With the recent revelation that Ezuri has since become compleated, I decided to return to this piece I wrote over four years ago (but completed about a year ago).
This serves as a prequel to The Quest for Karn. This story picks up right where the final frame of the third installment of "Dark Discoveries" left off, but before the events in The Quest for Karn. I have continued Tezzeret's characterization and events after his involvement in Test of Metal, but I also aimed to make some sense of some details and contradictions in the Planeswalker's Guide to New Phyrexia (Glissa's different personality in the Guide and the novel, the mention of praetors in the Guide but not the novel, and a few other surprises!).
I have reserved fourteen posts for each segment of the story, which I will update every few days until it's completely posted.
Please consider posting so I know there are readers out there; I welcome all feedback. And, if you care to: check out my Innistrad fiction (link in my signature).
The contorted metallic face leered at me from above.
It was perfection. Not like my etherium perfection, but a mechanical artistry of its own merits. Beautiful, twisted artificiality. Agonized intricacy.
The Father of Machines: the creature I would play the servant to, and the master I was to make powerless.
“Father, I kneel before you in awe and reverence,” I articulated.
“Offense,” the massive construct rumbled. It looked welded to the throne, and the hulking golem vibrated from deep within, the alien etchings on his chest a glowing inferno. Was he imprisoned on his own seat of power? “A grave offense.”
Damn. Did I offend him already? If Bolas wanted me here, he’d have to answer to it.
“I am Tezzeret, a mere servant, sent as a gift by Lord Nicol Bolas.”
“See, you are educable, ol’ pal!” a familiar voice piped in my head. “You can learn to play by the Boss’s rules.”
I inhaled sharply, smelling the corruption in the air and tasting the wafting scent of putrid flesh. Doctor Jest had gone silent since my Reconstruction.
Until now, apparently.
A terrifying roar erupted from the Father of Machines before he spoke next. “I need no gifts! Only worship.”
“And we are here to revere you, Father,” the hulking Phyrexian behind me clicked and strained. It was serpentine and hunched, obviously a leader among these monsters, if I were to gauge by size—and the fact that it was he who had seized me after my journey down the lacunae. I would have appreciated if Bolas’s vedalken minion who had met me on the surface would have warned me about the scouting party before sending me down to the Core.
“Jin-Gitaxias is not welcomed at my court,” the golem whispered to no one at all. “He plans my downfall.”
I turned my head—obviously forgotten in the exchange between the Father of Machines and the hunched-one—and noticed other mechanical creations ambling away from the creature that had escorted me to this throne room. These other mechanical drones were crafted of bone and sinew and porcelain, or chrome or steel. They had multiple hands like vedalken and various mouths like demons—they were all of different composition, some threatening, some mere laborers. What were these Phyrexians all about?
A carapace of dark steel scuttled forward, its red innards encased in its white exoskeleton, its body held up by four impossibly spindly legs. “Remember our warning, Glorious Father,” it whispered. The silence was doubly noticeable, as Doc had not made any other noises. Had I imaged him?
I looked quickly to the Father of Machines and saw his gaze on the hulking creature. My chrome captor—Jin-Gitaxias—stood proud behind me, its spinal frame unmoving. Although the Phyrexian had forced me to my knees, I remained there now of my own volition. Perhaps I should have enquired a bit more about this world when Bolas’s vedalken agent greeted me before I leapt down toward the Core.
“If the Father of Machines does not desire my presence, I will leave,” it hissed. “I only brought this not-us for your consideration. It is flesh and strange metal. If you do not wish it alive, I will bring it to the labs of Lumengrid.”
I returned my gaze to the golem, feeling its incendiary eyes on me. Its head cocked to the side, as if listening to his own Doctor Jest—how did that bastard get back into my head?
“UrzaJeskaTeferiVenser,” the golem spattered.
What?
“Weatherlight,” the Father of Machines intoned, intentionally pronouncing each syllable. “A gift indeed.” And then a mighty bellow, accompanied by the golem shaking in his throne: “Leave me my gift, praetor!”
I considered this curious construct, fixated to his throne and subject to insane fits of rage and incomprehensible babble. I heard scuttling behind me and the movement of metal. Then I saw and felt the glare of this artificial masterpiece upon me again. The dragon Planeswalker Nicol Bolas had sent me to ensure that the Phyrexians did not gather behind this crazed golem. They would be stupid to do so—but, of course, not all beings are as competent as I.
“I am a mere servant, sent as a gift by Lord Nicol Bolas,” I repeated.
“You have my protection,” the Father of Machines granted. “You are of the Æther. You are a charm in my conquest.”
The golem leaned back in his throne, and the glow within his eyes and chest dimmed to a warm yellow. How did he know that I possessed the spark that allowed me to travel between worlds? Although I name-dropped Bolas, did the metal man really know who the Elder Dragon was?
Another Phyrexian stepped toward me, its face replaced by two triangular porcelain plates, with meat and sinews stretched across its chest. It spoke melodically. “The Grand Cenobite of the Machine Orthodoxy requests to shelter this charmed gift, and keep it safe for our most Exalted Father until He requests its blessings.”
I began to stand, to defend myself, but uncontrollably collapsed back to the metal floor, breathing heavily. My vision began blackening, and I wetted my lips but quickly withdrew my tongue once I tasted the metallic world. What happened?
“Forget about me so soon, Tezzie?” Doc chided. “Stay genuflected. Karn likes it. The Big Guy likes it, too.”
The white porcelain creature looked down at me. I rolled my head on the floor, craning my neck to make eye contact with the Father of Machines, but he stared at the far wall. “I . . . I am here as a servant to the Father of Machines. I belong here.”
“The Father has entrusted you to us,” the porcelain Phyrexian said. Funny, I hadn’t heard the golem’s assent. “You will come with us, fleshling. Elesh Norn, the Grand Cenobite of the Machine Orthodoxy, has requested your presence.”
“Smile nicely for the kind white folk, ol’ boy,” Doc said cheerily.
As blood blossomed on the elf’s fleshy bicep from the scythe’s sweep, Glissa followed her first strike with her right arm, which smeared ichor from her eyes into the wound. She shoved the rebel Viridian away with her left scythe-arm and her blood-thirsty eyes met those of the elf as pain and realization dawned. He would be infected with phyresis. She leapt to her next victim through the copper trees, another elf falling to the ground beneath her from the branches above.
Phyrexian beasts—amalgamations of flesh and metal, appendages and mouths—swarmed the rebel squad that had attempted to infiltrate the Cambree Gardens. They had not been so bold before, and Glissa had ordered her beasts to ensure they were not alive to be bold again. Archdruid Benzir of the compleated Sylvok led his forces against the Mirrans as well, moving a bit more nimbly through the trees than some of the more bestial Phyrexians. An arrow flashed by her lithe form as she swung to another tree, propelling herself to a higher branch, where another Viridian elf kicked a Phyrexian beast to the forest floor. He spun to face Glissa, and backpedalled on the branch to escape her scythe’s arc.
She thrust herself forward, but the Viridian cracked her right side with his bow, tossing her off-balance for the slight moment he needed to leap over her.
“Traitor,” he spat.
Glissa ignored the epithet and pivoted, thrusting with her scythe-arm again, but missing her elvish opponent.
“I have waited to see Glissa the Traitor,” he growled. “I remember you.”
Glissa charged on the branch to the babbling Mirran and blocked his sword with her scythe, linking her appendage with his weapon. She looked at him, and he used the hesitation from the linked weapons to speak again.
“Glissa Sunseeker, savior of Mirrodin. Now a Phyrexian lackey.”
Sunseeker.
The word did not register in her memory, and she inhaled a few drops of ichor from her upper lip that had trailed down her cheek, only to spit them—mingled with spittle—into the elf’s face. She flung her left arm back, forcing her scythe to disengage the rebel’s sword. Swatting at the ichor on his face, the elf stumbled and fell.
“Ezuri!” a female rebel cried.
Glissa watched a Viridian leap from a nearby branch. The two elves impacted, but managed to land relatively gracefully onto the fleshy green lamina of the forest floor. The fall had not killed them. Glissa watched as one of her hulking crotus beasts charged them, tearing up the soft lamina.
A monstrous roar resounded off the trees, causing a distressed vibration among the copper trunks. Glissa knew the sound instantly. Ignoring the rebel leader below her, she swung through the branches back to the Cambree Gardens proper. The Phyrexianized Viridian leapt past a rebel soldier, completely ignoring a potential target. She could not remain in combat. Necessity called.
A fleshy tube vomited me into another meat-room, necessitating another fortification of mana to maintain the fresh air supplied by the aura around my face. I had been “transported” through various shafts, tubes, and conduits, propelled forward, up, down, and through these organic . . . stomachs? throats? I didn’t know and didn’t care to ask yet.
Not that my porcelain-encased Phyrexian guide—captor?—would have told me anyway. Any attempt at conversation had resulted in it droning on about the mastery of Phyrexia and the glory of Karn, the Father of Machines.
“At least you’ve got me.”
I hate you.
I walked assuredly to the next portal in the meat-and-metal wall, following the white construct. I would have run, but the portals in the walls only seemed to open for the Phyrexians, and no other escapes were present. I’d planeswalk, but with my damned pal back, the results of that could be disastrous.
“You stopped playing once there for a bit,” Doc piped, “and I really don’t want you playing by yourself anymore.”
I had really thought you went away.
The meat-wall opened, revealing another chute of metal scaffolding attached to what looked like the muscles of an esophagus. The thing pulsed. My silent guide stepped through, and I followed.
As the others before, the chute pulsated, leaving oil and blood and juices on my skin, etherium, and hair. We shot through at great speeds, being propelled up and dropped down. Thankfully my magic protected my nose and mouth from the muck. I had no sense of direction, and I gave up caring that I was being smashed against the metal frame or bouncing off red muscle, though I was attentive so that my formations of etherium did not catch on the metal scaffolds and filigrees.
“Had we known forcing you to get rid of that damned etherium band from your face would shut me up, we would have done things a little different. But what’s done is done. At least you’re a bit more fashionable now. Of course,” my forced friend continued, “now that you have all these wonderful etherium parts, you have access to more mana and power, which means I have access to more mana and power, which means I figured out how to access your thoughts. Isn’t that just grand?”
So my over-use of crafting etherium had driven Doc and Bolas away? I had been able to create etherium with some ease on the Metal Island, reshaping an eye into an etherium sphere and adorning my face with a band from my right eye to left jaw. I had even re-grown a new organic eye. I kept my fleshy right arm Bolas had reconstructed for me after Jace’s mind-wipe—proof that I did not absolutely need etherium. I had been a scrapper as a child on the Alaran Shard of Esper, collecting scraps of the mystic metal to create my first etherium arm. Since then, I had given up my desire in order to accept my role as Seeker and Carmot. I had taught myself humility.
Yet, when Doc began insisting I reconstruct my face to flesh and rebuild my arm, I complied—I really had no choice. Bolas had implanted him in my mind so to control me and as a price for saving my mindless body on Kamigawa where the mind mage Jace Beleren had left me. I had thought after humbling myself in my Seeking that I had found autonomy. I was wrong—I have no choices.
No choices. I’m a puppet.
“It could be worse.”
Shut up.
“Someone’s sensitive,” Doc retorted.
However, in reconstructing my whole right arm, Doc had disappeared. Considering it now, he had even gotten quieter after I re-grew my face, returning my etherium to flesh.
“See, you did miss me!”
I had been freed for a bit. Enough to begin looking for Krovet and the Golden Door before Bolas’s imp-dragons found me.
“Aren’t I much cuter?”
The porcelain Phyrexian and I stopped our forced movement and an eye-shutter portal radiated open above us. The wiry Phyrexian climbed up and I followed suit. I saw the metallic plates of Mirrodin’s surface again—and the raw decay of the interior opened to the slight metallic taste of the surface. I surveyed the field of Mirrodin from the shiny hillock to which we had ascended. The five suns—a blinding white, an eerie blue, an impossible shimmering black, a flaming red, and a calming green—arced in a row across the skyline. This world, I realized, was small compared to many others. Behind us, near the top of our low hillock, was a camp of some sort, walled in by tall metallic spears, like bars on a cage. More hulking porcelain Phyrexians—all with the white plates, but varying in size and structure—stood guard at what I assumed to be hidden gates, somewhere.
My captor-guide, who had led me from Karn’s throne room in the Core, stepped forward. Two of the beast-like Phryexians stepped aside, and the spear-bars retracted down into the metallic plates of the Mirran surface. I followed the guide into the annex.
“Now listen, Great Brain,” Doc lectured, “we were sent here to infiltrate Lumengrid, but that didn’t work out too damn well. You are here to study Phyrexia, and it appears we’re being personally escorted to one of Phyrexia’s leading Shinies. That wacked-out golem is not supposed to be their leader—and neither is anyone else here. Tread carefully.”
Glissa swung up onto the upper-most platform of the Cambree Gardens, resting on the massive branches of the remains of Tel-Jilad and the copper trees layered with green verdigris. Only a few branches remained above this level, casting shadows onto the metal plates from the moons above. Glissa’s eyes intuitively lingered on the green moon, curiously named Lyese, before nodding her head in slight reverence to the massive form before her.
Phyrexian Praetor Vorniclex, the Voice of Hunger, loomed above her. His bestial face was set in bone, with massive draconic plates extending to each side. His body was a bulk of bone and sinew and metal and fur—a skeletal mammal drooling blood and glistening oil. The praetor stood nearly twice her height as he hunched on his legs, keeping his two massive arms and his second pair of smaller arm-appendages close to his open rib cage.
“What interrupts our elimination of the rebels?” Glissa demanded.
It looked as though the praetor unhinged his jaw to release a roar that ripped through the trees. Glissa inhaled, and noted—not for the first time in her life—not to be so aggressive in his presence. “A new being. Not one of us,” Vorniclex rumbled. His voice was deep and hoarse, but now spoken in a whisper.
“Where?”
“With Elesh Norn.”
“One of Jin-Gitaxias’s creations?”
“No,” the praetor breathed. “Not of this world. And three others like him.”
“She has all of them?”
“The other three wallow in the Mephidross.”
“With that decaying sack of flesh, Geth?” Glissa sneered.
“No.”
To avoid another bellow—or worse—Glissa asked, “What would you have me do?”
Vorniclex bounded forwarded, halting himself mere inches from Glissa’s form. He inhaled deeply, causing his visible rib cage to swell. “I want this first wanderer. Jin-Gitaxias is already interested in him.”
Glissa chuckled and sneered again. “I am not a courtier, Vorinclex.”
A massive claw whacked Glissa across the platform, tossing her body into the air before it slammed into a tree-trunk. She was up in a moment—barely wounded, courtesy of her compleated frame—but Vorniclex was before her again, thrusting her against the copper trunk with the same claw, letting lose a roar that caused her metallic parts to vibrate. His bone-face was against her nose, impervious to any attack. Glissa had been in this position very few times before, and knew when to acquiesce to greater power. Had she been stronger, she would be praetor. Strength ruled the Tangle, not she. Nor Vorniclex. However, with such force, Vorniclex was to be respected. For now.
“This stranger has metal but is not compleated. His strength is unknown. Karn favors him.”
“That means nothing. Karn is weak,” Glissa retorted.
Vorniclex nodded shallowly and slowly. “I want to know his limitations.”
“And where should we find him?”
“Send out spies and crotus blooms. Jin-Gitaxias has reconnaissance throughout New Phyrexia. He must not find this stranger again before I do. This trespasser may test the strength of the other factions. I do not yet want him dead.”
Shouts of rebel elves and humans and Phyrexian growls reached the upper level of the Cambree Gardens. Glissa inhaled, tasting the glistening oil at the corner of her mouth that had dripped down from her eye. “Care to crush the rebels with me first, Great One?”
The praetor rumbled in the back of his meat-and-metal throat. “Yes,” he intoned.
Still face-to-face with the praetor, Glissa opened her mouth and let out an unearthly scream, which was soon joined by the call of Vorniclex.
“Despite your spiritual block, fleshling, as the Father has accepted you, so do we. You are not compleat, and lack Unification. The Glory of the Orthodoxy will assist your transcendence so to best embody the Ardent Etchings of the Father of Machines.”
This . . . woman? . . . is whacked.
“And I thought you were bad,” Doc offered.
“As his Excellency wishes to shelter you in his wisdom, we will oversee your protection. And yet we sense that your fleshy Self and the accoutrements of your magic-metal may be of use to the Father of Machines and Lord of New Phyrexia. To ensure your dedication to our most holy cause, we have decided to allow you to prove your worth.”
I blinked away the glare of the suns overhead, the blue sun obscuring my vision.
Allow me to prove my worth? I did not sign up for a quest.
But again, my choices had become limited as of late.
I lifted my head - having chosen, this time, to kneel before the dais at the center of the annex. The Grand Cenobite of the Machine Orthodoxy of New Phyrexia, Praetor Elesh Norn, stood like a statue - unmoving, even - upon her pedestal. The light of the suns silhouetted her in what I could have guessed was a staged performance of royalty. If I was to play the servant, I knew this was a creature to feign service to. There was a certain misleading femininity to this praetor - who did not resemble the other praetor, Jin-Gitaxias, in the least. Most of her body was red sinew and muscle and humanoid, stretched tight between hips, arms, and a head of porcelain. Or perhaps the porcelain was only covering the flesh, but from what I’d seen of these Phyrexians, flesh was sutured to metal.
Glorious ingenuity.
“As best befits a Prophet of the Father, you will assure our Glorious Master’s Work. You must eradicate Glissa of the Tangle.”
I kept my breath even, looking to the porcelain Phyrexians to each side of the praetor who held a fine-woven red fabric that draped Elesh Norn. Where the hell had the people of a metal world gotten fabric? Unless it was tightly-knit capillaries and arteries . . .
I wet my lips - tasting the contagion of the world again - and spoke. “I am newly-arrived here, O most holy Grand Cenobite,” I babbled. “What is Glissa’s offense to our most glorious Father of Phyrexia?”
“That was smooth,” Doc quipped in my ear.
I’d manipulated royalty in the past, but never ones so foreign as these of Mirrodin. Or Phyrexia - New Phyrexia - as they called it. I recalled Phyrexia from the brief annals of Dominarian history I’d encountered, but had thought the dark plane was destroyed centuries ago. How had they arrived on Mirrodin, and why was it only now that they seemed to be mobilizing?
“Glissa threatens Karn’s very presence as the Father of Machines,” Elesh Norn articulated clearly. Her head moved near-imperceptibly, tilting down toward me. Otherwise, she had stood motionless, like the metal pikes that encircled the annex. Had I just misspoke? “She and Praetor Vorniclex of the Vicious Swarm hope to disassemble all hierarchy of New Phyrexia except for the strongest. They breed Phyrexians to dominate by tooth and shrapnel. Glissa has spoken most grievously against Karn’s divine right. As Prophet to the Father of Machines, you will suture her mouth shut against such blasphemies.”
Damn.
“It’s a good thing you’ve got me!”
