Rwby: The Inter-War: Arc 3: Planning the fight (Catching up)
Hello and welcome to the next chapter of The Inter-War. And welcome to the prologue of Well you'll just have to find out.
Trigger warning Berserk this should not surprise you.
Key
Grimm-Apostle talk
Angry talk
Ozpin talk
{"Text Chat/ phone call"}
:System Notifications/Skills:
[Black Ink]
(Locations)
flashback/ memory/ dreamscape
"Skull knight talk"
Chapter start:
It is good to be Phyrexian.
It is good to be Elesh Norn.
This has always been true, but never more so than now. Three worms—Kaya, Kaito, and Tyvar, the others called them—are before her begging for mercy. Oh, they don't do it out loud, but Norn sees it. Norn understands. Fear haunts their eyes and their too stiff bodies. Weapons tremble in pale-knuckled hands. How misguided they are. If they submit, she could do away with all of their faults, but she knows they'd turn down such a magnanimous offer, such an act of benevolence. There is no point in asking.
Just as there is no point in their efforts.
All will be one. And it won't be very long, now.
"Stay with us," she tells them. "Behold the glory of New Phyrexia."
"Go to hell," says the smallest. The largest moves toward her—but the other pulls him back. Typical. Discord lives within the hearts of the nonbelievers. Even when there are so few, they are never truly united.
If only they could see that.
A mere flick of Norn's wrist is enough to summon the portals—everything in this place is keyed to her will. Metal clicks and slides and rearranges around them. Five irises open on five alternate planes. No matter how their skies started—warm violet, slate gray, or coal black—they now pulse with red light. Phyrexian symbols blaze among the clouds. It is from these portals that she now watches the invasions. Realmbreaker's massive, barb-tipped limbs burst forth, anchoring themselves wherever they please. Rivers of blessed oil run onto the earth. Pods fly from the secured barbs, soaring in all directions—but always in perfect sync. Some birth centurions, some birth golems, and some lie in wait for the lost souls they will soon welcome.
To the three lost creatures before her, a sunrise is beautiful. Phyrexia knows better. Thousands of mouths speaking with one voice; thousands of eyes with a single vision; thousands of minds with only one thought. That is beauty.
And they've created it with their own multitudinous hands.
"Have you ever known such unity?" she asks.
The smallest one opens her maw. Before the words come out, another far more pleasant voice cuts her off. "We've done as you asked."
Lukka—that is his name, isn't it? One of the humans retches at the sight of him, but to Phyrexia, he's a shining example of the future that awaits them. Oh, so he was rough around the edges. They'd smooth those soon enough. Flesh trembles at its own destruction; it's only natural.
Norn turns toward her holy evangels. Jace slips off—he knows what Norn wants, of course, knows before she has to say a thing. Three more arrive in lockstep: Lukka, Atraxa, and Ajani. Nahiri trails behind, the newest member sent to fetch her fellows. Carried like a trussed up offering between them is the once powerful Sheoldred. Out of her armor, she is pathetic and small—an overgrown Newt who once dreamed of praeterdom. All of Phyrexia knew she was only a pretender to the title. Now it's finally laid bare.
Lukka and Ajani present their quarry. Sheoldred spits, her black spittle falling well short of its target. Tied as she is, her natural inclination is to try and wriggle free. How satisfying to see her reduced to this.
"What shall we do with her?" asks Ajani. His eyes flick to the prisoners. "Or do they need dealing with first?"
Norn beholds the little worms, so afraid. Already they're skittering backward. Their plans are as obvious as their terror: leave New Phyrexia, tell the others, gather their meager forces and mount a counterattack. So the efforts of the flesh-bound often go. Where has all that struggle gotten them? Here in the inner sanctum, hopelessly outnumbered, they still think there's a way out of this.
It's amusing—in the way that death is amusing once you've transcended it. "You want to leave, don't you? Phyrexia shall permit it. On one condition," she says. "Nahiri—restraints."
Stone springs from the ground, encasing the three imperfect Planeswalkers. Only their heads remain unimpeded. It won't work forever, Norn is well aware—she saw the smallest one phase through solid matter earlier—but it will serve its purpose. And if they spit on her benevolence, then they've earned their fates.
"You shall be the prophets of our coming," she says. "In time you shall tell your unbelieving brethren what you have seen: a united future."
"What a joke," Sheoldred whispers. Speaking strains her chest against its bonds. "All of this grandstanding won't change the truth: you're only looking out for yourself, Norn. Phyrexia means nothing to you unless it conforms to your mad ravings. You've never cared about unity, you only care about yourself."
"Is that so?" Norn repeats. She slams on the arm of her throne. "Elesh Norn's cares are Phyrexia's cares. The Argent Etchings demand we spread the glory of New Phyrexia, Sheoldred. Long have you tried to rot away our holy teaching from within—but the time for that is since past. Our future is gleaming and perfect, free from your stain. Phyrexia no longer has a place for those who crave power over unity. Ajani—execute her."
For once, Sheoldred does more than whisper. Whatever her screaming protest may be, it's lost in the swift descent of the axe. Sheoldred's head bounces to a stop at her feet, smearing black ichor across the porcelain floor. Norn pays it only a moment's attention; her servants will remove the corpse for processing. One mustn't waste perfectly good parts—they will serve Phyrexia as Sheoldred could not. Muscle strains against stone as the largest of the prisoners tries to wriggle free. Given enough time, he will.
Elesh Norn counts on them escaping. There must be those who spread the gospel, after all, and they cannot do so from here. Once they understand how futile it is to fight the inevitable, they can depart.
But once more to the work, once more to the invasion.
"Rejoice, blessed evangels," she begins. "Our symbol blazes across the planes, our sacred words in its shadow. Soon, we shall awaken the Multiverse from its slumber. The glorious light of compleation—of New Phyrexia!—is nigh. With the barrier of their skin removed and their minds joined to ours, the others will soon come to know the ecstasy of Phyrexia as you do."
Keening howls ring within the sanctum, carried up from the bowels of New Phyrexia. How beautifully they sing that which cannot be put to words!
The evangels try to join their voices to the masses—but they are new, their throats too delicate. A lackluster addition. A choir is only a choir if each voice works in harmony with the others. The dissonance they cause is grating . . . and disappointing.
"Quiet upon the congregation!" she screams.
And lo, there is quiet.
"Our work is not yet done. We stand before the untarnished glory of eternal compleation; we need only take our final steps toward it. For your zealous service and devotion, we have decided to grant you the honor of uniting your homelands. Tell us—Nahiri, where is it you were born?"
The kor has too much flesh by far, but they made do with what they could given the time. "Zendikar," she says. "Many lifetimes ago, I was born on Zendikar."
Norn nods. "Nissa," she calls. "Show us this place."
