Contrary to popular belief, this story is not dead. It just takes a freakishly long time to update. You'll be the final judge of whether or not it was worth the wait. I still don't own Fire Emblem or MTG.

You will be shown,

How I've become indestructible.

Determination that is incorruptible.

From the other side a terror to behold.

Annihilation will be unavoidable.

Every broken enemy will know,

That their opponent had to be invincible.

Take one last look around while you're alive.

I'm an indestructible master of war.

"INDESTRUCTIBLE," by Disturbed

Chapter 21: Legendary Power

Lloyd blocked another swipe from Linus's axe with the side of his blade, causing their weapons to lock. The swordmaster pushed hard to shrug off his brother's blow, but Linus pushed back with his full strength and sent the smaller man flying.

Trial concluded. Specimens exhibit normal human physiology under physical and mental duress…

Having muscled his way out of a direct stand-off, Linus resumed his relentless assault and took another swing at Lloyd. This time the hero landed a clean blow that took a chunk out of his brother's shoulder. But not before, Lloyd brought his sword up in a forward thrust that bit through Linus's ribs.

Deviations in performance are derived from life experience and are not symptomatic of a superior build. Fleshling design has not evolved and is still of inferior construction. Compressing data for further analysis by Overlord Xod…

They should have been dead by now. Both their bodies had bled out ten times over. It was a miracle that the brothers still had strength enough to draw breath, let alone swing a blade. An unholy miracle contrived not by the benevolence of God, but rather by the science of Yawgmoth.

Terminating control protocols...mind-poison receding…regeneration aura dissipating…

The negators had given the Reed brothers regenerative abilities to prolong their battle, thus allowing Phyrexia to collect additional data. But now their experiment was complete, and their death-defying magic was no more. With vast quantities of blood already lost, neither Linus nor Lloyd would survive another hit. The next blow would be the last. Pure speed would win the day.

Lloyd was faster. His blade struck first. His blade struck true. One decisive stroke and the deed was done; the Rabid Hound of the Four Fangs fell never to rise again.

Now with the last of the negators poisons receding Lloyd returned to his senses and saw what his hand had wrought. With full clarity he saw his brother dying at his feet while a steady stream of warm blood trickled accusingly down the pommel of his Silver Sword. He knew then what he had done and he hated himself for it.

"Ughhhh…bad way to go out…" Linus's eyes glazed over, and his face paled visibly as the cold specter of death descended upon him. "You…you were stronger Lloyd. You've always…been…stronger."

"Don't talk like that Linus, you're gonna pull through just like you always do." Even as he spoke them the words rang hollow.

"Not this time Lloyd…not this time." Linus groaned with his dying breath. "Look at the spot we're in. You told us…told us all along…it had to be a trap. We didn't listen…" Linus coughed violently and spit up a thick glob of blood. "…We didn't listen…"

"LINUS!" This couldn't be happening, Lloyd couldn't be in Caelin, surrounded by monsters, watching his brother bleed to death. This wasn't real, couldn't be real. This had to be some kind of nightmare; the mad ramblings of a fevered mind.

"Heh…we …had a good…run. See you on the…other...side…brother…" With those final words on his lips, Linus Reed died in his brothers arms.

At that moment Lloyd was almost grateful for the imminent death the negators would surely offer; for he was certain now that as long as he lived he would never again be at peace. He had killed his own brother. Linus was dead by his hand.

And still the negators indulged in his torment—the throbbing of his wounds, the sorrow of his loss, the shame of his betrayal, the hatred of his enemies—drinking it all in with great, glutinous gulps. Like psychic vampires they feasted, gorging themselves not on blood but on the emotional suffering of their prey. How glorious it was to revel in the misery of flesh-beasts. And yet at the end, they were left unsatisfied. It was a subtle thing really, one missing dish from the banquet of Lloyd's torments. A lesser construct wouldn't have even noticed it. It was the absence of anything even remotely resembling fear. Every human they had encountered thus far recoiled from them in terror. This one did not. With the death of his brother, Lloyd had lost everything. No longer did he fear for his own life. He cared not that he stood at death's door; the White Wolf was not afraid to die.

