The treefolk strode inward across marshy lands. Salt.w.a.ter sloughed from their bark. Roots that had traversed half a world tore up the ground of Urborg. They sank in the wet soil and ripped holes through to underground caverns. Seawater poured down these shafts, flooding the caves below. The bubbling channels of water soon were full. Decaying corpses in their thousands drifted from the inundated underworld.

Kavu cared nothing for corpses, but ahead, on the foothills of the central volcano, Phyrexians ma.s.sed. Battle cries ceased as lizards scrambled down the trunks of the striding trees. They bounded to ground. Claws designed to sink into wood gripped cold lava just as well. Kavu hurled themselves along the mountain side. With mouths gaping, they galloped into the Phyrexian troops. The crunch of the first few only whetted their appet.i.tes. This was not battle, but feast.

Heedless, the treefolk strode on. They pursued another foe. Above the volcano flew a great ship, pursued by five roaring Primevals. One of those serpents was Rith.

Striding up the hardened lava, treefolk clawed amid the clouds. Boughs raked the teeming sky. Ships and dragons were but gnats to magnigoth treefolk. They hauled down branches draped with dead serpents. None was Rith. It was easy to kill countless gnats, but difficult to catch a specific one.

The treefolk lord that had held Rith captive all these millennia bellowed with fury. Wind ripped through its core. The exhalation hurled dragons from the sky. The inhalation afterward dragged more serpents in, wedging them in hollows and impaling them on slivers. None was Rith. The Primeval flitted away, along with her pantheon of dragon G.o.ds. The treefolk lord pursued its elusive quarry across the sky.

"What in the Nine h.e.l.ls!" shouted Tahngarth. His barrage of cannon fire ceased as he gabbled at the huge trees that circled the volcano. They lashed out at Weatherlight. "Even the flora has turned against us!"

From the speaking tube came Multani's voice. "Sisay, fly closer to them."

"Closer?" she echoed in a near shriek.

"Yes," Multani replied. "They've come not for us but for the green dragon."

Tahngarth shook his head in dubiety. A ma.s.sive bough swept violently past Weatherlight.

"We thought Rhammidarigaaz was on our side too. What's to say these trees don't want their wood back?"

"I'm to say," replied Multani. "I am, after all, their spirit. Take us close. Close enough to make contact. I'll coordinate the attack."

"You're not leaving us," Sisay insisted.

"Only long enough to marshal the treefolk. Then I'll be back. This is a fight I wouldn't miss."

Tahngarth felt his stomachs churn as Weatherlight plunged away beneath him. He held on tight to Squee's ray cannon. To port came lofty leaves, thrashing violently along the wing. To starboard was empty sky plunging down to a boiling sea. Directly before him, gaining on the ship's stern, were four angry dragon G.o.ds.

Ever since Gerrard disappeared, things had gotten crazy.

Chapter 34.

In Waving Fields of Gra.s.s.

Urza Planeswalker wandered through waving fields of gra.s.s. The stuff made a shushing noise under his t.i.tanic feet. A wind bore past him, eager to cross the hill. On the horizon ranged gray mountains. The sky was a sh.e.l.l in solid white.

It was a serene place, the sixth sphere of Phyrexia. To Urza, it felt like home.

True, it was not gra.s.s but twisted wire. Its barbs would rip a person apart before he moved ten paces. Its electrical impulses would cook his flesh instantly. The winds were equally unnatural, sp.a.w.ned in mile-high turbines among the mountains. They would pluck up a person like dandelion down and chop her to pieces and hurl her parts endlessly around the sphere. This was no place for humans, but for an artificer in a t.i.tan engine, it was a heaven.

Urza stopped walking. He wished he could crouch here and harvest wires and weave them into a wreath and charge it with the land's own currents. Power was everywhere, but more than power drew him. Beauty did. This place was beautiful.

Urza gazed down at his hand. It held the single ugly thing in the windblown place-an armored device with a riot of its own wires, bound around a powerstone incendiary device. A bomb, but not just any bomb. This was the master. Its blast would trigger all the others. It would set off the destruction of all Phyrexia.