Nissa is the finest gift the Planeswalkers have given Phyrexia. Even standing at Norn's side, she can steer Realmbreaker's attention. To say nothing of her combat capabilities. If things continued at this rate she might overtake Tamiyo as Norn's favorite new servant—but there's yet time to see. And, in truth, all serve Phyrexia in their way.
The portals shift, joining together into a long oval. Disparate images ripple and reform into something new, something whole, something complete. Before them: an ancient forest, the trees thick as towers. What little can be seen of the sky is as verdant as the canopies overhead. Elves move among the branches like ants in a hive, each armed, each looking up, each waiting for something.
They do not realize how soon it will find them. The branches they stride along bend into Phyrexian shapes; holes within trees and stone herald the shapes their bodies will take. Norn's portal is far from the only one: Phyrexia's thousand eyes stare down upon them as they stare up. Nahiri snarls at Nissa. "The Mother of Machines cares not for these trifles. Show her one of the Skyclaves." Again, the image ripples. This time, the canopy of trees frames a view of a floating city. Hedrons surround it like the feathers of a withdrawn bird. Stark white against the sky, its edges harsh and precise, Norn finds it immediately beautiful. Perhaps the shorter lived could make something useful after all.
"You have plans for this?" Norn asks.
Nahiri nods. "Yes, Grand Praetor. This is a relic of my people—an ancient weapon we once used to dominate the plane. I can wake it once more to enact our will."
A smirk curls Norn's lips. "You wear your new purpose as well as you wear your raiment. Go to this place; our forces will meet you there."
Nahiri needs no further instruction. In three steps, she winks out of existence, the sanctum resounding with a boom. Norn glances to the prisoners once more. Gone already; they must have timed their departure with Nahiri's to conceal the sound. What pitiful creatures, to turn away from such beauty.
"Lukka. How will you bring the glory of Phyrexia to your home?"
Sheoldred's blood still stains his face and carapace. "O Reverend Mother, I will bring it to heel."
"Specifically, Lukka," she says. "That you will bring it to heel is a given."
A grunt leaves him; he shifts his weight side to side. "The monsters," he offers at last. "Once they've joined the fold, the others will cower before us."
She does not like this answer—it implies that the humans don't already cower before them. Neither does she like the simmering anger beneath the surface, anger which lends itself to missteps. Bloodlust is all well and good in a brute, but in a lieutenant? The Planeswalkers would exploit it. Lay a trap for him that he couldn't ignore. Faced with staying to ensure the compleation of the plane or bolting off to settle a personal grievance, Lukka would always choose the personal grievance.
"Very well," she says. "Go to Ikoria. Add these monsters to our ranks. But do understand what the price of failure is, Lukka, and don't forget your true home. You have been anointed with the sacred oil of New Phyrexia—you are no longer a creature of base instinct, you belong to a greater whole."
"And ever may it reign," he says.
His departure is as swift as Nahiri's, and its effects as palpable. Norn allows herself to wonder how much more quickly all this might have come together if Phyrexia had the same ability.
No, it is good Phyrexia had to carve its victory from the spine of an uncaring plane. Anything less would have left them unsuited to the job.
"Grand Praetor," says Tamiyo.
Norn is shaken from her thoughts. "Yes?"
"He will most certainly die on Ikoria," she says. "A bullheaded man often makes hasty decisions—I imagine you intend for it to go that way?"
"If he fails, he goes the way of Sheoldred, and one of you rains judgment upon him," Norn answers. "If he succeeds, the plane is ours, and he will serve penance for any mistakes to our satisfaction. Either way Phyrexia is served."
Tamiyo nods. "As I thought. You are as well reasoned as ever."
"The Grand Cenobite does not make mistakes," says Atraxa. The others are unaccustomed to her voice—they find it harsh and painful, a shard of glass to their delicate eardrums. Even Ajani flinches.
Norn does not. "Indeed. Tamiyo—was it Kamigawa you called home?"
"Once, before I came to understand the truth of things," she says.
"Nissa," Norn commands. The single word is all it takes. Once more the portals ripple and shift. The plane that greets them shines beneath a night sky. Artificial lights illuminate a glittering city. The view swings closer, as if on the end of an arrow, and soon they are within the city itself, tiered structures looming near the shore, reaching for the dark above. The people walking the streets are soft and pliable.
It strikes her that no one is panicking. Perhaps they've realized compleation is nothing to fear—but it is more likely they do not know it is coming, in spite of the portals overhead. Here in the moments before the barbs make anchor, these people go about their pointless lives. A man ingesting some sort of food. He speaks to another person situated at a small stand offering more of the same, asking him a question whose answer will soon be irrelevant. A woman walking with two of her offspring. They are begging for an extra helping of the candy in her hand. She tears off pieces for each, leaving herself without—a sacrifice no one will remember in light of what's about to happen.
Tamiyo watches, too. Her grip tightens around an iron-bound scroll. Among the evangels she is the only one not covered in blood.
"Did you love Kamigawa?" Norn asks.
"I did," Tamiyo says. "A land of heroes and scoundrels, betrayers and champions. It seemed there were a thousand possibilities for how life might change in the future. I wanted to see them all. And I wanted to discover, with my family, which one was true. Now I love what it will become."
"Your family," Norn repeats. Ajani crosses his arms—he is listening intently, knowing there will be questions for him, too. "Do you still care for your family?"
Tamiyo watches the woman and her offspring as they walk down the street. Overhead the first slivers of white come into view. The woman continues. She swings the hands of her children, or they swing hers.
Then, as if remembering she was asked a question, she turns. "I want them to understand what I've come to know about the world—about unity. If we are all compleated then we need never be apart again," she says.
"You understand," Norn says. "Our family is greater than any you've ever known. Welcome the old into the new with open arms, Tamiyo."
There is no true silence in the beating metal heart of Phyrexia. Metal slides on metal as its denizens go about their great holy work; pistons animate beings beyond human understanding; blades cut away that which is impure. Here, too, they can still hear the distant sounds of Sheoldred's final contributions: the crack of chitin, the tear of sinew.
Yet the silence that follows Norn's words is there all the same. Tamiyo watches the screen and makes no sign that she's heard Norn's blessed command.
Realmbreaker pierces the earth. Tiered buildings shudder and shed their layers—whole floors tumble away. All around the tiles are falling like jagged porcelain snow. In only an instant the small food stand is crushed. Red spills from beneath, joining the babbling water.
The mother picks up her children, one in the crook of each arm, and runs.
"Tamiyo," Norn repeats. This hesitation sticks between Norn's pointed teeth.
A man in black streaks across their view. In a storm of brilliant cuts, the falling tiles are split, directed away from the family.
They see no more of what happens—Atraxa takes flight, blocking the view with her wings. When she speaks, her voice is sharper than the sword, sharper than the unseen knives at work not far away.
"Insolence isn't tolerated here. You were given a command."
Tamiyo starts; Ajani flinches. She turns, blinking. "I-I'm sorry, I've no idea what came over me—"
"See that whatever it is, you eradicate it," Norn says. "There can be no space for it. Return with Kamigawa under your control or be recycled into something that serves better."