I could strangle you.
“If you actually could, you would have.”
I did, for a while - did you forget that already? Looks like I’ve been enlisted as a common assassin. Is this what Bolas wanted of me?
“I don’t think the Big Lizard intended for you to get yourself captured mere minutes after arriving here, Great Brain. At least he had a higher estimation of your abilities.”
I swallowed before speaking again. “I am to infiltrate the Tangle and kill Glissa, then?”
Elesh Norn’s head returned to its initial position. “As Prophet, you desire to spread the Word of the Ardent Etchings and silence the infidels.”
Does this creature mean the words she spews, or are they just formality? Am I a prophet to her, or puppet? Is this just an elaborate suicide mission to get me out of the way?
“Clearly a suicide mission,” my mental companion voted.
If that’s the case, Doc, this Glissa has managed to outwit every other assassin.
“Or you’re the safest bet since you aren’t directly linked to this Miss Shiny.”
Bolas doesn’t want the Phyrexians uniting behind a leader, and my target seems to prefer anarchy. It sounds like an ally I’d want.
“I don’t think that’s an option, Tezzie. That, and if this is all an act on White Lady’s part, dissention may result in vivisection.”
May as well test the limit . . .
“Grand Cenobite, as Prophet of our Father’s divine right, I intend to persuade Glissa to worship his Most Glorious Presence. With her support, Karn will be empowered by the conversation of such an adversary.”
There it was. All-or-nothing.
“Glissa is to be eradicated,” Elesh Norn repeated.
How far could I push her? Hey Doc, if I attempt to planeswalk without your permission, will you still bring me back to Jund like the old times?
No response.
“Glissa’s heresy will be eradicated,” I maintained, “and Glissa’s conversion will bring more worshippers to our New Phyrexian Father. As Prophet and Protected, this is my will. I am a mere servant, sent as a gift by Lord Nicol Bolas, and as I serve as Prophet, I will spread the Ardent Etchings.”
“No,” came the praetor’s response, even as the rest.
“I will assassinate Glissa only if no other choice remains. The Machine Orthodoxy will be strengthened with the addition of another faithful,” I insisted.
“I swear,” Doc whispered, “if you get me killed . . .”
“You wish to suture her to us?”
Suture? As in . . . physically? What did I have to lose?
“Yes, Grand Cenobite.”
“Yes.”
I lowered my head again. And waited.
Nothing.
I looked up. The nimble silhouette of sinew and porcelain stood statue-still yet, and her attendants did the same. The perimeter of the annex around us stood motionless. I heard a faint metallic whistle on the wind - like wind-chimes, though I knew better than to guess that the Phyrexians had simple pleasures or art. Was she still there? Or did her consciousness change bodies? Could Phyrexians do that?
I slowly began to stand.
Nothing.
“Grand Cenobite, I embark to convert or annihilate Glissa of the Tangle.”
I straightened to my full height, strong on my two fully etherium legs, rising my etherium torso, and flexing my etherium fingers. While this plane was filled with metallic wonders, I still retained the powers of etherium. It would just be a matter of time until I figured out how to manipulate these metal bodies, shaping them as I would. I was practiced at turning scraps into treasure and taking what wasn’t mine, just as I had taken the Infinite Consortium from Bolas so many years ago.
“Prophet.”
I spun around at the alien voice, only to face another elongated porcelain mask on another humanoid Phyrexian.
“I will escort you to the Tangle with a small honor guard.”
Much easier than I anticipated.
“You may do so,” I commanded.
And, had I not been encased in the annex under a mission from a Phyrexian praetor, perhaps I would have felt empowered. But that time would come.
The lacunae beneath the Cambree Gardens writhed with mechanical pests, serpents and Phyrexians. Crotus beasts camouflaged themselves into the lamina and verdigris of the tunnel. Somewhere further below were additional tunnels diverting from the lacunae, excavated by Praetor Urabrask and the red Phyrexians of the furnace layer. Glissa perched on an outcropping a few leaps downward into the lacunae, and watched.
Her forces—including the fearsome force of Vorniclex—had slaughtered and begun reprocessing countless rebels and sent the rest into retreat. If they kept regrouping, Glissa wondered if she could lure them into the lacunae and send them into the furnace layer. There, the Phyrexians would pick them apart—although Urabrask’s silence did make her question his plots. Would he kill them? Or help them? The Phyrexians of Sky Tyrant, the red moon, were weak, claiming empathy and individualism. Glissa knew better than to trust individuals.
Benzir shifted on the perch next to hers, and Glissa glared at the compleated Sylvok human. He and his druids believed in animal souls, which Glissa openly scoffed at. However, his developments in prompting the evolution of Phyrexian beasts were admirable, and his usefulness had not played out yet in full.
“Do you think we’d be able to corral them here?” he asked.
Glissa did not respond. They would know it’s a trap, but if they could be surrounded first, they’d either be slaughtered or have no choice but to descend.
Then a slit of light opened in Glissa’s vision, and she saw into a different world where—
—Slobad dozes in a corner of the cave that he had the other goblins had found for us to rest in. I flip through the Book of Krark, finally reaching the passage Slobad had recited to me earlier. Krark’s journal sounds as though he has flares like mine, and this passage likens the Mother’s Heart in the inner world of Mirrodin to the suns Sky Tyrant, Bringer, Ingle, and the Eye of Doom. I quietly show the sketch that accompanies the passage to Bosh, noting the strange graphite-drawn towers and floating specks.
“Myco . . . mycosynth,” he whispers, clearly awakening a memory. The golem continues looking at the sketch rather than me. “Those are mycosynth spores, not blinkmoths,” he says of the specks, contrary to my assumption. “The mycosynth crystals produce spores. Blinkmoths are eternal. Mycosynth arrived later.”
“What do you mean? Memnarch created the mycosynth but not the blinkmoths? I thought you said he made everything.” The secrets of our worlds deepen every day as we travel closer to the Quicksilver Sea.
“Memnarch shaped the world to his desires,” the ancient golem revealed. “He did not create it. Blinkmoths predate even Memnarch. Mycosynth arrived later like a plague. I believe I may have been created to battle the mycosynth infestation, but I lost the battle. That is all I remember. Everything else is blank until you and Slobad found me in the Mephidross.”
I inhale the metallic world and the stench of Slobad, Dwugget, and the other goblin cultists. I nod my thanks to my giant, new-found friend, and leave him to his rusted memories. This book may hold more secrets than I anticipated, so—
—the flare dissipated and Glissa shook the image out of her head. What in the nine hells was that?
Benzir looked at her questioningly.
What had he seen? What had she seen? And felt?
“You do not look well, Glissa,” Benzir spoke softly.
A sign of weakness was not acceptable. Only the strong survived. The compleated Viridian struck out her with scythe-arm and leaped at Benzir, palming his face against the lacunae’s wall and eviscerating his meat-stomach in one fluid motion. Phyrexian oil seeped out of his body and Glissa contracted her claws, popping his face as he began to howl in feeble pain. She thrust her arm back again, tossing the crumpled form down the lacunae, where a swarm of Phyrexian pests materialized to process the lifeless body and scavenge the metal.
She had not felt so uneasy, so disoriented, since the Deadlock in the center of Mirrodin. What had she just witnessed?
She recalled the title the Viridian had shouted at her during the skirmish: Sunseeker. That was connected to her vision somehow. She knew that. But how?
The porcelain priest of the Machine Orthodoxy and a small guard of about twenty Phyrexians marched me through a path hewn from the Razor Grass Fields, whose “grass” reached above my head. The nameless priest had spoken through the porcelain mask on its face, cheeks stained with red blood and black Phyrexian oil. The mouth of the mask did not move, but whatever fleshy interior did. The priest had explained that the Razor Fields were dangerous and that Mirran rebels still tried to maintain a stronghold against the Phyrexian domination of the plane within these fields.
The Phyrexians, I had learned, had cut through the Razor Fields, and it was through here that I would eventually--at some indeterminate time--reach the Tangle. The suns--which the Phyrexians mistakenly called moons--were setting, and only an eerie green light cast itself over the metallically silver blades of grass.
“Maybe you should have asked Bolas’s local vedalken a few more questions before diving into this assignment, Tezzie,” Doc chided. “Ha! ‘Diving into’--get it? Because you had to dive down the lacunae--”
I didn’t have your infinite wisdom to guide me then, I mocked.
“You know,” Doc said, changing the topic, “I must say that these Phyrexians don’t seem to need much help not rallying behind a leader. I think the Boss sent you here just to keep you busy. I mean really, you’re being sent by one faction to kill a leader of another. And that Jin-Gix-Whoever seems like a whole other faction unto himself. Really, what is there for us to do?”
The wind whistled through the razor grass, and the green sun began to dip below the horizon. Could these Phyrexians see in the dark? They didn’t strike me as the type to carry torches.
If Bolas thought this was a threat, he should deal with them himself.
“You know his time is better spent otherwise. That’s why peons like us exist.” Pause. “Well, peons like you. I’m just a contraption the Big Lizard assembled in your head.”
I inhaled the contagion of the world--and was perhaps thankful for whatever antidote Bolas’s vedalken minion had injected into my flesh upon my arrival--and trudged forward. My etherium legs would tire only after excessive overuse, and my short time on Mirrodin had not yet been strenuous enough to wear out my legs. I flexed my fleshy arm, where the vedalken had injected me with whatever serum to protect me from the pestilence of this world. There was so much I did not yet know of Mirrodin and the burgeoning Phyrexian forces here; I was lucky to have the power of etherium on my side. My new-found strength had indeed given Doc the power to read my thoughts, but there was little to be done in regards to that.
“Oh no, we wouldn’t let you transform yourself back to flesh anyway to lock me out. You’re too useful now.”
Whose side are you on, anyway?
Suddenly a bellow arose from the chiming grass, and shrieks pierced the sky. I recognized--even on this alien world--that the sounds above were those of drakes, but, unsure of what faced us from the grass, I gathered my mana and prepared an assault while backing myself against the wall of razor grass and stepping away from the porcelain Phyrexians. Three hulking loxodon barreled out of the razor grass ahead of me, crushing my Phyrexian guard. The metallic plates on their elephantine trunks easily whisked aside the lethal blades of grass. Splaying my etherium arm and wasting no time (lacking the ability to clockwork, I had to function on intuition and experience), I tinkered with the atomic structure of the metal growing on the arm of the closest loxodon and hindered its maneuverability. The arm slowed its movement, allowing one of the porcelain Phyrexians to tackle it with savage force.
Two drakes dove towards us, snapping one of my guards in half. I hoped by staying away from the melee-proper I would not attract attention and would have the privacy to spellcast. I summoned a mist before the eyes of one of the drakes, obscuring its vision--and probably scaring it, which caused it to become disoriented, pitching its leonin rider into the grass.
“I think you just impaled the kitty, Tezzie,” Doc noted. He could notice things peripherally through my vision that I couldn’t even process? “Take it for what it is, ol’ pal!”
I backed against the wall of razor grass and watched the battle further unfold in the pathway. Three of the porcelain Phyrexians lay dissected enough to be dead--smeared in inky oil and scarlet blood--and one of the loxodon lay in a heap. I saw two more drakes in the sky, and three leonin warriors with—literally--golden manes snarling and working to corral the Phyrexians. I was sure my glowing etherium would not allow me to hide much longer, but if they were after the Phryexians, perhaps I’d be momentarily safe.
One of the Phyrexians unleashed a volley of porcelain shards, forcing a loxodon warrior back and notably injuring another cat-warrior. I wondered how much I could control these Mirrans through their metal. My craft worked best in building machines and working with magical artifacts, but my new-found powers of etherium presented greater opportunities.
Arrows rained from above, striking my Phryexian guard, and I noticed a leonin archer on the back of another drake. I focused my magic on the leonin’s metal claws, and forced them to tighten. The drake lurched, and nearly threw its rider onto the grass. I had a bit more practice to do. My eyes darted toward the loxodon again, and another brilliant idea blossomed in my mind. Gathering mana from the quicksilver of the local sea and the lacunae, I cast a simple metal-melding spell. As the giant loxodon attempted to lunge forward in an attack, it lurched and fell to its knees instead, now fastened to the plates of Mirrodin. Three Phyrexians leapt onto and pummeled it, rending metal and piercing flesh.
“Maybe I’ve been underestimating you, buddy!”
Have you forgotten my triumph over Silas Renn? Or Bolas?
Another drake descended again, and suddenly there were more leonin. I backed further away from the fray. I was an artificer, not a warrior. While my magics and artifacts have their uses, I knew my limitations in combat--especially on this new world. I needed to observe and gather data.
It was from this new vantage point that I was able to see a handful of silver platforms coast through the sky in the dimming light of the green sun. As the platforms approached, squat, rounded Phryexians descended on the loxodon and leonin warriors, armed with what appeared to be an amalgamation of syringes, needles, corkscrews and other experimental paraphernalia that emerged from their twisted bodies. Hisses, screams, and roars arose again, and a couple of the silver levitation platforms engaged the drakes overhead.
Naturally, the drakes maneuvered more easily than the artificial fliers, and so I decided to take them out. If I could meld the metal of these Mirran’s--and later, perhaps, Phyrexian’s--bodies, what about magnetization? I focused on the wings of one drake, and quickly--and as carefully as I could--magnetized each wing to an opposite polarity. I let out a barking laugh as the metallic supports of its wings snapped together, damning it and its rider to a plummeting, piercing death in the Razor Grass Fields.
I returned my gaze to the ground melee and discovered crushed metallic corpses. My porcelain honor guard was dead, the loxodon and leonin mutilated, and only five of the squat Phyrexians who had flown in remained.
And one taller, lithe figure.
Draped in a robe--“Where do these metal-world bozos get fabric?” Doc asked, which at least served to break the tension--was Bolas’s vedalken minion who had met me upon my arrival to this plane, injected me with a serum to prevent Phyrexian infection, and had sent me down the lacunae, where I was apprehended by Jin-Gitaxias.
I made eye contact, reinforced some protective auras, and stepped closer.
“Your goal was surveillance of the planar core, Tezzeret,” the blue-skinned humanoid said, it’s hooked, near-lipless mouth reminding me of a fish. I noticed its four arms again, and considered the normally two-appendaged vedalken from Ravnica who had been engineered with four arms. How did this one get four?
“I was a bit side-tracked,” I retorted, “and I’m thinking Bolas wanted me as bait, not reconnaissance.”
“I’ve arranged this ambush to retrieve you, and made sure none of Elesh Norn’s lackeys remain. Let’s go,” the vedalken commanded.
“I’ve kind of had enough of your suggestions, fellow dragon-pawn.”
Its dark eyes attempted to pierce me--were I a lesser being. “And you have a better plan?”
“I’m seeking Glissa of the Tangle.”
The vedalken openly scoffed and stepped closer to me, lifting his leg over Phyrexian and Mirran remnants. He breathed deeply before continuing. “Why?”
“I was offered a deal,” I lied.
“Elesh Norn is not to be trusted.”
“You’re little initial suggestion placed me in the hands of the Phyrexians to begin with.”
“Glissa is a Phyrexian as well.”
“Indeed she is.” This vedalken did not have an upper-hand, though he did possess knowledge of New Phyrexia. Of course, what was his connection to it all? “So,” I broached the topic, “how do you fit into Bolas’s plots?”
“Smooth, one, buddy,” my constant companion mocked.
“I reside in Lumengrid, entrenched in the Phyrexian experiments there, overseen by Core Auger Jin-Gitaxias himself. Bolas knows he needs insiders.” And yet I couldn’t find his metallic parts beside the small collection of his finger-tips--perhaps they were hidden beneath his robes. But why would the Phyrexians keep such a fleshy advisor around?
“But you’re not enough, alone, for Bolas’s purposes.” I watched his hands carefully and kept my mana reserves handy. His remaining hunched Phyrexians waited patiently. “How are those creatures reporting to you?”
“I have the . . . trust of the Phyrexians. I’m a prisoner, but a willing one. Jin-Gitaxias doesn’t like Elesh Norn’s Orthodoxy. Borrowing these soldiers to strike against Norn was not a problem.” He tapped his head to indicate his mental control over the constructs.
“And now you’re to bring me to him?”
A suction-like laugh burbled from the vedalken’s throat. “No. You should not be in the claws of the praetors. That’s why I came for you, agent.”
“I am going to the Tangle and finding Glissa. Bolas sent me here with a task in mind, and I will prod and explore this plane and these Phyrexians,” at least until I find a way to benefit from this place. “You may join me to the Tangle, vedalken.”
“Aren’t I enough company, Tezzie!?”
I ignored Doc--and then wondered if this other minion had his own Mr. Chuckles, or if it was only my capacities as a Planeswalker that required this mental (crazy as he was) contraption.
“My name is Sangus of Lumengrid. I am one of the few who has not been fully compleated by the Phyrexians due to my willing contributions and abilities as a mage--magical competency is not a readily available resource for the Phyrexians. Due to my . . . contributions, I cannot be gone long, or my Phryrexian masters will begin to notice.” That sounded like acquiescence to my proposal.
“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” I retorted with a half-smile.
A silver platform gravitated to me and hovered just above the ground. I stepped up on it, securing myself with a few basic spells. Sangus did the same, his Phyrexian henchmen clambered onto the others, and we rose into the darkening sky, leaving the bodies of Mirrans and Phyrexians behind, blood and oil smeared on the plates of the surface, bodies skewered on razor grass, carapaces dented, and innards crushed. My sled was apparently controlled by Sangus, and I gravitated towards him.
“We are on the same side,” he told me.
“While you may be a willing lackey to the dragon, I am not. I will do as I was tasked with, but on my terms, not yours.”
Sangus nodded as we floated above the Razor Grass Fields. I looked for more drakes, but saw none--I saw very little, as the moon had not faded. Specks of color appeared here or there in the distance--forges, perhaps? Who knew what these Phyrexians were up to?
Hate to break it to you, but your new best buddy in this whole world probably does, Great Brain . . .
I hated my constant companion.
“Tell me of Jin-Gitaxias. Or this Glissa whom I am after.”
“Tezzeret, you may not trust me, but we are allies here. Jin-Gitaxias directs the Great Synthesis, the faction that is dedicated to the engineering of Phyrexians: eugenics. Too many vedalken and Neurok have been consigned to the laboratory-slaughter-houses of Lumengrid. Glissa belongs to praetor Vorniclex of the Vicious Swarm, who argues evolution should be the aim of Phyrexia. Jin-Gitaxias finds them base and simple.”
“But Glissa is a threat?”
“She has her defenses,” Sangus continued. “Her evolved creatures and beasts are formidable, otherwise Jin-Gitaxias would have had her assassinated already.”
If Jin-Gitaxias wanted Glissa dead, and Elesh Norn wanted Glissa dead . . .
“So I would be endearing myself to Jin-Gitaxias if Glissa were removed as a threat?”