But Lloyd would live to fight another day, for a higher power was on his side…

"Echo to base, Echo to base." Eliwood called out through his newly acquired thoughtweft aura, one of many powerful enchantments now bound to his legendary blade courtesy of Mark. "Black One is down; requesting permission to engage the enemy."

"Granted, standby for teleportation," Mark signaled back. "Godspeed Echo."

"This is it Hector," Eliwood brandished Durandal and kindled its sacred flame. "You ready?"

"I was born ready," Hector scoffed. "Come on, let's kick some ass!"

Lloyd closed his eyes and prepared to embrace oblivion as the negator standing before him discharged a killing shot. He had always expected death to be something like a dreamless slumber. Strange, how he felt absolutely nothing different after the cannon discharged and the shot fired. He could still smell the bodies burning, still taste the acrid smoke in the air, still hear the crackling fires, and still feel the pain of his wounds. He wasn't dead, he was sure of it. But how could he possibly still be alive?

Then came that horrid alien screech, followed by the familiar sound of metal clashing against metal. And all at once Lloyd understood. That final, lethal shot had not been meant for him. There was another who challenged the supremacy of Phyrexia.

Eliwood reflected a death-pulse with a swing of his enchanted weapon, sending life snuffing waves of black mana back at his Phyrexian foe. The negator had turned to face its newest challenger and fired off its payload with such blinding speed, Eliwood fighting by his own means would have been killed instantly. Of course, the Knight Lord was never truly alone with Durandal in hand. He had the advantage of a sentient, spirit-imbued blade that could anticipate enemy attacks and respond in kind with split-second timing. That helped immensely.

The reflected death-pulse struck its caster head-on, eliciting a near deafening screech. Crippled by its own magic, the offending negator offered considerably less resistance. The black horror moved much slower with death seeping into every pore of its bio-mechanical joints; slow enough that Eliwood could actually follow its movements with the naked eye. More importantly, the spell had taken an irreparable toll on the negator's regenerative nodes. No longer did Eliwood have to worry about the construct repairing itself faster than he could harm it. It was a simple damage race now; one Eliwood was confident he could win with his spirit guide and his legendary power. Eliwood chanted a prayer of knight's valor, calling Durandal's sacred fire to his aid. The opposing negator snarled and clicked its mandibles, spraying acid and venom that could not be so easily countered. The negator charged first, lashing out at Eliwood with its envenomed claws. It pushed its advantage in size and strength, keeping Eliwood on guard with the occasional gutter-stomp, debris toss, and full-body tackle. Eliwood for his part fought conservatively, using Durandal's fire for defensive cover and striking when he was sure he had an opportunity. Durandal did such tremendous damage that Eliwood could afford to play it safe; no need to take stupid risks in a one-on-one fight. The battle was long and fierce, and only after ten full minutes of intense combat was Eliwood able to vanquish his foe. His victory was one of cautious attrition, slowly wearing down the negators systems as the death pulse worked its grizzly magic.

The battle wasn't over yet, not by a long shot. Hector was having a much harder time fighting his opponent, a negator operating at full power. Having learned from the folly of its partner, the surviving negator withheld the use of magic and never once presented the Great Lord of Ostia a chance to cast a reflecting swing. Moving at top speed and regenerating at peak efficiency, this one wasn't going down without a fight.

One on one, Hector was clearly outmatched. In full armor he couldn't move fast enough to keep pace with his foes assault, not even with the aid of Durban's spirit. Further complicating the matter, Hector's armor wasn't actually offering any real protection against the negator's attacks. The end result: Hector was getting hit, a lot, and he was feeling the pain after each blow.

"Damn it," Hector took a reckless swing with his axe that didn't even come close to making contact. The negator was running rings around him, raking him from every side. "Stop moving so I can kill you!"

Hector took another swing and once again missed completely. His efforts were rewarded with the decidedly unpleasant sensation of four giant razors being dragged across his back. Hector spun around just in time to sink Armads into his attacker's chest and discharged streaming thunder into the open wound. This was it; the opening he needed. Hector lodged his axe deeper into his foe, tightened his grip, and willed the thunderous bombardment to continue. He had no intention of letting this battle drag on. This needed to end now.

