ex nihilo
Author's Note: Enjoy the story and R&R.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of Magic: The Gathering.
Summary:
Innistrad's promised end is sung.
Madness could be slow or it could be sudden.
Avacyn's power to prevent Her entrance into the plane was truly awe-inspiring, but Her tentacles wiggled through the aether into the minds and bodies of Innistrad undeterred. Changing them – subtly, in tendencies and at the fringes – until they looked like Her. Desired like Her. Were Her.
Threats absolute.
Threats relentless.
Emrakul, the Aeons Torn.
Emrakul, the Promised End.
Emrakul, third and last of the Titans.
Vexing as life itself. Life weirded. Warped. Re-formed.
The unnatural is not unnatural. Around Her, unnatural is the natural.
This world was already used to despair and transformation and fighting just to survive. On Innistrad, the monsters had always come from outside as well as within. The monsters were closing in again, the grotesque awfulness spilling forth from the humans, monsters, and beasts – the pious, the sinners, conformists, and loners alike – twisting forth from dilating fingers, mouthed hands, and mouthed mouths. Twisting forth from shredded sanities and raving insanities.
The worry. The suspicions. The accusations.
It wasn't just the wind.
It was not all in their heads.
It was blooming out of them, out of their heads.
Distorted, disfigured silhouettes deformed to misshapen, fibrous entanglers.
Sometimes, not so alone.
NOT ALONE ANYMORE.
ONE.
HER.
Light of Alabaster. Fading Light. She now sees only Emrakul's visions.
Blade of Goldnight. Broken Blade. She now hears only Emrakul's murmurs.
WORSE.
WORSE THAN EITHER.
What had become of the sisters?
Mutation. Eldritch evolution. Tears and fears.
Can't get it out.
Can't get it out of their system.
Feathered angel wings on latticed bone wings on a chambered "torso" cracked apart by four arms and hands, embraced by another set of four wing-formed arms and hands that fused together to make two larger hands, themselves distending into two sets of five finger-claws themselves growing odd-digited finger-claws.
Terrifying intensity that can be read.
Bruna and Gisela, corrupted and collapsed.
Brisela, terrible and beautiful.
Knots of blue and pink flesh melded over purple-magenta textures and tentacles, the greatest horror of Her brood lineage.
Wouldn't. Wouldn't fit.
Abomination.
Subjugator.
"WELCOME TO THE FOLD," the Eldrazi angel-thing wailed from Bruna and Gisela's conjoined heads, and the living heard.
Those touched by Her favour added their voices to the chorus.
Those who could resist lost all hope.
"One'mrakul, be'mrakul, we'mrakul!"