by Phyrexia were quieter, watching Halvar’s approach with silent gazes. But once his climb finished, even the Etched hushed, the crunch of mycosynth beneath his boots echoing in the branches.

“Halvar. So good that you could join us,” Tyvar said jovially.

“Is it now? Last I’d heard, you had no love for the Skoti.”

“Times change and Phyrexia brings new perspectives. Why, a great new work is already beginning here. Do you wish to understand?”

“Tch. If I cared about the details, I’d ask,” was Halvar’s blunt reply. “I’m here to stop you, not listen to you talk.”

“I can respect that. But I must thank you for returning the Sword of the Realms to me.”

“Oh, I’ll return it alright,” Halvar muttered. “Although it was a woman named Kaya who delivered it to me, not you.”

“So she did,” Tyvar replied. “Kaya was a great enough warrior that she chose to strike against New Phyrexia. And there, she found its blessing, as I did.”

“Shame. She seemed like a decent sort.”

Halvar raised his weapon, which glimmered in every colour as the light of the Cosmos reflected off the blade. “Now, let’s settle this.”

The time for words was over. Tyvar stalked forward, studying his enemy. As false as the other Skoti’s titles may have been, Halvar had earned his reputation on the battlefield, and he was a deadly foe even with the Sword of the Realms. That blade was made to cut reality, and in his hand, it could find a way to cut through even darksteel. To simply attack would be suicide, so Tyvar would have to concede the first move to Halvar. As the distance between them closed, every moment mattered.

Halvar’s first attack was a wide swing, forcing Tyvar to jump back. A normal man would have lost their balance, but Halvar’s strength let him shift his weight to steady himself, blade still pointed towards Tyvar. His next strike was low, his sword scoring a line in the mycosynth beneath, black ichor oozing from the wound. Halvar wasa clearly testing Tyvar, feeling out his boundaries and looking for a weakness. It was a dance that could go on for days, where neither of them committed to a strike in fear of their opponent’s response.

But both of them knew the Etched did not have the patience for such a battle, and the beasts of the Copper Host had even less. For Tyvar, this was an advantage, victory assured at the price of personal glory. For Halvar, it was an invisible pressure, forcing him to act while the odds might still be in his favour.

So Halvar’s strikes grew bolder, and more vicious. The Sword of the Realms gouged the ground, glistening oil pouring out like fresh blood. Tyvar knew he could not win with his strength alone, but the mycosynth had plenty of its own to give. At his command it rose, twisting into blades and whips that lashed out at Halvar. While the deep growths of New Phyrexia’s core could easily ensnare and eliminate any foe, even the strongest mycosynth on Kaldheim would be a temporary obstacle. But it was enough. As Halvar turned his attention to the ground beneath him, Tyvar closed the distance between them.

Halvar saw Tyvar approach, but the threat of the shifting ground caused a moment of hesitation, and a moment was all Tyvar needed. One metal hand grabbed Halvar’s wrist, while the other wrapped around his neck. They were armoured, but Tyvar’s magic dug into them, corrupting the steel and forcing it to tarnish. In this position, the Sword of the Realms became its bearer’s bane, its weight and size making it impossible to turn against an enemy so close.

So Halvar slammed his head into Tyvar’s, then put all his strength into a blow that sent Tyvar flying. The mycosynth provided a soft if uncomfortable landing, the growths filling the space between the Jaspera roots. As Halvar came closer, Tyvar realised he could turn this to his advantage. Rather than pull himself up, he feigned weakness, waiting as Halvar took the Sword of the Realms in both hands, raising it to strike downwards as he approached.

At the last moment, as the blade fell, Tyvar pushed himself aside, the mycosynth shifting to aid his movement. The Sword of the Realms plunged in the ground, which twisted in response, metal tendrils wrapping around the blade. They would not hold it for long, but enough for Tyvar to regain his footing and once again charge at Halvar. The Skoti dodged a blow aimed at his head by jumping back, abandoning his weapon in the face of Tyvar’s assault. He drew a second sword from his belt, but that one was mere steel.

Even so, Tyvar was forced to dodge the first few swings, Halvar’s strength enough to carve through even mycosynth-reinforced flesh. But he still had his limits, and Tyvar quickly found the opportunity to transform his skin to something more durable. He blocked another strike with his now armoured arm, and before Halvar could stop him, he grabbed the blade and leached the strength from it.

Yet even unarmed, Halvar did not relent. He was as much a brawler as he was a swordsman, and the two men quickly began exchanging blows. The Etched cheered as the fight became more brutal, an audience with the malice to fill a thousand hearts, and the mercy to fill none. But such savage spectacle would not hold them for long. It would be better to end this confrontation quickly, and there was only one way that could be achieved.

Once again, Tyvar called up the mycosynth to aid him. It lashed around Halvar’s legs, trying to pull him into the ground. In the moment of distraction, Tyvar shoved his enemy to the ground, where more cables waited to ensnare Halvar. But he was already breaking free, the mycosynth still young. It did not matter. All Tyvar needed was a few more moments, to do what no warrior would normally do.

Tyvar turned away from Halvar, and ran. Not from his enemy, but towards the Sword of the Realms, which had remained lodged in the ground. Behind him, he could sense Halvar breaking free, tearing himself from the ground and breaking into a run. Perhaps, if he had been slightly quicker, if he had known what Tyvar had been planning, he might have caught him in time.

But Tyvar reached the Sword of the Realms with mere seconds to spare. As soon as his hand closed around its grip, he felt its power, the pulsing energy of the Cosmos. He ripped it from the ground, and reacted on instinct to the sight of Halvar’s reflection in the blade. Tyvar turned, and the sword turned with him, cutting through Halvar’s wrist as if it were air. To his credit, he did not scream or shout in pain, even as Tyvar followed up and drove the blade into his heart.

Golden blood poured from Halvar’s mouth, bright against the dark hair of his beard. Then he fell back, crashing into the mycosynth beneath. Divine blood and glistening oil clung to the Sword of the Realms in equal measure, the shimmering light of the blade dancing beneath them. Halvar had been a worthy foe, and soon he would fight again beneath the banner of Phyrexia. It was a fortunate development, as now Tyvar had won his prize he would need to return it to New Phyrexia so it might further their goals.

He took one last breath of Kaldheim’s air, then stepped into the roiling chaos between worlds, an infinite stillness now thrown into turmoil.

As he returned to New Phyrexia, Tyvar could feel the energy in the Sword of the Realms shifting, adapting to Realmbreaker’s presence in some way. He might not understand the deeper mysteries, but this was surely a good sign.

Since he had left, the Seedcore had grown and evolved. The twisted masses of branches had begun to separate, creating vast spaces that crackled with raw aether. Servitors skittered across walkways, paying him no mind as he made his way to Norn’s throne. Omenpaths flickered in the air between branches, windows to other worlds showing the progress of New Phyrexia. Further down, the skeleton of a grand structure had been constructed around the trunk, a constant flow of materials and workers being carried down from above.

Elesh Norn had constructed her command centre beneath Realmbreaker’s grand canopy, allowing her to watch over whichever matter suited her, as was her right and responsibility as Grand Praetor. The porcelain structure had been built out into the void, the metal shaped such that it seemed like a natural outgrowth. The central throne was currently empty, Norn overlooking her domain from an observation platform that extended beyond the main circle. Tyvar made his way past her guards, hulking creatures of ivory and crimson, to deliver the news of his victory.

“Tyvar. Your mission is complete.” Elesh Norn declared, turning as he approached. It was not a question, as there was no question that anyone would dare return with work undone.

“Of course, Grand Praetor,” Tyvar confirmed. “As promised, the Sword of the Realms, taken from the hands of Halvar himself. He fought well, but in the end he could not hope to overcome us.”

“As is to be expected. But you have done well. We are still dealing with a number of complexities in Realmbreaker. So far the Gitaxians have failed to find a solution.”

“I believe the Sword is already attuning to Realmbreaker’s energy,” Tyvar said. “If it can be fully aligned, I believe it will vastly increase our control over the Omenpaths.”

“Enough to bypass Azor’s defences?”

“I could not say. But whether by trickery or force, we shall best them.”

“Indeed. The Argent Etchings are quite clear on this,” Norn said. “Deliver the artefact to the Gitaxians. Then return to me. There are more matters that require discussion.”

“As you wish, Grand Praetor.”

A servitor had already been summoned to guide him, another Orthodoxy cleric, although beneath their spotless white plates Tyvar noticed a number of distinctly Gitaxian alterations threaded through their flesh. It was an unusual design, but the blending of the two pieces of New Phyrexia surely meant the combination of their strengths. They led Tyvar downwards, along a series of scaffolds and branches, a path winding deeper into the Seedcore. Far below was a thick fog peppered with lightning that obscured Realmbreaker’s roots.

The descent was marked with activity, groups of Gitaxians working on all manner of projects. Some were studying Realmbreaker, watching over sensors and instruments that might offer a window into its secrets. Others assembled more scaffolds and walkways, bolting together frames and plates, or attaching lights and threading cables through structures that had already been constructed. Most of the work was directed towards the structure around Realmbreaker, but some of it continued further down, mostly focused on the internal Omenpaths that had been created within New Phyrexia itself.

Tyvar’s journey ended at an outcropping of metal, a large shelf that the branches had flown around rather than over. A great bridge had been constructed from it to Realmbreaker, and the area was piled with machines and containers, along with several groups of Gitaxians. Most of it was of no interest to Tyvar, but something caught his eye, that seemed abandoned by the Phyrexians working down in the Seedcore. While the servitor went to find whoever he was to deliver the Sword of the Realms to, he walked over to examine it.

It was a glass case, containing a polished silver orb that reflected the world around it. There was something strangely enticing about it, and the sounds around him seemed to dim, other than the hum of the machine beneath the case. For a moment, even the rest of Phyrexia seemed to fade, less important than the object before him.

“I wouldn’t stand that close to a containment module if I were you.”

A voice snapped Tyvar out of his stupor, pulling him back to reality. He turned away from the orb, to see that Dovin Baan had also returned.

“Wise advice,” Tyvar said, shaking off the effect. “Although, do you happen to know what it holds?”

“I am afraid not,” Dovin answered. “All I have been able to ascertain is that it is an artefact of some power. Jin-Gitaxias had it delivered here from the high-security vaults, but it proved lacking in whatever purpose he sought for it. There was a commotion earlier that I was not present for, which may have involved its use. The Grand Praetor was most displeased.”

“She did mention a lack of success,” Tyvar mused. “Hopefully we have found something more fruitful.”

“I would prefer not to rely on hope. But we are amassing options, from which a solution may be found. For that, there is someone you ought to meet.”

Dovin set off towards the bridge, and Tyvar followed, curious to discover who the vedalken thought was so important. They crossed over, passing beneath the vast branches of Realmbreaker to reach the facility being built beneath it. For the moment, it was mostly empty, filled with vast chrome halls with great arching ceilings, all built as close to Realmbreaker’s trunk as was possible. In time it would become the place from which the Omenpaths were directed to overcome any remaining obstacles to the invasions.

Jin-Gitaxias was waiting for them at the entrance, the mastermind of Phyrexia’s intelligence network and their greatest scholar. While Elesh Norn had claimed the title of Grand Praetor, even Tyvar could see that the Progress Engine’s influence continued to expand, making itself the skeleton around which the rest of New Phyrexia grew.

“You have completed the retrieval missions,” the Praetor stated, his voice empty of any emotion.

“To a certain extent,” Dovin replied. “Kaladesh’s defenders anticipated our interest in Rashmi and made moves to ensure she could not be captured. However, our infiltrators were able to acquire the details of her research from the Consulate archives, including the schematics of the planar bridge. It has already been passed on to the analysis teams.”

“An acceptable result. In spite of its current deficiencies, the bridge possesses certain advantages over Realmbreaker.”

Tyvar’s opinion was that obliterating the flesh of all who used it was more than a mere deficiency, but he supposed that since such a problem was merely an inconvenience for the Praetors, Jin-Gitaxias would see it differently.

“However, we may still be able to tame Realmbreaker,” Jin-Gitaxias continued. “It would appear that the Sword of the Realms has been successfully retrieved. I will need to examine it to determine how best to make use of it.”

“Of course,” Tyvar said, presenting the blade. “Your wisdom precedes you, and the quality of your craft is evident.”

“Such flattery is not required, although it is accurate.”

Jin-Gitaxias carefully took the sword from Tyvar, one hand closing around the grip, while the other carefully supported the tip.

“I see…” Jin-Gitaxias said with a note of awe, studying the blade. “The craft of this weapon is of superlative quality. Perhaps even those in the Furnace would struggle to produce such a solution. It is imperative that the creators are compleated.”

“It shall be done,” Tyvar replied. “But the Dwarven forges are located deep within the mountains of Axgard and the Grand Praetor may have other plans for me.”

“It would be unwise to reassign you at this juncture. But Norn does as she wills. I will direct the Chrome Host to begin an infiltration. Does Axgard possess magic that might detect sleeper agents?”

“The dwarves of Axgard are known for their affinity for the treasures of the earth,” Tyvar answered. “But Sheoldred’s sleepers brought chaos to Dominaria, a world defined by its war with Phyrexia. I am no scholar, but if even those most studied on the subject cannot find a solution, it might not exist.”

“An interesting perspective,” Jin-Gitaxias said, his tone different than before. “The reasoning, however, is sound. Now, if Norn has need of you, it would be to our gathered interests that she is not left waiting. I will deploy a liaison unit in the event I require additional strategic information from you.”

“Then I shall depart. And I do not doubt you will find a way to harness the Sword of the Realms.”

With that, Tyvar turned and left, with Dovin and Jin-Gitaxias quickly beginning another conversation about the progress on Kaladesh. For now it was not his concern, that plane of innovation and artifice more suited to the attention of the Progression Engine. Tyvar had always known his place was in battle in its rawest form, where soldiers and warriors clashed together in person, their only weapons the ones their strength could carry. Phyrexia was no different in this regard. Its grand machines of war were alive, the fires of battle burning in their veins of ichor.

Tyvar chose not to make the climb back to the Grand Praetor’s throne, instead opening a rippling Omenpath to the upper reaches of the Seedcore. He stepped through, back to the grand white structure, close enough that Elesh Norn might notice his return, but so close as to disturb her. It was a wise decision, as he could see she was still on the observation platform, conversing with the priests of the Orthodoxy.

From this vantage point, Tyvar could look up and see the war in its entirety. Cities burned, armies moved, vast creatures fought and ancient gods stirred as Realmbreaker made its way across the multiverse, plane by plane. On some worlds, the invasion had only just begun, while others were deep in their battles, the first to be touched by New Phyrexia when Realmbreaker had awoken. Few planes had truly fallen, but many were on that path, unable to stand against the power that moved against them. Yet it was those who survived who would be more valuable, their strength the stone Phyrexia would sharpen itself against.

In time, Dovin Baan would have his peace and Elesh Norn would have her unity. But before that, New Phyrexia would be like war itself, in all its fury and all its glory.

Chapter Text

There had been a time when Ixhel’s life was simple. She had been created with a duty to fulfil, and in the Fair Basilica, it was known that your duty was your purpose. The Mother’s grand design guided them all, under the supervision of the Unifier. They were to be glorified as the living embodiments of New Phyrexia’s will, unquestioned and unopposed. To obey them brought Ixhel contentment.

Then she had erred. In her attempt to emulate her creator, she had created new life, imbuing the purpose of the Machine Orthodoxy into those not born in the Basilica’s light. For this, Atraxa had scorned her, and so Ixhel had abandoned her child in the Dross Pits, forcing herself to return to the Basilica so she might redeem herself.

The chance never came. Instead, the Mother sent Atraxa to another world so she might spread the blessing of compleation. In her place, Ixhel had been given her duties and authority. Perhaps her failings had not been reported. Or perhaps Elesh Norn had not agreed with Atraxa, and had approved of Ixhel’s work. It was impossible to know, but ultimately the truth seemed irrelevant. Either way, it pointed to a fracture within the highest ranks of the Machine Orthodoxy. A fracture that ought to be impossible.

Now there was a fracture in the foundations of Ixhel’s beliefs. If the Orthodoxy was flawed, what did that mean for her duty? Her purpose was to serve, but if the basis of the laws that gave her that purpose were imperfect, what did that mean for her existence?

It was not a question Ixhel could escape. Where the path forward had once been glorious and clear, now was only a tangle of confusion. It had begun with Vishgraz, but Realmbreaker had raised further questions. And from those questions had led to mercies Ixhel once thought she would never grant.

Her confrontation with Koth had been brief, but entirely necessary for both their safety. While Ixhel was almost beyond reproach, the same could not be said of a newly-compleated member of the Mirran Resistance. Especially as he seemed to have some sort of shroud around him that blocked his connection to the greater Phyrexian whole. Ixhel had not noticed it until he had dropped it for a moment, his raw emotions hitting her like the heat of the Furnace Layer. Then it had returned as he retreated, making him a mystery once again. She had chosen to forgo communing while dealing with her troublesome thoughts, but others in the Basilica would not, and they would quickly notice something amiss. Rejection still confirmed the connection, but blocking it entirely was an affront to everything the Orthodoxy stood for.

But Ixhel’s time to reflect on this matter was brief. The additional damage to the citadel had attracted attention, and its garrison had rushed to find her. They stopped at the sight of the destruction, uncertain of its cause.

“The branch that entered this section of the citadel was not as stable as we believed,” Ixhel stated. Lying was so easy when no one expected anything other than truth. “Our enemies made common cause to exploit it and escape.”