“Jin-Gitaxias hates you,” he replied simply. I hated the strained quality of his vedalken-voice. It was trying on the ears--even mine, as enhanced as they were. “Karn has given you his favor. While Elesh Norn worships the golem, Jin-Gitaxias and the other praetors would rather see him crushed. Karn’s edict of protection has placed you in danger, Tezzeret.” After only a brief pause, he added: “So you are to kill Glissa for Elesh Norn?”
I ignored his question. “If these Phyrexian governors hold power but all hate Karn, what power does he have?”
“Karn has been placed as the Phyrexian god-king, the Father of Machines. The Orthodoxy worships him. Some of the others did at first, but now believe him to be unstable and incompetent. He has some control over the Phyrexians from his location in the Core. The hierarchy of Phyrexia rests on the Father of Machines. Each praetor wishes to control that hierarchy, but two--Vorniclex and Urabrask--wish to abolish it.”
I had no reason to trust this Mirran native-turned-Phyrexian who answered to Bolas. “Elesh Norn doesn’t want Glissa to be a threat. I have some power plays to make.” I wanted to challenge Sangus, to tell him I would include him in my plots later if he proved reliable and useful, but he was indeed my only guide to Mirrodin. He was useful to an extent. The more I knew, the more choices I had.
And I was well-aware choices were not often in my repertoire any longer.
“I will join you,” Sangus confirmed, but I had already gathered that; I would not have stepped on his levitating sled had I not believed so. “It should not take us long to reach the Tangle,” the vedalken said.
And then he began sharing more about the world of New Phyrexia, and I listened intently. His readiness to assist me was curious, but not all of Bolas’s minions could compare to my craftiness. And, of course, he was a prisoner on his own world being overrun by mechanical horrors. Perhaps some others in our vast multiverse did have fewer choices than I.
Running her copper-tipped fingers over the mass of fur, bone, and metal, Glissa finally found the socket within the crotus-beast’s exoskeleton and inserted her finger. Nano-bots scurried and synapses flashed, crafting an image in the elf’s mind, reporting reconnaissance. The beast twitched, and Glissa casually closed her eyes.
Very unlike the mysterious flash from the previous day, images of the current-day Tangle assembled in her mind. A handful of levitating silver sleds floated into the forest, carrying squat, chrome-plated Phyrexians, a vedalken, and a fleshling with a metal arm, legs, and torso--but he was not compleated. This was the creature Vorniclex wanted her to find, and here he was, willingly entering the Tangle. However, the vedalken suggested that Jin-Gitaxias had gotten to this interplanar traveler before she did.
Glissa, as all Phyrexians, knew the memory of Phyrexia and Yawgmoth, at a time of Phyrexia’s history where interplanar travel was possible. This traveler may not only test the strength of the other praetors, but provide technology and magic to spread Phyrexia’s strength across the multiverse again to spread the phyresis. She would have to determine his means of leaving his homeplane and arriving here.
Glissa saw the group make its way through the Tangle. Withdrawing her finger from the beast, it twitched a final time and collapsed, dead. Glissa tilted her head back and roared--an inhuman, un-elvish sound overlaid with clicks from the back of her throat. With her howl, she directed her Phyrexians to allow the visitors to find her. The vedalken would know where her Cambree Gardens were, and from here she would be able to address this stranger.
The praetor had left it in her talons to entrap this other-worldly traveler. If she could bend him to her will, she could perhaps overrun even Vorniclex. With Vorniclex eradicated, she could then decimate the Mirran rebels and move onward to Karn. The other praetors could continue their bickering and Glissa would rise above them--
--and above the rise of the metallic trees, she saw the approaching silver sleds. There were seven platforms hurtling through the Mirran horizon, carrying five chrome collections from Jin-Gitaxias, one not-quite-compleated vedalken, and a humanoid with both legs and one arm replaced in a mysterious silver metal unknown to Glissa’s enhanced sight. She growled, and crotus beasts hid among the foliage of the Cambree Gardens, ready to take down the others.
As soon as they were within range, Glissa commanded that the five chrome Phyrexians be hurtled to their deaths, and raging monstrosities leaped from the canopy, tackling two of the five and hurling missiles at the others. The vedalken and human landed on the platform of the Gardens with Glissa, unharmed. Perhaps they were mages, misdirecting her attack forces.
“We come to speak, not fight,” the bearded man said.
“I told you!” the vedalken hissed.
Glissa charged with inhuman speed at the vedalken--the weaker of the two intruders--so as to incapacitate him. Her scythe-arm was halted by the human’s blue-metal arm, which glowed red as he arced it outward, sending Glissa back-peddling.
“I knew--”
But the vedalken was unable to finish his phrase, as the interplanar traveler trust him back onto the Gardens floor, keeping him there with an outstretched hand, as if staying a pet.
“I will gladly grapple with you if that’s what you want,” the enhanced-human spat, “but I’m capable of negotiations.”
“You have nothing to negotiate,” Glissa answered, noticing the ways in which flesh became metal across his body. He was not compleated at all; these filigree transformations were not Phyrexian.
“I have come to discuss,” the intruder said carefully, “the Father of Machines.”
Glissa leapt impossibly into the air, then struck downward at the man, who again deflected her scythe with his own blue-metal arm. The impact caused him to fall back, but he was unharmed. She would overpower him and interrogate him once captured. Glissa pushed toward him, swinging her arms, but he continually--impossibly--defended himself with his arm. A blue flare erupted in front of her eyes, and Glissa tried to blink it away. The traveler’s spell expanded into another of her strange visions, and the compleated elf saw--
—a spider-like construct steps out of the Panopticon. Is that flesh? He does not gleam like the others; he reminds me more of Geth than Malil. I notice his six eyes, all covered with a strange darkened blue lens. Another minion of the “Guardian?” And then I notice the two-legged creature who stands next to him.
“Malil,” I spit.
“I have watched you for so very long, Glissa,” the four-legged fleshy construct taunts. “At times I have wondered if we would every meet face to face. Now here you are.”
Gripping the Sword of Kaldra, I shake my head, looking at Malil and the other creature. “Everyone seems to know me, but who are you?”
The six-eyed monstrosity lowers his legs in a regal bow, and my stomach sinks. In this moment, I know.
“I am the Guardian of Mirrodin, keeper of all you see. You may call me Memnarch.”
Anger. No, revenge. No: Justice.
Straining my muscles, I--
--stepped forward, shaking her head--and discovered she was firmly melded to the metal plates of the Cambree Gardens.
“I have traveled here to speak with you, Glissa of the Tangle,” the man intoned, slowly standing from where he had been sprawled on the ground. The vedalken was behind him, still squatting close to the ground where the human had commanded him to wait. What power had Jin-Gitaxias invested in this non-Phyrexian?
She struggled again against her bindings, but to no avail, further disrupted by the alien images appearing in her mind. Sunseeker. Slobad. Memnarch. All were unknown to her--except her own name and the name of the lich-lord Geth. Geth was a thane of the Mephidross, under the command of Sheoldred, the Whispering One, praetor of the Steel Thanes of New Phyrexia. What connection did the Glissa of her flares have with Geth of the Mephidross?
Focusing her attention back to the task at hand, Glissa knew the mage did have power that would be useful to Vorniclex and herself, but she needed to harvest it. Glissa could hack away at her ankles and replace her feet later, but she’d need to be able to move before then. The crotus beasts lurked all around the layer of copper trees in her gardens, and she began to command them into position. If necessary, she could overwhelm the vedalken and human, free herself, and mount a crotus beast to maneuver on.
“I do not negotiate with Gitaxians,” she spat.
The bearded man smiled. “The Great Synthesis of Jin-Gitaxias does not interest me. Actually,” he continued, walking around her, analyzing her, “the Grand Cenobite of the Machine Orthodoxy drew you to my attention.”
Reflexively, Glissa spat at the floor. “Madness.”
“I wouldn’t disagree with you,” he said smugly. “However, while Elesh Norn sent me here to kill you, I have another offer.” The vedalken began to speak, but the human silenced him--magically?--with an outstretched arm. “Jin-Gitaxias’s vedalken servant is not loyal to me, and I am making a few of my own choices. I have a proposition if you are interested in hearing it.”
Glissa only nodded slowly.
“I have seen the multiverse, traveled between worlds,” the stranger confirmed. “I have heard of the one-time strength of Phyrexia.” Finishing his circling, the man stood in front of her, but just out of range of any lunge she’d be able to make. “I have come to offer my assistance in your conquest of Mirrodin. To do so, I ask that you travel with me to the Core, pledge your fealty to the Father of Machines--”
“Your offer is denied,” Glissa flatly opposed, spitting droplets of glistening oil at him.
“I do not need you to actually be faithful to him,” he continued calmly. “I need you to pretend. Get close to the Father of Machines. From there you can influence the Machine Orthodoxy and have the upper hand against Jin-Gitaxias.”
“Strength is power. Games are of no interest to me.” Games and politics were for the Steel Thanes, not the Vicious Swarm. Again, the image of Geth as only a head placed on a small arachnid construct for movement flashed across her mind--or was it her memory?
“Which is why you will fail, despite your strength.”
“What have you to gain in this, human? Who are you?” she demanded, more frustrated at the moment with the vision he induced rather than her temporary captivity. In her Cambree Gardens, she always held the upper hand.
“My name is Tezzeret and I command otherworldly powers.” He paused for a moment, pursed his lips, and scowled, as if listening to some unvoiced retort. “I have an interest in New Phyrexia, and can grant you command of the factions if you take my counsel.”
“I do not trust you. You may use magic, but you are weak, uncompleated,” she answered, surveying Tezzeret again from head to foot. His metal legs, expertly crafted to his skin, were covered with separate, and unnecessary, metal boots. His offer was potentially useful, but why would he take interest in New Phyrexia, and what was his price? “What do you want out of this?”
Tezzeret grinned maliciously. “Your world is a mechanical paradise, and I have interest in such developments. I am a planeswalker and have seen the destruction of whole worlds. I mean to protect New Phyrexia against a coming doom. I do not rule planes, but I can help you to do so.”
Glissa considered. This Tezzeret was just as conniving as the praetors. However, perhaps she could use him and his plot to destroy Karn, use the praetors against Tezzeret, and annihilate the praetors in the same ploy. Vorinclex had also mentioned three other planeswalkers; she’d have to deal with them as well. If there was any truth to her strange visions, perhaps that strange orb in her visions existed--just as Geth existed--and could assist her in obtaining greater power.
“Prove to me your loyalty by joining with me to force the elven rebel Ezuri from the Tangle into the Furnace Layer.”
Tezzeret had begun circling her again silently, but Glissa waited patiently, eyeing the vedalken obediently waiting on the floor. Tezzeret finally spoke: “I will assist you.”
“First, release me.”
“What guarantee do I have for my safety?”
Signaling her beasts, Glissa swiped at her own ankles with her scythe-arm. The helpless vedalken was immediately surrounded by hulking copper Phyrexians armed with clubs, claws, and mouths, covered in verdigris. Tezzeret was now circled by the same, who evaluated his weaknesses just as he had judged hers. Glissa, the stumps of her ankles pussing blood and ichor, clambered onto the back of one of her crotus behemoths, whose fur helped to clot her seeping ankles.
Tezzeret and the vedalken looked on in shock, with Glissa’s feet still melded onto the floor of the Cambree Gardens, soaked in a pool of red and black.
“You have no guarantee at all, Tezzeret. We strike the rebels at dawn tomorrow and drive them into Urabrask’s Furnace Layer. Then we head to the Core where I will be instated as Karn’s most ardent apostle,” Glissa sneered.
Noxious gas permeated the stale air of the chamber, and Geth reigned over the shattered throne of Ish-Sah in the Mephidross. His bulk had forced the stone chair into a new formation so that his frame could comfortably rest. A few lead cables had been stretched across his domain for supports, and the room was empty except for the Lord of the Vault himself. Geth had reclaimed Ish-Sah after the Phyrexians had compleated him, allowing him to subjugate the vampires that had overrun the Dross.
His neck, secured onto his Phyrexianized suit, pivoted to survey the hall, ensuring it was clear of nim and other steel creatures. Geth had a vague recollection of Mirrodin before the Phyrexians had found him and offered him power. He knew that, in his past, he and Glissa of the Tangle had both fought and worked together, but the details were shrouded in his memory. He knew he had ruled the Mephidross, but could no longer recall the details of his downfall. He knew he had been a lich, but metal and Phyrexia were all he needed now in this cavernous kingdom covered in muck and ichor.
The nim and compleated Moriok had reported the presence of a Vulshok and two other travelers across New Phyrexia. The Vulshok was named Koth of the Hammer Clan; the other two were unknown, suspected not to be of Mirran origin due to being pure fleshlings, one man and one woman. Geth felt he knew, somewhere in the back of his memories, a word to name such otherworldly travelers, but the thought faded. They were not Phyrexian and not of Mirrodin, and so they were to be eradicated.
There is another intruder into New Phyrexia.
The whispers arose from the shadows, and Geth almost was not sure if he had really heard anything.
But he knew better. He knew, too, how to ignore this voice using his magic, but chose now to listen for as long as it benefitted him.
This new arrival is named Tezzeret, and he holds power.
Sheoldred hissed to him, and Geth knew it would be best to solely listen. He closed his eyes to focus on the Steel Praetor’s machinations.
Align yourself with this man. He holds Karn’s favor. Use him to reach the usurper. Kill the usurper.
Geth’s skin was gray and thin and taut over his face; had it been otherwise, he would have smiled, but that option had been lost to him. Sheoldred had maneuvered herself as the mightiest of the seven Steel Thanes, but she knew Geth controlled the Vault of Whispers and the black lacunae—and that he yet commanded some mana and magic. She needed him. Enabling his hulking frame and opening his eyes, Geth stood on his various legs like a giant tarantula, hefting his claw-like arms to rest terrifyingly before him. Sheoldred could whisper, but he did not think she had gained eyesight into the territories of the other thanes. However, if she had gained a seeing eye, Geth knew his form commanded a fear of its own.
“I am aware of intruders, Sheoldred. What contract do you have to offer me?” He scanned the cavern again, looking for Phyrexians of any size who may be scuttling in the darkness.
No contract. Remove Karn from his throne and let us thanes determine the true Father of Machines.
Geth’s necked nodded. “Determine” meant “compete.” Sheoldred was not offering him the position, and he was not clearing the way for her. By removing Karn he would only forward the thanes’ plottings to solidify Phyrexia before the other factions did so. The one who sat on the throne and maintained it would unite all of New Phyrexia. Karn’s inconsistent lucidity had allowed the factions to flourish and fight amongst one another—the Machine Orthodoxy battled to defend Karn; the Gitaxians continued to engineer stronger, more deadly Phyrexians; the Steel Thanes converted the dead Mirrans into undead nim and compleated monstrosities; the Vicious Swarm spearheaded by Vorniclex and Glissa spawned ravenous creations; and the Quiet Furnace remained ineptly neutral. There were many plots to consider, and moving them all forward needed to be done with great care, Geth knew.
Toying with otherworldly visitors was something that gave him pause. A vague memory attached the thought to Karn himself. That, in turn, held some reminiscence with Glissa. These memories used to bother him, but he attributed his lapses to his Phyrexianization. His compleation had allowed him to regain his power, and lost memories along the way meant little to him. Geth lived his mechanical, undead life for the present moment, and this corrupt new world was ripe for the picking, so long as he allowed the right gears to turn.
He could identify no movement or presence in the cavern with him, but that did not mean nothing was there. Sheoldred herself, certainly, was safely cocooned away in her lair within New Phyrexia’s Core—she would not dare face him and risk losing a duel. So long as he maintained his power, Sheoldred’s political weavings would carefully skate around him. She was spinning a dangerous web, but Geth had ruled the Mephidross before the Phyrexians arrived, and planned to maintain his reign.
“The Lord of the Vault will consider your proposal, Whispering Thane.”
Swinging from the copper branch of a tree, Ezuri grappled onto the trunk of the next, followed by other Viridian elves. Some of their Phyrexian pursuers growled around them, transforming his home into a living nightmare. Kura shimmied down the giant copper tree beside him, offering a smile.
Ezuri said nothing to his wife—their situation did not allow for wasted words. The traitor Glissa had sent her Phyrexian monstrosities to root Ezuri and his resistance out of their trees, and he was certain they were being herded to Tel-Jilad, the Tree of Tales, which had been metamorphosed into the Cambree Gardens, Glissa’s seat of power.
Exhaling, Ezuri leapt again to the next tree, scanning the branches overhead and seeing only his warriors. Even the few Vulshok refugees kept up, crashing into the trees with their full weight and leaden fists. His cable-like hair wrapped around his face as he paused a moment to make his next decision. If they were being driven to Tel-Jilad then they would fight to reclaim their home, be murdered, or be forced into the lacunae from which the fifth sun had erupted. Glissa had no respect for her heritage and people, even with the fifth sun named after her sister who had fought valiantly against the fall of the Tangle. Phyrexia’s devastation of Mirrdin was seemingly absolute.
Below them, the lush lamina rustled with lurking Phyrexian predators. If Glissa would be a harsh conqueror, Ezuri knew he would have to offer harsh resistance.
His copper-etched fingers lost their grip on the tree as four green, elvish bodies plummeted past him to the Tangle’s floor.
“Mage!” Kura shouted.
An arc of electricity danced through the air, striking a tree. Ezuri dropped a dozen or so feet before reclaiming purchase on the trunk, and turned his head to view the new assailant. Vulshok mages already pounded summoned fireballs towards the half-metal man: the mage was bearded (with actual hair), but his legs and one arm were replaced by full, bluish metal. He was not Phyrexian, and Ezuri’s quick glimpse of his face did not recall any Mirran humanoid Ezuri had seen before.
“Keep moving,” his wife urged, continuing down the tree.
Ezuri followed her away from the lightning-flinging sorcerer, but saw the crotus beasts below.
Too late.
Four hulking shapes—masses of teeth, claws, metal, and fur—leapt toward them.
Two spears and a handful of arrows sped toward the Phyrexians from above, and Ezuri’s sword was in hand, leaving only his legs and left hand to hug the tree. But it was not enough.
Kura was ripped off the trunk and the crotus-beast plummeted to the lamina floor of the Tangle.
Ezuri howled, leaping off the tree and following the creature to the forest floor.
He heard others shout to him from above, but ignored their warnings.
As he fell—the rush of air giving him a sense of flight and weightlessness—a metallic sled flew past him, ridden by a chrome-plated Phyrexian. Where did all these new monstrosities come from?
Enraged, the Mirran resistance leader plunged his sword into a crotus-beast’s back as his feet crushed one of the Phyrexian’s eyes and jaws upon impact. He stabbed again as the creature rolled him off; as it reared on three legs above him, Ezuri braced himself for a mauling, but a Vulsok ally pounded the Phyrexian from behind with red-hot leaden fists. Ezuri forced himself up and eviscerated the Phyrexian.
Breathing heavily, the Viridian saw the crushed, green-skinned body of Kura next to the crotus-beast.
“Ezuri, we have to move,” the Shield clan Vulshok implored. “There is a mage and Gitaxians. We’re outnumbered and outmatched.”
