A/N: Hi, this is a fanfiction about my favourite MtG character ever, Yawgmoth. It focuses on its thoughts after its so-called demise at the end of the Invasion cycle. The phrases in italic text are flavor text quoted from various cards.
Of course, I don't own anything about Magic the Gathering. If I did, Yawgmoth wouldn't have ended up that crappy way. Enjoy and don't forget to review!
SOMETHING WICKED THIS WAY COMES: A YAWGMOTH'S FANFIC
"You won't have me."
This I said, just a moment before the white sphere of energy exploded onto me, wreaking havoc on the plane I had made evolve from void, the only thing I had ever loved in my whole existence. And then, the silence. Yawgmoth, the Lord of Death, was dead…
Or so they thought. They really believed they had defeated me, and nobody even thought that perhaps their smugness had undermined their forethought. Those who survived went back to their homelands. They were hailed as heroes, martyrs…
Honor the brave who fought. Honor the dead who fell. Honor the world they saved.
Those damned bastards. They had destroyed my project in the very moment I could have freed not only Dominaria, but the whole Multiverse from every little dirt imperfection. I would have created a glimmering plane of perfection that would've shone throughout the eons. A plane where there would've been no more differences between matter and spirit, no more false idles or unreasonable thoughts.
But, of course, they couldn't accept that their fragile and limited worlds could become so improved that, one day, they would need their fake gods no more. Because I wouldn't have become a god, but the whole Multiverse itself. Its creatures wouldn't have worshipped me, they would've been part of me. And, with no more mistakes possible, the Great Evolution would've been finally complete.
This idea of perfection had always fascinated me. Or better, obsessed. Since I was still in my mortal body, I always knew that even the purest essence can become victim of decay. The organic world was doomed to rot, and I had soon understood that only through phyresis it could've been possible to reach a perfect stability. Harmony against chaos. What a paradox, indeed: those who proclaimed themselves the keeper of existence's balance, were those who were throwing Dominaria into filthy spires of disorder.
The Phyrexians' only interest in organic life is discerning its weakness.
When I started my experiments, they began calling me a monster just because my plague was "killing" every people that crossed my road. No, it wasn't a murder: for those little despots, it was just a worth punishment. And for their people, I was just putting them out of their misery. A life dominated by fear and slavery is not a life. They would've joined me in a new life, free from every sickness and pain, even from death.
Of course, my plan would've proceeded flawlessly if only hadn't come her. Rebbec. That bitch. She exiled me from the plan I was trying to help and condemned me to spend nine millennia trapped into what she hoped could become my grave. Instead, Phyrexia turned out to be my cradle. It was the first, realized step of my Great Evolution.
The Phyrexian death machine awoke, its cold steel heart imbuing it with sinister new power.
Once I could finally find my way to Dominaria, they called me the ultimate evil, but their judgment couldn't have been less objective. I'm the eternal Specter of Reason, the Bringer of Necessity against the hordes of chaos and irrationality, the everlasting Balance of Equilibrium, the cold Science that unmasks false passion and destroys ignorance. And if someone tries to oppose me, then that's evil.
When I knew that Rebbec had become a goddess herself, and was known as Gaea, nothing mattered to me anymore. My heart was already filled with sand, ash and dust, but there was one thing I was still feeling: a burning desire of vengeance. Their futile emotions. Their flawed systems. Everything that is not necessary is doomed to disappear, and so were my enemies. Gerrard, Urza and their whole creek would have been the first to pay, but then all their allies would face their destiny. So would Serra. And Gaea. Every hero, king and god would bow to me. Where once were spirits and devotion, there would finally be certainty and determinism. And phyresis.
Breathe deep, Dominaria. Breathe deep and die.
Ah, my beloved Phyrexia! If only you could still be there to take part again to your Father's plan. The Father of the Machines, yes. The Ineffable. I was known so. I was a god once, truer than any. Then I've been betrayed and abandoned. But one day, I'll get my revenge. I shall be a god again.
Beware, Dominaria! Beware of the big black cloud that lurks in the darkness. Beware! Oh, vane ascents and glories of the whole Multiverse! It is when you think you've defeated our worst foes that the darkest hour is yet to come. Know, then, that while your futile dreams vanish under the scythe of time, my reason will last forever. My Desolation Angels are still waiting to spread a new apocalyptic voice. In my lonely sanctum, I shall program my vengeance, alone. Meanwhile, may you dream such happiness as you will never see when I'll finally be back and every planet of this twisted chaos will soon find their place in an eternal phyresis.