The destruction of all Phyrexia. Urza could little bear the thought.

The place he would plant the bomb lay just ahead. It seemed a termite mound but was the size of a mountain. Irregular towers reached into the beaming sky. Windows glowed with red radiance. The light came from no torch or lantern but from the very inhabitants of the otherworldly city. Yawgmoth's Inner Circle.

While most Phyrexians were creatures of flesh and machine, Yawgmoth's Inner Circle belonged to another phylum entirely. The pneumagogs dwelt between the physical and metaphysical worlds. They had bodies, yes- red-sh.e.l.led bodies of living metal. Their insectoid legs could gallop across ground, and their rasping wings could slice through air. But these mechanisms were only the loci of their beings, rooting them in time and s.p.a.ce. Pneumagog bodies were wrapped in layer upon layer of scintillating spirit. This was the true essence of pneumagogs- brilliant, glowing, empathic souls.

Nowhere else in all the Nine Spheres did pneumagogs exist fully. When they ascended to higher spheres, only their living-metal bodies went. When they descended to lower spheres, only their spirits went. It was here, on the sixth sphere, that they were a glorious amalgam of physic and metaphysic.

Urza strode toward the city of the pneumagogs. They would attack him, of course. He would slay them, as before. Rockets would blast apart their metal bodies. Spells would liberate their fettered souls. Urza and his comrades would extinct them. Even now, the five other t.i.tans slew the inhabitants of similar cities and planted charges to exterminate them.

As Urza's feet chuffed through wire, the first pneumagog sentries emerged from the hive. They swarmed toward him.

In reflex, Urza energized his ray cannons. He lifted one arm toward the approaching pneumagogs. They seemed angels in red. Their wings strummed the air. With a single volley, Urza could have cut the figures from the sky, but he hesitated.

In moments, they surrounded him. They did not attack. Instead, the swarm enclosed the t.i.tan in a scarlet sphere. Their wings made an a.s.sonant drone. Compound eyes stared with sad confusion at Urza.

He marched onward, toward their city.

A few of the creatures darted down to the bomb. With antennae and proboscises, they sensed the device and its function.

Urza lifted it in their midst. He felt their fear. Surely they felt his regret.

Any moment, they would attack. They would rip apart his bomb, his t.i.tan engine, and himself. Urza had no will to stop them.

Neither did the pneumagogs will to stop him. They knew what he bore-not only the bomb but also the tremendous reluctance to use it. Instead of impeding his way, the pneumagogs buzzed up alongside him, escorting him. He took another deliberate step. They paced him.

Gentle creatures, why don't you fight this doom? sent Urza to the flock of beasts.

Their answer came in a thousand voices speaking as one in his head. You are one of us, Urza Planeswalker. You are a creature of flesh and metal and spirit.

Indeed, they were right. The only difference was that Urza wore his metal body on the outside and carried his metaphysical body within.

But I am going to destroy you. I have devised this bomb for the very purpose.

You would not destroy us, Urza. We know that you see the beauty of this place. We know that your soul is aligned with ours.

Urza sighed in resignation. It was a glorious freedom to be understood. Barrin had understood Urza, but he had not approved of the planeswalker's true self. Always, he had nagged. These creatures, though, they knew Urza and understood him and approved.

How have I been so deluded? I have spent my life defending a world that I hate and that hates me. All the while, I have made war on my true home, my true people.

He knelt in the midst of wires and pneumagogs. Urza lifted the bomb in one clawed hand. With the other, he ripped back the smooth metal casing. The wires within formed an obscene brain filled with an obscene thought- the destruction of Phyrexia. Urza slid the pincers of his free hand in among the circuits. Without these fragile metal filaments, none of the bombs would ignite. Without them, Phyrexia would live.

Urza's claws closed. He yanked. Conduits popped. Sparks showered. White smoke puffed from the case. Urza dragged the ruined ignition device from the master bomb. The powerstone grew dark. He dropped it on the gra.s.s at his feet. It lay there disarmed, impotent to slay.