"As you wish," she says. The sense must have gotten back into her—she no longer hesitates in leaving and does not once look up toward the display.
There are only four of them in the room once Tamiyo has gone. Nissa, standing at her side, her eyes clouded with green. Ajani, who watched Tamiyo go, waits for his next set of orders. Atraxa remains airborne. With every flap of her wings her anticipation is palpable.
But patience is a valuable lesson to learn.
"Ajani," she says, and he inclines his head. "What am I going to ask you?"
"To show you the place where I was born," he answers.
"No. Your destiny is greater than that. We believe you know where it lies."
It is not silence that comes between them then but understanding. When he turns toward the mirrors, it is with confidence. "You want to see Theros."
"Quite right."
Black covers the surface of the mirrors, black shines bright, black reflects something new.
A city stares back at them—one unlike the last. Wine-red waves lap at golden shores; white houses dot a verdant countryside. Where Kamigawa was swathed in the night, this place is brilliant under the light of the sun. Ships sail beneath the outstretched swords of two guardian statues. On their decks, fishers wonder why their catches have contorted into strange shapes. On the cliffsides, astronomers debate the meaning of the portal's appearances.
It is as peaceful a view as anyone might imagine, if they do not look closely.
Norn's heart brims with excitement. They are so close to perfection, so close to a deeper understanding. And she knows it will not be long: Theros is among the first wave of targets.
And it seems they're going to get a good view of the festivities.
It starts the same as it did on Kamigawa: great white branches bursting from the portals. No trees can be seen here, but the roots find purchase all the same. Pods deploy before the tree has finished its work, so eager is Phyrexia to lay claim to this place. Some burst midair, giving birth to a swarm of insectoid convertors. The wind carries the storm of blades to the market. Metal glints in the skies above, hunks of white porcelain dropping to the earth, hulks cratering the buildings they land upon. Marble crumbles like sand; black oil streaks across the white. Temples bolt their doors only for the war machines of Phyrexia to batter them down. Winged constructs devour livestock and humans alike, some descending on the ships to find their meals. Nets do little to stop them; spears bounce off their proud carapaces.
Phyrexia is hungry. Elesh Norn is hungry. Every clamp of their jaws brings the taste of blood to her tongue—an offering from the chorus to her. She is with them, and they are with her, and soon this place will be one.
"It seems our forces are doing well without me," Ajani says.
"At slaughtering the weak and capturing the useful," Norn says. "They will be far more efficient once you are there to lead them."
"You wouldn't be sending me there for such trivial reasons."
He has seen more than he should have, then. Commanders are best when they're clever, but also at their most dangerous. To be clever is to be individual, and within Phyrexia all are one.
Elesh Norn will have to remind him of this. Possibly with new modifications.
"Theros is important to the future of New Phyrexia."
As if to help deter further questions, the battle on the other side of the portal escalates. Nissa's shifted the view to that of someone standing on the shore. Partially submerged in the water is a temple. Atop that temple is a hand swathed in the shifting black of the night sky, dripping rivers onto its steps. Only when their unseen observer looks up does the full picture become clear: there is something guarding the place. Part woman and part something else. Strangest—and most tantalizing—is the way parts of her fade in and out of existence.
A creature of that size could conquer whole planes on her own when compleated. Still, if size was the only thing that interested Phyrexia, Norn would have sent someone more trustworthy to Ikoria.
No—whatever this thing is, it's more than just something huge: it is something Elesh Norn wants.
"That," she says, pointing with one porcelain finger. "You are to bring that within Phyrexia's embrace."
Ajani studies the creature. Nodding once, he looks to Norn. There is something like a smile on his muzzle as the plan becomes apparent to him. "Ah—now I understand, it's the gods you're after."
That's one of their gods? Norn expected more of deities. Not that there are any in existence who could hope to challenge Phyrexia now that it's taken its proper place. While this creature is majestic in a way, it's far from pure. Already Norn's mind races at the possibilities.
"Bring priests with you," she says. "Bring the Argent Etchings. We will defeat these gods on every possible battleground. For those wise enough to realize the truth of the Multiverse, lend them the power to enlighten their former friends."
"The etchings will make it easy. It's belief that makes gods on Theros, not the other way around," he says. "Once the people understand the truth, the gods will follow." He looks once more over his shoulder. The creature—the god—has driven a bident through one of their attack ships. On the shore what sailors remain throw their arms around one another in celebration. Wide smiles break out across their faces, made strange by the fear that clings to their eyes.
Deep down, they know it will not be enough.
And this brings Norn an untold, ineffable joy.
"Go," she commands.
He does. Ajani, ever loyal, does as he is told. As he winks out of existence, she allows herself a moment of pride in his recruitment and creation.
And pride, too, that he did not discover the real reason she'd sent him to Theros. That's fine enough. Even ignorant of his goal, he'd accomplish it.
Only Atraxa and Nissa remain in the sanctum with her.
"Mother of Machines, highest and holiest of authorities, I live to serve," Atraxa offers.
"You needn't waste your time on such inefficiencies," Norn says. "You're well aware there's a reason your task has come last."
A slight flinch at the reprisal, visible only to the woman who shaped Atraxa's body with her own two hands. The others could lay claim to whatever parts they wished—but Norn knew Atraxa best, and Norn had her heart. Nothing remained of her former life save that which made her perfect. "Whatever New Phyrexia asks of me shall be done."
"Nissa—our missionaries once went aground on a place called Capenna. Show us what's become of it."
It takes longer for the visions before them to change. Frustrating, but not unexpected; this isn't a place Nissa knows well. When at last the view comes into focus, they are staring at a golden gate surrounded by white marble. Inscriptions surround the rim. Norn can't read the language and has no care to. Not that she could even if she'd been familiar with it to start: a shimmering golden haze renders all the fine details fuzzy.
Atraxa says nothing, but she does look up toward Norn. How like a vat-slick, freshly born Newt.
"Our predecessors found this plane by ancient means," she says. "Though it was thick with a holy stench, they saw within it something valuable—something worth the risk its guardians presented. For the better part of a year they lingered, taking whatever they wished, conducting vital research on the populace, spreading blessed corruption wherever they tread."
"Until something sealed them away," Atraxa offers. Good; she's beginning to understand why she was chosen for this.
"Indeed. Angels. False prophets bound to stone for their insolence," Norn says. These words must have weight for Atraxa. She lets them ring before continuing. "Fearing the truth we would bring to their people—a unity the likes of which they could never promise—they grew desperate. They gave up their physical forms to suppress our ship's influence. For years we have been here, and for years we've not accomplished a thing. That ends now."
"It will be done," says Atraxa. "I will free the ship—"
"The ship itself is of no concern to us. Had they been faithful they would have triumphed. If you do uncover it or its crew, you are to scavenge them for parts. Compleation is a gift they no longer deserve."