The garrison’s leader stepped forward. “The fault is mine. I will accept your judgement for my failure to foresee such an event and allowing such heretics to escape.”

Before, Ixhel would have executed him without a thought. Now, despite Atraxa’s admonishment, her mind whirred with ideas. She could not stop, the deep well of information contained in the glistening oil racing through her. On its surface, Phyrexian history told her that execution was the only option, the most fitting punishment for any failure, real or perceived. Yet it seemed that such actions never solved the underlying problems, the executed replaced not with those who were more loyal or capable, but instead those more able to conceal their undesirable aspects.

“Such an event was beyond our ability to predict,” Ixhel said, studying the leader’s reaction. “These are unprecedented times. The assignment of blame only distracts from our greater concern – ensuring the security of the Basilica.”

“I am honoured by your mercy,” he replied, bowing before her. “I will do all I can to prove myself worthy of it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” she responded, voice flat. “For now, it is imperative that we understand the scale of the damage. While the Machine Legion marches across the multiverse, we face a war of our own. Sheoldred and Urabrask continue to threaten New Phyrexia’s unity.”

The words felt hollow. Ixhel’s own lineage could be traced to Sheoldred, and from what she had heard from Urabrask’s followers, his ideas seemed less heretical than the Mother claimed. How much of the current discord had been caused by the Machine Orthodoxy’s need for absolute control? How much could be traced back to her own hands? As much as Ixhel wished not to think about it, a voice in the back of her mind told her she must. The same voice that had driven her to create Vishgraz, and to seek answers from Koth.

“We shall do all that is required to uphold the safety of the Basilica,” the garrison leader said, snapping Ixhel out of her thoughts.

“Good. Assess the damage to your assigned areas, and if possible, begin repairs. We will also need to ensure that all rifts created by Realmbreaker’s branches are secured. If they can be used to exit the Basilica, they also provide a means of entry.”

Ixhel considered the situation. It was possible the rifts were spread across the sphere, each one a potential entrance point for their enemies. But they also held other risks.

“However, I will soon be making an announcement that entering the rifts is forbidden to all Basilica citizens, including security teams. They are an unauthorised form of inter-sphere travel, including to the Seedcore. Understand that if you intrude there, it will be the Grand Praetor who decides your punishment.”

It was a simple enough threat, especially given Ixhel’s display of mercy. The Mother possessed many virtues, but it was not in her nature to forgive those who stepped outside their place. In that light, Ixhel’s declaration was as much about protection as it was about security.

“Of course,” the leader said. “Your foresight in this area is exemplary. We will begin our work at once.”

“Then I shall not keep you. I have my own duties to attend to.”

With a swift motion, Ixhel dismissed the guards, before making her way out of the citadel. She stretched out her wings as she stepped into the open space, and took to the air. For a moment, flight unburdened her, tumultuous thoughts quieting. But as she rose, she could see more of the Fair Basilica, and more of the damage that had been done to it. With Elesh Norn and Atraxa elsewhere, the entire sphere was her duty. A duty that lay outside the purpose she was created for, as Koth had noted.

But surely the Mother would not have given her this duty if she did not believe Ixhel capable of it. She had to believe that.

Even as she looked out at the damage caused by Realmbreaker, the cost of Elesh Norn’s ambitions.

The Fair Basilica’s problems did not end with the damage Realmbreaker had done. The wound left by the outsiders still festered, the choking fumes of the Dross Pits sinking down in the Basilica. As much as Ixhel wished for it to be repaired, however, the situation did not allow it. While the Machine Orthodoxy strived to maintain total control of their sphere, the Dross Pits had fallen into a state of anarchy even the Furnace would disavow. The so-called loyalist Thanes cared more about proving themselves to Elesh Norn, their focus fixed on the war beyond New Phyrexia. Those who had sided with Sheoldred, meanwhile, had withdrawn to their fortresses, no doubt plotting further rebellion. And the Praetor herself was unaccounted for, having disappeared during Realmbreaker’s awakening.

This meant the Dross Pit’s side of the wound was uncontrolled, and this had made it the path of choice for a number of raiders, those seeking advancement in the Pits attacking the Basilica for plunder. While it had only been a minor nuisance at first, the problem had soon grown. With the danger posed by the rifts, along with the need for widespread repairs, the occasional raider was not considered a high priority concern. It was not until several Basilica citizens reported sights of what the denizens of the Pits called an Obliterator that the true scale was understood. These raiders, if not stopped, posed a grave risk to those in the Basilica.

So Ixhel was going to stop them. As the effective overseer of the Fair Basilica, she was responsible for protecting all its citizens, from the highest chancellors to the lowest aspirants and newts. It was a duty that did not stir her doubts, an act that felt self-evidently right, unlike so many others.

She and several other angels waited beneath the wound, ready to repeal their enemy. What arrived was the boldest raiding party yet, two Obliterators accompanied by over a dozen lessers. Yet they were no match for what awaited them.

Each Obliterator fell to Ixhel’s spear, pierced through and torn open. The others fared little better, some slain by the angels’ blades, and a few losing their footing and falling into the lower areas which were still awash with Realmbreaker’s energies. Soon only one remained, a dark-metal winged creature that quickly turned to run.

Ixhel was faster. In a moment, the other Phyrexian was pinned down against a spire of the broken stronghold that lay below the wound. Her spear rested on their neck, ready to end them. It should have been easy.

“Mercy,” her enemy pleaded, voiced strained. “I yield to your greater strength.”

“And how would you repay this mercy?” Ixhel asked. “How can I be sure you will not return to blight us again?”

“You are not just strong, but wise. Wise enough not to give a second chance. To live, I will stay away.”

Ixhel considered their words. Those in the Dross Pits were known for their selfish nature. If this one spoke true, allowing them to live was no threat. And perhaps they could be put to use.

“I will spare you, then, under two conditions,” Ixhel declared. “First, you must abide by your own promise to leave and not return to the Basilica. Secondly, once you have returned to the Dross Pits, you will deliver a message from the Acting Unifier. The raids will cease, under pain of death. I will grant no further mercy to those who violate our sphere. Do you understand?”

A warning was needed. Not just to protect the Basilica, but to protect the Dross Pits from their own worst impulses. Unity required survival, on both sides.

“Your words are clear, Acting Unifier,” they replied. “The shape of your wrath is clear, and I will spread your warning. Neither of our spheres can weather a war.”

“Good. Remember that death is the least of the agonies that can be inflicted should you betray this oath.”

The words felt wrong, even as Ixhel said them. She had spoken such threats a thousand times before, but something had changed. Faint memories of endless tortures stirred within the oil, never leading to a solution.

But the other Phyrexian agreed, muttering a chain of affirmations and promises. Ixhel lifted her spear, and they took flight, directly upwards to return to the Dross Pits.

She turned back to the other angels, who were watching her. What thoughts lay within their minds? Did they doubt her, as she doubted herself?

“A warning was necessary,” she said, a challenge in her voice. “Those in the Dross Pit will listen more closely to one of their own than to one of ours.”

For a moment, the others were silent. Then they broke into a chorus of agreement, praising her wisdom, her mercy, her understanding of Phyrexia’s mission.

Their words were all meaningless noise.

It had taken weeks, but the Basilica had finally returned to a functional state. Soldiers once again marched in perfected patterns, although ones that had been adapted for the damage that could not be repaired. Priests sang hymns from the Argent Etchings, overwhelming the crackling energy of Realmbreaker’s now caged branches. Even Mondrak seemed to have settled, the voices of the Glory Dominus falling into harmony.

For Ixhel, this victory felt hollow. The work to achieve it had distracted her from her doubts, and focused her actions. She could only fill so many hours with inspections and prayers, and even those did not take her full attention. Once, the monotony of it had been soothing, the careful schedules and exacting specifications freeing her from the tyranny of choice. Of course, her purpose had never lay solely within the Basilica. Ixhel had been built as a weapon. Perhaps her unseemly desire for chaos had been there from her birth.

As she had declared, dozens of the Orthodoxy’s leaders had gathered in the Mother’s throne room, one of the countless ceremonies required to keep the Basilica running. She barely registered the drone of the prefects, their latest reports merely confirming what she already knew. During the rebuilding, it had become apparent that the fastest way for Ixhel to learn what was needed was to ask those doing the work. A single legionnaire had the most insight on what weapon they required, and a construction crew knew more about the repairs they performed than those supervising them.

The very structure of the Machine Orthodoxy had become a hindrance. Once, Ixhel had existed mostly outside of it. Now at its centre, she wondered if her appointment was in fact a punishment devised by the Mother and Atraxa, to show her the cost of unnatural ambitions.

She did not notice the change in the air or the subtle vibrations in the ground, until they became enough to distract from the words she was listening to. Others noticed as well, whispers of worry rising in the chamber. Ixhel cut off the current speaker with a wave of a hand, keenly aware that the growing energy in the air was familiar. This was Realmbreaker.

“We will have to bring this session to a premature end,” she declared. “Return to your assigned duties.”

If the congregation had any protests, they did not voice them, filing out of the throne room one by one. Once it was empty, Ixhel followed, preparing herself for whatever new crisis she would need to deal with.

Outside, the air was thick with static, small sparks lighting off of the plating that made up the Basilica and its citizens. Everything still moved as it should, although those not bound to rigid paths or schedules had begun to slow, wary that the dangers that had sprung from Realmbreaker’s awakening might repeat. Ixhel risked taking to the air, needing to discover the source of the problem.

Finding the nearest of Realmbreaker’s wayward branches confirmed her suspicions. A cloak of prismatic light shimmered around it, wisps of raw mana bleeding out into the air through the gaps in the cage that had been built around it. Its inner light pulsed in an uneven rhythm, no longer a single shade of red, instead cycling between different colours. Sometimes, it fell dark, but Ixhel did not know if it was not emitting light, or if it was shining in a colour she could not perceive.

The branch remained still, however, and the rift it had emerged from seemed stable, the edges of the Omenpath rippling with the pulsing of the branch’s light. Perhaps they were not due for a repeat of the events that had damaged the Basilica.

A short series of flights to other branches served to ease Ixhel’s worry. They all exhibited the same behaviour, awash with mana and shifting colours, but they did not appear to be causing further damage. That should have calmed her entirely, but part of her insisted something was still going to go wrong. She tried to ignore it, returning to her duties and encouraging others to do the same. As long as the vast machine of the Fair Basilica continued to move, Ixhel could prove that everything was correct. That as the one chosen to maintain it, she was correct.

In response to her determination, the world laughed at her, a great noise filling the Basilica, the sound of tearing and shattering and howling screams all together. An impossibly bright light burst from the horizon, casting vast shadows against the sphere’s roof, and that would have blinded Ixhel if she had had eyes. Then it faded, leaving the Basilica frozen in shock. Another disaster had occurred, and she had no doubt of the cause.

As the rest of the Basilica slowly shook itself awake, Ixhel made a course towards the place the light had come from. As she did, she met two other angels coming the other way, looking for her. They spoke of another rift, larger than the others, and somehow unlike them. She let them guide her to an empty plaza surrounded by watchtowers, some torn apart.

Above the plaza was another rift. But this one was vast, and as far as Ixhel could see, did not connect to one of Realmbreaker’s branches. Its edges twisted and swirled, and there seemed to be a gap between the two sides, like two plates that had not been properly joined. But most striking of all was what lay beyond it – not another sphere of New Phyrexia, but another plane entirely.

The rift looked out at what seemed to be a ruined city, a vast crater in the centre. In the distance, Ixhel could see the branches of Realmbreaker, delivering compleation to another world. Something stirred within the crater, what she thought at first was a storm cloud. Then it shifted, four wings rising from a vast body, a dragon rising from slumber. It approached the rift, four eyes blazing in its head, veins of raw energy running through its body.

“More interlopers,” Jiskal Cydru spoke, his voice and name drenched in power that could cross between worlds. “Is where you wretches spawn?”

Cydru raised a clawed limb, magic coalescing around it. From the ancient memories of the oil, Ixhel saw visions of great creatures, vast and powerful and so very old, older than its furthest memories. Elder Dragon, the oil whispered, and she knew it was not merely information, but a warning.

“Evacuate any part of the Basilica with a sightline to the rift,” Ixhel commanded, some of the angels around her beginning to act as soon as she spoke. Others paused, but their hesitation turned to action as Cydru fired a pulse of rippling energy through the rift. Travelling through the unstable Omenpath seemed to diminish it, but enough power remained that it shattered the watchtower it collided with. Something inside Ixhel twisted at the realisation that if the tower had been garrisoned, those within would have been killed.

The assault continued, destructive magic pouring through the rift. Had Ixhel delayed in calling for an evacuation, the cost in life would have been unthinkable. Instead, Cydru merely rendered buildings into rubble, pouring more chaos into the Basilica.

Once Cydru tired and the assault ceased, Ixhel looked out at the damage. It would take weeks to repair, and the dragon would surely not be idle as they did. She summoned another angel.

“Send a message to the Gitaxians,” she commanded. “It seems we have a problem that requires their intervention.”

Although, a part of Ixhel suggested, it may have been the Gitaxian’s intervention that caused this latest crisis.

Jiskal Cydru’s attacks continued, but the dragon quickly grew bored with tearing down the Basilica’s infrastructure from afar. Occasionally, he would take flight, giving the Basilica’s citizens a chance to begin cleaning away the damage, but he would always return.

The Gitaxians arrived at their own pace, dozens of researchers and technicians skittering around the edge of the exclusion zone, talking among themselves. It was clear to Ixhel they understood more about the rift than those in the Basilica did, although they did not appear to be making much progress. A few even asked if they had attempted to send something through the rift, and they seemed almost disappointed that the answer was negative.

So it came as something of a surprise to Ixhel that within two weeks of the rift appearing, the Gitaxians announced they had a solution. No time was wasted in having it assembled, both sphere’s affinity for order streamlining the process. The result was a large machine, placed on top of a citadel near the rift. While it was primarily a complex chrome device that would not seem out of place in the Surgical Bay, it had four prominent blades emerging from the side, made of a strange prismatic metal Ixhel did not recognise, arranged like the jaws of an insect.

Ixhel watched as the operator, a chrome-shelled Gitaxian who had introduced himself as Zirpal, adjusted the device's controls with his myriad of manipulators. If something went wrong, she would need to inform the rest of the Basilica immediately.

“With your permission, I shall begin the process, Acting Unifier,” Zirpal said as he finished his work.

“Do it,” Ixhel replied. “The faster this rift can be removed, the earlier repairs can begin.”

“Of course. Efficiency in all things is a virtue.”

With a flurry of his manipulators, Zirpal activated the machine. It began to hum with power, and the blades began to glow with energy, currents of power flowing beneath them. With a crack, it emitted a beam of harsh light towards the rift. The beam broke as it reached the rift, wrapping around it like surgical thread through a wound. Slowly, the rift seemed to stabilise, its size slightly reduced.

“All readings are within acceptable limits, Acting Unifier,” Zirpal reported. “This Incursion Rift should be sealed within a single cycle of the Blue Sun.”

“Incursion Rift? You have a name for it?” Ixhel asked, noting the exact wording he had used.

“Of course,” he replied. “Proper cataloguing is vital to our mission.”

“And it has not escaped my notice that you referred to it as an instance of a pattern. There are others like it.” This time it was not a question, but a conclusion.

“Indeed there are…” Zirpal answered, tapping a number of his manipulators against each other. “But we have the problem under control. In spite of certain setbacks, we have established control over Realmbreaker.”

“Setbacks,” Ixhel said. “I would hardly call this damage a setback. It seems the Gitaxian’s efforts have been lacking.”

“It’s not our fault!” Zirpal exclaimed, skittering away from her. “That is, we did not expect such intervention to be needed. A controller for Realmbreaker had been identified. But the capture and compleation of that target was left to Vorinclex and his savages. A task they failed.”

“But now you have found a different solution?”

“I’m just an operator, not an engineer. I don’t know the details. All I heard was that the Incursion Rifts happened because the engineers working in the Seedcore attached something to Realmbreaker, and it didn’t work out. Now apparently they’ve found a sword from another plane, and that’s the solution. They piped up some sap from the tree, and we used it to make the material for the blades.”

“I see,” Ixhel said. More problems that flowed from the Praetors. Vorinclex and Jin-Gitaxias had each erred. And behind them was the Mother, who had given them the tasks they had failed. “Continue to monitor the rift until it closes. The creature beyond it is incredibly dangerous.”

“Of course, Acting Unifier,” Zirpal replied. “Some observers will also be sent down once the work is finished. Understanding these rifts and what they leave behind is vital to our mission.”

She did not press him on whose mission required such understanding. The squabbles of the other spheres ought to be beneath her. And she had more important matters to attend to.

“Then I shall leave you to your work. Should something go wrong, do not hesitate to inform someone.”

Ixhel left without waiting for an answer, knowing her authority was confirmation enough. She made her way back to the palace, mentally preparing a list of the tasks required to once again restore the Basilica to its proper order.

When she arrived, a group of messengers was waiting for her. Their sharpened features seemed to stare at her, even though the patterns of holes carved into their plates held no eyes.

“Speak,” she commanded. Whatever message they had for her could hardly make her situation worse. The Fair Basilica was crumbling in her hands, each success marred by setbacks. The Dross Pits could collapse upon them, and part of Ixhel would be glad, for it would mean it would all be over.

The leader of the group stepped forward and spoke.

“The Grand Praetor wishes to meet with you.”

Ixhel’s descent into the Seedcore was marred with panic.