The negator however had other plans. With Armads still lodged in its chest and Hector still clinging to the pommel, the colossal war machine leapt seven meters straight up into the air and crashed through the remains of Castle Caelin's second floor. Hector was dragged along for the ride, the defensive aura of Armads providing only partial protection against the high-velocity impact of brick and mortar. The negator crash-landed in the quarters above the throne room and emerged from the rubble unscratched, its regenerative mechanisms already at work mending the wound inflicted by Hector. Within seconds it was fully healed and once again fighting at peak efficiency.

"That's fair," Hector muttered as he once again found himself on the defensive against an undamaged enemy, his armor trashed and his body aching all over. How the hell was he supposed to kill something that could move faster than sound and heal any wound in a matter of seconds?

Hector continued to fight a losing battle, his own condition worsening with each passing moment while the negator showed no noticeable signs of damage or fatigue. Five minutes into the fight he finally realized that his heavy, cumbersome armor was more hindrance than help. With that, Hector knew what he had to do in order to win. He knew, and he didn't like it, but the metal talons clawing inches away from his face served as a constant reminder that he didn't have much of a choice.

There was no time for hesitation. Casting all doubts aside Hector stripped of the tattered remains of his armor and resolved to finish the fight without its protection, naked from the waist up.

Very good young warlord, the berserker spirit imbued within his weapon applauded the effort. Know your power. Berserkers fight with their axe and their muscle. Cowards hide behind suits of steel. Hector paid heed to the call of the dragonslayer. Durban spoke to him as only his patron spirit could. He dulled his pain, kindled his rage; assured him that he had made the right choice.

The negator looked upon Hector's unarmored form and laughed at the weakness of his flesh. T'was a fatal flaw that the soulless construct could not see the strength of his spirit. Falsely convinced that his battered, unarmored enemy was now defenseless and near-death, the negator bent its fingers like meat-hooks and flourished its scythe-length talons. What followed was a paralyzing screech, an acid spray, and several blindingly fast ripping motions.

Hector parried every strike effortlessly. His ears bled, but his senses remained intact. His skin sizzled beneath a barrage of chemical attacks, but he felt no pain. Durban was with him, and while the berserker's spirit suffused Hector's corporal form he was nigh invincible. He could not be controlled or intimidated. He could not be terrified or stunned. Only death could silence the thunderous judgment of his axe.

I am power. Power without peer.

Hector marveled at how easily he could now swing his weapon. Even his most massive of axes felt as light as a rapier without the heavy encumbrance of gauntlets, pauldrons, and everything in between. The negator swung again and again, but always the result was the same. Hector had control of the fight now. With a sentient weapon and a full range of motion, Hector could consistently parry the negator's swipes and launch effective counterattacks. He landed blow after savage blow against his hated enemy. He sunk his axe into any exposed part he could find on the creature. He busted its kneecaps and smashed its skull, cleaved its palate and severed its spine.

I am the Dragon-hunter. I am the flesh-biter, the bone-crusher, the skull-breaker, the doom-bringer.

Still it was never enough. The negator always regenerated before Hector could land a killing blow. At this point Hector wasn't even sure what could constitute a killing blow. With his own eyes he had seen the horror's head split open and its oily contents seep forth. With his own hands he had embedded Armads in the creature's brains; electrocuted it to hell and back. And still the negator lived. What more did he have to do to kill this thing? Hector didn't know, and oddly enough he didn't care. So great was the thrill of battle, so passionate was the revelry of his berserker spirit, he cared not how long it took to take his quarry down. Durban wanted…no…Hector wanted this fight to last forever. This is what he lived for; to be tested in the grueling crucible of combat, to prove himself against the mightiest of foes.

I have no need of this idleness called peace. Power unused is power wasted. Better to lie spent in the grave than to sit in wait.