"As you wish," Atraxa says.
"Nissa—show us the atrocity they've constructed."
The view shifts to another nighttime sky, and to the city glittering beneath it. No—Norn refuses to think of it as a city. The towering needle reaching for the stars is an affront in every way. Even without a haze of gold it would reek of decadence. Everywhere the eye falls there is something to appall it: golden shells mounted to vertical shuttles, a sickening worship of fur evident in their coats and dress, the foul noise they called music played by the unworthy tubes of flesh. Its height is hubris, and hubris is its height. All of this constructed on Phyrexian bodies. All of this to keep them away.
"Burn this into your memory. Never forget what they've done to us, what they've constructed here. The faithless consider themselves divine, Atraxa, but divinity exists only in unity."
"All must be as one," Atraxa echoes. From her grip on her weapon, she has little love for the view. "What is it you wish me to do?"
"Teach these people the price of their insolence. They could have joined our ranks, once, but they will no longer find any such mercy from us. You will harvest them all."
"It will be done," Atraxa says. With a flap of her wings, she approaches the bridge to the tree—but Norn raises a hand to stop her.
"There is one other task for you," she says.
Atraxa waits in midair.
Norn points. "The angels that lent this place their protection still guard it today—albeit in a new way. The haze we see here is what remains of their ethereal forms. The faithless call it Halo, and it will be anathema to you. Until you bring the tower down and wake the angels from their rest you will be unable to escape its influence. Your most sacred duty on this plane is to find its wellspring and destroy it."
Atraxa's chin dips lower. She looks to the mirrors, then to Norn. "Mother of Machines, it is not my place to question you . . ."
"Indeed, it isn't," Norn says. "But your question will be permitted. Speak it."
Whatever the question may be, Norn will answer. Atraxa is already bound to the will of New Phyrexia—ultimately, it makes no matter what Norn's answer is, so long as there is one.
"If the ship has been lost for untold years and the atmosphere is poisonous, why not leave this place to the centurions? Why am I being given the task?"
"The reasons are threefold. First: it is a glorious task, and completing it announces your worth to all. Second: your previous life may lend you some protection to this 'Halo.'"
There are no true silences within the sanctum—but there is something like it as Atraxa waits for the third item, and Norn thinks of how to phrase it.
"Third: there exists a danger to New Phyrexia. In killing New Capenna, we strike at her heart."
Atraxa's wings flap once. "This danger—is that why you sent Ajani to Theros, as well?"
"Astute of you," Norn says. "Yes. This danger cannot be permitted to triumph. You and Ajani will seal our victory."
"Then all is for the glory of the faithful," Atraxa says.
She leaves, then. Only Nissa remains—yet she is cold company. Norn's lieutenant is too preoccupied with managing the tree's growth to speak with her.
The air is not quite silent in the sanctum.
Norn hates it.
With a gesture, she calls for her attendants. They arrive to recite her own thoughts and teachings to her. In their screeching voices, Elesh Norn forgets her nightmares—and the woman who stalks them, cloaked in white.
(Dominara)
Chandra hates waiting.
Chandra has bright auburn hair and amber eyes. She stands at 5'6" tall and weighs 130lbs. A highly gifted pyromancer, she is not one for subtlety or grace. Chandra is particularly good with fire and uses it to resolve whatever situation she might be in. She values ingenuity and improvisation with her magic. She is passionate, impulsive, and doesn't much like authority, as typifies characters tightly bound to red mana. Even though Chandra is proud of her independent nature, she also recognizes the volatile nature of her inner fire. She studied under Jaya to learn better control over her pyromancy. She can also conjure some fiery creatures – anything from adorable little embercats to massive flaming elementals and phoenixes.
Although hotheaded, she cares deeply for those she calls friends and takes one's death as a personal failure on her part.
Chandra is a planeswalker centered in red mana. When creating spells, Chandra's hair becomes flame and at times her eyes glow red. As she planeswalks, she disappears in a conflagration of orange and red flame.
She hates everything about this: the safe house they're all cooped up inside; the daily check-ins from other walkers waiting to hear the worst; the excruciating agony of knowing a blow is coming but not knowing when or where it will strike. For the past week they haven't been living in any real sense of the word.
They've been waiting.
That's the plan, after all. For two weeks they'll wait here in one of Liliana's cabins on Dominaria. Though she swore these were simple placeholders for the soon-to-be reconstructed Vess Manor, they were crawling with the sort of wards that'd make a demon think twice. Chandra had no idea Liliana even knew so many wards. When pressed, Liliana simply said she'd learned to protect her investments.
At the end of these two weeks if they've not gotten any word, then they're to assume everyone's died and proceed accordingly. If they get news before then—well, they'll act according to the news. If it's good, they'll spread the word to the others that there's nothing to worry about.
And if it isn't good, they'll tell the others to get ready for war.
Some take the waiting better than others—better than she does. Vivien's out more often than she's in, which gives everyone a little breathing room. Her cooking's incredible, too. Wrenn's also usually out, but never too far away. Waiting's fine for her, so she claims, but Chandra knows she's getting listless. Wrenn might be a dryad—but there's a fire within her, too, and fire's always hungry for more.
And then there's Liliana, who hates waiting as much as Chandra does.
Raven-haired Liliana uses black mana to reanimate the dead, corrupt the living, and unlock power from death.
She is charismatic, witty, and attractive, but profoundly cunning and egocentric. She cares little for others, seeing them as stepping stones on her path to greater power. It was this craving for power that brought her to the Chain Veil, an item she views with contempt at times, for its power comes at a terrible price. Though she appears to be in her late 20s or early 30s, she is actually over two centuries old. She has black hair and violet eyes and stands 5'10" tall, weighing in at 140lbs. She prefers to wear luxurious, revealing dresses and a golden headpiece that she stole from an archangel. She hates angels. When Liliana planeswalks, she disappears in a cloud of black, inky vapor.
After the Mending, she made a pact with four demons—Kothophed, Griselbrand, Razaketh, and Belzenlok—to secure her youth and power. For most of her time with the Gatewatch she sought a means to acquire her past freedom. Initially, she joined the Gatewatch as a means of defeating the demons of her past, freeing her of her contract, but grew to care for her allies (even if she wouldn't admit it). Ultimately her desire to protect those she loved outweighed her narcissistic tendencies, causing her to break her control with Bolas, to end her life in a final show of free will. When Gideon Jura sacrificed himself to save her, she felt genuine sorrow even though his actions had saved her life.
To complete the demonic pact, Kothophed etched the contract in lines along Liliana's newly restored youthful skin. As she cast powerful spells, the lines sometimes glowed purple; when she drew on the power of the Chain Veil, they could bleed. The scars of her contract are still visible as of her time on Arcavios.