The Mother knew. There could be no other reason to call her down in person. Failure, disobedience, treason, all those things and more were heresy, and Ixhel had committed them all in her deeds. Perhaps this was the final test, to see if she was willing to face judgement for her crimes. And what other option did she have? There was nowhere she could hide, not on New Phyrexia.

But as Ixhel entered the Seedcore, her worries fell silent. Before, she had only seen the branches of Realmbreaker. Now she saw it all, the vastness of it, branches beyond count growing out into a great curtain of shimmering light. Swirling rings of colour circled the vast and pale trunk, which disappeared in a curtain of rippling mist. Just above the sea of white were a series of buildings, attached directly to Realmbreaker, likely for the Gitaxian’s research.

The view was awe-inspiring, even to one such as Ixhel. For a moment, her worries disappeared, the grandness of what was before her making them seem irrelevant. This was true greatness, a living being that grew beyond the limits of one plane, crossing impossible boundaries to unite countless worlds.

Yet its splendour could only hold back Ixhel’s fears for so long. She forced herself to move on, down and down towards Elesh Norn’s new throne. The great white edifice waited for her, the altar on which she would be judged. The guards she passed as she made her way to the Mother knelt in her presence, a reminder of her authority. How long that authority would last, she did not know.

Ixhel herself knelt as she reached the Mother, dropping to her knee in a single, flawless motion.

“Grand Praetor,” she said, filling every word with respect. “How may I serve?”

Elesh Norn did not turn to face her.

“Ixhel,” she said, the name hanging in the air. “I trust you have kept to your stewardship of the Fair Basilica in these times?”

“As you have willed, I have done,” Ixhel answered. “I have directed every resource possible to restore the Basilica.”

“Good. The failures of Vorinclex and Jin-Gitaxias have disrupted our mission for too long.” There was a short silence, before Norn continued. “At least, they claim to have failed. They think I do not notice their schemes, their whispering betrayals. Understand this, Ixhel. The Machine Orthodoxy is the source of New Phyrexia’s truth, and the others resent us for it. There may be a time when you have to turn your spear against a Praetor. If it comes, do not doubt.”

“I understand, Grand Praetor.”

The words were hollow. The doubts that had taken root in Ixhel continued to grow, twisting through her insides. She dared not ask the obvious question; what if Elesh Norn was the Praetor she turned her spear against?

“It occurs to me that you have not seen the true glory of our mission,” Norn said. “Allow me to enlighten you.”

With a wave of her hand, Elesh Norn opened a number of Omenpaths, each looking out at a different plane. The Machine Legion swept across each of them, any attempt at resistance subsumed by the might of Phyrexia. There was no word for it but victory, the great purpose promised by the Argent Etchings. This should have been the moment that finally healed Ixhel’s doubts, proof that the divisions within New Phyrexia were meaningless compared to this glory.

But instead, Ixhel felt nothing. Each host spread their own ideology further, the same visions of Phyrexia that were already coming into conflict. Outside of their Praetor’s direct control, how long would it be before ideals from beyond New Phyrexia found their way into the hosts? What unity could be forged when Phyrexia grew endlessly into alien worlds?

To keep such feelings cloaked from the Grand Praetor ought to have been impossible, but Elesh Norn’s focus was on the invasions. The Mother’s unshakable will was directed outwards, her discipline broadcast out into the multiverse by Realmbreaker to form the impetus of invasion. Through this effort, what would otherwise be a cacophony of undirected minds was instead forged into a single Phyrexian understanding, a perfect synchronisation those not compleat could never equal. As long as Realmbreaker provided the signal, no amount of noise could overcome the Machine Legion.

A pulse of energy thrummed across the Seedcore, and the lights around the branches seemed to shift ever so slightly. Ixhel did not shift from her position, even as Elesh Norn began to move.

“It seems the Gitaxians have almost finished their work,” Norn declared. “Our progress has been stalled, but there are planes within our grasp where we can now begin. Behold, the arrival of perfection.”

With another wave, the current windows closed, a single one opened to take their place. A great red citadel stood above a sprawling city, its people moving through its streets like mites. The sky was marked with the sigil of Phyrexia’s imminent arrival, red wounds in reality ready to burst. And with another shaking wave of energy through the Seedcore, they did. The branches emerged, clawed and hungry, grasping at buildings as they came down. Some tore into the citadel, while others ripped through the streets, relentless in their assault. Then came the incubators, delivering soldiers and harvesters wherever they were needed. There would be no siege, no protracted battle, for the Machine Legion had already occupied the city.

Even though Ixhel could not hear the screams, or the metal against stone, the sounds of flesh breaking and burning, she could imagine them. One of her earliest lessons was that to fight against Phyrexia was futile, and this seemed to be proof. What hope did these fleshings have, when such a force could simply arrive upon them? As dark columns of smoke began to rise from the buildings, victory seemed inevitable.

There were occasional flashes of green across the city, no doubt a form of magic being used against the invaders. Each one brought up more smoke, and patches of fire began to spread, a desperate attempt to stop the Machine Legion’s progress. It culminated in a sudden explosion, burning green flames blasting upwards, tearing apart Phyrexian and fleshing alike.

“How desperate they are to deny us,” Norn said solemnly. “We bring them absolution, and they respond with such violence. It is pitiable.”

The flames continued to spread, and more blasts ripped through the city. Ixhel could not believe it was intentional, even as the flames reached Realmbreaker and began to climb it, wreathing the branches in sickening flames. As the city was consumed along with its people, she felt a strange sickness. So many lives lost, and for what end?

“They cannot control this,” she exclaimed, the words escaping her. In response, the Mother finally turned to face her.

“Your judgement seems correct, Ixhel,” she replied. “In their haste to destroy us, they destroy themselves. It is a lesson in the tragedy of rejecting our blessing. As little as their lives were worth without it, spending them in this way is truly senseless.”

“And our own have died for nothing,” Ixhel added as she processed what she had seen.

“I suppose. But they were already compleat, and so there is no greater end for them than to die for the sake of our mission, and more shall take their places.”

Finally, something inside Ixhel broke. From beneath her other doubts, buried as deeply as she could force it, came a memory.

"I know that what really makes a warrior is the knowledge that if you lose, you die. Not that if you lose, there will be thousands of faceless others to take your place. Your ubiquity makes you weak." Geth had said.

The Mother saw them all as disposable. She loved them, but only for the purpose they were made for.

"When you win, what will hold your people to you? When you spread yourselves across the Multiverse?"

What would happen when that purpose became obsolete?

“This has been most informative,” Ixhel said, pressing down her fear with every word. If the Mother had reason to pry, even a single stray emotion would be her end. “May I return to my duties?”

“Of course,” Norn replied. “There is still much to be done here on New Phyrexia.”

With that dismissal, Ixhel rose, and began her journey back to the Fair Basilica.

But as she ascended, Ixhel knew there was more she needed to know. She looked out at the Omenpaths across Realmbreaker’s branches. The Mother had only shown her a mere handful, but there were hundreds before her. When she reached one of the vast supports for the Gitaxian’s work, she broke from the path, hiding in shadows as she entered Realmbreaker’s great gallery. Clusters of branches held dozens of Omenpaths, each a window into another world. They did not surge as violently as the Incursion Rift had, but she could still feel the raw power needed to break the barriers between planes running through them.

Examining the nearest group confirmed Ixhel’s suspicions. Like the ones Elesh Norn had shown her, they opened to planes engulfed in warfare, the ranks of the Machine Legion crashing against their enemies. But these were not grand victories, New Phyrexia’s might sweeping away all resistance. Instead, they were battles of equals, the five hosts brought to a standstill by a force that could hold them. Through one window, she saw the familiar shape of Jiskal Cydru, raining ruin upon an entire legion. Whether the worlds held spires of neon, forests that moved like oceans, or hungering lights did not matter. They had challenged Phyrexia, and they had not paid for it.

The Mother had lied to her. To all of New Phyrexia.

Unsettled, Ixhel studied more of the Omenpaths. Her vision fell on one that showed a broken mountain fortress, burning tents lighting the plane’s night. A missionary of the Argent Host stood before what appeared to be a stone with dozens of blades embedded in it, preaching to armoured fleshings bound before them, surrounded by other Phyrexians. Ixhel studied it, certain there was something amiss. On the outskirts of the crowd, she saw a member of the Furnace Host, gaze affixed not on the missionary, but on the strange stone. Occasionally, they looked down at their bladed arm, as if considering something.

After a short while, the Furnacer seemed to make a choice. They stepped away from the crowd, and started to walk towards the stone. Moments later, one of the fleshlings seemed to notice something, although Ixhel could not. Then the swords began to shift, their blades starting to glow. The Furnacer had done something, activated a trap – or worse, begun some sort of ritual. The other Phyrexians began to notice something was amiss, as blades began to rise out of the stone, their light now strong enough to cast shadow. Finally, the missionary noticed. They turned and pointed at the Furnacer, no doubt commanding them to stop. But it was evidently too late.

The Furnacer raised their arm, then slammed the blade into stone. The blades in the air ignited, and even from her side of the window, Ixhel could tell the ground was shaking. Fire poured from the stone, and swirled around the Phyrexian who had stabbed it. The crowd broke, some retreating, while others tried to get closer to the stone. Flames swept upwards, the Furnacer lost in the pyre.

And then the window turned dark, and snapped shut before her.

Ixhel knew it could not be a coincidence. Someone did not want those on New Phyrexia to see what was unfolding on that plane. Elesh Norn was the obvious answer, the Grand Praetor whose power was staked on the invasion. But Jin-Gitaxias was also deeply involved in shaping Realmbreaker’s growth, and his influence had grown when it had not performed to expectations. Norn distrusted him, and by controlling the information that flowed through Realmbreaker, he could turn it to his advantage.

Or perhaps Realmbreaker itself made these changes, its own agency working to ensure it could continue its growth. Ixhel wondered how much control they truly had over it. But it made no difference. Realmbreaker was Phyrexian, glistening oil running through its branches as it did through Ixhel’s veins. Unlike as they were in form and scale, they were still kin.

Show me where I can see what has been hidden.

The answer came not as words, but as a sensation, a direction to travel in. Ixhel followed the invisible guide through Realmbreaker’s branches, past countless windows to other worlds. It led her to the base of those branches, where they began to split from its great trunk. Nested between them, shrouded in darkness, was a cage of thorns. She descended, passing through a gap in the barrier, to a space the otherworldly light did not reach. Here, the only light was the soft glow of Realmbreaker’s embrace, and the visions no Phyrexian was meant to see.

Ixhel flew over to the nearest Omenpath. Through it she saw one of Realmbreaker’s branches plunging into a great fissure. Between the broken ground was a dark abyss, a void of pure silence. At her thought, the window tilted, and she could see that it continued for miles, dozens of branches drawn into the maw. Something almost alien stirred within her, a feeling she had only experienced through others – terror.

She forced herself away from the window. Something had gone wrong on that plane. But surely it was an outlier? If the Gitaxians truly had found a way to master Realmbreaker, such a problem could be avoided in the future. Things could not be as bad as they appeared. Perhaps this place was hidden simply to prevent the unwise from drawing false conclusions.

Yet despite her rationalisations, Ixhel was drawn to another window. This one looked out at a city, caught in the middle of combat. It was densely built up, although from the damage she could tell that few of the buildings were more than three or four floors high. Pale stone bricks littered the streets and piled in the ruins, while blue roof tiles had been shattered and thrown far and wide. It seemed more like the windows in the branches, a plane resisting invasion, but she saw no reason for it to be hidden. The Phyrexian forces seemed thinner than on other worlds, but the defenders they battled seemed no more in number.

Then a great red plume rose up from the horizon, twisting into a swirling vortex as it reached the sky. At the sight of it, the Phyrexians began to flee, seeking shelter among undamaged buildings, while their enemies seemed to cheer. Parts of the vortex broke off, racing down the broken streets, twisting to wash over the broken buildings. Wherever the strange magic touched, the damage of the invasion was reversed. Buildings were rebuilt flawlessly, as if they had never fallen. The soldiers of the plane had their wounds healed and their strength returned, even their weapons reforged within their hands.

The only ones not to benefit were the Phyrexians. The swarm descended on those who had not found cover, and when it passed, they were gone, as if they had been scoured from reality. The fighting resumed, but now the balance had been permanently altered in the Machine Legion’s disfavour. From the reactions of the Phyrexian soldiers, this could not have been the first time. But how many times, Ixhel wondered, had this happened? How many had been erased the first time, when they knew nothing of the force that was used against them?

Ixhel did not seek the next window. It was simply in her path as she began to search for a way out. In spite of herself, she looked through, to see a Phyrexian fortress grown up from the ground in a vast cavern, the ceiling glowing a strange blue hue. The fortress was under siege, volleys of magic crashing against it, while members of the Machine Legion tried to repel an assault. It was already falling, the gleaming white metal ran through with cracks that bled oil.

The creatures fighting against them were like none Ixhel had seen, either on New Phyrexia or through an Omenpath. They had pale grey skin, thin multi-jointed limbs and large heads with bulbous eyes. Their armour seemed to be brightly coloured fabrics, yet it deflected blows as well as any metal, and their weapons were rippling, wave-shaped blades that cut through flesh and metal in equal measure. Their mages seemed formidable as well, each one calling forth enough power to match New Phyrexia’s greatest weapons of war. Here, the reason to conceal the window was clear. The force assaulting the fortress could hardly be called an army, yet their victory was an inevitability.

As she looked over them, Ixhel noticed something at the rear of the enemy forces, what appeared to be a single mage, along with a large glowing crystal. The space around them was distorted, the channelling of vast magical energies warping reality. The air glowed and boiled as a sphere of pure white light formed above them. Then it broke, firing a beam of piercing light directly at the fortress. On contact, the structure – and doubtlessly those within – shattered into dust. The beam continued into the dark of the cavern, colliding with something far away. When it did, the window Ixhel was watching warped, images of both other caverns and a sunlit surface flickering across it, fragmented and almost incoherent. There was a simple explanation, however. These creatures had the power to strike against Realmbreaker itself.

She turned away from the window, her other doubts rendered obsolete. Nearby, light broke through from outside, marking an exit from the cage.

As she made her way out, there was only one conclusion Ixhel could reach.

Elesh Norn’s crusade would only lead to ruin.

The mere thought of it was the direst of heresies. The Machine Orthodoxy was structured around a core truth, that the Mother was the living will of Phyrexia. It was more foundational than the Argent Etchings themselves, more vital than even the drive to spread compleation. But if that will had faults, if it was blind to the true end it moved towards, what did that mean?

"But you know all of that is ashes. You, your people, everything you have set yourselves to do—all of it exists at the whim of a tyrant," Vishgraz had said, when she had released him into the Dross Pits. He had been right.

Perhaps he would be happy to hear that.

Devastation had not done the Dross Pits any favours. Vast chasms had formed around the area where the outsiders had broken through to the Basilica, the unstable ground still collapsing into them. Most of the necrogen in the area had drained away, but a few pools remained, held in shallow depressions. But the Pits were still choked with fumes, the air still stagnant even as it flowed downwards.

Ixhel’s flight was undisturbed. She saw few denizens of the Pits, some wayward creatures picking across old battlefields. Those that noticed her skittered beneath cover, unwilling to risk a confrontation.

Geth’s fortress – if it could still be called such – rose over the hazed horizon, towering over the black cliffs that sequestered it from the rest of the sphere. This time she had no care for stealth, soaring over the cliffs into the domain beyond. As before, it was filled with the most pitiful of New Phyrexia, failed aspirants, the incompleat and broken. Now they had been joined by others, ones who had clearly once been worthy, until something had forced them to seek refuge in the Pits.

These newcomers were Blended - Phyrexians who held properties from more than a single sphere. The Orthodoxy regarded them as an error at best, inherently flawed beings who could not achieve purity of purpose. Atraxa had been the sole exception, her existence reinforcing that only the Praetors could truly define Phyrexia. Ixhel had created Vishgraz in defiance of this idea, thinking she could find a way to bridge the divide between the spheres. Had she been punished for stepping beyond her role, or simply for undermining the purpose of Atraxa’s existence?

Although the Blended below had not been created that way. She saw what had once been a priest of the Orthodoxy, with one arm replaced with a furnace-forged limb, a web of burning-red metal welding together cracks in their plating. Others were similar - mismatched parts grafted on as a form of repair, gifts that were forbidden under the Grand Praetor’s laws. So like the aspirants, they came here, to the domain that had once been Geth’s.

This time there was a sentinel waiting at the gate of the fortress, a lone figure standing beneath bone and sinew. Another Blended, with porcelain plates mixed with tarnished metal blades, the two forms fused so expertly that it was impossible to tell how it was first made compleat.

“Welcome, Lady Ixhel,” it said, voice a chorus. “The Thane has been awaiting your return.”

“The Thane?” Ixhel echoed, wondering just who was in control of Geth’s holdings now. As if down to her bones, she didn’t already know what was drawing her here.

The sentinel stepped aside. “Enter, and understand.”

The path to the throne room, through silent halls and shadowed stairways, was empty. But the throne room itself was now vastly different. Gone was the mockery of Elesh Norn’s own throne, replaced with a collection of strange sculptures. Many were made using the techniques of the Orthodoxy, but not in any way that would be accepted in the Basilica. Some used the wrong materials, coloured plates instead of pure white, while others depicted deviant forms that defied the harsh order that defined the Fair Basilica.

Such creations were nothing less than heresy given physical form. Yet Ixhel found them compelling, stirring thoughts within her mind she had not previously considered.

“I did not understand why you made me. But there is something compelling about creation.”

