Please note that I don't own the characters or locations used in this. They are the property of Wizards of the Coast.
The Healing Demon
Burning their flesh, corrupting their minds, the plague had engulfed the Thran. Their magic, their technology, neither could save them, neither could bring naught but more agony to their cursed existence. But then they had called for him, crying out from their deathbeds for the healer who walked the land, the renegade who could cure their ails. And he had come. Yes, he had come to cure their malady and earn their love. But things had been different then, he'd been a preserver, not a destroyer. A saint, not a demon.
'The first stage of the illness: rash and nausea.'
He had cured them, his hands working miracles on their corrupted flesh. And they had rewarded him well; riches, power, women. He'd been given them all. It hadn't been enough. He'd tasted a grander power, the glorious lifespark. From beyond the planes, she'd come to aid him in his quest to save them. Help him she had, but doomed herself in the process for his hunger awoke now and ambition blazed in his eyes. The descent to darkness began, Dominaria's doom already underway.
'The second stage of the illness: high fever and severe infectiousness.'
With her help he'd sought to make the Thran greater than before, dragging them beyond the realm of mere men and women. The willing, the unwilling, he'd aided them both, making them gods among men. And he'd gloried in his greatness, his near limitless power. Yet he wasn't sated. No, he desired more, he desired a new home, a sanctuary for his people. And so he had sent her away, the innocent child of a distant plane; her last errand to find the place of her own doom. For now his power grew and the darkness consumed him.
'The third stage of the illness: muscle aches and persistent cough.'
And she had found it, his paradise. Beneath a cold, loveless star she found the plane he named Phyrexia and marvelled at its greatness. Exactly as he'd described, there couldn't be doubt that it was perfect for him. He'd agreed. Yes, for a brief moment she'd felt his gratitude before his blade plunged into her skull, draining her lifeforce and feeding him, the demon in human guise. But already the others stirred, terrified of the beast and the darkness he unlocked in men. And so, they marched on the city, banners waving and swords drawn. They were thirsty for his blood and he for theirs.
'The final stage of the illness: delirium, convulsions, and death.'
His armies had been unstoppable, laying waste to all that dared stand before them, yet victory had been torn from his grasp by the woman he'd hoped to love. Her cowardice and treachery tore his plans asunder, throwing him from the world into the depths of Phyrexia. But the story hadn't finished there and he worked in the darkness, planting the seeds of a second coming. And the plague would be his weapon. Yes, as it had once before, it would usher him into Dominaria's cities once again.