Phyrexia at last was safe.

The pneumagogs fluttered all around the kneeling t.i.tan. Their wings made a scissoring song of praise. Their voices spoke into Urza's aching mind.

Welcome home, Urza. Welcome home.

Another t.i.tan shimmered into being alongside Urza. Taysir's multicolored engine took form. He lunged, grasping Urza's suit and hauling him to his feet.

Taysir's voice was urgent and full of accusation. What have you done, Urza! What are you doing?

Before Urza could answer, the pneumagogs swarmed Taysir's engine. As vicious as hornets, they tore the suit's armor. It would not last long under their a.s.sault.

Instead of battling the beasts, Taysir focused utterly on Urza. You've been seduced. Yawgmoth has done this. You must get away, Urza. Flee, before your soul belongs to him. We will complete the sequence. We will rig a new master and ignite the bombs and destroy Phyrexia- Destroy Phyrexia! It was more than Urza could bear.

He triggered the kill rubric.

Ten thousand metal filaments jutted into Taysir's body. Lightnings leaped. The first impulses paralyzed him. He could not move, could not think, could not planeswalk. Stronger currents cooked his flesh on his bones. Other energies extracted his soul. There were no bombs for the planeswalker to charge-Urza had not counted on Taysir's betrayal-and what a fortunate thing! The other traitors might have found the bombs and used them against Phyrexia. No, Taysir's life force was shunted into the suit's oil, which gushed out its arms and legs.

The t.i.tan suit toppled backward. Sparks from the gra.s.s ignited the oil. It flashed fantastically. Mantled in fire, the t.i.tan burned.

Oh, what a terrible scene-so many pneumagogs unmade by that burning oil! They fled up and away, but some were too slow. Pneumagogs flocked around him like burning birds. Even in death, Taysir was a killer. Such a horrible waste.

At least Taysir was dead. The oil had stopped spraying life force. Taysir's suit went dark. It was a waste of good design material. The dome had cracked. The hydraulics systems had shattered. Weapons across the machine were ruined. Perhaps the genius of it was lost.

Yawgmoth would know how to salvage the best parts, the best designs. Taysir's suit was a gift to Yawgmoth.

"What of the others?" Urza wondered to the wind. "Freyalise, Lord Windgrace, Bo Levar, and Commodore Guff? Surely they will try to detonate the bombs. If they are successful-"

A voice in his mind replaced his thoughts. They are no longer your concern. Leave them to my minions. You must descend toward me. Leave your t.i.tan engine here and come to the seventh sphere.

Urza's breath caught short. "The seventh sphere? It is a place of torments. Why do you call me to the seventh sphere? Have I failed you?"

There is a final test you must pa.s.s, Urza Planeswalker. I must know your true heart.

"You will know it," replied Urza. "You will surely know it."

He planeswalked from the piloting harness of his t.i.tan suit. It would stand without him, another gift to Yawgmoth. The sixth sphere of Phyrexia disappeared.

Urza rematerialized in another place, a deeper place. Just over his ashen hair rolled enormous grinders studded in diamond teeth. They gnashed against each other. Were Urza to reach up, his hand would be caught and his whole body ripped away. The ceiling extended in every direction, supported by nothing and tumbling ravenously by. Spatial distortions sometimes lifted the grinders away from the ground and other times brought them into direct contact.

Urza looked at the ground. It was covered with bodies. This was no random carnage, but a calculated thing. Creatures were laid out on their backs. Their legs and arms were bolted to pipes. Some were human, some elf, some minotaur or dwarf-but most were Phyrexian. Their feet and kneecaps had been ground away. Their bellies had been ripped open by the diamond points. Their faces were gone. It was a horrid death to have suffered but fitting for those who had failed the lord of Phyrexia.

As Urza watched, the ceiling nearby warped and descended. Grinders spun, coming into contact with a whole field of bodies. Where they rolled, blood and oil and bits of meat came away. That was not the most ghastly sight though. Worst of all was the jiggling of the bodies, the agonized shuddering that told that these forms were still alive.