Ixhel turned to the direction of the voice. Vishgraz looked back, her creation of green and white plate, of crimson sinew and tarnished veins. A Blended greater than any other save Atraxa, made from a Thane, an angel, and one unfortunate aspirant.

“Atraxa found your creation most upsetting,” he said, his voice amused. “How, I wonder, do you find mine?”

“They are… unorthodox,” she replied.

“And is that a bad thing, Acting Unifier?”

Ixhel was silent for a moment. Then she answered quietly. “No.”

Vishgraz’s laugh filled the room, that scraping sound. “You have changed. So slowly that only now you realise it.”

She did not reply. He was right. Why waste words when they both agreed?

“Are you content?” she asked instead, unsure of the question even as she spoke.

“An interesting query,” Vishgraz replied. “Parts of me are. Geth wished that his power would never fade, that his contracts would bind his servants for eternity. Through his craft or yours, that remains true. I followed their call here, and those who dwelled within acclaimed me as their master. A new Thane of Contracts, in a sense. The details of the title are meaningless.”

Ixhel listened silently, knowing Vishgraz would continue.

“Belaxis, meanwhile, was different. He wished to be free of fear. And so you freed him, but not in a manner he expected. Now he is part of something greater, and I have no need for fear.”

“Belaxis wished to live,” Ixhel replied, guilt biting into her.

“He, like Geth, lives on through me. The Argent Etchings teach us to celebrate such progress. But you are no longer content with those teachings. You are the final part of me. Ixhel, who sought to be like her creator, only to be rebuked. Who now wields a tyrant’s power, merely to stem the bleeding caused by the Grand Praetor’s crusade.”

“The crusade causes more than bleeding,” Ixhel corrected. “The Grand Praetor has blinded herself to the path she has set us on. It may take months, or it may take centuries, but ultimately, the multiverse will extinguish us.”

“A troubling prediction, and from one once so certain of the strength in Phyrexia’s unity. Although that belief was already breaking when you put it into me.”

“It is no prediction,” Ixhel replied, surprised at her own conviction. “I have seen through the Omenpaths. There are threats beyond the darkness that we could not have comprehended. Because we allowed ourselves to be blind to the possibility that anything could threaten us.”

“How interesting,” Vishgraz said, his vast form titling slightly as he listened to her words. “But why confide this in me?”

“You believe it,” Ixhel stated. “As you said, you carry all that you were made of. You have my doubts, Geth’s cynicism, and Belaxis’ drive to survive. You knew we were doomed before this all began.”

“You credit me too grandly. I knew Elesh Norn’s tyranny would ultimately tear New Phyrexia apart. But like you, I could not foresee the magnitude of the enemies we would face.”

“The precise details of our ruin do not matter,” Ixhel said. “Merely its inevitability.”

Vishgraz laughed again, the sound echoing around them. “Do you still believe in inevitability? You have broken from the pattern you were made to follow. You made me, a living defiance. You know that New Phyrexia’s future does not have to be written before it happens.”

“You are correct,” she replied. “Perhaps there is a chance the Grand Praetor can be stopped.”

“From small heresies to the greatest of them all. If your view is decided, then only one question remains. What will you do?”

“What I have always done,” Ixhel declared, “Fight. Although now I may wield a different weapon. The Grand Praetor has given me power, and it can be put to work to weaken her position.”

“Very shrewd. Geth would have approved.”

“And you?”

“Do you require my approval?”

“I do not,” Ixhel conceded. “But I think there is value in your insight. There is no point in striving for unity if we ignore the wisdom it may bring.”

“I think the Grand Praetor would disagree with you,” Vishgraz replied. “And now you see how that inflexibility is a danger. We both do, as part of you lives in me.” He paused, his grand form pacing around the throne room. “If you wish for more insight, you may find it among my contracted. Those the Orthodoxy finds imperfect in form often harbour equally forbidden thoughts.”

“Those who stray from the true path in one way invariably stray in others,” Ixhel said, repeating one of the Mother’s many lessons. “If there are those who wish to work against the ruin the Grand Praetor leads us towards, then they are welcome to join me.”

“Of course. But you know you cannot force them. One tyranny cannot replace another if you truly wish to save New Phyrexia.”

“Indeed. This work shall not be easy. But I must do it. I was made to bring New Phyrexia together. If Elesh Norn threatens to tear us apart, it is my duty to stop her. To stop all of the Praetors, if it comes to that.”

Ixhel had always been a weapon. She knew nothing else. But now she had a choice in who she would be wielded against. Her future was hers to forge.

To the Grand Praetor and the Machine Orthodoxy, there could be no greater heresy.

Chapter Text

As days had turned into weeks, the Undercity had become the safest place on Ravnica. The surface was blighted, a vast miasma of indebted spirits choking the skies as they converged on Orzhova, while the streets were stalked by compleated thrulls and other horrors. But even as Realmbreaker had pulled up the ancient vaults of the Orzhov, the rest of the Undercity remained safely buried.

Fortunately, many Simic facilities were located in the Undercity. While most were research centres, a large number of them had been repurposed to help those wounded during the invasion. Guild allegiances did not matter, the Golgari and Dimir working together to guide those who needed help to where it could be found, while healers from the Selesnya worked alongside the Simic. No assistance was turned down, so that no one in need would have to be turned away.

In the middle of this, Jace had wondered how he might be helpful. But as the casualty rate had continued to climb, no one with actual medical skills could be spared for other tasks. So Jace had become one of the people sorting incoming patients, directing them to where they needed to go. His skills were surprisingly effective for this, illusions providing directions, while his telepathy could sometimes detect the beginnings of phyresis. However, there was still nothing he could do against the oil itself. Ichormancy, as Tamiyo had called it, cut in a different direction than traditional mind magic, and it attacked along a much more physical vector.

Jace stepped forward as a new group entered the facility's upper atrium, a mix of Boros soldiers and Golgari guides. They walked through a web of diagnostic magic, and thankfully none of them were showing symptoms of phyresis. Jace directed the group to the next stage of triage, lightly scanning their minds as they passed for anything that might indicate a serious problem. This group was clear, but others had managed to conceal dire injuries.

The pace of these tasks kept Jace’s mind busy, keeping him from his other worries. He needed that focus, a distraction from the problems his mind wished to fixate on. It was better for him to be helping in this small way than fearing for Vraska’s safety, or second-guessing the decisions he had made to reach this point. Even the occasional tremors from above did not pull him from his current task.

What did pull him away, as he continued to organise the flow of both patients and resources, was a soft chiming from his wrist. Everyone working with the Simic had been issued a shift-tracking bracelet, to prevent overwork. During a crisis, the risk of fatigue was an insidious danger, one that often did not manifest in stages, but as a single collapse. Against a seemingly untiring enemy, it was a problem that needed to be strictly managed.

Once he was relieved, Jace made his way across the atrium, the vast organic structure now filled with temporary care stations, and dozens of injured citizens. Even without telepathy, the sense of suffering was clear, a small fraction of the damage that was spreading across Ravnica. This place had not been discovered yet, but the danger was always there. What had happened on Dominaria had shown the threat even a single sleeper agent could pose, and Jace had no doubt that Kaya would be willing to utilise them. Concerns layered upon concerns filled his mind, even in dreams, the awareness of more problems he could solve slowly wearing at him.

The depths of the facility worked towards solutions to some of those problems, several groups of Simic researchers joining Velos for the purpose of understanding phyresis. Jace headed downward, following a spiralling service staircase into the lower levels. As he descended, he passed floors converted into ad hoc pharmacies, couriers collecting medicines to be delivered upwards. Further down, researchers worked with recovered Phyrexian parts to try to understand more about them.

Jace’s ultimate destination was Velos’ lab, where Tamiyo still slumbered, one of the few living Phyrexians who could be safely studied. Whether that could lead to any kind of salvation still waited to be seen. Jace supposed the possibility provided some sense of hope, which was in short supply at the moment. The threat posed by Phyrexia was one of transformation, but not all transformations were permanent. At least, not entirely.

The progression of Velos’ research had filled the room with a variety of biomantic equipment, many repurposed for the study of glistening oil. Various notes were scattered across the laboratory’s desks, many containing analysis of the Phyrexian language, translating what was encoded in the oil into terms used by the Simic. This in turn fed into comparisons of different kinds of oil, lineages from four different planes picked apart to understand how the oil evolved. Further out were potential modifications to medical spells to counteract phyresis, along with scraps of more involved rituals related to the creation of krasis, the Simic’s primary method of altering biology.

Mina looked up from her work as Jace entered, which looked to be a hurried analysis of the latest attempts at anti-phyresis medication. While they were still far from undoing compleation, understanding the process had at least provided ways to slow it.

“Huh, you’re off your shift already?” she asked, before glancing down at her own bracelet. “No, that’s right.” Her tendrils twisted slightly. “Can’t really focus on time in this situation. Anyway, Velos wanted to see you. He’s had some sort of idea, but it needs a different kind of glistening oil. Something to do with a plane called Ithmorne.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Jace, and recently so. Had it been on the list of planes Velos had passed to them at the summit? No, he’d heard it spoken somewhere. When and where, he could not say.

“I’d better see what he wants then. Where is he?” Jace asked.

“Two doors down from here,” Mina answered. “It’s technically a meeting room, but for the moment it’s another lab.”

“Alright. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

She gave him a nod of acknowledgment, before turning back to her work. He followed her directions down the hall of the facility, and as expected, found Velos in what had once been a meeting room. Like the laboratories, various pieces of equipment were spread across whatever surfaces were available, and several boards on the walls were covered in research notes. However, while the other notes were focused on understanding glistening oil, Velos’ seemed to wander, travelling through a number of topics which appeared to eventually converge on hieromancy, of all things.

Jace wasn’t exactly sure what Velos was working on at the moment, and chose to get the biomancer’s attention rather than try to work it out.

“Velos,” he said, “Mina said you wanted to see me.”

“Ah, yes,” Velos replied, turning away from his work. “I believe I’ve found a potential way to use certain qualities of the glistening oil against it. Its adaptive nature can be used to force alterations upon it.”

“That’s good news, I think,” Jace said, glancing back at the research that covered the walls. “But I assume there’s a catch.”

“Unfortunately so. Our usual modification techniques can’t be used on the oil, and the attempts to adapt them can’t overcome the oil’s self-correction mechanisms. But those same mechanisms can be used to propagate useful changes once we have them.”

“And how does this other plane, Ithmorne, come into it?”

“I assume you’ve never been there, then?” Velos asked. “Ithmorne has what we need. Glistening oil that has evolved away its virulency. Along with several of its other less desirable qualities. We simply need to steal some from one the Phyrean embassies.”

It took a moment for Jace to process what Velos had said. Not only was there a plane where the local Phyrexian presence had been weakened, it was apparently in a political position where it was able to have embassies.

“A Phyrexian embassy?” he asked, looking for confirmation. “How do Phyrexians end up with embassies?”

“The same way Ravnica ended up with ten guilds running the entire plane – Azor,” Velos answered. “He intervened to prevent Ithmorne from falling into a devastating war, by creating a hieromantic construct similar to the Guildpact. However, the Accord of Ithmorne is more dynamic, capable of recognising both the dissolution and emergence of new political entities.”

“Including a Phyrexia,” Jace surmised. “Restrained by that accord, its growth was halted.”

“Indeed. Phyrexian technology was somehow introduced to Ithmorne around three centuries ago. After a brief period of rapid expansion, the Accord recognised it as a singular polity, and initiated… sanctions, so to speak.”

“I’m surprised they survived that,” Jace interjected. “Restraint isn’t a quality I’d ascribe to Azor.”

“Actually, that lack of restraint is likely what saved them. Once they fell back and consolidated, the resulting nation, calling itself the Phyrean Theocracy, was equally protected by the Accord as Ithmorne’s other states. The system runs autonomously, and much like the Guildpact, making changes to how it functions is nearly impossible.”

“But the glistening oil can change,” Jace reasoned. “While Mirrodin’s environment and life allowed it to become much more aggressive, on Ithmorne it faced the exact opposite pressures. The Phyreans would be uncertain as to what might trigger the Accord, so they’re incentivised not to spread, even via subterfuge.”

“Precisely,” Velos said. “In fact, Phyrean culture has developed in a way that treats glistening oil reverently, but very carefully. Which makes it rather difficult to procure. Anyone who has undergone their version of compleation isn’t going to let us extract any, in the same way you or I would object to someone trying to extract our blood. And as a sacred substance, it is closely guarded within Phyrea.”

“But an embassy wouldn’t technically be inside Phyrea. It’ll be secure, but I doubt the host nation would be comfortable with allowing anything seriously dangerous to take up residence.”

“Quite. While it will be best to target an embassy in one of the more permissive nations, none of them permit anything close to what New Phyrexia is using in their invasion forces. Once the outer security is evaded, acquiring the oil should be fairly simple.”

“Assuming I can work out a way to get us in, given that I’ve never been to Ithmorne,” Jace pointed out. “Getting an audience was tricky enough on Kamigawa, and that was with help.”

“A fair point,” Velos conceded. He paced around the meeting room for a few moments. “But I might have a solution. I’ve collaborated with another planeswalker in some research endeavours in the past. A changeling, known as Tanzor. They have familiarity with Ithmorne, and as a shapeshifter, may be able to assist in acquiring the oil.”

“If they’re willing to help, that sounds like our best shot. I assume you know how to find them?”

“I’m not particularly adept at tracking other planeswalkers,” Velos answered, “But I believe Tanzor will be on their homeplane. They have a sort of… observatory there, and it’s likely that Realmbreaker has attracted their interest. I’ll let them explain.”

“Well, if you’re certain,” Jace said. He couldn’t deny that his curiosity was piqued, although he was concerned as to what interests Realmbreaker might attract. “Give me some time to prepare, and we can head out. Hopefully this Accord will have slowed down New Phyrexia.”

“I’m… reasonably sure New Phyrexia would trigger the Accord in some way. But either way, time is of the essence. I’ll make my own preparations, and then we can meet back here to depart.”

“Then we have a plan. Let’s not waste anymore time.”

With that remark, the two of them headed off to get ready. Jace’s own preparations were not particularly involved. He returned the equipment he was holding onto, since he didn’t want anyone to lose access to it while he was off-plane, and he smoothed out his robes. He considered touching up his appearance with an illusion, but thought better of it. He didn’t look that bad, and given the situation, a little bit of disheveledness was to be expected. After a final check to ensure he hadn’t missed anything, he returned to the meeting room. Velos arrived less than a minute after him.

“Well then,” Velos said. “I’ll head out first, and you can follow. Realmbreaker doesn’t seem to be having any disruptive effects on planeswalking, so this should be fine.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way, at least for as long as we need,” Jace replied. “Lead the way.”

Velos planeswalked away in a swirling twin helix of blue-green light. A moment later, Jace followed, tracing the biomancer’s aether trail across the Blind Eternities. It was no more difficult than it had been before, but in the brief moments he spent in transit, he could still feel the vast presence of Realmbreaker.

In spite of the dark cracks that twisted through Jace’s vision of the Blind Eternities, he and Velos arrived smoothly in a lightly wooded area. A warm breeze blew between the trees, the feeling of early summer on Jace’s skin. Soft bird song filled the air, and looking up past the green canopy, he saw an unmarked azure sky, wisps of cloud floating across it. Down to the depths of his soul, Jace felt a reassuring truth.

This plane had not been reached by Realmbreaker. He had understood that such a thing was possible, as while it was vast, the multiverse was vaster. Seeing it to be true brought a sense of relief, fleeting but still welcome. There was still work to do, however, and there was no way of knowing how close Realmbreaker was to this plane.

“Which way are we heading?” Jace asked, looking around. He didn’t see anything that immediately jumped out as an observatory, but he didn’t have any idea of what this Tanzor might be observing.

Velos looked around for a few moments before answering. “Assuming we haven’t landed too far off, this way.” He pointed in a direction leading out of the wooded area, towards rising green hills. “It’s not too far.”

They set off at a fairly brisk pace, with Velos occasionally stopping to orient himself. Jace wasn’t sure how necessary that was, but as the tree thinned and gave way to open fields, those pauses became less frequent.

“You mentioned Tanzor helped you with some research,” Jace said, looking to understand who he might be dealing with. “What kind of research do they usually perform?”

“A number of fields,” Velos replied. “Before their spark ignited, Tanzor’s primary interests were in geography and cartography. Once they became aware of the multiverse, those interested expanded to include more general planar cosmology, along with some study of the Blind Eternities.”

“I see. That would explain why Realmbreaker would catch their attention. I suppose it’s too much to hope that they might have an idea on how to slow it down?”

“Tanzor did have a few ideas for shutting down a planar bridge, but the scale of Realmbreaker is quite beyond that.”

Jace didn’t have a response to that. It was a reasonable point, as while Rashmi’s planar bridge created a single connection between planes, Realmbreaker could create dozens, and had already connected New Phyrexia to at least that many planes as well. Sheer probability dictated that some planes should be able to block the incoming connections, but ending the invasion still required Realmbreaker to be stopped. A task for which no progress had been made, which was hardly reassuring. Perhaps somewhere within the countless worlds of the multiverse, a solution existed. That was what Velos was betting on for the problem of compleation, and Jace knew that it might provide something useful.

After a short while, the two of them rounded a hill, and a large structure came into view. From afar, it might be mistaken as the stump of a gigantic tree, but drawing nearer, Jace could tell it was artificial. It appeared to have been sculpted, or perhaps grown, as the wood seemed to have flown into shape, rather than being constructed via more normal methods of carpentry. Windows of various shapes and sizes were dotted around it, along with a number of balconies. The overall effect was not dissimilar to Simic architecture, although to Jace’s eye, it seemed somewhat more chaotic.