Kura was dead.
Shouts, whirrs, and thuds echoed around them. Another elf landed on the floor, taking charge. “Ezuri,” he said, “we have to go—into the lacunae; it’s our only option. There are too many, and we’re overpowered. Come on.”
Ezuri tried to lift Kura’s corpse, but collapsed in exhaustion and grief. “I cannot leave her. They will reprocess her.”
The Shield clan Vulshok lifted Ezuri to his feet, and they began to run across the floor, fighting off the lamina and vegetation that grasped at them. Other elves and Vulshok above fought off Phyrexians and they all made for the lacunae, where the green sun, Lyese, had erupted some time ago. Ezuri let himself be led for a while, his mind clouded with thoughts of his wife. However, before they reached the tunnel, he forced himself back to focus and climbed out of the Vulshok’s arms.
“Follow me, Mirrans! We are not done here, and will regroup below!”
Ezuri, without looking back into the Tangle, without another thought of his wife, and without any more hesitation, plunged into the darkness of the lacunae. He heard the skittering of smaller Phyrexians hiding in the verdigris and lamina, but found purchase and then pushed forward. He heard the others behind him, and did not look back or slow when he heard more death-cries or Phyrexian growls. He had to save as many of his people as he could. He reached the base, and their path was magically illuminated by his Vulshok companion.
“We push forward.”
The walls of the lacuna were smoothed, and as the tunnel angled dangerously downward, Ezuri found it more challenging to retain his balance. The metallic runners from the Tangle eventually failed to snake further into the Core, and the scent of oil, metal, and rotted meat began to permeate the lacunae. Kura could be rotting down here one day . . .
The band of survivors paused as tunnels and passageways began appearing, branching off from the main lacunae.
“Which way?” another Viridian deferred.
Ezuri was not familiar with these tunnels. He looked to the Vulshok who had saved him from the crotus-beast. “These passageways lead into the Furnace layer,” the man offered, his chest and fist glowing red to produce light. “I do not know how to tell which way to go, or if any way is safe.”
“Nowhere on Mirrodin is safe,” Ezuri spat back with more venom than he intended. “We need to regroup and take stock. This way,” he decided, leading his fighters down a smaller tunnel. The Vulshok stayed near him, providing light from his internal fires.
Shortly, they saw a figure ahead, a hulking Phyrexian. Ezuri slowed. The abomination stood on four or six spindly legs, had two claws, but everything above where its legs met was an amber-like chamber. It did not encase its head like the vedalken used to do, but the bulbous torso was molten hot. Ezuri did not see eyes on the chamber or on the legs. It seemed like a sentry, and stood motionless.
“Do we turn back?” the Vulshok asked.
“Stand watch,” Ezuri simply commanded.
He stepped forward, alone, and stopped. The red Phyrexian made no move. Ezuri took another step, readying his sword. Still the Phyrexian stood motionless.
“I am Ezuri of the Tangle,” he announced.
No answer.
Breathing deep—and tasting a hint of sulfur—Ezuri came within striking distance of the thing.
Nothing.
He slowly walked around it, and heard the creature buzzing, pulsing. But it made no response. It was letting them pass. Did the Phyrexians of the Furnace pity him? Or did it welcome him into another trap? It did not matter. If they could pass through, Ezuri would lead the survivors and prepare the next strike against the monsters that had polluted his world.
“Come,” he commanded.
The Viridians and Vulshok followed him into the Furnace Layer.
Praetor Urabrask had refitted the tunnels, crevices, tubes, passageways, and portals of the Furnace Layer since last Glissa had traveled them. She squeezed through fleshy walls that bled glistening oil, entering a small chamber with high ceilings that easily accommodated her, the Lumengrid vedalken, and the otherworldly traveler. Her metallic feet—retrofitted after she had freed herself of Tezzeret’s magic—stepped softly onto the floor, which was either soft metal or taut meat.
“Which way?” the vedalken asked. Sangus looked around, his lidless eyes searching for another chute or portal. All three pairs of eyes drifted toward the ceiling, which was illuminated by small, flying creatures.
“What are those?” Tezzeret insisted.
“Blinkmoths,” Sangus responded first. “They have become rare. They are Mirrodin’s original inhabitants—or so my people have taught. Their serum—”
“Insubstantial pests,” Glissa spat. “We are here to find the metal golem, not gawk at petty insects.” She stepped to the four-armed vedalken, the ichor from her eyes almost dripping onto the mage. “Lead on, weakling. You said you knew the way to the throne room.”
Sangus inhaled. “Indeed I do. The way has altered. It may have been Urabrask, but I can still locate Karn. I have studied in Lumengrid.”
“And now you betray it.” She shoved Sangus to the ground, and made her way to the nearest wall, running her hands along the wall that consisted of variegated metals.
“We have an . . . understanding, Glissa,” Tezzeret whispered from behind her. The man had become quieter since they delved into the depths of New Phyrexia. It was his idea to “lead” them to Karn, as he was—or so he insisted—named the Prophet of the Great Work. This, they had deduced, should get them past the porcelain Apostles of Karn loyal to Elesh Norn. Glissa and Sangus would act as prisoners. However, the quicksilver-breathing vedalken was to dismiss any of Jin-Gitaxias’s minions. The Steel Thanes rarely sent soldiers to the Core, Urabrask foolishly sat idle, and Vorniclex and Glissa had little concern with the Core. “We will not be mutilating one another.”
“Of course not, omnipotent Prophet,” she sneered, licking glistening oil from her lips as her talons worked their way over the walls, searching for a hidden opening.
Glissa turned, and saw him lift a portion of the soft floor. Sangus stood as he raised a circular cover that was more than a shoulder-width in circumference. As it separated from the ground, a wet suction noise echoed in the chamber, setting the blinkmoths into a faster flutter above their heads.
“Sangus, you first,” Tezzeret commanded quietly. “Glissa, I will follow you.”
Jin-Gitaxias’s minion did not hesitate sliding down the chute made of smooth, silver metal, and Glissa followed. She landed on her feet in another meat room. Tezzeret landed behind her once she had moved. Glissa enjoyed the look of disgust on the man’s face. He marveled at the mechanical side of Phyrexia, but cringed at its more visceral aspects. He claimed to appreciate Phyrexia’s production, but clearly did not agree with its means. Glissa recognized the smell of the room. They were near the vats, where fleshy beings were grown before being compleated. She had spent much time in those chambers during the Deadlock, before Phyrexia overtook the Mirrans and before she returned to the surface.
She knew she was Viridian, but her past did not matter—except the strange flares that had recently interrupted her thoughts. They were filled with emotion, she knew, but Glissa did not care about sentimentality. That was left to Urabrask and his red Phyrexians, which is why he would be decimated in time.
“Almost there,” Sangus informed them. “Tezzeret, it would be best you lead from here. The Orthodoxy’s Apostles will be standing guard in the coming chambers. Jin-Gitaxias’s horde will not be stationed in this area; I kept us away from their grounds. You said those loyal to Elesh Norn would listen to you. We rely on that.”
“If not, I will slay them,” Glissa reminded the men.
“I hope we will not need that,” Tezzeret answered. “If it comes to that, by all means defend yourself. However, you must promise fealty to the golem. Tell him I have revealed to you the magnificence of his work, and how you will see it fulfilled in the Tangle.”
Glissa once again looked at the bearded man whose arm and legs were replaced by curved, blue metal filaments, glowing with reddish-purple magic. “And you will then leave me alone.”
Tezzeret nodded. “I told you I would do so. If New Phyrexia is to prosper, you will need to do some things differently. I have seen entire worlds fall. I know how to preserve yours—the world of Phyrexia—so that it may progress. In turn, you will allow me to stay and study.”
“I should have left you for Jin-Gitaxias,” Glissa mused. “You and Sangus can sit and learn while the strong rule.”
“I will leave you to your devices if you leave me to mine.” Glissa nodded an assent, her cables of hair slightly falling in front of her face. “Which way do we walk, Master Sangus?”
With two of his arms, Sangus directed Tezzeret to a golden door in the wall of the empty room. Tezzeret pulled open the circular door and stepped through. The three travelers entered a huge cavern, lit by blinkmoths and a steady blue glow. Throughout the chamber were massive, lattice-like trunks of interwoven veins: an enclosed metallic forest. Some of the veins were thicker than a human’s chest, and the trunks themselves were enormous. Tezzeret walked closer to one: “Tell me what these are. I can sense their power.”
“They are mycosynth,” Sangus answered.
“The pillars of New Phyrexia,” Glissa added. “They have fostered the evolution of Phyrexia and ensured the spread of the glistening oil. These are the things that meld flesh and metal. You want it the easy way, Tezzeret. The mycosynth provides the materials for our natural evolution, and I have no problem butchering to see it happen.”
The human looked up at the towers that reached the dim ceiling of the cavern, where they spread like inverted roots.
“I remember these when I was first brought to Karn. We are close.”
Sangus nodded, and they began their hike through the chamber, whose floor was rather level. Glissa began hearing creaks, whirs, and rumblings. They were being watched. “Lead us, Prophet. I will not hesitate to slaughter the Orthodoxy. If you want them alive, then you lead. Though I doubt your veracity.”
Tezzeret stepped in front of them, followed by Sangus. She did not know what lay ahead of them, but she would be able to fight her way out. The whole ploy could be a trap to assassinate her, but if she were to die, they would have attempted to do so already. Yawgmoth, the original Father of Machines, had been defeated, and no single entity would replace him. This was a tenet she and Vorniclex had founded the Vicious Swarm upon. Struggle, competition, and strength would ensure Phyrexia’s dominance. Once a lord became complacent, he became weak, and Karn the golem was no fit Glorious Father. Glissa hated “politics,” but it appeared she would foray into the political machine. If Karn accepted her, she could kill him and return to the Tangle victorious.
After passing three of the massive mycosynth pillars, Tezzeret stopped, and Glissa saw the porcelain-encased Apostles step forward. There were five of them, but the Phyrexian in the center was undoubtedly Izathel, a hulking construct with porcelain plates sutured to sinew, bone, and flesh. Izathel was a High Chancellor in the Core who was said to even challenge Elesh Norn on occasion. Glissa was not aware that they had drawn the attention of the chancery, but, then again, the Orthodoxy was deeply entrenched in the Core. She readied her left arm, but gave Tezzeret a moment to speak.
And she found her arms magically forced back to her sides.
She struggled to no avail. She tried to move her feet, but they would not respond. They were not melded to the floor again, but she had no power over her body. She looked toward Sangus, who seemed to also be invisibly bound.
“I am Tezzeret, Prophet of the Father of Machines and Evangelist of the Ardent Etchings. As requested by the Most Blessed Elesh Norn, Grand Cenobite of the Machine Orthodoxy—and through the good will of the Elder Dragon Nicol Bolas—I have come to present Glissa of the Tangle and Sangus of Lumengrid as converts to the Master’s most Glorious Work. I ask that you escort us to the Father.”
All the hesitation Tezzeret demonstrated throughout their journey from the Tangle to the Core had vanished, and he spoke like one of the detestable Apostles of Karn. The man was a shapeshifter of sorts it seemed, adjusting himself to his situation. Glissa had expected him to show his strengths already—melding her to the Cambree Gardens and casting lightning against the Viridians—but he continued to display new talents.
She hated him.
Izathel cocked his massive, rat-like head, and although a porcelain jaw opened, his words did not match its movement. A smaller mouth within the contours of sinew and meat articulated his words. “The Grand Cenobite foretold of your arrival, Prophet. We had not intended you to be an aberration. Elesh Norn does not trust those who are Not-Whole.”
“The Father of Machines has marked me as his gift and charm, both Prophet and Protected. As an act of faith in the Orthodoxy, I have converted two heretics to be sutured to us and to serve the Lord of New Phyrexia as he deems necessary.”
Glissa struggled again, but not a muscle or copper plate would move. Perhaps Tezzeret was not going to let her live. She would have to kill him.
Silently, Izathel turned away and stalked toward the farthest wall while was still obscured in shadow beyond another half-dozen mycosynth towers. The other Apostles followed him, and Glissa felt control return to her limbs.
Tezzeret turned to both her and Sangus. “Follow my lead or pay the consequences. You are my prisoners until further notice. I will ensure we are alone with Karn. Now follow me.”
Taking in the shadows, Glissa obeyed. This planar voyager was curious indeed. Vorniclex had hoped to use him to test the other praetors. It appeared this man was more competent than she anticipated. The vedalken was not worth her attention, and if he tried to do anything to benefit Jin-Gitaxias, she would have him mutilated and reprocessed. Glissa walked forward, reveling in the contractions and extensions of her muscles and metal. She looked up again, almost wishing for blinkmoths to light the ceiling of the Core. She had not been here in a long time, it felt.
Izathel had opened another golden door in the wall, and Tezzeret did not wait. He stepped through, then allowed Sangus and Glissa to pass him. The blue-metal human stared down the hulking form of the High Chancellor, who closed the door, leaving the trio alone.
Glissa recognized this room.
A few mycosynth lattice spires erupted from the ground and branched onto the ceiling. Most space was covered in shadow, and she saw Orthodoxy Phyrexiana scuttle to the shadows where they exited the chamber through other portals and chutes. In the center of the room rose a crumbled spire that emitted a weak yellow glow. Soft motes of golden light hovered around the central column—a darksteel pillar. Darksteel was indestructible, but the spire was clearly degenerating.
It used to lead to the Panopticon, the seat of the Warden Memnarch.
How did she know that?
And then Glissa remembered her first flare, as she looked into the green lacunae—the goblin’s sketches of mycosynth and spores.
The pillar was Karn’s throne, the symbol of power to the Father of Machines.
Tezzeret already stood before the throne, genuflected like a sniveling Orthodoxy apostle. He glared at her, and she fell in behind him, but stood. She could not bow to the golem on the throne above her. The golem was thick, solid. His head nestled against his chest—which glowed red through the markings of some unknown rune—as if he were sleeping. Sangus stood beside her.
“Ineffable Father,” Tezzeret implored. “I, your gift and servant, Tezzeret, have brought you playthings.”
Glissa opened her mouth to retort, but the Father of Machines roared.
“Get that Viridian out of my sight, Tezzeret! She is a traitor to her people and a blight to Phyrexia’s glory! I want her dead!” He seized, lost balance, and crashed down to the foot of the pillar. Tezzeret, Glissa, and Sangus all stepped back, and Glissa flexed her fist as the golem’s head lifted up, the angry red furnace of his eyes replaced with a soft yellow glow. “Sunseeker,” whispered the—
—“golem. Said to make sure you got the ball,” Geth’s grey head reports drily, clearly not happy without any leverage against us. The small silver sphere next to the silver box looks innocuous enough. The empty chamber in which we stand is eerily quiet without the Ascension Web or Memnarch.
“Bosh? Bosh is alive?” Slobad chirps.
“Don’t be stupid,” Geth sneers. “This golem was big and quicksilver, as you well know. Like he was melting and frozen at the same time. Friendly fellow,” the lich muses. I can’t help but smile to hear the awkwardly casual phrase come out of Geth’s thin lips. “Said that you two were supposed to wait for him, if you want.”
Then, to my surprise, Geth instructs us to look inside the silver box. As Slobad stitches the necromancer’s head to a spindly-legged construct reminiscent of Memnarch (as we had promised to do), I discover our soul traps within the chest. They are two small rectangular objects.
Breaking them means that Slobad and I can be free. I turn to my companion.
“Do you know what this means? We can go back.” I pause for a moment, catching the ball of joy that has manifested in my throat. “Back to the world Memnarch took us from. If we break these.” I hesitate on showing excitement, but Slobad’s teeth quickly appear in a beaming smile.
“The golem said that was your choice,” Geth interjects. “Break these and disappear, or wait for him.”
“Sounds like a trap,” I admit. After all the intrigues and magic and running, can our way out be so simple? Just break the artifacts?
Before replying, Slobad picks up the small silver sphere from the box, briefly considers it, and places it in his satchel. “Think we should wait,” he says, resting his familiar hand on my green skin. “Slobad’s spent his whole life hiding from the world. We know everybody’s safe, huh? Now there’s no need for Slobad to hide from anything. And something . . .,” he trails off, then finds new thoughts: “Slobad don’t know why, but he want to trust the golem.”
I look at my friend—
—in disgust. Glissa’s face contorted in revulsion and confusion. Bosh. Karn. Memnarch. The Swarm. Vorniclex. The Tangle. Mirrodin.
Sunseeker.
Breathing in the familiar scents, Glissa steadied herself, and then became disoriented again as something pricked her skin. Her right hand reached instinctively for the back of her neck, and she lowered herself to one knee—inadvertently kneeling before the Father of Machines.
“What in the hells did you just do?” I demanded as Sangus stepped away from Glissa’s inert form.
“Looks like he poked her neck just like he pierced your forearm when we got here, Tezzie.”
I ignored Doc.
“What did you just inject?” I asked slowly, emphasizing my command while gathering mana.
The vedalken’s lipless smile returned to his face. I divided my attention between him and Karn, who stared blankly and calmly at Glissa. What did the golem mean that she had waited for him? It must have been more madness. With two still bodies, silence, and Sangus and I standing, it felt as if time stopped. Of course, I knew that feeling after battling Silas Renn’s clockwork magic in the Labyrinth. Time had not paused here—it was just tension.
Spreading his two pairs of hands apart in a gesture of vulnerability and innocence, Sangus broke the tableau and stepped back.
No. Not vulnerability.
Triumph.
“I assured her fealty to the Father of Machines, O Honored Prophet,” he bubbled. I chose not to answer. Sometimes, I learned, listening is best.
“Then why do you pretend to ignore me?” Mr. Chuckles chattered.
“You have done what Lord Bolas commanded,” Sangus continued, keeping his distance. “This shambling, antiquated construct has no chance of reigning over the Phyrexians.” I looked toward the shadows of the room as inconspicuously as I could. What trap had I walked into?
Make use of yourself, dear friend, I demanded of Doc, and be my eyes. Are there Phyrexians around?
“However, we’ve also done as Praetor Jin-Gitaxias has required of us, and placed a puppet beside the golem.”
“Double-agent,” I intoned.
Sangus nodded, his lips hooking up in a grin. “We’re both trapped, Tezzeret. We make do with our positions, though, I suppose.”
“What did you inject her with? She did not need protection from phyresis.” As I spoke, I magically drew the liquid injection Sangus had deposited within me to an etherium bulb I crafted inside my metal arm. He had said that he was protecting me from the glistening oil when he had injected me. I used to scrap for pieces of etherium—now, I could create them, and tinker with their shape and function, as I did now. There was no way Sangus could know my current actions. I shifted uncomfortably on my etherium feet to feign unease and licked my lips as the spell worked its way through my veins.
“A control serum,” he answered simply. “If the Swarm will still listen to her—or, rather, to Jin-Gitaxias through her—Vorniclex will be disarmed. The combined force of the Swarm and Lumengrid will destabilize the Orthodoxy and root out the Steel Thanes. Urabrask has shown little resistance to others. Bolas will be pleased.”