They don't really talk about it, because talking about it is like tearing open a wound, but it's something they've sensed about each other. When Chandra returns in the afternoons after her talks with Wrenn, Liliana's often got a story ready for her. Sometimes it's quiet company—she'll sit there reading some ancient tome or reviewing plans for the renovation while Chandra waits. How can she even focus on something like that right now? Everyone's trying to be normal, but nothing's normal, and no one wants to talk about it.
She never asks if there's news. And if someone arrives asking to hear some, it's usually Liliana who answers, sparing Chandra the trouble.
But every day it feels worse. It's like there's a knife against her skin and every day someone drags it a little further along. Every drop of blood is a thing she hasn't spoken out loud, a thought she's too afraid to think.
Phyrexian weaponry. Black oil. Ajani and Tamiyo, lost to them forever, so different from the people they'd been only a few months ago. A plane full of people like that—people who'd do that to others. Maybe it's wrong to think of them as people at all.
She wants to strike back. At least if she was in the thick of it, she'd know what was going on, even if the answers weren't good. Lately none of the answers have been good. If Nissa was . . .
More than anything, she wants the waiting to be over.
For now, she'll pass the time with Wrenn.
"You have to focus on your breathing. Fire needs air just like we do," Chandra says. Jaya used to tell her that to calm her down when things got bad: if she could control her breathing then she could control her fire, and if she controlled her fire, everything would be all right.
Jaya's dead, Ajani killed her, and Chandra's not sure if anything is going to be all right again. But she has to hope that it will be. Wrenn's not great at breathing. Chandra doesn't hold it against her—she's a dryad, after all. Most of them don't have lungs.
"Comparisons to human breathing are a little hard to grasp," Wrenn says. Flames lick up between her barky skin. In spite of the pain she must be in, she sounds cheerful.
"Right," Chandra says. She scratches at the back of her head. Nissa spoke tree. She probably had tons of dryad friends, even. She'd know what to say—but she isn't here. "Think of it like . . . the fire's something you have to shape. You've got to find the parts of it that aren't helpful and cut them off."
"Better," Wrenn says. The fire does flicker—but it doesn't retreat as much as Chandra wanted.
She sets a hand on Wrenn's shoulder, feeling like it's the thing a mentor should do, but without much of an idea how to mentor. Jaya left her with so many lessons. Chandra's not sure she's internalized all of them. How can she pass all of that on to Wrenn? Somebody else would be better at this, someone older, someone . . .
Someone like Ajani.
Chandra extinguishes the thought.
"Let's do it together," she says. "I'll be right here with you. Some fires aren't worth the air; the trick is knowing which ones."
"All right," Wrenn says. "Although that seems terribly rude to the fire."
Chandra closes her eyes. She takes a breath. In the back of her mind, she can hear Jaya's steady voice telling her to focus on the feeling of the air through her nostrils. She repeats the words, clumsy and inelegant, as they come to her. You have to talk to the fire. Find out what it wants to do.
And then the brash war-horn boom of Tyvar's arrival falls like an axe between them.
The two of them look over toward the safe house in time to see two figures limp through the door. Chandra's breath stops in her throat.
There are no more words between her and Wrenn; there's no need for them. Chandra makes for the safe house, shooting a flare into the murky gray sky and hoping it'll be enough to catch Vivien's attention.
And for all that she hates waiting, Chandra finds herself hesitating at the threshold.
Only three of them came back. Maybe the first three, maybe not. But which three would they be? She runs through the possibilities in her head, and she hates herself for doing it. News is good to have, whatever it might be. But who waited beyond the door?
She's never going to find out if she stays out here.
Chandra takes a breath. She steps into the safe house with her eyes closed.
"We were right about the tree. They have their own. It's corrupted, twisted—"
"They out-planned us. Had an answer for everything—"
"Shaping reality to whatever they want—"
Three voices. None Nissa's. Another cut.
Chandra swallows. There's other stuff to think about—this plan's bigger than any of them as individuals. Kaito, mostly whole, leans against a bust. Kaya and Tyvar are slumped on a couch when she opens her eyes, both covered in blood and dirt and grease. Liliana, of all people, is attending to the injured—there are small vials of liquid laid out before her on the floor. She pours some onto a cloth before dabbing it against one of Tyvar's wounds.
It's Liliana who notices Chandra walking in. "It isn't good news."
"Didn't feel like it was," Chandra says. "Never seen anything fouler," Tyvar says. A haunted look comes over him. "The World Tree essence they stole from Kaldheim, they used it to make a monstrosity. It isn't even alive."
"They're using it to invade the other planes." Kaya can't stand sitting anymore—she's up and pacing. "Moving whole armies. Weapons like we've never seen before. There's almost no one left on New Phyrexia but those machine nightmares. Soon they're going to be everywhere."
"But we've still got people to fight back, don't we? We can get everyone else from the other planes, round them up, crash back to New Phyrexia and take Norn down," Chandra's babbling, and she knows it, but she can't stop. Air, she thinks, air—just keep breathing. All of this is worth the air. "This isn't over. It can't be."
There's sympathy in Kaya's eyes. "No, we can't."
"Maybe we should wait for Vivien before we go into it," Kaito cuts in.
Chandra doesn't like that at all. "We've done enough of that. How are they controlling it?"
"I'm just saying—" Kaya starts, as gentle as she can be.
"Kaya. Please," Chandra says. It surprises her, how pained she sounds. "Tell me what happened."
Kaya swallows. "They got Nissa."
And just like that, Chandra forgets how to breathe. She sputters. She knew. On some level, she knew, when Nissa wasn't with the group, that . . .
Before she can summon something to say, the door opens behind them.
"There's news?" Vivien says from behind them. "Wait . . . Where's Jace?"
"Fashionably late, I imagine," Liliana says. She ties off the bandage around Tyvar's chest. "He'll be here any moment now."
Kaya closes her eyes. "No. He won't."
Liliana's face, at least, shows no signs of distress. Her voice comes sharp and hurt—the same hurt in Chandra's chest. "Don't be ridiculous."
"He fought valiantly, but these beasts . . ." says Tyvar.
"Bravery doesn't matter much when your opponent never tires, never errs," Kaito says. He can't seem to look up from the floor. "Or when you're that far gone."
"That doesn't make any sense," Liliana says. She stands, picking up a tray of vials to hide her trembling hands. "All of this nonsense was his idea. He wouldn't just fail. He doesn't do that."
"At the end, I don't think it was him anymore. He became one of them," Kaito says.
Liliana's taking deeper breaths, but she doesn't want anyone to notice. "What do you mean?"
"We don't have time to get caught up in the details," Vivien interjects. "Whatever happened, Nahiri's going to Zendikar, the Wanderer must have gotten away, Elspeth must have already gone ahead to Theros—"
"We saw the Phyrexians take Nahiri, too," Tyvar says.
"Elspeth didn't make it," Kaito adds. "The Wanderer's probably headed back home, but there's no way Elspeth made it out of that."
"There is no way Elspeth Tirel died on New Phyrexia," says Vivien.