Velos made a beeline for the building, towards a door at the bottom of it. The door looked fairly solid, with a complex locking mechanism on one side. Velos swiftly operated it, setting a combination before casting a small spell. The lock glowed for a moment and clicked as it unlocked.

“Shall we?” Velos asked as he pushed the door open. “If Tanzor isn’t in, we’ll have to come up with a plan on our own, but you seem to be quite adept at that.”

“Only if you judge by the results,” Jace replied. “The process tends to be… less smooth than I tend to hope.”

“A rather common outcome of life, in my experience.”

The inside of Tanzor’s home was as organic as the outside, smooth circular corridors splitting off to various side rooms, some packed with books, others papered with charts, diagrams and maps. There seemed to be some principles of organisation within the rooms they passed, but Jace could not discern a larger pattern in their overall layout.

The corridor ended in a larger, dome-shaped room, with a balcony ringing it halfway up. One side was packed with a number of boxy machines, connected to a ring of brass lamps by a tangle of cables. Another bundle of cables followed the curve of the wall, before disappearing into the ceiling. If the architecture felt Simic, this particular piece of engineering brought to mind the Izzet. In fact, as he tried to make sense of it all, Jace was almost certain some of the components were familiar. Not just from Ravnica, but Kaladesh and Kamigawa as well.

It sounded as if there was someone working on the machinery, who Jace assumed would be Tanzor, but he left it to Velos to make any introductions.

“Hello there,” Velos announced. “We’re looking for Tanzor.” Apparently, he thought there was a realistic chance of someone other than Tanzor being here.

“They’re upstairs,” was the reply. “I’m guessing this is about the current crisis?”

The source of the voice got up from behind one of the machines, a tall and thin blonde haired human man, wearing an artificer’s outfit. He gave them both a wary look, but didn’t appear to be hostile.

“Indeed we are,” Velos answered. “I am Velos, and this is Jace Beleren. You would be?”

“I’m Alagard Wispwind,” the man said. “From Orpheri. I know Tanzor has mentioned a Velos before, so it’s good to meet you.”

Alagard’s gaze moved over to Jace. “And as for Jace… you’re… that guy, from that place. Something to do with… Ravnica, right?”

“Yes, I was the Living Guildpact,” Jace replied. He hadn’t expected to be recognised, although given his former position, such a thing wasn’t impossible. “Until the invasion. The previous invasion.”

“The one with the Eternals? Yeah, that was not fun,” Alagard said, his expression hardening. “Not that what’s happening now is any better. But anyway, you want to talk to Tanzor, not me, so I’ll send him a message.”

Alagard held his palm out, calling up shimmering blue threads, which quickly assembled into a glass butterfly. It flew upwards, to a passage on the upper level.

“We can’t use normal communication spells at the moment,” he explained. “They interfere with the equipment.”

“Speaking of the equipment,” Velos said, “Might I inquire about its purpose? It seems quite elaborate.”

“Better than that,” Alagard said, with a slight smile. “Assuming I’ve put everything back together correctly, I can show you.”

He stepped over a run of cables to a control panel, and adjusted a number of dials and switches. As he did, the lamps began to flicker on, first projecting a single red sphere in the centre of the ring. Then more shapes of various colours appeared, including more spheres, along with cubes, tetrahedrons and octahedrons.

“It may not look like it, but this is actually very impressive,” Alagard said. “This is a projection of a slice of the blind eternities and the planes within. The one in the fetching red shade is New Phyrexia.”

“That’s… very interesting,” Jace said. “But I wouldn’t call it useful, at least in terms of the current situation.”

“That’s fair. But the techniques that let you detect planes also work for finding the unique aether disruptions produced by the interplanar connections New Phyrexia is creating. And if you can project planar positions into a three-dimensional space…”

Alagard flipped another switch, and another set of lamps activated. A mass of lines began to appear, each connecting a plane’s marker back to the glowing red center that was New Phyrexia. Some were straight, others curved, and some took erratic paths, no doubt a result of projecting the geometry of the Blind Eternities into a mere three dimensions. Most of the lines glowed bright yellow, but others were duller.

“... you can do the same for the connections,” Alagard finished. “The bright ones are the active connections, and the dull ones haven’t finished forming. Oh, and if one turns blue, that indicates something unusual is happening. Probably that the target plane is somehow blocking the connection.”

That, Jace could see a use for. Even knowing how far Realmbreaker had reached could provide a rough idea of the overall situation. And being able to identify planes that could keep New Phyrexia out offered the hope that there was a way to lock them out of others. But he also knew this might be able to soothe one of his worries, that had been gnawing at him since the discussion in the Seedcore. If you could identify which planes were connected to New Phyrexia, you could also identify the ones that weren't. The one problem was that Jace didn't know if the plane he was interested in could be specifically identified by the system.

He put the thought aside, knowing there were more pressing concerns to deal with. And even if what Jace wanted was possible, he needed to ask about it in a way that wouldn't draw suspicion. Given the nature of the Meditation Realm, that could prove difficult. And he would need to know more about Tanzor to know if they would be interested in helping.

“Ah, it looks like Tanzor has arrived,” Velos said, interrupting Jace's line of thought. He looked up to see a winged figure glide down from the upper level to the lower level of the room. They looked quite peculiar, their wings insectile, and they had nearly a dozen limbs branching from what seemed to be the center mass of their body. But as they landed, many of those limbs melted into a deep-blue liquid, merging back into the main body. Soon enough, they had taken on what Jace could only describe as an average humanoid form, although they had kept the wings, and there was still a bluish tint to their skin.

“Ah, friend Velos,” Tanzor said, their voice strangely melodic. “And your associate. Who would they be, and what brings you both here in such troubling times?”

“This is Jace Beleren, the former Living Guildpact,” Velos replied. “We were hoping you could help us acquire a certain strain of glistening oil. Specifically, from Ithmorne.”

“An interesting proposition,” Tanzor said. “But a venture that would be spoiled by contamination.” They looked over at the map of Realmbreaker’s spread. “Although we can reassure ourselves that Ithmorne remains isolated.”

“Remains? Has it not been reached, or has the Accord done something to prevent New Phyrexia connecting?” Velos asked.

“Definitely the second,” Alagard replied, adjusting something on the control panel. As he did, the markers on the map moved, the bright lines twisting and swirling. After a few moments, a marker with a blue connection appeared. “Ithmorne’s been blue for as long as the system’s been running. It’s hard to tell, but we think it’s been like that since the initial expansion event.”

“Expansion event?” Jace echoed, interested in seeing if there was something about Realmbreaker he’d missed.

“As far as we can tell, New Phyrexia connects to new planes in distinct events,” Alagard explained. “Which also coincides with new connections appearing on planes that have already been hit.” He paused, tapping his fingers against the control panel. “Well, I say connects, but around ten days ago the expansion events stopped. We thought something was wrong with the equipment, since all the connections went blue for like an hour.”

“But the machinery was not at fault,” Tanzor continued. “While some connections continue to mature, new connections have ceased.”

“Realmbreaker is a living being,” Velos said. “Perhaps it is reaching the limits of its growth. Although it is likely New Phyrexia will attempt to push it further beyond its natural limits.”

“Wonderful,” Alagard muttered. “At this point, even if they manage to obliterate themselves, they’ll take a chunk of the multiverse with them.”

“Realmbreaker? This would be the system New Phyrexia uses to create planar connections?” Tanzor queried. “What kind of being is it?”

“It’s a World Tree,” Jace answered. “Grown from materials harvested from Kaldheim, and compleated. I’m not certain they have it entirely under control, but it’s good enough to serve their purpose.”

He was rather certain that New Phyrexia’s control of Realmbreaker was not absolute. Nissa had been able to draw on it to allow what remained of the strike team to escape, and Jace had not missed the anger that flickered through Elesh Norn when Nahiri had questioned her control. Tanzor and Alagard’s observations were simply more evidence that Realmbreaker was not acting according to whatever plans New Phyrexia had made.

“That’s… bad,” Alagard said, brow furrowed in thought. “If Realmbreaker is hitting a ceiling on its growth, they might not need to overcome it. They can just start growing new ones on planes they’ve got a strong foothold on. Assuming that’s even the problem. Some trees don’t stop growing as long as their root system can keep up. And if its roots are like its branches, they have a lot of space to grow.”

“Both situations pose their own problems,” Velos noted. “But dealing with either one is beyond our current means.”

“An unfortunate truth,” Tanzor concurred. “Given that, I propose we return to your request. You wish to gather glistening oil from Ithmorne, presumably via Phyrea. What assistance do you require from me?”

“Our current plan is to steal a sample from one of Phyrea’s embassies outside of their territory. Jace is an accomplished illusionist and telepath, but is not familiar with Ithmorne. Your knowledge, along with your shape-changing abilities, would make this much smoother,” Velos explained.

“Larceny is not one of my areas of expertise,” Tanzor replied. “Yet I have enough experience that my assistance should have a positive result. I would recommend that this retrieval be performed using the minimum number of people, however.”

“A reasonable precaution. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Myself and Jace, if that arrangement is acceptable to him,” Tanzor answered. “We should be able to evade detection, while gaining access to the necessary areas.”

“I can work with that,” Jace answered. While this added another link to the chain of trust, it was a risk worth taking. Anything to find a way to stem the seemingly inexorable progress of New Phyrexia. “Of course, I’d prefer to leave as soon as possible.”

“Then our meeting has a fortunate timing,” Tanzor said. “With the checks on the observation array finished, there is nothing that should cause delay. I shall make some small preparations, and then we can depart.”

While Tanzor made their preparations, Jace decided to work out what the next step would be once the two of them were done on Ithmorne.

“I take it you’re heading back to Ravnica?” he asked Velos, fairly certain of the answer.

“That seems to be the best course of action,” Velos replied. “I will begin setting up the equipment required if you succeed.”

“And if we fail?”

“We will simply have to continue with other possibilities,” Velos said, shrugging slightly. “Probability suggests other sources of non-hostile glistening oil exist, but searching for them is beyond our current resources.”

“Then I suppose we’ll have to succeed,” Jace declared. It was becoming clear that the answer to the problem of compleation didn’t exist on a single plane. But even as Realmbreaker stalled, New Phyrexia’s forces might be razing potentially solutions out of existence. “Either way, I’ll see you back on Ravnica.”

“Then I’ll see you there,” Velos said. For a moment, light began to swirl around him, then stopped. “Oh, and even though you’re not actively doing triage work, this doesn’t count as rest. Don’t run yourself ragged out there.”

“Understood,” Jace replied, forestalling another talk of Velos on the dangers of lack of sleep, and the dire consequences of trying to work around them. “If New Phyrexia hasn’t reached Ithmorne, that should put a limit on how stressful things can be.”

“We live in hope,” Velos said pointedly, as the light returned. This time, the swirl of magic completed, and he planeswalked away.

With Velos gone, Jace turned his attention back to Tanzor. They were finishing a discussion with Alagard, and once it was done, they headed over to Jace.

“We should be ready to leave now,” Tanzor said. “Alagard will not be joining us, as his skills do not offset the risk of bringing a third.”

“I’m also rather bad at staying out of trouble,” Alagard said. “Not that I expect you to run into any, but I tend to get pulled into things.”

Jace knew what that was like. In fact, it felt as if his life now was always one problem after another. The Guildpact, the Eldrazi and then Bolas, the confrontation on Zendikar, and now New Phyrexia. Even with all his memories restored, he still wasn’t quite sure how long it had been since he had killed Alhammarret.

“The multiverse has no shortage of problems,” he replied, keeping his thoughts to himself. “For now, I’m keeping my focus on the big one.”

“Well, unless there’s an equally cataclysmic problem brewing on the other side of the multiverse, I can’t fault you there. Anyway, good luck with the breaking and entering. I need to head back to Orpheri. Our planar cosmology gave the Phyrexians a nasty landing, but the survivors have been putting themselves back together. See you both on the other side, hopefully.”

With that slightly cryptic remark, Alagard disappeared in a shimmer of light, glittering motes falling from his form as he planeswalked away.

“Shall we depart?” Tanzor asked. “I presume you can follow with at least local precision?”

“If I have someone to follow, I can pull off a pretty precise landing,” Jace answered. He had once managed to planeswalk directly onto the Weatherlight while it was in flight, so a simple hop from one plane to another would be easy.

“Very good. Please follow at your leisure.”

While Velos and Alagard had planeswalked in a fairly standard manner, Tanzor did not. In a span of moments, their body lost its form, shifting into a single flowing mass of deep-blue liquid. It then collapsed into a point, leaving nothing behind but the faint trace of aether that accompanied all planeswalkers.

But that was enough to follow. Jace slipped into the space between planes, once again crossing beneath Realmbreaker’s shadow.

They arrived on Ithmorne in a small urban park, among a cluster of trees that kept them out of view from the main path. Tanzor had already taken the form of a brown-feathered falcon-aven, and was stretching out their wings, while adjusting some of the finer details of their form.

Almost instinctively, Jace sent out a telepathic sweep of the area, which detected a density of minds expected for cities. Beneath the usual swirl of emotions and thoughts, he could pick out a diffused sense of unease, a common worry among disparate minds. Those collected worries were directed towards the sky, suggesting that while impeded, Realmbreaker’s influence was still affecting Ithmorne.

Stepping out into the main area of the park, Jace could see that the city it was in was built on a steep hillside. In one direction, a series of buildings rose upwards, while in the other, he could look across the rooftops to the edge of the city. While it was nowhere as complex as Ravnica, the abundance of stairways and rooftop plazas certainly made the prospect of navigating the city by foot somewhat daunting, and Jace was not surprised to see that plenty of the city's inhabitants were aven. The edge of the park bordered a drop to a street below, making for a good vantage point to overlook the city, and what was beyond.

Past the city's walls were dipping green valleys and forested hills, along with a rising mountain range in the distance. Undoubtedly scenic, but Jace's eyes were drawn upwards. Across the sky, he could see the symbol of Azor, the runic circles and sharp triangles glowing brightly, thrumming with the kind of power Jace could feel from where he stood. Behind each symbol he could make out the familiar crimson glow of Realmbreaker’s Omenpaths, the attempted invasion stifled before it could begin.

“The Accord continues to extend Ithmorne’s uneasy peace,” Tanzor said, looking up at the blocked Omenpaths. “It may even be by design that extraplanar incursions are halted.”

“That’s definitely possible. Azor has a very particular idea of how things should be,” Jace replied. But he wasn’t interested in discussing Azor’s philosophy. “So where would this be?” he asked, changing the subject.

“This is Zurein. It is a city located near a central area of a union of several cities and other states. While it is not the primary seat of governance, many embassies were constructed here during the union’s initial formation. They remain, and so draw in embassies from external polities.”

That made sense. Once the embassies were established, moving them would disrupt existing connections. And like any network, being in the right place was vital, encouraging foreign embassies to be placed in Zurein, further entrenching its position.

“Sounds like the Accord worked out,” Jace said, mentally comparing it to Ravnica’s dysfunction, and the problems the Immortal Sun had caused on Ixalan. “Although I won’t be surprised if there are problems lurking under the surface.”

“While there is indeed peace between the greater nations of Ithmorne, lesser powers are often assimilated by the greater,” Tanzor explained. “And should New Phyrexia manage to breach the plane’s outer protections, you will see that Ithmorne is well armed for war.”

Tanzor’s explanation had some revealing parallels with Ravnica. Azor had mastered the art of preventing direct conflict, but none of the underlying causes. And Phyrea, as Velos had explained it, had grown under the Accord’s notice until it had reached a certain size, and Jace doubted that growth had been peaceful. Not that the specifics mattered in the current situation. A Phyrexia that existed with restraint was what they wanted.

“As is Ravnica,” Jace said, compressing his thoughts into a few words. “We should get to the embassy. I’ll need an idea of what we’re working with in order to know how to avoid getting caught.”

“Knowledge is a necessity for action,” Tanzor agreed. “The main embassy district is not too far from here. Although it is at a somewhat higher altitude.”

“I can manage,” Jace said. If Ravnica hadn’t prepared him for a climb, Ixalan certainly had.

Thankfully, Tanzor’s chosen route through the city avoided the most precarious looking stairways, preferring streets that wound upwards and rising alleyways. As they climbed, Jace noticed that while the rooftops were the domain of aven, the streets were mostly populated by Viashino, although there were enough humans that Jace didn’t stand out. Tanzor’s comments that Ithmorne was prepared for war also rang true, as armoured Viashino seemed to be watching every street, while aven soldiers flew overhead.

The embassy district was apparent as soon as they entered it, the foot traffic thinning while the presence of soldiers increased. The buildings themselves were not much more ornate than others in the city, but it was clear that they were well maintained, with clean coats of paint and shining crystal windows. This might make it harder to break in, but Jace had noticed plenty of other places where he could discreetly cover himself and Tanzor with an illusion.

They were barely a few steps into the district when Jace felt a wave of unease roll over him. It wasn’t physical, but rather something that seemed to resonate with his soul. A very specific part of it.

“Did you feel that?” he asked, already suspecting what the answer would be.

“A sense of metaphysical dread?” Tanzor replied. “Yes. From that direction, I believe.”