How much of my directives had Sangus been told by my forced master? “If the Elder Dragon ever wanted any centralized power,” I quipped.
Sangus shrugged his shoulders. “I play the cards I’m dealt, Agent Tezzeret.”
“The room is still cleared, as Sangus said it would be,” Doc informed me. I didn’t know the extent of his abilities—if he could actually do what I had asked—but I decided to trust him.
“Thank you,” he answered my thoughts.
The vedalken looked around. Karn still sat immobile, and Glissa was sprawled before him like a sacrifice. We were at a standstill—either we would continue our alliance, or one of us would die.
Death doesn’t agree with me.
“So where do we go from here, Sangus?”
“In good faith, Jin Gitaxias will provide you a small, secret army of his chrome Phyrexians if you agree to assist Glissa here within the remains of Panopticon. He recognizes your utility. I will return to Lumengrid. He only knows of Lord Bolas from your flippant use of the dragon’s name when you arrived, but I do not plan for him to discover much more of our other employer.”
The fluid from throughout my body had compacted itself within the etherium bulb, which I now magically crafted into a small needle. More aware of the scope of Sangus’s role, I returned our conversation to the injection.
“What did you put in me?”
He inhaled slowly. He knew I had caught on. “A tracer, so I could more easily find you later in case Jin Gitaxias lost you, as he did. That was how I was able to emancipate you from the Orthodoxy. I had initially altered Jin-Gitaxias to your arrival, but not to your identity.”
“Hey, you know what?” Doc asked—again interrupting an important conversation I was having with a real person. “I think that tracer helped to reawaken me. Perhaps it wasn’t all that bad.”
Let’s hope it doesn’t make you go away when I lose it, I retorted sardonically.
“So I am to stay here, advise Glissa—who will serve as Karn’s lieutenant—and then I will be given a slew of Phyrexians to explore the plane as I see fit?”
“That is the Praetor’s deal. He will be better able to monitor the throne with Glissa here. He has more access to this room than one would anticipate.”
“I accept,” I answered, hoping Jin-Gitaxias was listening at that moment.
Then I threw my etherium arm forward, casting the serum-needle out of me and directly into Sangus’s temple.
His black eyes glazed over, his four arms scratched at his head to remove the needle, and he slipped to the floor. I had crafted the weapon so it would remain within his skull. There was little purchase at the end for him to pull at, and that would only rip away at his brain even more.
“Bolas told me nothing about you, which means you are expendable,” I told him, stepping forward. “I don’t deal well being backstabbed.” Sangus began losing bodily control, so I easily placed my hand on his forehead, over the needle, and provided a small, magical electric pulse, which scrambled his brain and killed him—while simultaneously releasing the serum into his brain, just for a bit of over-kill.
The double-attack was unnecessary, but I was so limited as of late, any exercise of power felt welcomed.
“Did you learn that from Beleren?” Doctor Jest sang in my mind.
You’re a bastard, Doc, I snarled. The mind mage tore apart my brain. I only fried the vedalken’s.
“Now what?”
I looked around at the fallen elf, the crumpled vedalken, and the prostrate golem.
“Now,” I said aloud, “we wait for our new captors. Bolas better be pleased.”
Ezuri sharpened his steel with a whetstone, repeatedly, methodically, and silently.
Since their relocation into the Furnace Layer, none of the freedom fighters had been killed. The red Phyrexians in the shafts and tunnels ignored the Mirrans—whether out of pity or patience, Ezuri and the others could not tell. However, Phyrexians were Phyrexians, and it was only a matter of time before he had to fight again.
The dim light of the chamber—provided by an enchanted stone—brightened as the Shield clan Vulshok neared, providing a light that emanated from the stone crevices of his skin.
“Another dead-end after the third portal, Ezuri,” the Vulshok reported.
The elf exhaled slowly, working the stone against his blade. Another dead-end. The Phyrexians did not attack, but passage through the tunnels, tubes, rock, and fleshy chambers was maddening. They had decided to map every step of the way so as not to get lost. Ezuri had no idea how long they had been within Mirrodin without the moons to mark the time.
“Rest and we will try the passage after the fourth portal soon,” Ezuri responded, pausing in his task. They were trapped within their own world, like animals waiting to be slaughtered. Determination and hardness were all that were left to Ezuri. The Elders had disappeared in the Vanishing, so many Mirrans had become infected by the black oil, and his wife was dead.
“The Father of Machines exudes power, unlike you, Tezzeret,” Glissa mocked, allowing glistening oil to seep down her cheek.
She sat on a small throne next to the massive golem, looking down at me. I laughed in my head—and was surprisingly joined by Doc’s chuckle—at how Jin-Gitaxias’s serum had fully transformed the compleated Viridian into Karn’s devoted apostle. I had indeed assisted Elesh Norn, but with Jin-Gitaxias monitoring the throne room and having some unknown amount of control over Glissa, I had assisted him as well. I had not bothered exploring the Tangle to see the effects of Glissa’s shift in alliance toward the golem whom the Vicious Swam despised.
“I am a mere servant, Glissa,” I answered. It was mostly truth.
As I had accepted before, my choices were limited. I had been named the Carmot, the humbled conduit which transformed matter into etherium.
“I think the word ‘humbled’ is a misnomer, ol’ friend,” Doc said, coming out of his laughing fit.
I have little agency, but will do what I can.
“Geth should be here shortly for another report,” Glissa informed me. “His gutting of the surface and spread of oil is nearly complete.” I looked at the huge lattice-spires of mycosynth and the few glowing spores that haphazardly floated amid the cavernous chamber.
“I am elated to hear my invitation to the Steel Thane has been well-received.” Geth’s inclusion in my plans had been advantageous. I had approached him, offering a chance to position himself amid Karn’s favored subjects—Jin-Gitaxias may not have expected such a move, but my sometimes-favor with Karn (when he remembered me) secured my plottings. With this, I had kept the Steel Thanes within the competition, which would have prevented full control by Lumengrid.
“He may have more information on the three trespassers new to our world,” Glissa answered, clearly disgruntled in regards to my machinations.
“UrzaJeskaTeferiVenser,” Karn muttered, his voice resonating throughout the chamber. I could still not decipher his nonsense—although a couple of the earlier syllables sparked a memory of Phyrexian history in me, perhaps the name of a hero from the Annuls of Dominaria—but I don’t think Glissa could either.
Regardless, the arrival of three additional planeswalkers was auspicious. If I could convince Glissa to hunt them down, I could draw her out of the Core—where she was protected—to the surface, where she was vulnerable.
And there I could have her killed. She was enjoying her power a bit too much, and her position afforded the Lumengrid praetor too much control. Nicol Bolas did not want a single leader at the helm of the Phyrexians, and removing Glissa already could shift the power center again. Then I could find a new way to deal with Karn.
“I await your orders, Glissa,” I said, running my etherium fingers through my tangled cords of hair.
I was a servant. A puppet. Trapped in a cage, surrounded by the scraps of a metal world.
Hey Zazdor! Nice read! As promised, I will give some of my feedback after reading everything. Bear in mind that I never read any of the mirrodin's original books nor agents of the artifice. Unless you tell me otherwise later, I will assume all the ideas here are originally yours and I will treat them as such.
First, the positive points:
- I think you nailed really well the characterization of Mirrodin. It felt like a dark, corrupted metal world, where a race of metal zombies were almost in control of everything. I really appreciated the mentions of Darkstell, Blinkmoth, the Razor Fields, Lumengrid, Tel-Jilad, the 5 suns, among many others. Naming the things that we, as players and magic readers, are familiar with, makes the story much more like Magic. This was an incredible job, and I really liked the feel you gave to it.
- I really love the concept of Karn being just a mindless puppet. Or, in that case, more like a figure with an honorary title that was given to him to keep the other praetors at bay. I didn't understand exactly if he had any sort of real power (like, magical and physical power) or not, but to think of him as a babbling corrupted creature makes a lot of sense, and it makes the story more interesting.
- The political intrigue among the praetors was amazing. The way you depicted all of them hating or distrusting each other made for a very entertaining read, and I was particularly fond of your characterization of Vorinclex. He was savage, menacing and very phyrexian in general. I appreciated that a lot.
- In general I think the writing was very good as always, and I had to look up some words to remember what they meant in english. There were some typos along the way, but really minor things, and as a whole I think the structure worked fairly well. I like stories where you have change of perspective, from Tezzeret, to Glissa. There was also some Ezuri and Geth at the end, and although I liked their characterization, I will have some negative things to mention about them down below.
Now, to the negative aspects. Be certain that I think the story was great in general, and the things that I perceive as negatives just come from my personal view of storytelling and probably are entirely subjective (i.e. other people might like what I'm saying I disliked).
- The personality of Bolas' contraption in Tezzeret mind felt a little bit over the top given all other personalities in the story. Maybe he was suppose to be the comic relief, but the 'Doc' felt a little out of place with his sarcastic jokes and manners. I would make him just a tad bit more serious, but I liked the idea a lot (of Bolas' putting such a thing in Tezzeret's mind).
- I think the whole plot revolved too much around the arrival of Tezzeret, and suddenly all the praetors were caring a lot about that. I loved the politcal intrigue that spawned from this, but I think it would be better if other things were discussed and brought to the attention of the praetors, to give the whole story a more realistic politcal feeling, giving that the biggest leaders of Phyrexia for sure have multiple things to worry about all the time.
- Ultimately, I didn't understand Tezzeret's plan. He says that he has few options and that Bolas asked him to keep Phyrexia descentralized, but when putting Glissa on the throne he actually helps with the centralization of power, making Jin-Gitaxias (and probably to some extent Elesh Norn) stronger. And then in the end he says that he would kill Glissa as a consequence of that, but it felt a bit confusing to me, not sure if I missed something. Also, not as a negative point but more as a question: was Tezzeret protected because Karn said he was his gift or something? If so, did the protection come from Karn or actually from Elesh Norn's faction? It wasn't entirely clear.
- I loved the concept of making a big plot story full of legendary creatures, but at the same time I think the story needed a couple more John Does such as Sangus, the vedalken working for Jin. I feel that when you create your own random characters it helps to flesh out the moments where the more famous one show up in the story. Meaning: if the story has a lot of characters you invented and suddenly Vorinclex appears, it feels even more impactful because the reader takes that as an important moment in the plot, whilst in a story where 4 of the 5 praetors show up to speak, not so much so.
- I didn't understand exactly what contributions to the overall plot of your story were given by fleshing out Geth and Ezuri. Both characters felt very tangencial to the main storyline, and I would be glad with them either being mentioned more one the side lines or showing up to have more important roles. For instance, I thought I would have a moment of Ezuri meeting Urabrask where the red praetor explain his motives to remain neutral in the war, which would be kinda cool (although goes a little bit against the thing that I said of stuffing too much important characters in the same story).
Whew. I think that is it for now, I will wait for you to reply something and then I can share more of my impressions as I elaborate them a little bit more. Overall, it was a very nice, very entertaining read, much better than the average Uncharted Realms stuff for sure!
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Would you like to read Commander stories? Check my latest stories, coming from Lorwyn and Innistrad: Ghoulcaller Gisa and Doran, The Siege Tower! If you like my writing, ask me to write something for your commander as well!
My goal here was to tie together some disparate story threads. First, I wanted to link Test of Metal to the Tezzeret we saw in the webcomics. Then, I wanted to try as best could make sense of the original Mirrodin trilogy with our return the Scars block (thus the continuation of Glissa's flashes, which this time revealed scenes from her previous life in the original trilogy). My other largest problem was Glissa loving Karn in Quest for Karn but hating him in the Planeswalker's Guide to Mirrodin and New Phyrexia. I also wanted to touch on Ezuri as a resistance fighter who was also the jerk we met in Quest. I tried to pull a little style from everywhere (Doc's tone from Test and reference of Phyrexians by color--i.e. "red Phyrexians"--fromQuest). It is for these reasons that main characters show up--my goal was more to fill in blanks than create my whole own cast, which, as you noted, has its pros and cons.
Some additional responses:
Doc. I worked to keep a consistent Doc from Stover's Test of Metal. Once I began working, I did not go back to the novel, so I very well may have overwritten Doc. Otherwise, I was aiming for consistency.
Praetors. I decided to focus the story on Tezzeret, so in that vein, we only saw the praetors' machinations in relation to him. I was afraid that length was already getting the best of me. I wanted Tezzeret to experience many of the praetors, but we only needed to see how they interacted with him. While this may be a flaw, that was, at least, my reasoning behind it.
The Plan. Tezzeret was sent to ensure that New Phyrexia did not unify under one leader. Tezzeret planned to play the praetors off each other. In the end, one of Vorniclex's minions (Glissa) is on the throne, which would benefit Elesh Norn--and would piss off the others. However, Jin-Gitaxias also has a hand in controlling her. Geth may be more loyal to Tezzeret than Glissa--and who knows about Urabrask. Thus, Phyrexia is not more stable. Beyond that, we do not know Nicol Bolas's motivations. Tezzeret just needs to keep things in flux.
Tezzeret's Protection. Karn liked him, so Elesh Norn followed suit (and so Karn didn't send him off to Lumengrid). There was no magical protection involved.
Geth and Ezuri. I included Ezuri to set up his appearance and characterization in Quest for Karn. I also have an idea for him post-New Phyrexia, which his new card wonderfully validates if I ever get around to writing what happens after Quest and before Elspeth’s letter that served as a prologue to Godsend. As for Geth, he was my way to introduce us to Sheoldred and also give Tezzeret another ally of sorts that he could use later on to disrupt any solidification of power.
Again, my goal was to fill in gaps and connect characters and stories. I wanted to see Tezzeret’s arrival and then explain Glissa’s strange devotion to Karn in Quest.
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Dominian Scholar of the Old Guard, specializing in pre-revisionist (Armada comics) and revisionist (Brothers' War through Apocalypse)history
Most of you explanations make perfect sense, this is a short story after all, so you can't tell everything (like other praetor's machinations). But I do believe Geth and Ezuri justification will make the most sense with the the new entry that you're writing about New Phyrexia!
And overall, as I said, I think it was an amazing job, very well done.
Would you like to read Commander stories? Check my latest stories, coming from Lorwyn and Innistrad: Ghoulcaller Gisa and Doran, The Siege Tower! If you like my writing, ask me to write something for your commander as well!
This serves as a prequel to The Quest for Karn. This story picks up right where the final frame of the third installment of "Dark Discoveries" left off, but before the events in The Quest for Karn. I have continued Tezzeret's characterization and events after his involvement in Test of Metal, but I also aimed to make some sense of some details and contradictions in the Planeswalker's Guide to New Phyrexia (Glissa's different personality in the Guide and the novel, the mention of praetors in the Guide but not the novel, and a few other surprises!).
I have reserved fourteen posts for each segment of the story, which I will update every few days until it's completely posted.
Please consider posting so I know there are readers out there; I welcome all feedback. And, if you care to: check out my Innistrad fiction (link in my signature).
The contorted metallic face leered at me from above.
It was perfection. Not like my etherium perfection, but a mechanical artistry of its own merits. Beautiful, twisted artificiality. Agonized intricacy.
The Father of Machines: the creature I would play the servant to, and the master I was to make powerless.
“Father, I kneel before you in awe and reverence,” I articulated.
“Offense,” the massive construct rumbled. It looked welded to the throne, and the hulking golem vibrated from deep within, the alien etchings on his chest a glowing inferno. Was he imprisoned on his own seat of power? “A grave offense.”
Damn. Did I offend him already? If Bolas wanted me here, he’d have to answer to it.
“I am Tezzeret, a mere servant, sent as a gift by Lord Nicol Bolas.”
“See, you are educable, ol’ pal!” a familiar voice piped in my head. “You can learn to play by the Boss’s rules.”
I inhaled sharply, smelling the corruption in the air and tasting the wafting scent of putrid flesh. Doctor Jest had gone silent since my Reconstruction.
Until now, apparently.
A terrifying roar erupted from the Father of Machines before he spoke next. “I need no gifts! Only worship.”
“And we are here to revere you, Father,” the hulking Phyrexian behind me clicked and strained. It was serpentine and hunched, obviously a leader among these monsters, if I were to gauge by size—and the fact that it was he who had seized me after my journey down the lacunae. I would have appreciated if Bolas’s vedalken minion who had met me on the surface would have warned me about the scouting party before sending me down to the Core.
“Jin-Gitaxias is not welcomed at my court,” the golem whispered to no one at all. “He plans my downfall.”
I turned my head—obviously forgotten in the exchange between the Father of Machines and the hunched-one—and noticed other mechanical creations ambling away from the creature that had escorted me to this throne room. These other mechanical drones were crafted of bone and sinew and porcelain, or chrome or steel. They had multiple hands like vedalken and various mouths like demons—they were all of different composition, some threatening, some mere laborers. What were these Phyrexians all about?
A carapace of dark steel scuttled forward, its red innards encased in its white exoskeleton, its body held up by four impossibly spindly legs. “Remember our warning, Glorious Father,” it whispered. The silence was doubly noticeable, as Doc had not made any other noises. Had I imaged him?
I looked quickly to the Father of Machines and saw his gaze on the hulking creature. My chrome captor—Jin-Gitaxias—stood proud behind me, its spinal frame unmoving. Although the Phyrexian had forced me to my knees, I remained there now of my own volition. Perhaps I should have enquired a bit more about this world when Bolas’s vedalken agent greeted me before I leapt down toward the Core.
“If the Father of Machines does not desire my presence, I will leave,” it hissed. “I only brought this not-us for your consideration. It is flesh and strange metal. If you do not wish it alive, I will bring it to the labs of Lumengrid.”
I returned my gaze to the golem, feeling its incendiary eyes on me. Its head cocked to the side, as if listening to his own Doctor Jest—how did that bastard get back into my head?
“UrzaJeskaTeferiVenser,” the golem spattered.
What?
“Weatherlight,” the Father of Machines intoned, intentionally pronouncing each syllable. “A gift indeed.” And then a mighty bellow, accompanied by the golem shaking in his throne: “Leave me my gift, praetor!”
I considered this curious construct, fixated to his throne and subject to insane fits of rage and incomprehensible babble. I heard scuttling behind me and the movement of metal. Then I saw and felt the glare of this artificial masterpiece upon me again. The dragon Planeswalker Nicol Bolas had sent me to ensure that the Phyrexians did not gather behind this crazed golem. They would be stupid to do so—but, of course, not all beings are as competent as I.
“I am a mere servant, sent as a gift by Lord Nicol Bolas,” I repeated.
“You have my protection,” the Father of Machines granted. “You are of the Æther. You are a charm in my conquest.”
The golem leaned back in his throne, and the glow within his eyes and chest dimmed to a warm yellow. How did he know that I possessed the spark that allowed me to travel between worlds? Although I name-dropped Bolas, did the metal man really know who the Elder Dragon was?