Kaya's brows knit together. Her eyes flick over to Liliana. "Let's just get it out of the way: the last time we saw Elspeth, her sword was jutting out of Jace's back." She pinches the bridge of her nose before continuing. "That messed up tree was already connected to a dozen planes at least. If he set off the sylex, we could have lost them all. The thing was ticking away to the end of days, and there wasn't any time, so she . . ."
Kaya trails off. Tyvar picks it up again. "Elspeth ran him through, picked up the sylex and planeswalked into the Blind Eternities. A noble sacrifice—she must be feasting with the valkyries now."
"Oh, shut up," hisses Liliana.
The air in the safe room's gone cold. Jace and Nissa are both gone. Nahiri, too. Even Elspeth couldn't make it out in the end. Out of everyone they sent, only four returned, and of the four only three are here. Everything they feared is coming true: the Phyrexian invasion is underway.
Vivien settles onto the floor with them, having lost her proud bearing in face of the news. "This is worse than I thought."
"That's the only reason we're here. You need to understand what we're up against." Kaya says. "The whole Multiverse has to understand. Now as I was saying—"
"Well, you can keep going without me." It's a sudden interjection, with an odd amount of force meant to detract from the wavering of its speaker. Liliana is already making for the door. "I'm going to send word to Strixhaven."
"You should hear the story—" starts Tyvar, but Liliana is already shaking her head.
"I've got a good enough idea of your kind of storytelling. Noble sacrifices never sit well with me."
Chandra opens her hand, then closes it into a fist. "What if there's a way we can help the others?"
Chandra's heard people say Liliana's all sharp edges and ambition. That's true. But it's also true that at certain angles, those give way. The tilt of Liliana's head now is anything but sharp; the ambition in her eyes has changed to a deep sympathy. "You want to go back there yourself, don't you?"
All eyes fall on Chandra. She's keenly aware of the way they're looking at her—what they must be thinking. Of course she does. She's impulsive. Chandra can hear the lectures starting, and she's already tired of them. She's tired of sitting around waiting for the world to end.
"Yeah. Yeah, I do," she says. "There must be some other way to take the World Tree down. You're all acting like it's over."
Kaya presses the heel of her palm against her eyes. She takes a breath. "I can't let you go back."
"Let me?" Chandra says. She takes a step toward her. "You aren't letting me do anything."
"The plan is to let the others know what's going on," Vivien says. She's cooler, more collected, but there's no mistaking what she thinks of Chandra's idea. "We can rally our forces, figure out some way to fight back. But we can't do that if we rush in headlong."
"There's plenty of you to go do that," Chandra argues. "Plenty of all of us. But if we keep fighting back against what's already there, we aren't going to make any progress. We have to cut them off at the root or they're going to keep coming."
The others exchange looks. At least they're thinking about it. Liliana, for all her earlier protestation, hasn't left yet—she remains halfway between Chandra and the door. She understands, doesn't she? She must understand better than anyone here what this feels like. It's Kaya who speaks up next. "Chandra, I understand where you're coming from. Truly, I do. But you can't begin to understand what happened in New Phyrexia. This isn't something you can just blow in and solve without planning. We planned for it, and we barely made it out. I've been an assassin for years, and I almost lost my head in there. Nahiri dealt with Eldrazi; we lost her, too. If you go there, you aren't just going to die—you're going to have your flesh stripped off, your bones shaped into metal, and your mind warped to their sick worldview. Next time we see you you'll be telling us about the joys of being one with Phyrexia. Vivien's right—the best thing we can do is try to avoid losing anyone else. Once we're done here, you must return home to Kaladesh and tell people how to prepare. That's the best we can do for them."
The answer's coming out of Chandra's mouth before her mind's had the chance to stop it. "You're treating me like a kid."
"I'm not treating you like a kid. I'm trying to look out for you. This isn't like Ravnica. The Eternals are nothing compared to Norn's fleshless legions. I know this is coming from a good place. You want to help everyone. You want to save the Multiverse—fine. But there are better ways to do it than running off half-cocked into a job a whole team of us couldn't finish."
Kaya's saying things, but all Chandra can hear is more of the same. Kaya doesn't see the point. Tyvar has to understand, right? He loves big challenges. But when she catches his eye, he averts his gaze.
"Valor's commendable," echoes Tyvar, "but so is knowing which battles are yours to fight. Kaya and I are only here to tell you what's happened. Go where you're needed, tend to your own, and die where your bones are home."
"This is everyone's battle," Chandra says.
"Which means everyone gets a say in it," says Vivien. "And my say is that we don't waste any more resources on something we know isn't going to work."
"I know how you're feeling. Admitting you've lost isn't easy," Kaito says. "But we only lost the fight. If we can keep our homes safe, we win the war."
Chandra takes a breath. She feels like she's going to explode. This is the most obvious thing in the world, and they either can't, or won't, see it. "What about the people stuck on New Phyrexia? Are we just going to leave them there?"
No one wants to answer it. Not directly. The silence that comes over the safe house then is nothing but another form of waiting, and Chandra hates it as much as she hates this whole situation. If she could burn everything down right now—if she could find a new start in the flames—then she would. Standing here is making her soul itch.
"Tell me. Are we abandoning them?" Breathing's getting harder to do, or easier—the breaths are big and sharp now, feeding the fire growing in the pit of her stomach. Heat sears the corners of her eyes.
"Chandra," Liliana says, soft as shadow on snow, "she'd want you to stay safe, wouldn't she?"
Why'd she have to say that? Chandra had been trying so hard not to think about it, trying to keep her imagination at bay, but Liliana's cut it loose. It's as easy to imagine Nissa here as it is to call fire. Chandra can see it so clearly: the determination written on Nissa's face, her eyes gone canopy green, the angle of her ears. She can feel Nissa's hand on her shoulder, she can smell moss and pine, she can hear the words even if she doesn't want to imagine them.
It hurts.
Gods, it hurts.
She feels like she's bleeding out in front of every single one of them and not a one is offering her any help at all.
Chandra takes another breath. Air, she thinks. Just keep breathing.
"When we lose someone, we have to do honor to their memory," Liliana says.
"I haven't lost her," Chandra fires back.
Kaya's exasperation increases by the second. She's exhausted, and it's in every line of her face. "She's gone, Chandra."
"No, she isn't. If we stop the Phyrexians then we can figure out how to stop . . . how to stop whatever happened. How to make it better. You can't give up on—"
"This is about more than any one person," Vivien cuts in. "We're tending to a forest, here, not a single tree—"
"Don't you think I know that?" she says. The faint glow at the edge of her vision tells her she's flaring up. She didn't intend to, but it's fine—maybe even good. All this feeling has got to go somewhere. "Don't you think I know how many lives are the on the line? That's why I want to go back! We're never going to win if all we do is run away from them!"
"Chandra—" starts Kaya, but it's too late. She's beyond listening now.
"I'm leaving," she says. "You can go warn the other planes if you want to, but I'm not leaving our friends behind."