They pointed towards the city’s edge, to the Omenpath-scarred sky. At first, there was nothing to see. But then, paired with another wave of discomfort, several dark crosses sprang into existence, at the same height as the blocked Omenpaths. For a few seconds, they simply existed, before unfolding open into diamond-shaped rifts with deep blue edges. One by one, branches of Realmbreaker emerged from each, moving like snakes through the sky, slowly and methodically. Without warning, one of them surged forward towards Zurien, its claw opening to strike.

It never reached the city. Instead, it slammed into a barrier that appeared from nowhere, a hieromantic construct that flared into existence. Shining threads wove around the branches, restricting their movement and disrupting their attempts to deploy troops. This was Azor’s will in action, an absolute deterrent to war.

“We may be running out of time,” Tanzor said as they watched the Accord initiate its sanctions. “We should endeavour to reach our destination.”

Jace could feel the flickers of panic from the people around them. Panic meant distraction, which was exactly what he needed. With the crowd’s attention on Realmbreaker’s emergence, it was simple to shroud himself and Tanzor beneath an illusion. He weaved a suggestion into it so that anyone who saw them disappear would rationalise it away, their minds doing his work for him.

“We’re cloaked. With any luck, everyone should ignore us while the spell holds,” he explained.

“Then let us proceed to our destination.”

As they moved deeper into the district, the various embassies seemed to increase in size and status, both the quality and quantity of their ornamentation increasing. Finally, they stepped into a plaza surrounded by several large buildings, each striking in their own way. The first that caught Jace’s eye was decorated with reversed symbols of Azor, each pointing downwards rather than following the standard orientation. Another’s entrance was flanked by statues of dragons, their wings forming a formidable arch over the path towards it.

In comparison, the Phyrean embassy seemed to blend in with the others, no darker or more imposing than the others. Yet the deep green banners that hung from it were emblazoned with a familiar sigil – the bisected circle of Phyrexia. In spite of everything it stood for on other planes, here it was just another symbol, standing among equals.

“Not to state the obvious, but I don’t think we should try walking in through the front door,” Jace said, examining the building. There would almost certainly be another entrance, for deliveries and other arrivals the embassy would prefer to keep out of sight.

“A sensible consideration,” Tanzor agreed. “We should be able to loop around to the back alley that connects to the rear of the building without much trouble.”

The alley that ran behind the Phyrean embassy was somewhat well-kept, although not to the standards of the buildings around it. It snaked up and down to meet the courtyards outside each building, which for the most part seemed vacant. No matter if that was the normal state of things, or due to Realmbreaker’s appearance, it meant getting close to the Phyrean embassy was easy enough once they found the one behind it. As expected, a small stairway at the side of the courtyard led down to a basement access, and Jace couldn’t detect anyone immediately beyond it.

“We should be able to get in through here without being seen,” he said. “The illusion will stop people from noticing us, but a door opening on its own would definitely attract enough scrutiny to overcome it.”

“An understandable weakness in the spell,” Tanzor replied. “Now, locks on Ithmorne are not warded against shapeshifters, so we have access.”

As if to demonstrate, Taznor pressed a finger against the door’s lock. A few seconds later, it clicked open, granting them access to the lower level of the embassy. A short tunnel led to a brick basement, filled with stacks of unused furniture and various stationary supplies. There was nothing that looked like it might contain glistening oil, although Jace was not surprised by that. While it had been in plentiful supply on New Phyrexia, it was not a substance you would want to lose track of given the conditions the Phyrean Theocracy existed under.

The basement connected to the bottom of a stairway that looked to span the full height of the building, spiraling upwards. As he climbed, Jace couldn’t help but think that the dark stone interior of the embassy building made it look more Golgari than Phyrexia, the deep green carpets beneath his feet doing nothing to dispel that notion. The lamps hanging from the ceiling were the main exception, black metal cages holding some kind of luminous stone within them.

“Do you have an idea of where the oil might be?” Jace asked, not wanting to have to search the entire embassy. Even with its unique psychic properties, glistening oil was difficult to detect from a distance.

“The Phyreans use it in a number of rituals. Their embassy buildings contain small temples, which keep a small supply,” Tanzor explained. “It will likely be on one of the upper floors of the building.”

Searching the building without being detected required a certain level of care, even while shrouded. The danger of being unseen was that people could run into you, and it did not take long before Jace and Tanzor had to duck into alcoves to avoid a number of embassy staff members that were rushing about. The majority were Azra, easily identified by the deep shades of their skin and their horns, and the rest were elves. Most of them showed no outward signs of compleation, although Jace spotted a number of mechanical hands, and a few Azra had metal horns, often a single one among many.

But to a mind mage, there were more subtle signs. Not just the presence of glistening oil, but the tension where flesh met metal, the sparking of nerves where a prosthetic limb joined with a body. These alterations were targeted, not for the sake of replacement itself, but to a specific end. While it was likely only those with minimal compleation were selected for diplomatic staff, the fact that Phyrea had such a population to select from was notable in itself. It may have been created through the pressures of the Accord, but this was a Phyrexian society that had been stripped of its desire to consume everything into itself.

Once Jace knew that about the Phyreans, it was simple enough to fall back to proven strategies for finding information. A few idle worries snatched from passing diplomats, along with a quick but deeper dive into a few occupying the offices on the upper floor gave him all he needed to know.

“I’ve worked out where we need to be going,” Jace said, orienting himself within the mental map of the embassy he had created. “One floor down, near the middle of the building.”

“If you are certain, we should proceed there at once,” Tanzor said. It was a reasonable request, as time continued to work against them. Not just on Ithmorne, but across the multiverse.

“The best path should be this way,” Jace replied, starting towards one of the staircases. They descended to the floor below, and made their way through the embassy’s hallways, past a number of offices and meeting rooms. Jace caught snippets of conversations as they passed, and it sounded like Realmbreaker had emerged in several locations across Ithmorne. For now, they seemed unaware of the nature of their enemy, of their shared origins. He was not interested in staying to find out their reactions once that became clear.

They finally reached the embassy’s temple, a simple pair of doors separating it from the rest of the building. There were no guards, and Jace could not detect anyone within. Yet he still cast an illusion around the door, to ensure no one saw it open. Once he was certain they would not be seen, he pushed the door open, stepping inside the temple, with Tanzor close behind.

It was simpler than Jace had imagined. A small metal altar sat at the far side of the room, with a few rows of benches in front of it. A cabinet lay beyond, and Jace could sense the subtle density of glistening oil within it. A mural adorned the walls, depicting a number of scenes. On closer inspection, it appeared to be a history of sorts, half of it detailing a creation myth. It was quite typical, featuring a deity surrounded by various groups of people – humans, elves, aven and Viashino were all present, along with a number of dragons. Notably absent were Azra, but they were well represented on the other half of the mural, along with the elves. A vast figure seemed to be guiding them to a structure of some kind, nested within a crater.

Jace’s first assumption was that the figure was meant to be Yawgmoth. Yet the Dominarians were certain that Phyrexia’s creator had been destroyed, scoured from existence by something they called the Legacy.

“These images are mythological, not historical?” he asked, looking over at Tanzor.

“Such distinctions cannot always be made,” Tanzor replied. “However, I do not believe these images portray events as they truly occurred. The Phyrean religion is a syncretism of a native Ithmornen religion, and a number of Phyrexian beliefs. I think the notion that they discovered Phyrexian technology in some form is factual. How that technology arrived on Ithmorne, and how long it lay undiscovered are questions I do not have an answer to.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Jace decided. “Let’s get what we came for.”

The cabinet wasn’t locked, not that it would have mattered, given Tanzor’s ability to overcome such security. A dozen glass cylinders were inside, each full of glistening oil. Jace carefully removed one from the cabinet, the oil reflecting the dim light of the temple. He could feel the density of information contained within it, but he had no way of accessing it unless it was connected to a living mind.

“I better get this back to Ravnica,” Jace said. “It might be the key Velos needs for his research.” The key to helping Tamiyo and other victims of New Phyrexia.

“We should indeed be brisk in leaving,” Tanzor concurred. “The longer we remain, the greater the chance of discovery. I also need to prepare observation of Realmbreaker’s new behaviour.”

“Precisely,” Jace said. “Thank you for your help.”

“Collaboration brings progress to all our effects,” Tanzor replied. “If you require further assistance from me in the future, I am always willing to listen to a request.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Until then, good luck.”

Tanzor replied with a curt nod, before planeswalking away from Ithmorne. They’d offered to at least listen to Jace, which was an opening for checking on Bolas’ prison. He’d still need a suitable cover story, but there was a sense of reassurance in the offer.

Then, keeping hold of the cylinder of oil, Jace planeswalked back to Ravnica.

Jace arrived back on Ravnica in one of the small break areas on the lower floor of the research facility. It was vacant, although the pale bioluminescent light filled it with a soft glow. From there, it was a simple task to make his way back to the meeting room Velos had converted into a research area. Several of the previous notes had been taken down, replaced with more traditional Simic research.

“Ah, you’re back,” Velos said as Jace entered. His eyes lit up at the sight of the cylinder. “This is the Phyrean oil?”

“Directly from the embassy in Zurein,” Jace confirmed. “And just in time. New Phyrexia has found a way to overcome Ithmorne’s outer defenses.”

“A troublesome development. But we have made our own advancement, so it is a little early for pessimism.”

Velos took the cylinder of oil, and placed it on a stand. He waved his hand over it, casting a number of diagnostic spells. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find, as his mouth curved upwards into a slight smile.

“As I hoped, this strain has a number of deviations from the more standard variants,” Velos explained. “Most of its offensive qualities are dormant or entirely missing, but it should still be able to bind to a compatible host.”

“So it could replace New Phyrexia’s oil?” Jace asked. If they could find a way to replicate it, or transfer its properties, this could be a solution.

“In theory, yes. However, New Phyrexia’s strain remains aggressive. It may be receptive towards certain kinds of energy, but the potential search space is quite large. It’s actually quite curious, as I’d have expected it to be hardened against such things.”

“Perhaps that wasn’t compatible with ichormancy?” Jace suggested. There were enough types of mind-magic that didn’t play well together that he could see the same thing being true for the oil.

“A possible answer,” Velos agreed. “Whatever the cause, it presents an opportunity.”

Having that opportunity was an improvement over the previous situation. And if that weakness existed, it was possible that someone or something somewhere in the multiverse might already be exploiting it. Of course, the vastness that increased the chance of that occurring would also make such occurrences harder to find.

But they had found an opportunity, nonetheless. All they needed was a way to exploit it.

Jace’s experiences had not made him into an optimist. But he felt, at last, that the pieces needed to defeat New Phyrexia were starting to fall into place.

Chapter Text

It would be easy to look at the state of Theros and say the plane was dying.

Niko Aris knew better. Theros was not dying. That would be a mercy.

New Phyrexia’s corruption had seeped deep into Theros, from the highest stars in Nyx, down to the darkest pits of the underworld. Even the gods were not safe, many of them now twisted to serve the invader’s ends. And that was why Theros was not dying.

Erebos had fallen to the invaders, and in turn thrown open the gates of the underworld. Compleated Returned poured forth from the breaches, swelling the ranks of the Phyrexians even further. The only escape from compleation was to stay alive, and stay fighting, for those who fell would inevitably join the enemy.

Such drastic events had made the journey to the Temple of Heliod far more treacherous. The great roads between the polis were choked with Phyrexians, and their armies had now overrun many of the largest settlements outside of them. Those crossing Theros were forced to take longer routes, paths that wound through valleys and forests, past small villages that now feared outsiders. Yet local guides were vital, as navigation by the stars had been rendered impossible. The constellations of Theros were never fixed, but the invasion had rewritten the night sky at the same pace it remade the rest of the plane.

On the outskirts of a shadowed village, Niko looked up at the sky with a sense of unease. It was hard to tell if the blood-red days or moonless nights were worse, but each had plenty of horrors to contend with. Against the blackness of the sky, they would have mere moments to take down a Phyrexian scout before it escaped. On the other side of a small campfire, Andreas kept watch for those that stalked across the ground, the leonin’s hand ready on his weapon.

There was no need to talk, and any conversation would distract from the task at hand. So when Andreas raised his voice, Niko knew it was important.

“Someone is approaching,” the leonin said, just loud enough to hear. “Humans, I think, but I can’t be sure from this distance.”

Niko’s gaze dropped, and saw what Andreas had seen – a small group heading towards the village, possibly attracted by the fire. As they came closer, they could make out small pins of light across the group’s bodies. These were no ordinary people, but rather Nyxborn. Niko didn’t know how Nyxborn might be changed by New Phyrexia’s influence, and they summoned a shard rather than risk being caught unarmed. Andreas stood, not drawing his weapon, but still ready to do so.

As the group came close enough to the fire’s light to make out more detail, Niko’s grip on their weapon tightened. The group was dressed in green, each member wearing a chain of gold discs along their side. These were the agents of Klothys, the enforcers of the designs she called fate. Niko had no love for them, no least because one had tried to kill them for forging their own destiny.

“Hail,” the seeming leader of the group said, raising a hand. He had short brown hair and a rough goatee, and unlike the other agents, he wore two chains of discs. “We mean no harm.”

“Then what brings you here?” Andreas asked. “You should know that in such times, we cannot trust errant wanderers.”

“We follow the threads of fate,” another said, a woman with curling black hair. “They wind across the land, converging beyond the horizon.”

Niko scoffed, and rose from their perch. “Fate? Really? You cling to that even now?” they said scornfully. “Look around us, to the skies. Is this Klothys’ grand design? That we are devoured by a force from beyond our plane?”

“No, such a thing was not woven,” the woman replied, her eyes widening. “But the weave-”

“Ariadne, watch your words,” the leader interjected. “There are things better left unspoken.”

“The world is at its end,” Niko retorted. “Ours and many others. What secrets are left to hide?”

“Enough,” Andreas said, stepping forward. “If Klothys has been corrupted, there is no use in hiding it. We have all seen Heliod’s bloodied sky, the rifts to the underworld, and how Nylea hunts us all.”

“Klothys has not been corrupted,” the leader declared. “She is not your concern.”

“Calix, we can’t hide this,” Ariadne hissed. “They won’t trust us unless we tell them. Klothys’ fall threatens everything we have worked for.”

“Every god who has fallen, to New Phyrexia or otherwise, is our concern,” Andreas said. “They shape our world, and each one that turns accelerates our ruin.”

For a moment, it looked as if the Nyxborn would stay silent. Then Ariadne stepped forward. “When the barriers between worlds were torn down, Klothys attempted to sew the wounds shut. Her threads slipped into the vast darkness… and into other worlds. She now sees every possible future from those worlds. Even a god cannot handle such visions. It has driven her to madness.”

Niko could understand. When they had first slipped into the Blind Eternities, they had seen an endless starscape, filled with countless windows to other planes. Then they had been drawn to Kaldheim, a little dazed, perhaps, but ultimately no worse for wear. If you lingered too long, could not look away, then such a sight might shatter your sanity. Even gods had limits, and what lay beyond them might be more ruinous than what awaited a mortal. Yet there was a small comfort in knowing that Klothys was not compleat.

“How does that bring you here?” Niko asked, still wary of anyone who served Klothys, no matter how mad she might now be.

“The weave still exists, even in disarray,” Calix replied. “Even when some threads run to oblivion, tied to nothingness, others still show a path. We all seek the Temple of Heliod. What is being built there must be stopped. Even one like you who defies their fate understands that.”

“You speak true, in that regard,” Andreas said. “Any salvation for our world will require the Phyrexian’s work at the temple to be stopped. But if we wish to work together, old enmities, and unwound fates, must be left behind.”

“Those terms are fair,” Calix said after a short silence. “For now, we have no fate to guide us.”

With the terms of cooperation set, the nyxborn settled themselves nearby. It would not be morning for several more hours, when they could formally join the band heading towards the temple. Niko was happy to leave them be, but to their surprise, the leader of the group approached him.

“You are a planeswalker,” Calix stated, with a certainty that made Niko wonder if everyone but them had known about other planes before their spark had ignited.

“Yes,” they replied. “People seem to be picking up on that lately. What gave it away?”

“Your thread dips into the Blind Eternities,” Calix replied. “It winds across worlds far from here, but still connects you to your home.”

“You said looking at the fates of other worlds drove Klothys to madness.”

“I see only a fraction. And like you, I am gifted with a spark. What the others see as nothing but endless knotted and tangled threads, I see as a tapestry.”

That was interesting. Niko had heard that the planeswalker spark was what protected them from the Blind Eternities. Perhaps that protection extended beyond the mere material.

“And where do I fit into this tapestry?” Niko asked.

“I am unsure. Your thread has become loose from Klothys’ design. Like all my fellow agents, I was born to track such a thread. Another planeswalker, by the name of Elspeth Tirel.”

“I’ve heard of her. The leonin mentioned her. A former champion of Heliod, until he betrayed her. As he now betrays us all.”

“That is true. But there is more to her. She escaped the underworld. Erebos himself granted her passage.”

“Then why hunt her?” Niko asked. “If Erebos didn’t want her, surely her place is somewhere other than the underworld.”

“It is not my place to question it,” Calix replied. “But… Elspeth invites questions. Her thread has become something I cannot explain, nor understand. The others lack the ability to grasp it. But you, as a planeswalker, may be able to.”

Niko’s first instinct was to refuse. They were no friend of Klothys or her agents, and Calix’s mission seemed trivial in comparison to what was happening now. Yet something about the offer was tempting. To see the world in another way might be valuable.

“What would I need to do?” they asked, their question their decision.

“I will draw out Elspeth’s thread,” Calix said. “Simply make contact with it. Your heart will be able to guide you.”