Another Phyrexian stepped toward me, its face replaced by two triangular porcelain plates, with meat and sinews stretched across its chest. It spoke melodically. “The Grand Cenobite of the Machine Orthodoxy requests to shelter this charmed gift, and keep it safe for our most Exalted Father until He requests its blessings.”
I began to stand, to defend myself, but uncontrollably collapsed back to the metal floor, breathing heavily. My vision began blackening, and I wetted my lips but quickly withdrew my tongue once I tasted the metallic world. What happened?
“Forget about me so soon, Tezzie?” Doc chided. “Stay genuflected. Karn likes it. The Big Guy likes it, too.”
The white porcelain creature looked down at me. I rolled my head on the floor, craning my neck to make eye contact with the Father of Machines, but he stared at the far wall. “I . . . I am here as a servant to the Father of Machines. I belong here.”
“The Father has entrusted you to us,” the porcelain Phyrexian said. Funny, I hadn’t heard the golem’s assent. “You will come with us, fleshling. Elesh Norn, the Grand Cenobite of the Machine Orthodoxy, has requested your presence.”
“Smile nicely for the kind white folk, ol’ boy,” Doc said cheerily.
Phyrexian beasts—amalgamations of flesh and metal, appendages and mouths—swarmed the rebel squad that had attempted to infiltrate the Cambree Gardens. They had not been so bold before, and Glissa had ordered her beasts to ensure they were not alive to be bold again. Archdruid Benzir of the compleated Sylvok led his forces against the Mirrans as well, moving a bit more nimbly through the trees than some of the more bestial Phyrexians. An arrow flashed by her lithe form as she swung to another tree, propelling herself to a higher branch, where another Viridian elf kicked a Phyrexian beast to the forest floor. He spun to face Glissa, and backpedalled on the branch to escape her scythe’s arc.
She thrust herself forward, but the Viridian cracked her right side with his bow, tossing her off-balance for the slight moment he needed to leap over her.
“Traitor,” he spat.
Glissa ignored the epithet and pivoted, thrusting with her scythe-arm again, but missing her elvish opponent.
“I have waited to see Glissa the Traitor,” he growled. “I remember you.”
Glissa charged on the branch to the babbling Mirran and blocked his sword with her scythe, linking her appendage with his weapon. She looked at him, and he used the hesitation from the linked weapons to speak again.
“Glissa Sunseeker, savior of Mirrodin. Now a Phyrexian lackey.”
Sunseeker.
The word did not register in her memory, and she inhaled a few drops of ichor from her upper lip that had trailed down her cheek, only to spit them—mingled with spittle—into the elf’s face. She flung her left arm back, forcing her scythe to disengage the rebel’s sword. Swatting at the ichor on his face, the elf stumbled and fell.
“Ezuri!” a female rebel cried.
Glissa watched a Viridian leap from a nearby branch. The two elves impacted, but managed to land relatively gracefully onto the fleshy green lamina of the forest floor. The fall had not killed them. Glissa watched as one of her hulking crotus beasts charged them, tearing up the soft lamina.
A monstrous roar resounded off the trees, causing a distressed vibration among the copper trunks. Glissa knew the sound instantly. Ignoring the rebel leader below her, she swung through the branches back to the Cambree Gardens proper. The Phyrexianized Viridian leapt past a rebel soldier, completely ignoring a potential target. She could not remain in combat. Necessity called.
Praetor Vorniclex awaited her arrival.
Not that my porcelain-encased Phyrexian guide—captor?—would have told me anyway. Any attempt at conversation had resulted in it droning on about the mastery of Phyrexia and the glory of Karn, the Father of Machines.
“At least you’ve got me.”
I hate you.
I walked assuredly to the next portal in the meat-and-metal wall, following the white construct. I would have run, but the portals in the walls only seemed to open for the Phyrexians, and no other escapes were present. I’d planeswalk, but with my damned pal back, the results of that could be disastrous.
“You stopped playing once there for a bit,” Doc piped, “and I really don’t want you playing by yourself anymore.”
I had really thought you went away.
The meat-wall opened, revealing another chute of metal scaffolding attached to what looked like the muscles of an esophagus. The thing pulsed. My silent guide stepped through, and I followed.
As the others before, the chute pulsated, leaving oil and blood and juices on my skin, etherium, and hair. We shot through at great speeds, being propelled up and dropped down. Thankfully my magic protected my nose and mouth from the muck. I had no sense of direction, and I gave up caring that I was being smashed against the metal frame or bouncing off red muscle, though I was attentive so that my formations of etherium did not catch on the metal scaffolds and filigrees.
“Had we known forcing you to get rid of that damned etherium band from your face would shut me up, we would have done things a little different. But what’s done is done. At least you’re a bit more fashionable now. Of course,” my forced friend continued, “now that you have all these wonderful etherium parts, you have access to more mana and power, which means I have access to more mana and power, which means I figured out how to access your thoughts. Isn’t that just grand?”
So my over-use of crafting etherium had driven Doc and Bolas away? I had been able to create etherium with some ease on the Metal Island, reshaping an eye into an etherium sphere and adorning my face with a band from my right eye to left jaw. I had even re-grown a new organic eye. I kept my fleshy right arm Bolas had reconstructed for me after Jace’s mind-wipe—proof that I did not absolutely need etherium. I had been a scrapper as a child on the Alaran Shard of Esper, collecting scraps of the mystic metal to create my first etherium arm. Since then, I had given up my desire in order to accept my role as Seeker and Carmot. I had taught myself humility.
Yet, when Doc began insisting I reconstruct my face to flesh and rebuild my arm, I complied—I really had no choice. Bolas had implanted him in my mind so to control me and as a price for saving my mindless body on Kamigawa where the mind mage Jace Beleren had left me. I had thought after humbling myself in my Seeking that I had found autonomy. I was wrong—I have no choices.
No choices. I’m a puppet.
“It could be worse.”
Shut up.
“Someone’s sensitive,” Doc retorted.
However, in reconstructing my whole right arm, Doc had disappeared. Considering it now, he had even gotten quieter after I re-grew my face, returning my etherium to flesh.
“See, you did miss me!”
I had been freed for a bit. Enough to begin looking for Krovet and the Golden Door before Bolas’s imp-dragons found me.
“Aren’t I much cuter?”
The porcelain Phyrexian and I stopped our forced movement and an eye-shutter portal radiated open above us. The wiry Phyrexian climbed up and I followed suit. I saw the metallic plates of Mirrodin’s surface again—and the raw decay of the interior opened to the slight metallic taste of the surface. I surveyed the field of Mirrodin from the shiny hillock to which we had ascended. The five suns—a blinding white, an eerie blue, an impossible shimmering black, a flaming red, and a calming green—arced in a row across the skyline. This world, I realized, was small compared to many others. Behind us, near the top of our low hillock, was a camp of some sort, walled in by tall metallic spears, like bars on a cage. More hulking porcelain Phyrexians—all with the white plates, but varying in size and structure—stood guard at what I assumed to be hidden gates, somewhere.
My captor-guide, who had led me from Karn’s throne room in the Core, stepped forward. Two of the beast-like Phryexians stepped aside, and the spear-bars retracted down into the metallic plates of the Mirran surface. I followed the guide into the annex.
“Now listen, Great Brain,” Doc lectured, “we were sent here to infiltrate Lumengrid, but that didn’t work out too damn well. You are here to study Phyrexia, and it appears we’re being personally escorted to one of Phyrexia’s leading Shinies. That wacked-out golem is not supposed to be their leader—and neither is anyone else here. Tread carefully.”
What, you don’t trust me?
“With my life, my dear old friend.”
Phyrexian Praetor Vorniclex, the Voice of Hunger, loomed above her. His bestial face was set in bone, with massive draconic plates extending to each side. His body was a bulk of bone and sinew and metal and fur—a skeletal mammal drooling blood and glistening oil. The praetor stood nearly twice her height as he hunched on his legs, keeping his two massive arms and his second pair of smaller arm-appendages close to his open rib cage.
“What interrupts our elimination of the rebels?” Glissa demanded.
It looked as though the praetor unhinged his jaw to release a roar that ripped through the trees. Glissa inhaled, and noted—not for the first time in her life—not to be so aggressive in his presence. “A new being. Not one of us,” Vorniclex rumbled. His voice was deep and hoarse, but now spoken in a whisper.
“Where?”
“With Elesh Norn.”
“One of Jin-Gitaxias’s creations?”
“No,” the praetor breathed. “Not of this world. And three others like him.”
“She has all of them?”
“The other three wallow in the Mephidross.”
“With that decaying sack of flesh, Geth?” Glissa sneered.
“No.”
To avoid another bellow—or worse—Glissa asked, “What would you have me do?”
Vorniclex bounded forwarded, halting himself mere inches from Glissa’s form. He inhaled deeply, causing his visible rib cage to swell. “I want this first wanderer. Jin-Gitaxias is already interested in him.”
Glissa chuckled and sneered again. “I am not a courtier, Vorinclex.”
A massive claw whacked Glissa across the platform, tossing her body into the air before it slammed into a tree-trunk. She was up in a moment—barely wounded, courtesy of her compleated frame—but Vorniclex was before her again, thrusting her against the copper trunk with the same claw, letting lose a roar that caused her metallic parts to vibrate. His bone-face was against her nose, impervious to any attack. Glissa had been in this position very few times before, and knew when to acquiesce to greater power. Had she been stronger, she would be praetor. Strength ruled the Tangle, not she. Nor Vorniclex. However, with such force, Vorniclex was to be respected. For now.
“This stranger has metal but is not compleated. His strength is unknown. Karn favors him.”
“That means nothing. Karn is weak,” Glissa retorted.
Vorniclex nodded shallowly and slowly. “I want to know his limitations.”
“And where should we find him?”
“Send out spies and crotus blooms. Jin-Gitaxias has reconnaissance throughout New Phyrexia. He must not find this stranger again before I do. This trespasser may test the strength of the other factions. I do not yet want him dead.”
Shouts of rebel elves and humans and Phyrexian growls reached the upper level of the Cambree Gardens. Glissa inhaled, tasting the glistening oil at the corner of her mouth that had dripped down from her eye. “Care to crush the rebels with me first, Great One?”
The praetor rumbled in the back of his meat-and-metal throat. “Yes,” he intoned.
Still face-to-face with the praetor, Glissa opened her mouth and let out an unearthly scream, which was soon joined by the call of Vorniclex.
The Mirrans knew the battle was over.
This . . . woman? . . . is whacked.
“And I thought you were bad,” Doc offered.
“As his Excellency wishes to shelter you in his wisdom, we will oversee your protection. And yet we sense that your fleshy Self and the accoutrements of your magic-metal may be of use to the Father of Machines and Lord of New Phyrexia. To ensure your dedication to our most holy cause, we have decided to allow you to prove your worth.”
I blinked away the glare of the suns overhead, the blue sun obscuring my vision.
Allow me to prove my worth? I did not sign up for a quest.
But again, my choices had become limited as of late.
I lifted my head - having chosen, this time, to kneel before the dais at the center of the annex. The Grand Cenobite of the Machine Orthodoxy of New Phyrexia, Praetor Elesh Norn, stood like a statue - unmoving, even - upon her pedestal. The light of the suns silhouetted her in what I could have guessed was a staged performance of royalty. If I was to play the servant, I knew this was a creature to feign service to. There was a certain misleading femininity to this praetor - who did not resemble the other praetor, Jin-Gitaxias, in the least. Most of her body was red sinew and muscle and humanoid, stretched tight between hips, arms, and a head of porcelain. Or perhaps the porcelain was only covering the flesh, but from what I’d seen of these Phyrexians, flesh was sutured to metal.
Glorious ingenuity.
“As best befits a Prophet of the Father, you will assure our Glorious Master’s Work. You must eradicate Glissa of the Tangle.”
I kept my breath even, looking to the porcelain Phyrexians to each side of the praetor who held a fine-woven red fabric that draped Elesh Norn. Where the hell had the people of a metal world gotten fabric? Unless it was tightly-knit capillaries and arteries . . .
I wet my lips - tasting the contagion of the world again - and spoke. “I am newly-arrived here, O most holy Grand Cenobite,” I babbled. “What is Glissa’s offense to our most glorious Father of Phyrexia?”
“That was smooth,” Doc quipped in my ear.
I’d manipulated royalty in the past, but never ones so foreign as these of Mirrodin. Or Phyrexia - New Phyrexia - as they called it. I recalled Phyrexia from the brief annals of Dominarian history I’d encountered, but had thought the dark plane was destroyed centuries ago. How had they arrived on Mirrodin, and why was it only now that they seemed to be mobilizing?
“Glissa threatens Karn’s very presence as the Father of Machines,” Elesh Norn articulated clearly. Her head moved near-imperceptibly, tilting down toward me. Otherwise, she had stood motionless, like the metal pikes that encircled the annex. Had I just misspoke? “She and Praetor Vorniclex of the Vicious Swarm hope to disassemble all hierarchy of New Phyrexia except for the strongest. They breed Phyrexians to dominate by tooth and shrapnel. Glissa has spoken most grievously against Karn’s divine right. As Prophet to the Father of Machines, you will suture her mouth shut against such blasphemies.”
Damn.
“It’s a good thing you’ve got me!”
I could strangle you.
“If you actually could, you would have.”
I did, for a while - did you forget that already? Looks like I’ve been enlisted as a common assassin. Is this what Bolas wanted of me?
“I don’t think the Big Lizard intended for you to get yourself captured mere minutes after arriving here, Great Brain. At least he had a higher estimation of your abilities.”
I swallowed before speaking again. “I am to infiltrate the Tangle and kill Glissa, then?”
Elesh Norn’s head returned to its initial position. “As Prophet, you desire to spread the Word of the Ardent Etchings and silence the infidels.”
Does this creature mean the words she spews, or are they just formality? Am I a prophet to her, or puppet? Is this just an elaborate suicide mission to get me out of the way?
“Clearly a suicide mission,” my mental companion voted.
If that’s the case, Doc, this Glissa has managed to outwit every other assassin.
“Or you’re the safest bet since you aren’t directly linked to this Miss Shiny.”
Bolas doesn’t want the Phyrexians uniting behind a leader, and my target seems to prefer anarchy. It sounds like an ally I’d want.
“I don’t think that’s an option, Tezzie. That, and if this is all an act on White Lady’s part, dissention may result in vivisection.”
May as well test the limit . . .
“Grand Cenobite, as Prophet of our Father’s divine right, I intend to persuade Glissa to worship his Most Glorious Presence. With her support, Karn will be empowered by the conversation of such an adversary.”
There it was. All-or-nothing.
“Glissa is to be eradicated,” Elesh Norn repeated.
How far could I push her? Hey Doc, if I attempt to planeswalk without your permission, will you still bring me back to Jund like the old times?
No response.
“Glissa’s heresy will be eradicated,” I maintained, “and Glissa’s conversion will bring more worshippers to our New Phyrexian Father. As Prophet and Protected, this is my will. I am a mere servant, sent as a gift by Lord Nicol Bolas, and as I serve as Prophet, I will spread the Ardent Etchings.”
“No,” came the praetor’s response, even as the rest.
“I will assassinate Glissa only if no other choice remains. The Machine Orthodoxy will be strengthened with the addition of another faithful,” I insisted.
“I swear,” Doc whispered, “if you get me killed . . .”
“You wish to suture her to us?”
Suture? As in . . . physically? What did I have to lose?
“Yes, Grand Cenobite.”
“Yes.”
I lowered my head again. And waited.
Nothing.
I looked up. The nimble silhouette of sinew and porcelain stood statue-still yet, and her attendants did the same. The perimeter of the annex around us stood motionless. I heard a faint metallic whistle on the wind - like wind-chimes, though I knew better than to guess that the Phyrexians had simple pleasures or art. Was she still there? Or did her consciousness change bodies? Could Phyrexians do that?
I slowly began to stand.
Nothing.
“Grand Cenobite, I embark to convert or annihilate Glissa of the Tangle.”
I straightened to my full height, strong on my two fully etherium legs, rising my etherium torso, and flexing my etherium fingers. While this plane was filled with metallic wonders, I still retained the powers of etherium. It would just be a matter of time until I figured out how to manipulate these metal bodies, shaping them as I would. I was practiced at turning scraps into treasure and taking what wasn’t mine, just as I had taken the Infinite Consortium from Bolas so many years ago.
“Prophet.”
I spun around at the alien voice, only to face another elongated porcelain mask on another humanoid Phyrexian.
“I will escort you to the Tangle with a small honor guard.”
Much easier than I anticipated.
“You may do so,” I commanded.
And, had I not been encased in the annex under a mission from a Phyrexian praetor, perhaps I would have felt empowered. But that time would come.
Her forces—including the fearsome force of Vorniclex—had slaughtered and begun reprocessing countless rebels and sent the rest into retreat. If they kept regrouping, Glissa wondered if she could lure them into the lacunae and send them into the furnace layer. There, the Phyrexians would pick them apart—although Urabrask’s silence did make her question his plots. Would he kill them? Or help them? The Phyrexians of Sky Tyrant, the red moon, were weak, claiming empathy and individualism. Glissa knew better than to trust individuals.
Benzir shifted on the perch next to hers, and Glissa glared at the compleated Sylvok human. He and his druids believed in animal souls, which Glissa openly scoffed at. However, his developments in prompting the evolution of Phyrexian beasts were admirable, and his usefulness had not played out yet in full.
“Do you think we’d be able to corral them here?” he asked.
Glissa did not respond. They would know it’s a trap, but if they could be surrounded first, they’d either be slaughtered or have no choice but to descend.
Then a slit of light opened in Glissa’s vision, and she saw into a different world where—
—Slobad dozes in a corner of the cave that he had the other goblins had found for us to rest in. I flip through the Book of Krark, finally reaching the passage Slobad had recited to me earlier. Krark’s journal sounds as though he has flares like mine, and this passage likens the Mother’s Heart in the inner world of Mirrodin to the suns Sky Tyrant, Bringer, Ingle, and the Eye of Doom. I quietly show the sketch that accompanies the passage to Bosh, noting the strange graphite-drawn towers and floating specks.
“Myco . . . mycosynth,” he whispers, clearly awakening a memory. The golem continues looking at the sketch rather than me. “Those are mycosynth spores, not blinkmoths,” he says of the specks, contrary to my assumption. “The mycosynth crystals produce spores. Blinkmoths are eternal. Mycosynth arrived later.”
“What do you mean? Memnarch created the mycosynth but not the blinkmoths? I thought you said he made everything.” The secrets of our worlds deepen every day as we travel closer to the Quicksilver Sea.
“Memnarch shaped the world to his desires,” the ancient golem revealed. “He did not create it. Blinkmoths predate even Memnarch. Mycosynth arrived later like a plague. I believe I may have been created to battle the mycosynth infestation, but I lost the battle. That is all I remember. Everything else is blank until you and Slobad found me in the Mephidross.”
I inhale the metallic world and the stench of Slobad, Dwugget, and the other goblin cultists. I nod my thanks to my giant, new-found friend, and leave him to his rusted memories. This book may hold more secrets than I anticipated, so—
—the flare dissipated and Glissa shook the image out of her head. What in the nine hells was that?