"You're going alone?" Tyvar asks.
"Since none of you are coming, yeah, I'm going alone," she says, backing toward the door. "But I won't be alone when I get there."
"And what's your plan, exactly?" Kaito calls.
Chandra doesn't turn. "Take down the tree. Figure everything else out along the way. Nice and easy."
The marsh awaits—with Liliana as the last of the group standing in her way. Still, Liliana isn't quite blocking her, only leaning against the threshold, watching.
"You're serious about this," she says.
"Yeah. And you're serious about running away, aren't you?"
There are plenty of people who would kill for the chance to make Liliana Vess wince. Strangely, it doesn't feel like a victory to Chandra. None of this does—and that's the worst part.
"Is that what you think I'm doing? I'm not running. I just know funeral bells when I hear them. I wish you all the best on your little adventure."
"Wait," Chandra says.
But Liliana doesn't. She walks out onto the marsh herself, hardly casting a backward glance. "Oh, there's no time for waiting. You said so yourself."
Nothing about today is easy. Chandra opens and closes her hand again. She wants to argue, or make it clear what she really meant—that Liliana would be a huge help if she came, and maybe they could find some answers together, and maybe it's good to face your fears instead of running from them.
But that'd be asking Liliana to be someone other than herself—and the two of them had always understood not to ask that of each other.
There was a loud Crash outside as Chandra and Liliana look back before looking to each other before investigating.
Outside the manor Chandra and Liliana saw 4 girls on there fours panting Exhausted.
Each of four colors Red, White, Black and Yellow
"Ruby…" The yellow one said
"Y-yeah Yang…argh fuck!" The girl in the red cloak gasped before collapsing exhausted.
Next to her the girl in white held her temple
"Damn why do I feel like my head was split open while being pounded and face fucked at the same time." The girl in white said
"An avid description, Weiss." the girl in black said which Chandra identified to have cat ears on her head.
While not the weirdest thing in the multiverse it certainly was out there.
Liliana looked to Chandra
"Do you have any idea what this is?"
"I'm as confused as you are." Chandra said
"Well there not Phyrexians I can say that." Liliana said not sensing a bit of undead nature about them.
"That's obvious."
"However that does bring up question, who are you?" Chandra asked
Yang however was too exhausted
"Can we give ourselves some fucking breathing room before you decide to interrogate us!" Yang snapped
Chandra anyways the hot-head when not under immense pressure and worry for her lover didn't take the response well.
"Hey fuck you!" She bit back
"Up yours!" Yang yelled
"Why you bitch!?" Chandra snarled lighting her hair on fire.
"Oh look it's this multiverses verson of Yang." Blake muttered
The two girls charged at each other Chandra preparing a fireball while Yang cocked back ember cilica
Until a massive blizzard blew past the two hot heads freezing them cold.
Both girls looked over to see Wiess using her weapon for support shoot a death glare at the two.
"Yang Xiao long, if I have to hold you back from making this situation any fucking worse I will beat you within a inch of your life!" Weiss threatened
Yang snarled
"Shut up Weiss this isn't your-."
"NO YOU SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!" Ruby roared
Everyone turned to see a livid Ruby.
Livid and extremely weak and exhausted
She was physically pushing her bodies limit.
"We don't have time to argue about petty things like this the multiverse is in danger so get your fucking head out of your asses before you make this situation worse." Ruby said
Everyone was frozen as Ruby started to sway before she slammed Crescent rose down to hold herself up…
Only for her legs to give out.
"I will admit. This is something I didn't expect." Liliana said being the voice of reason.
"But we need all the help we can get, especially if multiple Multiverses are involved." She said
"Wait multiple multiverses?" Chandra asked
"I highly doubt these people are fighting against the Phyrexians look at them Chandra do any of them look as if they have ever faced A Phyrexian before?"
"What the fuck Is a Phyrexian?" Blake asked
The two planeswalker's looked at each other.
"Clearly you have a lot to catch up on." Liliana said
"Time we don't have Vess! The longer we wait the more the invasion tree grows!" Chandra said
"Invasion tree what?!" Yang asked
"We don't have time to catch you up multiple realms are in danger I need to go." Liliana said looking to Chandra
"Fill them in, then head to New Pherxiea if you must."
Liliana disappears in a blink of inky vapor.
Chandra Nalaar stands there she turns to them.
"Alright what do you want to know?"
A while later Chandra gets to walking.
She explained the briefest history of the phyrexian invasion, Elish Norn's supposed plans, and the defense of the multiverse.
At the same time Chandra noticed that despite not being from this multiverse's or having "magic." They had a latient spark in them.
Something that she helped unlock,
She had a feeling Jaya would be proud.
Chandra was happy, after unlocking their Sparks, Ruby ordered the rest of her team to assist Chandra to take down the world tree. Before Ruby activated her spark for the first time vanishing in a Blast of rose petals's
Yang chuckled "of course that would be how she planeswalks." She said
Chandra found that she actually got along surprisingly well with Yang
But now her new firends we're talking amongst themselves as they planned their attack on New Phyrexia.
For Chandra The tears are hot when they leave her eyes, but the cold air of the marsh threatens to freeze them against her skin. She turns up the heat to keep from shivering. She doesn't know how far she wants to go before she planeswalks away. Really, she doesn't have to go far at all. She could do it here if she wanted to.
But she wants to walk for a while. Feel the wind, smell the awful marsh smell, look up at the dull gray sky. When she leaves, she may not see sky again for some time. It isn't the vibrant azure of Kaladesh. The clouds here don't spiral. In fact, there aren't any clouds at all—only a morass of gray in all directions. She can't smell ozone or stall food; she can't hear the din of the markets. This place is not home. This place is not what she will remember.
That's fine. She'll come back. There will be other places. She'll make sure of it, because when the World Tree comes down, they're going to have so many other places to go. It'll be fine, after.
She stops at the first tree she sees. It isn't a very strong tree, or even very healthy: its bark has gone black, its branches empty and gnarled like claws raking against the sky. But it is a tree, and she thinks that's probably good enough for taking a breath. Chandra sits beneath its nonexistent shade and throws her head back.
Going to New Phyrexia is the right thing to do.
But she is afraid.
It'll be fine. She just needs a second to build up to it.
And maybe a second to cry before she planeswalks right into the mouth of an evil empire defended by the people who were once her closest friends. People she'd depended on to take that empire down. They couldn't do it—and now she's going off to do it alone.
A sudden coolness and the shifting of leaves tell her that she's not alone. Sniffling, Chandra frowns. "Go away."
"Oh, I'd rather not. Then I'd have to return to the others."
Ah, it's Wrenn. At least it isn't Kaya coming to try and talk her out of this. Still, Chandra can't think of anything to say. She tries not to sob as much now that she's got company—but she sobs all the same.
"I want to help."
Chandra wipes at the tip of her nose. "You do?"