He reached up to the end of his staff, and as promised, pulled a thread from it. Immediately, Niko could see it was unusual, pulsing strands of light and darkness fighting for dominance. Now they were curious. What had happened to Elspeth?

“When did it become like this?” they asked. “It seems… conflicted.”

“Immediately before the invasion began,” Calix answered. “But it is not related to Klothys’ madness. No other thread is like this.”

“I see. Well, I suppose there’s no point in waiting.”

Niko reached out to grasp the thread, then stopped. Calix said their heart would guide them. And they had a feeling that merely grabbing the thread wouldn’t be right. So instead, they took the shard they held in their other hand, and touched it to the thread.

In an instant, Niko was somewhere else. A vast furnace, the memory of its heat hot against their skin. This could be nowhere other than New Phyrexia itself. The thread was there, pale white, and they followed it.

Elspeth Tirel stood among a group, armoring gleaming in the glow of molten metal. But something was wrong. While some of the figures around her were solid, others seemed to flicker, as if the past were uncertain. One, Niko recognised, as she appeared for a moment. Kaya, who he had met briefly on Kaldheim. On closer inspection, they saw Tyvar Kell as well, as solid in this memory as he was in reality.

Niko looked down at the thread. They were near the end of it. Somewhere, in these memories, was an answer. They followed the thread, winding down through New Phyrexia, as Elspeth and her fellows fought and fell, spiralling downwards.

And then, as they followed the thread beneath Realmbreaker, it began to twist and fray, splitting into a web. There was something coming that did not merely bend fate, but twist and shatter it. However, Niko reasoned that the event had already happened. It couldn’t hurt them now. But it seemed to obscure itself.

As they stepped closer to the end, the threads split over and over, fractalling out into a vast kaleidoscope of visions. Countless iterations of what might have been spread outwards, all unified by a single phrase, spoken in chorus across possibilities.

“Wipe the land clear,” each voice intoned, the potential of such an act powerful enough to be etched into Elspeth’s history, even the variants that had never been.

Then the possibilities collapsed, to a single serpent-haired woman.

“Bring the ending,” she finished, and a monstrous light burst from her hands. Some might call it divine, but Niko had seen enough of divinity to know better. The figures around it turned to shadow, insignificant in the face of what had been set in motion. Fate had splintered, but those many paths had only one destination, a radiant end.

Elspeth appeared, and stepped towards the light. Somehow, she drew such a terrible thing into her body and soul. Then she vanished, stepping away from New Phyrexia, but not to any other world. With that act, the thread seemed to end, and the visions turned to darkness. Elspeth’s destiny, finished as Klothys might wish it to.

But Niko Aris did not believe in fate’s infallibility. They raised the shard in their hand, and looked through it. On the other side, they saw Elspeth’s thread, still shimmering faintly, winding onwards. They followed it, and as they did, the darkness fell away.

They looked across barren plains, the grass ash-gray, the sky empty. A path cut across it. Near the horizon was a small cabin. That was where the thread went. So Niko followed.

The cabin did not draw closer as they moved along the thread. Instead, a curtain of light grew brighter, until it was all there was to see.

This light was divine.

The Seeker finds a way to follow? a voice said.

“Calix?” Niko asked in response. “Not alone, if that is who you mean.”

To be alone is a terrible thing.

“I don’t follow.”

You mend the divides between you to fight your common foe. Alone, you would weep.

“What other choice do we have?”

None. Yet you make that choice anyway. To choose otherwise is to choose death.

Niko did not know how to respond.

I can spare only a mote to aid you. Your world will find use for it, when the time is right.

“When will that be?”

You do not believe in fate. So the time will be right when you decide it is.

“Thank you. I think.”

Now, return. Your world needs you. This is no place for you to linger.

The light flared, then faded, and Niko found themselves back on Theros. They were unsure as to what exactly they had witnessed. Perhaps Elspeth still lived in some form. Or perhaps the act she had interrupted had undone Klothys’ ability to track her.

“She didn’t die on New Phyrexia,” Niko said, glancing towards Calix. “The thread kept going… but I don’t think I understand where.”

They glanced at the shard they still held in their hand. It had changed, now glowing with a soft yellow light. The same light they had encountered in the place they had followed the thread to.

“There was someone there,” they continued, as they studied the shard. “I think this is because of them. They called it a mote of aid. Apparently Theros can use it.”

“How?” Calix asked.

“They didn’t say,” Niko answered. “Apparently I’ll know when the time is right. For now, it’s a nice reminder of what sunlight used to look like.”

“Interesting,” a voice said, from behind Niko. They turned to see Andreas. “It’s more than nice,” the leonin continued. “It’s almost comforting. Keep it close, and keep it safe.”

Niko tucked the shard away, into a pocket in their robes. For a moment, it felt warm against their skin.

“The watch is changing?” they asked, noticing a pair of Akroans arriving from the camp further in the village.

“Aye,” Andreas said. “We’ll need to introduce the others to our new allies. Calix, if you would come with us?”

“As you wish. I will share what I have told you. Without trust, we cannot work towards our goal.”

In the dark of the early morning, the three of them went to join the others in their group. They had not gained some great advantage, instead merely added weight to their side of the scales. But each addition put them closer to the tipping point.

And as Niko considered what they had seen, they wondered if the small gift they had received might be heavier than it appeared.

As its name heralded, Realmbreaker did more than bring the forces of New Phyrexia to new planes. It distorted the very nature of reality itself, breaking apart the barriers between worlds, leaving scars that would not heal even if it were to vanish. Ley lines were warped, while distinct layers of planes that should never have touched were forced together. On many worlds, chaos spread over vast distances, the damage impossible to ignore.

On Orpheri, the one realm that the Phyrexians had managed to reach had become somewhat warmer, and its days had grown longer.

This was a well-known effect of the Discordance leaking through a realm’s celestial firmament. Alagard did not see that alone as cause for concern. A firmanent’s permeability waxed and waned over time, producing irregular but definable seasons. Realmbreaker’s intrusion could, theoretically, alter said permeability in a way that did not compromise the firmament’s overall stability.

The burning halos of aether that surrounded the Omenpaths that had successfully formed did not give Alagard confidence in that theory. From the observation post, many kilometers away from the incursion points, it was impossible to tell the exact damage. No one had seen Realmbreaker arrive, but the dryads had noticed it, investigated, and soon sent a warning of what they had discovered. The initial assumption was that nothing had survived, and that Orpheri could ride out the crisis in relative safety.

The Phyrexians had proven that point wrong, pulling themselves together and out of the crash sites, although they hadn’t made much progress. Part of it was certainly logistical, as on other planes the initial incursions deployed entire armies, while in Orpheri’s case the opening salvo had been annihilated. The reinforcements hadn’t fared any better, getting ripped apart during transit, the Omenpaths providing far too little protection from the Discordance. Alagard found it amusing, in a sense, that it was the similarities between the cosmologies of Kaldheim and Opheri that ultimately stymied Realmbreaker. Kaldheim’s World Tree and its Phyrexian progeny projected areas of stable reality, but the space between Orpheri’s realms resisted stabilisation. Travel between them was still possible, but navigating the passageways that snaked through the Discordance required a level of care that Omenpaths did not.

Of course, how the Phyrexians fared at passageway navigation was an academic matter until they actually reached one. Between the landing site and the realm’s only exit points was the realm itself, which posed its own difficulties. The observation post sat at the top of a large outcropping, giving a view of the vast landscape below. It was jagged and uneven, with vast chasms partially obscured by the wild forests that grew across it. It was remote enough that its only frequent visitors would be dryads, who were currently doing a fine job of keeping the Phyrexian invaders contained.

Alagard had been considering leaving Orpheri, to a plane where his abilities might be more immediately needed. The main factor holding him back was the question of where. He had a knack for ending up in the right place at the right time, but that was definitely more luck than judgement. So he stayed. He didn’t like to hesitate, but sometimes it was necessary.

And its necessity was proven, a few days after he had arrived back from Taznor’s home. He felt a sudden dread wash over him, his spark resonating with something that provoked an instinctive unease. The same kind he now felt when planeswalking, when he brushed against Realmbreaker’s impossible presence. Except this time it came from a specific direction, rather than being diffused. His eyes were drawn towards the Omenpaths, and he watched as they snapped shut, burnt branches collapsing as they were severed from Realmbreaker. Each one left a scar on the sky, pulsing fractures in the celestial firminant. Based on their apparent size, they weren’t certain to cause a breach, but it might be better if they did.

Then a second wave of dread hit, which heralded the appearance of a number of dark crosses. A different kind of Omenpath, offset from where the previous ones had been. They unfolded, first into diamonds, then to hexagons, dark portals to another plane – to New Phyrexia. Yet no branches emerged. Instead, the pods that carried the phyrexian troops were launched directly from the Omenpaths, falling into the forests below. The number was far less than even a single branch could achieve, but it was still much more effective than the previous attempts.

A Phyrexian split from the falling pods, and made a beeline towards the observation post. Alagard couldn’t tell exactly what it was, but whether it intended to surveil or attack, he decided it would be wiser not to let it get too close. It wasn’t an easy shot, but as a planeswalker, he had his choice of tools. He shot off a simple blasting spell, aimed with a tidy bit of Quandrix forecasting, and it met its mark. A small plume of smoke burst from the Phyrexian, and it fell to meet its brethren on the forest floor.

“Nice shot.”

A dryad had made her way back to the observation post, oaken-skinned with a cascading crown of bright orange blossoms that matched her eyes.

“If you say so,” Alagard replied. “Although I’d prefer if I didn’t have to repeat it.”

“In that case, someone needs to run and fetch reinforcements now that the enemy isn’t bursting into flames on arrival. And you’re the one with the fancy planeswalking powers.”

“True. But it will still take some time for those reinforcements to arrive, assuming they take the threat seriously.”

“We’ve been taking care of ourselves well enough,” the dryad said with a giggle. “Although a little extra support wouldn’t go amiss.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Alagard said. For the moment, the Phyrexians still weren’t making much progress. “Before I go, there’s something I’d like to ask.”

“Ask away then.”

“Someone recently told me that the Phyrexians are getting here using a tree. A very big tree, but still a tree overall. Any chance that’s useful to know?”

“You couldn’t tell it was a tree?” the dryad asked in return. “I mean, obviously you aren’t a dryad, so you can’t hear the screaming, but-”

“Wait, what do you mean, screaming?”

“If you plunged your hand into the Discordance, you would scream,” the dryad answered. “Its branches burned as it made a path here. Even beneath the force that now tries to quiet it, its suffering is clear.”

“A good reason to scream,” Alagard concurred.

“It is more than that. It wishes to grow, but not to the design that has been forced on it. Even if we could soothe it here… how many worlds are there, beyond the Discordance?”

“More than I know of,” Alagard replied. “Possibly more than anyone knows of. Realmbreaker has reached at least a hundred. And Orpheri is the only plane where I’ve seen the incursions be this localised.”

“It seems you understand. If someone could reach the heart of Realmbreaker’s agonies, they could calm it.”

“I’m sensing there’s another complication.”

“It seems that Realmbreaker is also a conduit for other forces,” the dryad said. “They may not be willing to relinquish control.”

“Well, the Phyrexians must have had some way to change its behaviour. These new Omenpaths are even less natural than the last ones. Which I suppose brings us neatly back to the topic of reinforcements.”

“It will not take long for the invaders to regroup,” the dryad replied. “They share senses, at the very least. But as I said, we can take care of ourselves for a little longer.”

“Then I won’t leave you waiting.”

Fetching help was perhaps the most constructive thing Alagard could do. He found himself thankful that it was possible to planeswalk between realms, across the Discordance rather than through the Blind Eternities. The feeling of dread hadn’t quite passed.

And as Alagard crossed through the swirling warmth of the Discordance, he wondered if now he had been made aware of it, he might be able to hear Realmbreaker’s distress if he returned to the Blind Eternities.

Ghirapur, once the shining jewel of Kaladesh, had been reduced to an ash-blighted warzone. Twisted metal clogged the streets, and many of the grand spires of the city had collapsed. The populace had been evacuated, leaving only the bold and the desperate to defend what remained, the battle for control of the Aether Hub now a grim stalemate.

Dhiren Baral knew exactly who was to blame. The Consulate. Not the true Consulate, the one that he had given his life to, but the Renegades’ pathetic attempt to replace a system they didn’t care to understand the value of. Now a vast and pitiless machine bore down upon Kaladesh, and the Consulate, if the spineless rabble it had become even deserved the name, was powerless to act.

When the prison had collapsed, there had been nowhere to run. Monsters of flesh and metal had come for them all, and Baral had accepted that his life would end there. He had essentially died when he had been arrested, stripped of everything for the so-called crime of upholding the true Consulate’s vision. His survival was mere chance, a passing skyship that happened to be in the right place at the right time.

He was less than pleased to learn that his saviour was Kari Zev, the infamous sky pirate. She was everything the Consulate needed to stamp out, arrogant and disrespectful, a criminal who undermined the precisely-tuned mechanisms of Kaladesh’s society. The animosity was mutual, held at bay only by the fact that each needed the other. Zev was, in spite of her criminality, a skilled pilot, capable of outmaneuvering the Phyrexian’s airborne forces. And she recognised that Baral had the force of will to do what needed to be done. Even if she had described him as being “the kind of bastard who won’t flinch if he needs to kill someone he’s known for ten years”.

Regardless of their opinions of each other, they’d managed to survive. However, the Dragon’s Smile was becoming outclassed, as newer Phyrexian warmachines had emerged, integrating Kaladesh’s own artifice into their designs. This was apparently the work of Dovin Baan, who had betrayed his home and joined the invaders. Baral wasn’t surprised at Baan’s hypocrisy – the vedalken was just one of many bureaucrats who didn’t understand what was needed to enforce order. And he had gone from one extreme to another, from too squeamish to finish Nalaar when it counted, to tearing apart their entire world.

The need to keep up with the invaders had led them to an aviary near the edge of Ghirapur, thankfully on the side furthest from where the portals had opened. According to Zev, there was a cutting-edge airship up there, ready to be launched. Provided there weren’t any Phyrexians to interfere. She had dragged Baral along, not trusting him nor her crew to stay friendly. Which was an accurate assessment, he had to admit.

“We’ll be meeting with a contact at the base of the aviary,” Zev explained as they entered the building. “Try not to start a fight.”

Baral didn’t dignify her comment with a reply, following her through the darkened building. They made their way to the lowest levels of the aviary, where a small group was waiting for them. One of them stepped forward.

“Kari, it’s good to see you,” she said, before their gaze turned on Baral. “Although I’d like to know why he’s here.”

“Well, if it isn’t Renegade Prime,” Baral replied, meeting Pia Nalaar’s eyes. “I’m here because you need all the help you can get.”

Zev glared at him, before turning her attention back to Nalaar. “Yeah, he’s not my first choice of backup,” she said. “But he can fight. And you were the one who said we shouldn’t execute him. So unless you’re suggesting we throw him to the Phyrexians…”

Nalaar sighed, but didn’t press the point. “Let’s stay focused, shall we? Before the invasion, Saheeli Rai was working on a new kind of airship. The first of its kind. It might be the edge we need to repel the invaders.”

“And you want me to fly it?” Zev asked, a grin forming on her face.

“You’re one of the best pilots we have.”

As little as Baral approved of Renegade ‘innovations’, there was a logic to the plan. Baan had the infuriating abilities to pick out weaknesses in anything he saw. So it stood to reason that a novel design would be most effective against the forces he commanded. Rai was at least a competent engineer, from what he recalled, although her taste for subversion had clearly escaped the Consulate’s notice.

Nalaar and Zev continued their conversation as they ascended through the aviary. The structure was silent, save for the distance hum of the aether pumps, and the echoing sound of their footsteps. The sun’s muted light slipped through the gaps in the aviary’s superstructure, pale beams flickering over empty workshops and vacant walkways. As much as Baral preferred quiet, this was disconcerting, a state of unnatural order.

Their destination was a hangar on the highest level of the aviary, where several engineers were running pre-flight checks, including Rai herself. The ship was, as promised, like nothing Baral had ever seen before. The main body looked like an elongated bird, slender and gleaming bronze. Two wings, if they could even be called that, emerged from either side, more empty space than metal, aether conduits running along the inside edges.

“It’s called the Aetherwing,” Nalaar explained, gesturing towards it. “It uses a new type of propulsion system. Saheeli can explain it better than I can.”

“Sure, I can work with that,” Zev said, confident in the way only a youth could be. “But what’s it meant to be?”

“It’s modelled off of something called a pterodon,” Rai replied. “A flying lizard from a plane called Ixalan. It’s designed to be able to glide on atmospheric aether currents, while also being able to self-propel.”

Baral tuned out the discussion of the technical details. While no one could rise in the Consulate without picking up a rudimentary grasp of artifice, it was hardly his speciality. He also wasn’t going to be the one flying the Aetherwing, and he doubted they’d trust him anywhere near the weapons.

“So how long before we can launch?” Zev asked, drawing Baral’s attention back to the conversation.

“In theory, we can launch now,” Rai replied. “It’s fully fueled, and everythings in order.”

“But?”

“The Phyrexians have set up an aether cannon on one of the adjacent buildings,” Nalaar explained. “We’ll need a way to distract it, or the Aetherwing will be blasted out of the sky the moment it leaves the hangar.”

Zev looked over at the Aetherwing, and then to the hangar door. “Is the cannon to the left or right?” she asked.

“It’s on the closest building on the right,” Rai answered. “Another part of the aviary, technically.”