Benzir looked at her questioningly.
What had he seen? What had she seen? And felt?
“You do not look well, Glissa,” Benzir spoke softly.
A sign of weakness was not acceptable. Only the strong survived. The compleated Viridian struck out her with scythe-arm and leaped at Benzir, palming his face against the lacunae’s wall and eviscerating his meat-stomach in one fluid motion. Phyrexian oil seeped out of his body and Glissa contracted her claws, popping his face as he began to howl in feeble pain. She thrust her arm back again, tossing the crumpled form down the lacunae, where a swarm of Phyrexian pests materialized to process the lifeless body and scavenge the metal.
She had not felt so uneasy, so disoriented, since the Deadlock in the center of Mirrodin. What had she just witnessed?
She recalled the title the Viridian had shouted at her during the skirmish: Sunseeker. That was connected to her vision somehow. She knew that. But how?
“The Phyrexians,” Doc uselessly answered.
The porcelain priest of the Machine Orthodoxy and a small guard of about twenty Phyrexians marched me through a path hewn from the Razor Grass Fields, whose “grass” reached above my head. The nameless priest had spoken through the porcelain mask on its face, cheeks stained with red blood and black Phyrexian oil. The mouth of the mask did not move, but whatever fleshy interior did. The priest had explained that the Razor Fields were dangerous and that Mirran rebels still tried to maintain a stronghold against the Phyrexian domination of the plane within these fields.
The Phyrexians, I had learned, had cut through the Razor Fields, and it was through here that I would eventually--at some indeterminate time--reach the Tangle. The suns--which the Phyrexians mistakenly called moons--were setting, and only an eerie green light cast itself over the metallically silver blades of grass.
“Maybe you should have asked Bolas’s local vedalken a few more questions before diving into this assignment, Tezzie,” Doc chided. “Ha! ‘Diving into’--get it? Because you had to dive down the lacunae--”
I didn’t have your infinite wisdom to guide me then, I mocked.
“You know,” Doc said, changing the topic, “I must say that these Phyrexians don’t seem to need much help not rallying behind a leader. I think the Boss sent you here just to keep you busy. I mean really, you’re being sent by one faction to kill a leader of another. And that Jin-Gix-Whoever seems like a whole other faction unto himself. Really, what is there for us to do?”
The wind whistled through the razor grass, and the green sun began to dip below the horizon. Could these Phyrexians see in the dark? They didn’t strike me as the type to carry torches.
If Bolas thought this was a threat, he should deal with them himself.
“You know his time is better spent otherwise. That’s why peons like us exist.” Pause. “Well, peons like you. I’m just a contraption the Big Lizard assembled in your head.”
I inhaled the contagion of the world--and was perhaps thankful for whatever antidote Bolas’s vedalken minion had injected into my flesh upon my arrival--and trudged forward. My etherium legs would tire only after excessive overuse, and my short time on Mirrodin had not yet been strenuous enough to wear out my legs. I flexed my fleshy arm, where the vedalken had injected me with whatever serum to protect me from the pestilence of this world. There was so much I did not yet know of Mirrodin and the burgeoning Phyrexian forces here; I was lucky to have the power of etherium on my side. My new-found strength had indeed given Doc the power to read my thoughts, but there was little to be done in regards to that.
“Oh no, we wouldn’t let you transform yourself back to flesh anyway to lock me out. You’re too useful now.”
Whose side are you on, anyway?
Suddenly a bellow arose from the chiming grass, and shrieks pierced the sky. I recognized--even on this alien world--that the sounds above were those of drakes, but, unsure of what faced us from the grass, I gathered my mana and prepared an assault while backing myself against the wall of razor grass and stepping away from the porcelain Phyrexians. Three hulking loxodon barreled out of the razor grass ahead of me, crushing my Phyrexian guard. The metallic plates on their elephantine trunks easily whisked aside the lethal blades of grass. Splaying my etherium arm and wasting no time (lacking the ability to clockwork, I had to function on intuition and experience), I tinkered with the atomic structure of the metal growing on the arm of the closest loxodon and hindered its maneuverability. The arm slowed its movement, allowing one of the porcelain Phyrexians to tackle it with savage force.
Two drakes dove towards us, snapping one of my guards in half. I hoped by staying away from the melee-proper I would not attract attention and would have the privacy to spellcast. I summoned a mist before the eyes of one of the drakes, obscuring its vision--and probably scaring it, which caused it to become disoriented, pitching its leonin rider into the grass.
“I think you just impaled the kitty, Tezzie,” Doc noted. He could notice things peripherally through my vision that I couldn’t even process? “Take it for what it is, ol’ pal!”
I backed against the wall of razor grass and watched the battle further unfold in the pathway. Three of the porcelain Phyrexians lay dissected enough to be dead--smeared in inky oil and scarlet blood--and one of the loxodon lay in a heap. I saw two more drakes in the sky, and three leonin warriors with—literally--golden manes snarling and working to corral the Phyrexians. I was sure my glowing etherium would not allow me to hide much longer, but if they were after the Phryexians, perhaps I’d be momentarily safe.
One of the Phyrexians unleashed a volley of porcelain shards, forcing a loxodon warrior back and notably injuring another cat-warrior. I wondered how much I could control these Mirrans through their metal. My craft worked best in building machines and working with magical artifacts, but my new-found powers of etherium presented greater opportunities.
Arrows rained from above, striking my Phryexian guard, and I noticed a leonin archer on the back of another drake. I focused my magic on the leonin’s metal claws, and forced them to tighten. The drake lurched, and nearly threw its rider onto the grass. I had a bit more practice to do. My eyes darted toward the loxodon again, and another brilliant idea blossomed in my mind. Gathering mana from the quicksilver of the local sea and the lacunae, I cast a simple metal-melding spell. As the giant loxodon attempted to lunge forward in an attack, it lurched and fell to its knees instead, now fastened to the plates of Mirrodin. Three Phyrexians leapt onto and pummeled it, rending metal and piercing flesh.
“Maybe I’ve been underestimating you, buddy!”
Have you forgotten my triumph over Silas Renn? Or Bolas?
Another drake descended again, and suddenly there were more leonin. I backed further away from the fray. I was an artificer, not a warrior. While my magics and artifacts have their uses, I knew my limitations in combat--especially on this new world. I needed to observe and gather data.
It was from this new vantage point that I was able to see a handful of silver platforms coast through the sky in the dimming light of the green sun. As the platforms approached, squat, rounded Phryexians descended on the loxodon and leonin warriors, armed with what appeared to be an amalgamation of syringes, needles, corkscrews and other experimental paraphernalia that emerged from their twisted bodies. Hisses, screams, and roars arose again, and a couple of the silver levitation platforms engaged the drakes overhead.
Naturally, the drakes maneuvered more easily than the artificial fliers, and so I decided to take them out. If I could meld the metal of these Mirran’s--and later, perhaps, Phyrexian’s--bodies, what about magnetization? I focused on the wings of one drake, and quickly--and as carefully as I could--magnetized each wing to an opposite polarity. I let out a barking laugh as the metallic supports of its wings snapped together, damning it and its rider to a plummeting, piercing death in the Razor Grass Fields.
I returned my gaze to the ground melee and discovered crushed metallic corpses. My porcelain honor guard was dead, the loxodon and leonin mutilated, and only five of the squat Phyrexians who had flown in remained.
And one taller, lithe figure.
Draped in a robe--“Where do these metal-world bozos get fabric?” Doc asked, which at least served to break the tension--was Bolas’s vedalken minion who had met me upon my arrival to this plane, injected me with a serum to prevent Phyrexian infection, and had sent me down the lacunae, where I was apprehended by Jin-Gitaxias.
I made eye contact, reinforced some protective auras, and stepped closer.
“Your goal was surveillance of the planar core, Tezzeret,” the blue-skinned humanoid said, it’s hooked, near-lipless mouth reminding me of a fish. I noticed its four arms again, and considered the normally two-appendaged vedalken from Ravnica who had been engineered with four arms. How did this one get four?
“I was a bit side-tracked,” I retorted, “and I’m thinking Bolas wanted me as bait, not reconnaissance.”
“I’ve arranged this ambush to retrieve you, and made sure none of Elesh Norn’s lackeys remain. Let’s go,” the vedalken commanded.
“I’ve kind of had enough of your suggestions, fellow dragon-pawn.”
Its dark eyes attempted to pierce me--were I a lesser being. “And you have a better plan?”
“I’m seeking Glissa of the Tangle.”
The vedalken openly scoffed and stepped closer to me, lifting his leg over Phyrexian and Mirran remnants. He breathed deeply before continuing. “Why?”
“I was offered a deal,” I lied.
“Elesh Norn is not to be trusted.”
“You’re little initial suggestion placed me in the hands of the Phyrexians to begin with.”
“Glissa is a Phyrexian as well.”
“Indeed she is.” This vedalken did not have an upper-hand, though he did possess knowledge of New Phyrexia. Of course, what was his connection to it all? “So,” I broached the topic, “how do you fit into Bolas’s plots?”
“Smooth, one, buddy,” my constant companion mocked.
“I reside in Lumengrid, entrenched in the Phyrexian experiments there, overseen by Core Auger Jin-Gitaxias himself. Bolas knows he needs insiders.” And yet I couldn’t find his metallic parts beside the small collection of his finger-tips--perhaps they were hidden beneath his robes. But why would the Phyrexians keep such a fleshy advisor around?
“But you’re not enough, alone, for Bolas’s purposes.” I watched his hands carefully and kept my mana reserves handy. His remaining hunched Phyrexians waited patiently. “How are those creatures reporting to you?”
“I have the . . . trust of the Phyrexians. I’m a prisoner, but a willing one. Jin-Gitaxias doesn’t like Elesh Norn’s Orthodoxy. Borrowing these soldiers to strike against Norn was not a problem.” He tapped his head to indicate his mental control over the constructs.
“And now you’re to bring me to him?”
A suction-like laugh burbled from the vedalken’s throat. “No. You should not be in the claws of the praetors. That’s why I came for you, agent.”
“I am going to the Tangle and finding Glissa. Bolas sent me here with a task in mind, and I will prod and explore this plane and these Phyrexians,” at least until I find a way to benefit from this place. “You may join me to the Tangle, vedalken.”
“Aren’t I enough company, Tezzie!?”
I ignored Doc--and then wondered if this other minion had his own Mr. Chuckles, or if it was only my capacities as a Planeswalker that required this mental (crazy as he was) contraption.
“My name is Sangus of Lumengrid. I am one of the few who has not been fully compleated by the Phyrexians due to my willing contributions and abilities as a mage--magical competency is not a readily available resource for the Phyrexians. Due to my . . . contributions, I cannot be gone long, or my Phryrexian masters will begin to notice.” That sounded like acquiescence to my proposal.
“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” I retorted with a half-smile.
A silver platform gravitated to me and hovered just above the ground. I stepped up on it, securing myself with a few basic spells. Sangus did the same, his Phyrexian henchmen clambered onto the others, and we rose into the darkening sky, leaving the bodies of Mirrans and Phyrexians behind, blood and oil smeared on the plates of the surface, bodies skewered on razor grass, carapaces dented, and innards crushed. My sled was apparently controlled by Sangus, and I gravitated towards him.
“We are on the same side,” he told me.
“While you may be a willing lackey to the dragon, I am not. I will do as I was tasked with, but on my terms, not yours.”
Sangus nodded as we floated above the Razor Grass Fields. I looked for more drakes, but saw none--I saw very little, as the moon had not faded. Specks of color appeared here or there in the distance--forges, perhaps? Who knew what these Phyrexians were up to?
Hate to break it to you, but your new best buddy in this whole world probably does, Great Brain . . .
I hated my constant companion.
“Tell me of Jin-Gitaxias. Or this Glissa whom I am after.”
“Tezzeret, you may not trust me, but we are allies here. Jin-Gitaxias directs the Great Synthesis, the faction that is dedicated to the engineering of Phyrexians: eugenics. Too many vedalken and Neurok have been consigned to the laboratory-slaughter-houses of Lumengrid. Glissa belongs to praetor Vorniclex of the Vicious Swarm, who argues evolution should be the aim of Phyrexia. Jin-Gitaxias finds them base and simple.”
“But Glissa is a threat?”
“She has her defenses,” Sangus continued. “Her evolved creatures and beasts are formidable, otherwise Jin-Gitaxias would have had her assassinated already.”
If Jin-Gitaxias wanted Glissa dead, and Elesh Norn wanted Glissa dead . . .
“So I would be endearing myself to Jin-Gitaxias if Glissa were removed as a threat?”
“Jin-Gitaxias hates you,” he replied simply. I hated the strained quality of his vedalken-voice. It was trying on the ears--even mine, as enhanced as they were. “Karn has given you his favor. While Elesh Norn worships the golem, Jin-Gitaxias and the other praetors would rather see him crushed. Karn’s edict of protection has placed you in danger, Tezzeret.” After only a brief pause, he added: “So you are to kill Glissa for Elesh Norn?”
I ignored his question. “If these Phyrexian governors hold power but all hate Karn, what power does he have?”
“Karn has been placed as the Phyrexian god-king, the Father of Machines. The Orthodoxy worships him. Some of the others did at first, but now believe him to be unstable and incompetent. He has some control over the Phyrexians from his location in the Core. The hierarchy of Phyrexia rests on the Father of Machines. Each praetor wishes to control that hierarchy, but two--Vorniclex and Urabrask--wish to abolish it.”
I had no reason to trust this Mirran native-turned-Phyrexian who answered to Bolas. “Elesh Norn doesn’t want Glissa to be a threat. I have some power plays to make.” I wanted to challenge Sangus, to tell him I would include him in my plots later if he proved reliable and useful, but he was indeed my only guide to Mirrodin. He was useful to an extent. The more I knew, the more choices I had.
And I was well-aware choices were not often in my repertoire any longer.
“I will join you,” Sangus confirmed, but I had already gathered that; I would not have stepped on his levitating sled had I not believed so. “It should not take us long to reach the Tangle,” the vedalken said.
And then he began sharing more about the world of New Phyrexia, and I listened intently. His readiness to assist me was curious, but not all of Bolas’s minions could compare to my craftiness. And, of course, he was a prisoner on his own world being overrun by mechanical horrors. Perhaps some others in our vast multiverse did have fewer choices than I.
Very unlike the mysterious flash from the previous day, images of the current-day Tangle assembled in her mind. A handful of levitating silver sleds floated into the forest, carrying squat, chrome-plated Phyrexians, a vedalken, and a fleshling with a metal arm, legs, and torso--but he was not compleated. This was the creature Vorniclex wanted her to find, and here he was, willingly entering the Tangle. However, the vedalken suggested that Jin-Gitaxias had gotten to this interplanar traveler before she did.
Glissa, as all Phyrexians, knew the memory of Phyrexia and Yawgmoth, at a time of Phyrexia’s history where interplanar travel was possible. This traveler may not only test the strength of the other praetors, but provide technology and magic to spread Phyrexia’s strength across the multiverse again to spread the phyresis. She would have to determine his means of leaving his homeplane and arriving here.
Glissa saw the group make its way through the Tangle. Withdrawing her finger from the beast, it twitched a final time and collapsed, dead. Glissa tilted her head back and roared--an inhuman, un-elvish sound overlaid with clicks from the back of her throat. With her howl, she directed her Phyrexians to allow the visitors to find her. The vedalken would know where her Cambree Gardens were, and from here she would be able to address this stranger.
The praetor had left it in her talons to entrap this other-worldly traveler. If she could bend him to her will, she could perhaps overrun even Vorniclex. With Vorniclex eradicated, she could then decimate the Mirran rebels and move onward to Karn. The other praetors could continue their bickering and Glissa would rise above them--
--and above the rise of the metallic trees, she saw the approaching silver sleds. There were seven platforms hurtling through the Mirran horizon, carrying five chrome collections from Jin-Gitaxias, one not-quite-compleated vedalken, and a humanoid with both legs and one arm replaced in a mysterious silver metal unknown to Glissa’s enhanced sight. She growled, and crotus beasts hid among the foliage of the Cambree Gardens, ready to take down the others.
As soon as they were within range, Glissa commanded that the five chrome Phyrexians be hurtled to their deaths, and raging monstrosities leaped from the canopy, tackling two of the five and hurling missiles at the others. The vedalken and human landed on the platform of the Gardens with Glissa, unharmed. Perhaps they were mages, misdirecting her attack forces.
“We come to speak, not fight,” the bearded man said.
“I told you!” the vedalken hissed.
Glissa charged with inhuman speed at the vedalken--the weaker of the two intruders--so as to incapacitate him. Her scythe-arm was halted by the human’s blue-metal arm, which glowed red as he arced it outward, sending Glissa back-peddling.
“I knew--”
But the vedalken was unable to finish his phrase, as the interplanar traveler trust him back onto the Gardens floor, keeping him there with an outstretched hand, as if staying a pet.
“I will gladly grapple with you if that’s what you want,” the enhanced-human spat, “but I’m capable of negotiations.”
“You have nothing to negotiate,” Glissa answered, noticing the ways in which flesh became metal across his body. He was not compleated at all; these filigree transformations were not Phyrexian.
“I have come to discuss,” the intruder said carefully, “the Father of Machines.”
Glissa leapt impossibly into the air, then struck downward at the man, who again deflected her scythe with his own blue-metal arm. The impact caused him to fall back, but he was unharmed. She would overpower him and interrogate him once captured. Glissa pushed toward him, swinging her arms, but he continually--impossibly--defended himself with his arm. A blue flare erupted in front of her eyes, and Glissa tried to blink it away. The traveler’s spell expanded into another of her strange visions, and the compleated elf saw--
—a spider-like construct steps out of the Panopticon. Is that flesh? He does not gleam like the others; he reminds me more of Geth than Malil. I notice his six eyes, all covered with a strange darkened blue lens. Another minion of the “Guardian?” And then I notice the two-legged creature who stands next to him.
“Malil,” I spit.
“I have watched you for so very long, Glissa,” the four-legged fleshy construct taunts. “At times I have wondered if we would every meet face to face. Now here you are.”
Gripping the Sword of Kaldra, I shake my head, looking at Malil and the other creature. “Everyone seems to know me, but who are you?”
The six-eyed monstrosity lowers his legs in a regal bow, and my stomach sinks. In this moment, I know.
“I am the Guardian of Mirrodin, keeper of all you see. You may call me Memnarch.”
Anger. No, revenge. No: Justice.
Straining my muscles, I--
--stepped forward, shaking her head--and discovered she was firmly melded to the metal plates of the Cambree Gardens.
“I have traveled here to speak with you, Glissa of the Tangle,” the man intoned, slowly standing from where he had been sprawled on the ground. The vedalken was behind him, still squatting close to the ground where the human had commanded him to wait. What power had Jin-Gitaxias invested in this non-Phyrexian?