He was unstoppable. Hector felt the pulse of a world at war, felt it as he might feel the throbbing flow of blood beneath his own muscles. Blood, glorious blood, the herald of countless victories from Durban's first campaign of the scouring to Hector's last match point in the arena. Oh, how his axe thirsted for the blood of his enemies. But this foe…this negator…it did not bleed. Only oil and industrial waste spilled forth from its wounds. The thought of it enraged the berserker. How was he to claim rites of first blood off this oily corpse, was he to anoint himself in sludge? No! He need not sully himself with Phyrexian filth! The berserker would not be denied his flawless victory, but how? Unto what higher power does the berserker appeal when he himself does not hold the answer in his axe?

"Hold on Hector!" Eliwood called out from the floor below. "I've got your answer right here!" The great lord of Ostia risked a glance over the throne-room balustrade and couldn't help but grin at the sight that greeted him. Eliwood had somehow managed to detach his slain negator's arm-cannon, and was now wielding the large instrument in the manner that a modern soldier might wield a shoulder-fired missile. The cannon projected a bright red tracer onto the surviving negator's brow, indicating that Eliwood had he creature dead in his sights. The Phyrexian's machine brain registered the new threat, but maintained its offensive focus against Hector.

"Don't even think about pointing that thing in my direction," Hector only half-joked as he batted aside another attack with Armads. "You're not a marksman, you're a knight."

"And you're not a berserker, you're a tank," Eliwood retorted as his Phyrexian weapon shook violently and glowed with ominous, ruby-red motes of power. "Now get the hell out of my line of sight."

"If you graze me I'll pummel you..."

"If I graze you you'll be dead. Now MOVE!"

Hector didn't need to be told a second time. Immediately after receiving Eliwood's warning he threw himself into a duck-and-cover position, just in time for the contents of four red-mana batteries to pass safely over his head. The crimson beam hit the negator square in the chest, instantly annihilating the Phyrexian assassin. The raw power of the shot completely vaporized the negator's exoskeleton and reduced its internal structures to molten slag. Nothing even remotely resembling a living creature was left behind. Eliwood for his part was blasted back a few feet from the cannon's recoil, but was otherwise unharmed. Hector sustained minor burns on his already cut up back just from his proximity to the searing rays.

"Two for two!" Eliwood whooped. "I'm on fire!"

"You're awfully happy all of a sudden," Hector smirked. "What gives, I thought you hated fighting."

"Roland's helping me build up a tolerance," Eliwood admitted. "Don't tell me you weren't getting the same urges from Durban, I saw you up there. You were completely out of control."

"Was I really that bad?"

"I don't know, but you looked like you were in one of those berserker rages where you can't think straight and just attack anything that moves."

"Huh…didn't even notice."

"You better be extra careful," Eliwood warned. "One of these days that rage is going to go off at the wrong time, and it's not going to be pretty. God help the poor son-of-a-bitch who gets in your way when Durban decides he wants to smash some skulls."

"I'll worry about that when it actually happens," Hector brushed Eliwood's concerns aside. "If it ever actually happens, and I'm not saying it will. I'm in control at all times. Durban is just tagging along for the ride."

"Good. Because we still have a mission to complete, and I can't have my best friend going psycho on me halfway through."

"Of course, the mission…" Hector rolled his eyes "We're actually going to make nice with the Black Fang now, aren't we? This has to be my least favorite part of the job…?"

"So you'd rather bleed and burn then sit down and talk with your enemies." Eliwood smirked "Only you Hector. Only you could say that with a straight face."

"I don't think you understand how incredibly awkward this is going to be," Hector sighed. "Lloyd just lost his brother. He's in mourning; you really think he wants to hear our bullshit?"

"He'll want vengeance for Linus, vengeance against Phyrexia," Eliwood reasoned. "That's all the common ground we need to make this work."

"That could just as easily work against us Eliwood," Hector scowled. "Mark bears as much responsibility for Linus's death as any Phyrexian. If Lloyd ever learned the truth of his involvement, he'd turn against us in a heartbeat. He'd probably try to kill Mark"

"It will never come to that," Eliwood assured him. "And even if it does I don't think Lloyd could even hurt Mark, let alone kill him."