"I do. How strange it was to watch you speak with the others. I thought you were making perfect sense. If a branch has gone rotten, you've got to cut it off before you can assess how the tree's doing."
She didn't know what a relief it would be to have someone understand her. Before, it felt like her anger was steaming out of her—but it's different now. Like it's melting out into the ground. Still, she has to be sure Wrenn means what she's saying. "We won't have any backup."
"Don't speak so surely," Wrenn says. "We have Seven with us—and I think we'll have Teferi, too."
Teferi? But nobody knew where he was, or if he was even still alive.
"You're confused about that, aren't you? I think that's confusion on your face. It can be hard to tell sometimes, what people are thinking, just with their faces."
"You guessed right," Chandra says. "You should give yourself more credit. If we had Teferi with us . . . You think you know where to find him?"
"I think so," Wrenn says. She nods, while Seven assumes a thinking posture. "He's gotten himself caught in a tangle again—but it's nothing we can't solve. I've been studying it while we've been in this place, the twisting paths he's gone down. I know how to reach him, but I won't be able to do it on my own."
"Well, you won't be on your own," Chandra says. The fear's leaving, too, as hope begins to rear its head. If she can get Teferi out from wherever he is, their odds improve considerably. "You'll have me, Seven, and whoever else we find over there."
But Wrenn looks away, her hand resting on Seven's bark. "Seven has done so much for me—but he cannot do this. He cannot lend me power he doesn't have. It must be the fire, and it must be the World Tree."
The most important thing about dealing with fire, Jaya had always said, is knowing that it's dealing with you. You can guide it, you can make suggestions, you can give it a safe place to be—but in the end it's always going to do what it wants, and what it wants changes from second to second. You have to be in conversation with it if you mean to get anywhere, and if you want to keep your friends safe. It's the exact opposite of dealing with trees.
Chandra used to talk with Nissa about it, too.
Nissa used to tell her that sometimes turbulent growth, the sort that happened all at once, could be like fire. At first, Chandra hadn't believed her. Fire scours, nature nurtures. But then she saw what the Roil was like on Zendikar and it started to make sense—sometimes, it was the same. She liked it when nature surprised her. And, more than anything, she liked listening to Nissa talk about it.
She'd tried to help Wrenn figure things out the way Nissa had helped her, but teaching's a lot harder than listening, and Wrenn's fire isn't any normal flame. That she's standing there at all is a testament to her strength. If she's really going to set it loose, then the World Tree just might be the only thing that can handle it. "You're sure?"
"I am," she says. "The others were wrong—that tree is alive. I can hear his song from here. It's . . . distant, but pained. A howl without melody. He needs help, just as Teferi and the others do. If I were to ignore it, what sort of hero would I be? My own fright has little to do with it."
Chandra offers a small, sad smile. "Hero, huh? I'm frightened, too—but less, now that I've got company."
"You should find yourself a friend like Seven," Wrenn says. "You'd never be lonely, then."
Unless that friend should happen to be lost on a plane full of vicious enemies, and then she'd be very lonely indeed.
Chandra's smile only gets sadder—but she stretches it out, as if to hide it. She gives Seven a pat on the bark. "Let's head out."
Wrenn tilts her head, as if realizing she might have said something amiss, but the moment passes without comment. Soon they have left the shade of the barren tree. No one comes to see them off.
Not anyone they can see, at any rate.
But there is someone watching the clearing. There is someone watching the safe house, and the people within it huddled together in search of purpose and direction. A trick of the light might reveal them, or it might not. A keen nose might notice their scent, or it might not. But they are there, watching.
All of this feels familiar to them, like a song whose lyrics have long since faded away. Over and over, they try and remember and yet the words flit away. Only the melody remains: a lament for what is to come, a dolorous anthem.
The watcher is not alone. There are others, too, seeing and yet unseen. The watcher asks one of them: "What is it we're seeing? Why are we here?"
The answer comes like the trumpet of warhorns: We are here to witness the beginning of the end.
(Eoc)
Here's Chapter 16
Damn The multiverse that is Magic: The Gathering's Lore. Is dense.
Until next time.
[Call to action] if anyone has a suggestion about what other universes you want to see please feel free to comment. Which
And with that we are done Keep reading. Bankerrtx01.
Lore:
Phyrexia: A Phyrexian is a compleated creature from Phyrexia, New Phyrexia or similar infested planes. They consist of a mixture of metal and organic matter and can appear in many forms. Phyrexians can often be recognized by features like dripping ichor, eyelessness, cysts, pustules, or the expulsion of noxious gases. Phyrexians in the Machine Orthodoxy of New Phyrexia often have their skin replaced with glossy, porcelain-like armor.
Phyrexians were created by Yawgmoth, a Thran eugenicist who believed beings should be made perfect through artifice and organ rearrangement. Taking over an initially idyllic world thanks to Dyfed, he brought his followers to this new world, the first Phyrexia. Here, they mutated into abominations, though artificial enhancement only began much later on. In Old Phyrexia, most non-assimilated phyrexians began as newts, humanoid beings later altered into monstrosities to serve Yawgmoth's will. In New Phyrexia, the equivalent stage is the germ, an embryonic being formed from the gestalt of genetic material from war victims. Natural-born phyrexians differ from compleated beings in some ways, like for instance the white-aligned core-born ones grow porcelain naturally while compleated subjects have to have seed grafts implanted.
The most perfect of phyrexian lifeforms were the pneumagogs, Yawgmoth's creations that resembled angels. They were purely physical on upper spheres and purely spiritual on lower ones, being complete in the sixth sphere. So beautiful were they that they pursued Urza to join the Phyrexian cause. To date, they have not been referenced in cards, particularly as new phyrexians are decidedly non-spiritual.
Old phyrexians were in principle all aligned with black mana; why is not clear, and some of the errata'd cards show non-black phyrexians (i.e. Volrath's Shapeshifter) while the pneumagogs appear white. As of New Phyrexia, the oil was charged by the mana of Mirrodin's five suns, so phyrexians now unambiguously occur in all colors of mana. This had the effect of factionalizing the previously monolithic species, but the white-aligned phyrexians led by Elesh Norn managed to subdue the other factions and install her as Mother of Machines.
Phyrexians on Mirrodin/New Phyrexia were spawned by the Mycosynth's corruption, but ironically are unable to become fully metallic due to the fungus' constant turning of metal into flesh.
Old phyrexians had limited dexterity so they designed their glyph system to be able to be written with three claws. New phyrexians do not have this limitation and often write with styluses.
While retaining independence, phyrexians as a whole are subjected to a loose hivemind. If the center dies, they cease to function at least temporarily.
Spark: A planeswalker's spark is a latent power inborn into a very small number of sentient creatures across the Multiverse, which if activated permanently turns the bearer into a planeswalker. A planeswalker is granted the ability to travel between the planes of the Multiverse. The exact mechanics of the planeswalker's spark are unknown, and many of the descriptions are prerevisionist.