Blinking powerstone eyes, Urza said, "Is this the test then? To watch unflinching as you work eternal punishment on your foes?

"This will not shake my belief. I see this and am unmoved. Mortality is no better than this-to lie helpless as time grinds flesh to bone. I have watched mortals-even best friends, even brothers-get ground away like this. It is your right to do this. You are a G.o.d."

As if waiting for Urza to finish his lecture, the voice said simply, Proceed.

Urza did. He stepped among arms and legs, pa.s.sing over the flayed figures. They breathed even though their noses were only holes in their faces. They lived even though their hearts were laid bare. The air shivered with agony.

None of this poisoned Urza's heart. Those who pleased Yawgmoth received his bounteous mercies. Those who displeased him received his bounteous wrath. It was the right of G.o.ds. Stop.

Urza did so without hesitation, setting his foot down beside a Phyrexian. Look at him.

Urza did. Unlike so many others, this creature's head had not been held down. He could turn it to the side when the rollers came down. Both of his ears were gone. The skin and muscle on either side of his head were mere tatters over bone, but his face remained. Black hair, a rumpled brow, sharp eyes, a prominent nose, a mustache, a goatee.... It was a familiar face. Even after eons, it took Urza only a moment to recall it. "Mishra," he murmured, staring at his brother. When last Urza and Mishra had been face to face, they had sought to slay each other. A fireball had shown Urza what his brother had become-Phyrexian. Metal sinews had strung along beneath the man's flesh. That single spell had also shown Urza what he must do to annihilate the plague he had brought to Dominaria. The sylex blast had made Urza a planeswalker and, he thought, had slain Mishra. He had been wrong.

Your brother failed me. He sought me out in hopes of gaining power. He wanted to use me to defeat you, but I am never used. Mishra failed to slay you. He even closed Dominaria to me for an age. For this, he suffers eternally.

Urza stared down. His gemstone eyes gleamed. One of those stones had been Mishra's-the Weakstone. In the sylex blast, Urza had received both the stones and the power they bore. Mishra had meanwhile received d.a.m.nation.

He came to me, but I did not want him. I wanted you, and you did not come.

"Until now," Urza said.

Until new.

"Brother," rasped Mishra, "save me." Urza only stared down at him. "Grasp my hand. 'Walk me from this place! We can both escape this h.e.l.l. Take me to some gra.s.sy place where the wind blows, that I may die in peace. Take me away. He will allow it. He has told me. Take me, Brother."

I will allow it, confirmed the voice. This is your test. I would know your heart on this matter.

"Brother! Please! If there is any humanity left in you, take me away!" pleaded Mishra. His eyes reflected the violent rolling of the grinders above.

Urza stared once last. "Good-bye, Mishra." He turned and strode slowly away.

"Come back! Help me, Brother!" Mishra's shouts were interrupted by the roar of the grinders descending on him.

Excellent. I know your heart now. You are mine.

"Yes, Lord Yawgmoth. I am yours."

Chapter 35.

The Mortal Flaw.

The d.a.m.ned thing was fast, lightning fast. She skipped across clouds like a stone across water. Her silver hull hid her in plain view. Unnatural, otherworldly, impossible - Weatherlight was the monstrous creation of a monstrous planeswalker. She had the arrogance to claim the skies over Urborg. The Primevals would not rest until Weatherlight was a shattered hulk. She was not easy prey. Whenever Rhammidarigaaz and his fellow G.o.ds drew near, Weatherlight dived among magnigoths. Treefolk shielded her behind thickets of green. They slashed the Primevals with thorns and battered them with boughs.

Darigaaz's fire burned hundreds of magnigoth branches, but hundreds of thousands more fought on. Rith poured rampant spores onto the treefolk, but the resultant growths only strengthened them. Treva's purifying light energized leafy crowns.

Dromar's distortion waves only bent the boughs. Even Crosis's death-word was impotent. The treefolk had no ears with which to hear.