If only Hector knew how right he was. But how could he? Neither he nor Eliwood could have possibly known that at that very moment, Lord Pent had his eye on Lloyd and was entering the same notion…

Xod strode purposefully across the frozen wastes and boundless horizons of boreal Kadath; the great white north of Elibe's Dragon Realm. Even at 80 degrees below zero his machine-biology functioned perfectly, a testament to the strength and versatility of his build. Yawgmoth had designed him well.

A mighty wind blew against the Phyrexian overlord, chilling the air and whipping up a blinding veil of powdered snow from the freshly dusted plains. Xod trudged onward, heedless of the coming storm. He would not be turned back by a mere blizzard, not with his quarry this close.

His target was a spiritual leader among the ice dragons, an oracle. Xod knew her to be a practitioner of strange and ancient magics; potent arts that imbued her dragon-kin with extraordinary power. She was powerful in her own right too. Hellishly strong even by Phyrexian standards, she had outmatched his dragon engines and negators on more than one occasion. Lesser constructs couldn't even touch her.

Every other nation in the Dragon Realm had fallen and yet frozen Kadath still eluded him. All because of that damn oracle and her enhancement magic. Wherever she appeared, dragons fought beyond the limitations of flesh and beat back Phyrexia's bionic armies. Xod hunted her relentlessly, but always he was one step behind the icy she-devil. These blue aligned dragons were clever and discrete, nothing like the fiery reds he had first defeated to gain a foothold in this world. They struck not with burning fury but with cold, calculating intent. They knew when they were outmatched and always retreated accordingly, never leaving behind a single dragon corpse for the vat priests to harvest.

Counterattacks on Kadath were futile, seeing as how none of his constructs had the resilience to fight in the extreme cold of the ice dragon's homeland. The lower limit of their functional range had been set for the icy peaks of Keld, the coldest battlefront on Dominaria.

So Xod did what he did best. With the power vested in him by his blessed Lord Yawgmoth he struck out on his own, without any of his feeble and incompetent minions to slow him down. He ventured off in search of the Ice Dragons and their Oracle, so he could finally kill her and put an end to the northern resistance.

Already his mind was awash in visions of fire. The ice dragons were doomed. He would lay waste to their nation with a hellstorm of swamp magic: death clouds and plague winds, bone splinters and flesh inversions, waking nightmares and stalking shadows, and legions upon legions of the restless dead. The Oracle would fall before him. He would slay her and compel her to rise once more, so that in cruel undeath she might bow before him and know blessed Lord Yawgmoth as her one true master…

Then reality hit Xod like a sledgehammer. The psychic link that bound all constructs on Elibe to the will of the overlord flared with searing pain, and Xod was made aware of his defeat in Caelin.

The overlord cursed in ancient Thran. Why now? Why the sudden surge of opposition, in Caelin of all places!? The ice dragons of Kadath were one thing. Their's was an understandable threat; dragons in general were powerful and dangerous creatures. But a successful uprising in Lycia spurred on by humans—frail, fleshy, unaugmented, humans—there was no explanation for it.

Something had to be done about this latest incident in Caelin; the slaying of two negators could not go unanswered. Xod pondered his options. He could call off the dragon hunt and tend to the matter personally. That would put an end to any and all shenanigans in Lycia, but with the Oracle on the loose Xod knew better than to take leave of the Dragon Realm for any appreciable amount of time. First and foremost his presence was required in Kadath. Lycia was better left to the management of the plague lords.

If Xod couldn't smother the Caelin uprising with his own power he'd do the second best thing. He'd send an army in his stead. Xod recalled that House Caelin's territory was very close to Ostia Plague Hub Alpha, the largest research facility and distribution center in Lycia. Phyrexia had a standing army of 22,000 constructs stationed around just that one hub, with more troops emerging from the birthing vats each and every day. That was more than enough to initiate a full invasion of plague ravaged Caelin.