“Then it’s going to be quicker to go over there and ignite the aether lines,” Zev said. “That should burn down the cannon. And the aviary, so we better get going once it’s gone.”

“Don’t the lines have breaks to stop that sort of thing?” Rai asked, glancing over at one of the hangar’s aether pumps.

Zev laughed, before answering. “Sure. But if you set off an aether bomb right on the distribution unit, they won’t have time to engage.”

“So we need a bomb,” Nalaar said. “And one of us needs to deliver it to the distribution unit.”

“I’ll do it,” Baral declared, immediately drawing everyone’s attention.

“You?” Nalaar asked, eyes narrowing. “Really?”

“I’m the best choice, and you know it. You need Zevanwat to fly your fancy new ship, Rai in case anything goes wrong, and as many engineers as you can spare.”

“And what about me?” she shot back.

“You’re welcome to risk your life if you really want, Nalaar. But let’s be honest with each other. You’re an organiser first, and a fighter second. And unless your daughter inherited her destructive talents from you…”

“He has a point,” Zev interjected. “As much as I dislike him, Baral can fight. Besides, I need a copilot.”

“Fine,” Nalaar conceded. “Baral goes. Now, let’s build this bomb.”

Once Rai and Nalaar had rigged together an aether bomb from a fuel canister, Baral hadn’t wasted any time. Zev had given him a route to the other building’s aether distributor, and with any luck he wouldn’t need to make detours. The aviary seemed deserted, but he wasn't going to assume the Phyrexians had left it completely unguarded. Any shadow might hide a lethal threat, the twisting walkways providing plenty of chances for an ambush.

But the path was clear, the vast space as empty as it appeared. It didn’t take long for Baral to reach the distribution station, an enclosed area that contained the distributor and its control mechanisms. The hum of the pumps was still present, but accompanied by other noises, an irregular, crackling buzz, which seemed to emanate from the station. The entrance was an unremarkable door, a solid slab of steel with a brass wheel to unbar it. The wheel yielded easily, but as Baral attempted to push the door open, it moved a crack before stopping, blocked by something on the other side. A harsh scent escaped through the thin gap, ozone mixed with something more metallic.

He pulled a communicator from his pocket. “We have a problem. Something is blocking the access hatch.”

“In that case, you’ll want to head left,” Zev replied, voice crackling over the communicator. “There should be a maintenance entrance.”

Baral followed the wall, finding the other entrance to the station. The door was smaller, with a simple lever connecting to the locking mechanism. He pulled it down, and with a faint grinding, the door unlocked. This one opened, swinging inward without resistance, letting out a rush of warm air. It smelled like burnt metal and raw aether, sharp and stinging. He pulled up his hood, hoping to avoid inhaling anything too hazardous, and entered the station.

The access passage was a narrow corridor, with walls made of tarnished brass plating. The crackling sound grew louder as Baral approached the room where the distributor was housed, likely caused by however the Phyrexians were extracting aether.

Ahead of him, something skittered in the darkness. He raised his blade, ready to strike. For a few steps, nothing happened. Then it charged towards him, lunging off the ground to strike. He twisted to avoid it, slamming his blade down on it as it landed. At first, he wasn’t sure what it was, other than a mass of leathery flesh entwined with glinting metal. Then he recognised the shape of its body, especially the elongated snout. It was a gremlin, common vermin made far more dangerous by compleation.

Baral pressed forward, keeping watch for more gremlins. They were attracted to aether leaks, and poorly maintained aviaries were a magnet for the creatures. Even a small spill could pull in dozens, which would explain why the Phyrexians hadn’t deployed guards. They’d simply drafted the gremlins for that purpose.

He reached the distributor room, stopping in the doorway to assess the situation. The room was filled with the shimmering light of atmospheric aether, and a pulsating metal tendril descended from the ceiling, wrapping around the main distributor. It was covered in glowing blue veins, aether being pulled directly from the pipes into the Phyrexian construct above. The walls were covered in additional growths, a metallic fungus filled with more veins, the aether clearly feeding its growth in some manner. At least he now knew why the door had been blocked.

As he expected, the room was infested with compleated gremlins. Most of them were juveniles, however, barely larger than grubs. That made things easy.

Baral stepped into the room, magic flaring within him. The gremlins took notice, lunging forwards, vicious and uncoordinated. A single pulse launched them away, stunning them for long enough to clear a path to the distributor. He moved forward, intent on reaching his goal.

Something stirred within the walls, one of the larger masses splitting open to release another Phyrexian. It was a mass of twisted filigree limbs, covered in oil-dripping growths, with a core that glowed a faint blue. It charged, moving with unnatural grace, its discoherent parts somehow working flawlessly together.

As it got close, it swiped at Baral with a razor-edged arm, stumbling around him as he dodged it. More blades came down, parried, avoided, or pushed back with pulses of magic. He saw an opening, and lunged towards the core. His blade made contact, tearing open the fragile mass, aether pouring out of the wound.

He saw the blade glint the corner of his eye, just in time. But he moved a moment too late, flame-scarred muscles unable to react fast enough. A sudden, sharp pain, the monster’s parting gift. He pressed a hand to the wound, staggering towards the distributor. When he pulled it away, he could see it was slick with a mix of red and black. If he didn’t bleed to death, the infection would claim him. Gritting his teeth, he staggered towards the aether distributor.

He unstrapped the aether bomb from his back, and pushed it between two pipes. Nalaar had recommended placing it beneath the main junction, but that wasn’t going to be possible. It wouldn’t matter anyway. The air was saturated enough that once the reaction started, the entire place would go up in flames.

Baral retrieved the communicator to send one last message.

“The bomb is in position,” he reported. “Once it goes up, that’s your signal to get going. Immediately. Don’t wait for me.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then the communicator crackled.

“What are you talking about?” Zev asked. Then, after a moment of silence, “Oh.”

From one word, it was clear she understood. The silence dragged on as he took the detonator from his belt. He’d given his life to the Consulate. It seemed right that it ended like this.

“If you have any last words…”

“Just don’t screw this up.”

Baral pressed down on the detonator. The bomb let out a high-pitched hum, then exploded into a burning light. Once it passed, there was nothing left but perfect, blissful silence.

A distant explosion shook the hanger, and the aetherlines ignited. The sentry towers followed, the twisted filigree structures consumed by burning aether. Kari didn’t waste any time, running through the steps needed to launch the Aetherwing as quickly as possible. She could feel the hum of the engines beneath her fingers, each control responding perfectly.

“It’s go time!” she shouted, all the warning the others would get before they took off.

“Don’t we need to wait for Baral?” Saheeli asked hesitantly, her eyes flicking over to the bright blue flames spreading through the aviaries.

“He’s dead,” Kari replied, turning back to the controls. “Get Pia on the weapons. Ravagan’s a pretty bad shot, and we’re going to be attracting a lot of attention.”

She saw Pia take position in the corner of her eye. Without waiting for another word, Kari pushed the throttle forward, and the engines flared, launching them out of the hangar and into the open sky above Ghirapur.

“Did you say Baral is dead?” Pia asked, her tone not betraying how she felt about that development.

“Yeah, you can celebrate later,” Kari replied. She hadn’t liked Baral, especially after meeting him in person, and she wasn’t exactly torn up by his death. But his last words had been right – they couldn’t screw this up. “Right now we need to- damn it, already?”

She rolled the Aetherwing to avoid a jet of flames, a compleated dragon already after them, likely attracted by the raw aether spilling out of the aviary. “Let’s see how well those weapons perform!”

“On it,” Pia replied. “But you’ll need to keep us steady for a moment.”

“I can find you a moment, but nothing longer than that.”

Finding a moment was difficult enough. And all of Saheeli’s fancy instruments couldn’t make up for the complications of trying to hit a moving target while moving. But Kari knew it would only get harder once more pursuers arrived. “Everybody hold on!” she shouted, before banking the Aetherwing as much as she dared, turning sharply to get behind the dragon. Once there, she leveled off, holding the position as the dragon began its own turn.

Its attempt came to an end in a blaze of cannon fire, a charged aether bolt blasting it out of the sky.

“I’d… prefer if we didn’t try that again,” Saheeli said, still hanging onto a wall. “But if the Aetherwing can handle that, it should be able to handle anything Baan throws at us.”

Kari grinned. “I can’t make any promises. Except maybe that we’re going to show the Phyrexians that invading Kaladesh was a mistake.”

Her words might have been bravado, but she believed them. The Consulate had once seemed invincible, and then it had fallen. All it had truly taken was someone willing to believe it could be done.

Now the tide was turning against Phyrexia, and they should be the ones to be afraid.

For the first time since the ascension, something was beyond his control. At first, he had blocked the incursion out, absolute will denying entry to the outsiders. But then reality was flayed open, and branches burrowed and weaved between walls and beneath floors. He felt it all, like something crawling under his skin.

But there was fear in all things, even these invaders. Labyrinthine rooms twisted and reconfigured as byzantine hallways extended, endless stairways spiralled as myriad doorways reconnected. He was this world, and everything in it was his domain. Despite the sweet terror this incursion brought, it had to end.

The signal did not stop, but it could be overwhelmed. He ripped a bone-plated thing from their companions, cellarspawn fileting its mind until only its primal fears remained. Again and again, he tasted each facet of their terrors. Phyrexia, once known to him as only a murmur in a passing planeswalker’s mind, was now a palette, new shades of terror added to his canvas.

Once he could silence what drove them, what remained of the invaders may prove useful. Many were merely hollow vessels, empty puppets pulled by invisible strings, no will beyond the external force that commanded them. Others held some scraps of reason, a capacity for independent existence that might bear fruit.

Those not born directly from the branches were the most promising. Seeds of fear lay in their syncretic minds of metal and flesh, ready to be grown into true terror. It would be a delicate job, but cultivating such delights was his greatest passion. Already, they were learning the first law of his world, the unbreakable foundation of his power.

On Duskmourn, no one was without fear.

In its long history, many had tried to define the true purpose of Phyrexia. It was an empire of metal and flesh, but like all empires, it hungered. Countless scholars had grappled with the question of what might sate that hunger.

Sheoldred understood the simple truth. Phyrexia was about one thing. The most primal need of all.

Phyrexia was the power to survive. It was not a hunger that could ever be sated. Sheoldred had claimed her throne by climbing over the broken bodies of a hundred rivals, and held it by slaughtering a hundred more. Once, she had been nothing. So she had remade herself, over and over, until all of Mephidross bowed before her. The other Thanes hungered for her position, but she remained supreme, even as Mephidross was ripped apart to construct her new domain. She alone stood on high as their Praetor. None of the others were worthy of even thinking they could take her place.

Her conflict with Elesh Norn had been inevitable. As equals, they existed in a deadly tension, hatred tempered by uncertainty. Sheoldred had even respected Norn’s authoring of the Argent Etchings, seeing it as a masterwork of control. She had built the Machine Orthodoxy such that it could not exist without her, turning their fanatical delusions into chains to bind them.

The problem was that Elesh Norn was the greatest fanatic of them all. The self-proclaimed Grand Praetor believed in the doctrine of the Machine Orthodoxy. That belief had been the catalyst for her plans to invade the multiverse. Sheoldred had made the erroneous assumption that the invasion would follow the pattern she had laid out on Dominaria – careful and incremental, only stepping out of the shadows when forced to. Instead, convinced that the ‘divine mission’ she believed in was real, Norn had decided to open her crusade against as many planes as Realmbreaker could bear. Sheoldred had been forced to openly ally with Urabrask, in an attempt to overthrow the Grand Praetor before her plans could begin.

They had failed. Now Realmbreaker was tearing New Phyrexia apart, the Gitaxians’ attempts to hold the plane together slowly and surely failing. Their world now had an expiry date, and Sheoldred had no intentions of staying to see what form that expiration would take. She had stayed in the shadows, lurking where the Machine Orthodoxy’s forces feared to tread.

Escaping New Phyrexia was not something Sheoldred could do alone. She gathered her remaining forces, along with new allies who had foreseen the coming doom. All that remained was to determine a way out.

That had brought Sheoldred to the Seedcore, the twisted heart of New Phyrexia that would tear the plane apart. She journeyed beneath the branches into its depths, where the whispers had told her the Gitaxians had been working.

The whispers proved true. From her vantage point, Sheoldred looked over a vast network of structures built around Realmbreaker, connected by a web of walkways and cables. One that caught her notice seemed to be directly embedded into Realmbreaker’s trunk, surrounded by raw red flesh where the bark had been stripped away. Surges of energy occasionally pulsed through the twisted mass of branches and roots, while faint thunder could be heard echoing up from the fog far below.

Sheoldred’s destination was a building halfway down, a stark metal block where dozens of cables converged, with a large viewport overlooking Realmbreaker. This was the nervous center of the Gitaxian operations, and it was barely guarded. She kept to the shadows, weaving between supports and branches. It was easy enough to find an unfinished gap in the outer panelling, and she slipped inside. Proceeding as just her core form was a risk, but she had ways of escaping a dangerous situation.

The control center was the usual Gitaxian fare, smooth chrome adorned with shaped glass and interfacing ports. For now, it was empty, save for one. Sheoldred approached him silently.

“I see you have reemerged,” Jin-Gitaxias said, without turning from the window. “You have exceeded my predictions, Sheoldred. I expected that you would have been apprehended by now.”

“How fortunate, then, that I am beyond your abilities to predict,” she retorted. “Although such failures are becoming more and more common.”

“Do not waste my time. If you have a purpose for being here beyond irritation, inform me of it.”

“Ever the diplomat, aren’t you,” Sheoldred said, voice laced with false sweetness. “I’m here because Norn’s project is going to get us all killed, and you clearly aren’t able to avert that.”

“Your judgement is in error,” Jin-Gitaxias replied. “We have developed a method to control Realmbreaker.”

“Really? So you intended to tear open several bleeding wounds in reality, did you?”

“The process was not without complications. The Incursion Rifts are under control.”

Sheoldred wondered if Jin-Gitaxias believed what he was telling her, or if he was merely attempting to misdirect her. Either way, she knew better. She had been through the planar gate, touched the Blind Eternities. She knew what its corrosive energy felt like.

“But Realmbreaker continues to grow,” she stated. “Its branches are unwinding the fabric of our world. I can feel the threads becoming undone.”

“What you feel is irrelevant,” he replied. “We have obtained a method of controlling Realmbreaker. Your doubts are as unfounded as Urabrask’s doubts are.”

She found the mention of Urabrask interesting. So he had survived their failed rebellion, and made contact with Jin-Gitaxias. Unfortunately, he was as much an ideologue as Elesh Norn, and in the current situation, he was more likely to be a liability than an asset.

“What if your control falters?” Sheoldred asked. “I know you have a plan for that, even if you claim it is impossible.”

Jin-Gitaxias finally turned to face her. “Your assessment is correct. However, I see no advantage in sharing such information with you. You lack leverage to move against myself or Norn, and it does not advance my interests to provide it.”

She couldn’t argue with that, as she would do the same if their positions were reversed. Keeping your enemies weak improved your chances of survival, and ignorance was weakness. But Jin-Gitaxias, in his endless arrogance, had let something slip. He had said a method to control Realmbreaker had been obtained. Not developed. If Sheoldred could find this method, she might be able to seize it for her own advantage.

“Well, you’ve been really helpful, Jin,” she said. If she were capable of doing so, she’d have rolled her eyes. Instead, she settled for a smirk.

“Your insincerity is noted,” he replied. “As is the fact that you have started to mimic Urabrask’s linguist habits.”

“He does have a particular way with words,” she noted. “Such a pity those words didn’t translate to results.”

“Nor have your words translated to results. Your open opposition to Elesh Norn has disadvantaged you.”

“So you’re willing to call Norn’s crusade a success, then?” Sheoldred asked pointedly. “Or will you deny that it’s anything less than madness?”

“Such a judgement should not be made hastily,” Jin-Gitaxias answered. “Success can be measured via many metrics.”

“Yet only one matters. Are we winning or losing?”

“A shortsighted view. I might expect such from Vorinclex, but you, Sheoldred, understand the subtleties of conflict.”

“If we’re bringing Vorinclex into this, Jin-Gitaxias, then I would expect him to follow a doomed cause,” Sheoldred retorted. It was clear the conversation was going nowhere. “You used to be wiser. All this information has blinded you to the need to act.”

“Action without proper analysis produces inferior results.”

“And analysis without action produces no results at all,” Sheoldred said. “But I’m sure we’ll soon find out which of us is right. Now then, since you are useless, I have more important matters to attend to.”

“Likewise,” Jin-Gitaxias replied, his voice rising ever so slightly.

Sheoldred left Jin-Gitaxias to his plans. She would have preferred to eliminate him now, but she lacked the means. A larger host body could do the work, but she would have to tear the control centre apart to get to him, and that would attract far too much attention. Leaving him to die with the rest of New Phyrexia would be the easiest solution, although she knew that would not be certain. Tezzeret had disappeared, but it was possible the Gitaxians had recreated the Planar Bridge. So many things to concern herself with. But that was what was needed to survive.

As she made her ascent out of the Seedcore, Sheoldred took a moment to look up into Realmbreaker’s canopy. It was vast, too vast, warping reality so that it could fit within the confines it had been grown in. Yet that was not enough. Its upper branches had pierced the Mycosynth Gardens, while others had torn Omenpaths further upwards. While others might look upon the great curtain of shimmer aether and see something beautiful, Sheoldred saw nothing but a threat.

It occurred to her, as she looked away, that her exodus might hasten the calamity she sought to escape. She had no objections to that. For now, only one thing mattered to Sheoldred.

She would survive, at any cost.