Before resuming his hunting expedition, Xod paused briefly to relay a series of psychic commands back to his plague lords in Ostia. Minions a world away received their orders loud and clear:

Your overlord hath commanded a full invasion of Caelin, with no fewer than 4,000 Phyrexian soldiers deployed from the vicinity of Ostia Plague Hub Alpha. Thy army shall include assorted units of Shock Troopers, Scuta, Bloodstock, Reapers, Slayers, Defilers, and Gargantuans. Thou shall deploy thy forces immediately by means of ambulatory teleportation to the last confirmed location of negator activity. Threat assessment: very high. Expect heavy losses. Keep reclaimer units on standby for multiple salvage runs. Go forth and execute my will.

And so the plague lords scrambled to do their masters bidding. From the standing forces of Ostia Plague Hub Alpha they assembled an army to invade Caelin.

Exactly as Mark had planned…almost. One crucial detail was off, something not even the tactical genius himself had anticipated.

Eliwood's distress signal reached Coalition Central Command at O-800, military time. At such an early hour, the urgency of the call came as a shock to every general in the war room. No one had expected Phyrexia to respond so quickly. Mark certainly hadn't. Solemnly, they took in Eliwood's account of the rapidly changing situation on the ground.

"Echo to base. Castle Caelin is overrun. They fell from holes in the sky, hundreds of them. More keep coming, there's no end in sight."

"Ambulators," Mark realized his folly immediately and cursed his most basic of oversights. He should have seen this one coming. "They used ambulators to open portals directly over Caelin. How the fuck did I miss that?"

The distress signal continued.

"We've lured them down to the catacombs beneath the castle dungeon. Lloyd and Legault are with us. We carried them down. Uhai didn't make it. We were unable to retrieve either his or Linus's body. They're meat for the Phyrexians now."

That last statement sent a shiver through everyone except Karel and Vaida. By now it was well known what Phyrexians did to corpses. They treated human flesh as a commodity no different than gold or lumber; just another resource to be harvested en masse.

"We'll fair better down in these narrow passages, but we won't be able to hold them off forever. We need reinforcements. Requesting permission to break the Seal of the Guardian."

"Permission granted," Mark spoke both out loud and through the thoughtweft so that the entire room heard him as well as Eliwood. "I hadn't planned on breaking the seal this early, but if that's what it takes to hold the line, make it happen. Give em hell Echo."

"We're clear Hector," Eliwood took his place besides the berserker on the soon-to-be battlefield. They were an army of two, about to become an army of many, many more. "Mark gave us the thumbs-up to break the seal."

"Really?" Hector hefted his axe and gazed upward at the spiraling rock formation that connected the dungeons above to the caverns below. Already Phyrexian horrors were streaming down in their devilish hordes, ready to rend flesh for the Overlord. "How'd you get him to cave? Doesn't that mess up his plan to reinforce Ilia?"

"Mark's plan went out the window when the enemy arrived before we had a chance to gather reinforcements." Eliwood reached for his sword and matched Hector's gaze. "Now it's just us and the guardians."

"Well then, this should be fun." Hector grinned. "You ready Eliwood?"

"I was born ready," Eliwood scoffed. "Come on, let's kick some ass!"

With that, Eliwood and Hector crossed blades and spoke a single word of command. Durandal and Armads met in a symphony of thunder and flame. Sparks danced like fire. Embers crackled like thunder. Magics intermingled so that with one majestic evocation, the Seal of the Guardian was consumed to bring forth the vast spirit armies who hold vigil over the tombs of the eight legends. Empowered by the strength of Durban and compelled by the valor of Roland, the ghost army mobilized to meet the Phyrexians in battle.

Soldiers of every stripe rose once more in the defense of their homeland: archers and mages, myrmidons and mercenaries, knights and fighters. Chief among them, the phantom-berserker Georg and the phantom-hero Kaim stormed the front lines with their tomahawks held high and killed many a Phyrexian. Eliwood and Hector fought amongst their spectral war-host, cutting vast swathes through the enemy lines and eventually pushing them out of the catacombs, taking the fight back to the dungeons.

The first great battle of the Elibe-Phyrexian War had begun.

There she is, another stunning creation by yours truely. I'll have you know that finishing this chapter took priority over a 13 page paper that's due right after thanksgiving, which I haven't even started yet and thus will now have to write over Thanksgiving break.

R&R to tell me it was totally worth it or call me a complete and total dumb-ass.