She struggled again against her bindings, but to no avail, further disrupted by the alien images appearing in her mind. Sunseeker. Slobad. Memnarch. All were unknown to her--except her own name and the name of the lich-lord Geth. Geth was a thane of the Mephidross, under the command of Sheoldred, the Whispering One, praetor of the Steel Thanes of New Phyrexia. What connection did the Glissa of her flares have with Geth of the Mephidross?
Focusing her attention back to the task at hand, Glissa knew the mage did have power that would be useful to Vorniclex and herself, but she needed to harvest it. Glissa could hack away at her ankles and replace her feet later, but she’d need to be able to move before then. The crotus beasts lurked all around the layer of copper trees in her gardens, and she began to command them into position. If necessary, she could overwhelm the vedalken and human, free herself, and mount a crotus beast to maneuver on.
“I do not negotiate with Gitaxians,” she spat.
The bearded man smiled. “The Great Synthesis of Jin-Gitaxias does not interest me. Actually,” he continued, walking around her, analyzing her, “the Grand Cenobite of the Machine Orthodoxy drew you to my attention.”
Reflexively, Glissa spat at the floor. “Madness.”
“I wouldn’t disagree with you,” he said smugly. “However, while Elesh Norn sent me here to kill you, I have another offer.” The vedalken began to speak, but the human silenced him--magically?--with an outstretched arm. “Jin-Gitaxias’s vedalken servant is not loyal to me, and I am making a few of my own choices. I have a proposition if you are interested in hearing it.”
Glissa only nodded slowly.
“I have seen the multiverse, traveled between worlds,” the stranger confirmed. “I have heard of the one-time strength of Phyrexia.” Finishing his circling, the man stood in front of her, but just out of range of any lunge she’d be able to make. “I have come to offer my assistance in your conquest of Mirrodin. To do so, I ask that you travel with me to the Core, pledge your fealty to the Father of Machines--”
“Your offer is denied,” Glissa flatly opposed, spitting droplets of glistening oil at him.
“I do not need you to actually be faithful to him,” he continued calmly. “I need you to pretend. Get close to the Father of Machines. From there you can influence the Machine Orthodoxy and have the upper hand against Jin-Gitaxias.”
“Strength is power. Games are of no interest to me.” Games and politics were for the Steel Thanes, not the Vicious Swarm. Again, the image of Geth as only a head placed on a small arachnid construct for movement flashed across her mind--or was it her memory?
“Which is why you will fail, despite your strength.”
“What have you to gain in this, human? Who are you?” she demanded, more frustrated at the moment with the vision he induced rather than her temporary captivity. In her Cambree Gardens, she always held the upper hand.
“My name is Tezzeret and I command otherworldly powers.” He paused for a moment, pursed his lips, and scowled, as if listening to some unvoiced retort. “I have an interest in New Phyrexia, and can grant you command of the factions if you take my counsel.”
“I do not trust you. You may use magic, but you are weak, uncompleated,” she answered, surveying Tezzeret again from head to foot. His metal legs, expertly crafted to his skin, were covered with separate, and unnecessary, metal boots. His offer was potentially useful, but why would he take interest in New Phyrexia, and what was his price? “What do you want out of this?”
Tezzeret grinned maliciously. “Your world is a mechanical paradise, and I have interest in such developments. I am a planeswalker and have seen the destruction of whole worlds. I mean to protect New Phyrexia against a coming doom. I do not rule planes, but I can help you to do so.”
Glissa considered. This Tezzeret was just as conniving as the praetors. However, perhaps she could use him and his plot to destroy Karn, use the praetors against Tezzeret, and annihilate the praetors in the same ploy. Vorinclex had also mentioned three other planeswalkers; she’d have to deal with them as well. If there was any truth to her strange visions, perhaps that strange orb in her visions existed--just as Geth existed--and could assist her in obtaining greater power.
“Prove to me your loyalty by joining with me to force the elven rebel Ezuri from the Tangle into the Furnace Layer.”
Tezzeret had begun circling her again silently, but Glissa waited patiently, eyeing the vedalken obediently waiting on the floor. Tezzeret finally spoke: “I will assist you.”
“First, release me.”
“What guarantee do I have for my safety?”
Signaling her beasts, Glissa swiped at her own ankles with her scythe-arm. The helpless vedalken was immediately surrounded by hulking copper Phyrexians armed with clubs, claws, and mouths, covered in verdigris. Tezzeret was now circled by the same, who evaluated his weaknesses just as he had judged hers. Glissa, the stumps of her ankles pussing blood and ichor, clambered onto the back of one of her crotus behemoths, whose fur helped to clot her seeping ankles.
Tezzeret and the vedalken looked on in shock, with Glissa’s feet still melded onto the floor of the Cambree Gardens, soaked in a pool of red and black.
“You have no guarantee at all, Tezzeret. We strike the rebels at dawn tomorrow and drive them into Urabrask’s Furnace Layer. Then we head to the Core where I will be instated as Karn’s most ardent apostle,” Glissa sneered.
His neck, secured onto his Phyrexianized suit, pivoted to survey the hall, ensuring it was clear of nim and other steel creatures. Geth had a vague recollection of Mirrodin before the Phyrexians had found him and offered him power. He knew that, in his past, he and Glissa of the Tangle had both fought and worked together, but the details were shrouded in his memory. He knew he had ruled the Mephidross, but could no longer recall the details of his downfall. He knew he had been a lich, but metal and Phyrexia were all he needed now in this cavernous kingdom covered in muck and ichor.
The nim and compleated Moriok had reported the presence of a Vulshok and two other travelers across New Phyrexia. The Vulshok was named Koth of the Hammer Clan; the other two were unknown, suspected not to be of Mirran origin due to being pure fleshlings, one man and one woman. Geth felt he knew, somewhere in the back of his memories, a word to name such otherworldly travelers, but the thought faded. They were not Phyrexian and not of Mirrodin, and so they were to be eradicated.
There is another intruder into New Phyrexia.
The whispers arose from the shadows, and Geth almost was not sure if he had really heard anything.
But he knew better. He knew, too, how to ignore this voice using his magic, but chose now to listen for as long as it benefitted him.
This new arrival is named Tezzeret, and he holds power.
Sheoldred hissed to him, and Geth knew it would be best to solely listen. He closed his eyes to focus on the Steel Praetor’s machinations.
Align yourself with this man. He holds Karn’s favor. Use him to reach the usurper. Kill the usurper.
Geth’s skin was gray and thin and taut over his face; had it been otherwise, he would have smiled, but that option had been lost to him. Sheoldred had maneuvered herself as the mightiest of the seven Steel Thanes, but she knew Geth controlled the Vault of Whispers and the black lacunae—and that he yet commanded some mana and magic. She needed him. Enabling his hulking frame and opening his eyes, Geth stood on his various legs like a giant tarantula, hefting his claw-like arms to rest terrifyingly before him. Sheoldred could whisper, but he did not think she had gained eyesight into the territories of the other thanes. However, if she had gained a seeing eye, Geth knew his form commanded a fear of its own.
“I am aware of intruders, Sheoldred. What contract do you have to offer me?” He scanned the cavern again, looking for Phyrexians of any size who may be scuttling in the darkness.
No contract. Remove Karn from his throne and let us thanes determine the true Father of Machines.
Geth’s necked nodded. “Determine” meant “compete.” Sheoldred was not offering him the position, and he was not clearing the way for her. By removing Karn he would only forward the thanes’ plottings to solidify Phyrexia before the other factions did so. The one who sat on the throne and maintained it would unite all of New Phyrexia. Karn’s inconsistent lucidity had allowed the factions to flourish and fight amongst one another—the Machine Orthodoxy battled to defend Karn; the Gitaxians continued to engineer stronger, more deadly Phyrexians; the Steel Thanes converted the dead Mirrans into undead nim and compleated monstrosities; the Vicious Swarm spearheaded by Vorniclex and Glissa spawned ravenous creations; and the Quiet Furnace remained ineptly neutral. There were many plots to consider, and moving them all forward needed to be done with great care, Geth knew.
Toying with otherworldly visitors was something that gave him pause. A vague memory attached the thought to Karn himself. That, in turn, held some reminiscence with Glissa. These memories used to bother him, but he attributed his lapses to his Phyrexianization. His compleation had allowed him to regain his power, and lost memories along the way meant little to him. Geth lived his mechanical, undead life for the present moment, and this corrupt new world was ripe for the picking, so long as he allowed the right gears to turn.
He could identify no movement or presence in the cavern with him, but that did not mean nothing was there. Sheoldred herself, certainly, was safely cocooned away in her lair within New Phyrexia’s Core—she would not dare face him and risk losing a duel. So long as he maintained his power, Sheoldred’s political weavings would carefully skate around him. She was spinning a dangerous web, but Geth had ruled the Mephidross before the Phyrexians arrived, and planned to maintain his reign.
“The Lord of the Vault will consider your proposal, Whispering Thane.”
Ezuri said nothing to his wife—their situation did not allow for wasted words. The traitor Glissa had sent her Phyrexian monstrosities to root Ezuri and his resistance out of their trees, and he was certain they were being herded to Tel-Jilad, the Tree of Tales, which had been metamorphosed into the Cambree Gardens, Glissa’s seat of power.
Exhaling, Ezuri leapt again to the next tree, scanning the branches overhead and seeing only his warriors. Even the few Vulshok refugees kept up, crashing into the trees with their full weight and leaden fists. His cable-like hair wrapped around his face as he paused a moment to make his next decision. If they were being driven to Tel-Jilad then they would fight to reclaim their home, be murdered, or be forced into the lacunae from which the fifth sun had erupted. Glissa had no respect for her heritage and people, even with the fifth sun named after her sister who had fought valiantly against the fall of the Tangle. Phyrexia’s devastation of Mirrdin was seemingly absolute.
Below them, the lush lamina rustled with lurking Phyrexian predators. If Glissa would be a harsh conqueror, Ezuri knew he would have to offer harsh resistance.
His copper-etched fingers lost their grip on the tree as four green, elvish bodies plummeted past him to the Tangle’s floor.
“Mage!” Kura shouted.
An arc of electricity danced through the air, striking a tree. Ezuri dropped a dozen or so feet before reclaiming purchase on the trunk, and turned his head to view the new assailant. Vulshok mages already pounded summoned fireballs towards the half-metal man: the mage was bearded (with actual hair), but his legs and one arm were replaced by full, bluish metal. He was not Phyrexian, and Ezuri’s quick glimpse of his face did not recall any Mirran humanoid Ezuri had seen before.
“Keep moving,” his wife urged, continuing down the tree.
Ezuri followed her away from the lightning-flinging sorcerer, but saw the crotus beasts below.
Too late.
Four hulking shapes—masses of teeth, claws, metal, and fur—leapt toward them.
Two spears and a handful of arrows sped toward the Phyrexians from above, and Ezuri’s sword was in hand, leaving only his legs and left hand to hug the tree. But it was not enough.
Kura was ripped off the trunk and the crotus-beast plummeted to the lamina floor of the Tangle.
Ezuri howled, leaping off the tree and following the creature to the forest floor.
He heard others shout to him from above, but ignored their warnings.
As he fell—the rush of air giving him a sense of flight and weightlessness—a metallic sled flew past him, ridden by a chrome-plated Phyrexian. Where did all these new monstrosities come from?
Enraged, the Mirran resistance leader plunged his sword into a crotus-beast’s back as his feet crushed one of the Phyrexian’s eyes and jaws upon impact. He stabbed again as the creature rolled him off; as it reared on three legs above him, Ezuri braced himself for a mauling, but a Vulsok ally pounded the Phyrexian from behind with red-hot leaden fists. Ezuri forced himself up and eviscerated the Phyrexian.
Breathing heavily, the Viridian saw the crushed, green-skinned body of Kura next to the crotus-beast.
“Ezuri, we have to move,” the Shield clan Vulshok implored. “There is a mage and Gitaxians. We’re outnumbered and outmatched.”
Kura was dead.
Shouts, whirrs, and thuds echoed around them. Another elf landed on the floor, taking charge. “Ezuri,” he said, “we have to go—into the lacunae; it’s our only option. There are too many, and we’re overpowered. Come on.”
Ezuri tried to lift Kura’s corpse, but collapsed in exhaustion and grief. “I cannot leave her. They will reprocess her.”
The Shield clan Vulshok lifted Ezuri to his feet, and they began to run across the floor, fighting off the lamina and vegetation that grasped at them. Other elves and Vulshok above fought off Phyrexians and they all made for the lacunae, where the green sun, Lyese, had erupted some time ago. Ezuri let himself be led for a while, his mind clouded with thoughts of his wife. However, before they reached the tunnel, he forced himself back to focus and climbed out of the Vulshok’s arms.
“Follow me, Mirrans! We are not done here, and will regroup below!”
Ezuri, without looking back into the Tangle, without another thought of his wife, and without any more hesitation, plunged into the darkness of the lacunae. He heard the skittering of smaller Phyrexians hiding in the verdigris and lamina, but found purchase and then pushed forward. He heard the others behind him, and did not look back or slow when he heard more death-cries or Phyrexian growls. He had to save as many of his people as he could. He reached the base, and their path was magically illuminated by his Vulshok companion.
“We push forward.”
The walls of the lacuna were smoothed, and as the tunnel angled dangerously downward, Ezuri found it more challenging to retain his balance. The metallic runners from the Tangle eventually failed to snake further into the Core, and the scent of oil, metal, and rotted meat began to permeate the lacunae. Kura could be rotting down here one day . . .
The band of survivors paused as tunnels and passageways began appearing, branching off from the main lacunae.
“Which way?” another Viridian deferred.
Ezuri was not familiar with these tunnels. He looked to the Vulshok who had saved him from the crotus-beast. “These passageways lead into the Furnace layer,” the man offered, his chest and fist glowing red to produce light. “I do not know how to tell which way to go, or if any way is safe.”
“Nowhere on Mirrodin is safe,” Ezuri spat back with more venom than he intended. “We need to regroup and take stock. This way,” he decided, leading his fighters down a smaller tunnel. The Vulshok stayed near him, providing light from his internal fires.
Shortly, they saw a figure ahead, a hulking Phyrexian. Ezuri slowed. The abomination stood on four or six spindly legs, had two claws, but everything above where its legs met was an amber-like chamber. It did not encase its head like the vedalken used to do, but the bulbous torso was molten hot. Ezuri did not see eyes on the chamber or on the legs. It seemed like a sentry, and stood motionless.
“Do we turn back?” the Vulshok asked.
“Stand watch,” Ezuri simply commanded.
He stepped forward, alone, and stopped. The red Phyrexian made no move. Ezuri took another step, readying his sword. Still the Phyrexian stood motionless.
“I am Ezuri of the Tangle,” he announced.
No answer.
Breathing deep—and tasting a hint of sulfur—Ezuri came within striking distance of the thing.
Nothing.
He slowly walked around it, and heard the creature buzzing, pulsing. But it made no response. It was letting them pass. Did the Phyrexians of the Furnace pity him? Or did it welcome him into another trap? It did not matter. If they could pass through, Ezuri would lead the survivors and prepare the next strike against the monsters that had polluted his world.
“Come,” he commanded.
The Viridians and Vulshok followed him into the Furnace Layer.
“Which way?” the vedalken asked. Sangus looked around, his lidless eyes searching for another chute or portal. All three pairs of eyes drifted toward the ceiling, which was illuminated by small, flying creatures.
“What are those?” Tezzeret insisted.
“Blinkmoths,” Sangus responded first. “They have become rare. They are Mirrodin’s original inhabitants—or so my people have taught. Their serum—”
“Insubstantial pests,” Glissa spat. “We are here to find the metal golem, not gawk at petty insects.” She stepped to the four-armed vedalken, the ichor from her eyes almost dripping onto the mage. “Lead on, weakling. You said you knew the way to the throne room.”
Sangus inhaled. “Indeed I do. The way has altered. It may have been Urabrask, but I can still locate Karn. I have studied in Lumengrid.”
“And now you betray it.” She shoved Sangus to the ground, and made her way to the nearest wall, running her hands along the wall that consisted of variegated metals.
“We have an . . . understanding, Glissa,” Tezzeret whispered from behind her. The man had become quieter since they delved into the depths of New Phyrexia. It was his idea to “lead” them to Karn, as he was—or so he insisted—named the Prophet of the Great Work. This, they had deduced, should get them past the porcelain Apostles of Karn loyal to Elesh Norn. Glissa and Sangus would act as prisoners. However, the quicksilver-breathing vedalken was to dismiss any of Jin-Gitaxias’s minions. The Steel Thanes rarely sent soldiers to the Core, Urabrask foolishly sat idle, and Vorniclex and Glissa had little concern with the Core. “We will not be mutilating one another.”
“Of course not, omnipotent Prophet,” she sneered, licking glistening oil from her lips as her talons worked their way over the walls, searching for a hidden opening.
“Here,” Sangus’s strained, vedalken-voice whispered.
Glissa turned, and saw him lift a portion of the soft floor. Sangus stood as he raised a circular cover that was more than a shoulder-width in circumference. As it separated from the ground, a wet suction noise echoed in the chamber, setting the blinkmoths into a faster flutter above their heads.
“Sangus, you first,” Tezzeret commanded quietly. “Glissa, I will follow you.”
Jin-Gitaxias’s minion did not hesitate sliding down the chute made of smooth, silver metal, and Glissa followed. She landed on her feet in another meat room. Tezzeret landed behind her once she had moved. Glissa enjoyed the look of disgust on the man’s face. He marveled at the mechanical side of Phyrexia, but cringed at its more visceral aspects. He claimed to appreciate Phyrexia’s production, but clearly did not agree with its means. Glissa recognized the smell of the room. They were near the vats, where fleshy beings were grown before being compleated. She had spent much time in those chambers during the Deadlock, before Phyrexia overtook the Mirrans and before she returned to the surface.
She knew she was Viridian, but her past did not matter—except the strange flares that had recently interrupted her thoughts. They were filled with emotion, she knew, but Glissa did not care about sentimentality. That was left to Urabrask and his red Phyrexians, which is why he would be decimated in time.
“Almost there,” Sangus informed them. “Tezzeret, it would be best you lead from here. The Orthodoxy’s Apostles will be standing guard in the coming chambers. Jin-Gitaxias’s horde will not be stationed in this area; I kept us away from their grounds. You said those loyal to Elesh Norn would listen to you. We rely on that.”
“If not, I will slay them,” Glissa reminded the men.
“I hope we will not need that,” Tezzeret answered. “If it comes to that, by all means defend yourself. However, you must promise fealty to the golem. Tell him I have revealed to you the magnificence of his work, and how you will see it fulfilled in the Tangle.”
Glissa once again looked at the bearded man whose arm and legs were replaced by curved, blue metal filaments, glowing with reddish-purple magic. “And you will then leave me alone.”
Tezzeret nodded. “I told you I would do so. If New Phyrexia is to prosper, you will need to do some things differently. I have seen entire worlds fall. I know how to preserve yours—the world of Phyrexia—so that it may progress. In turn, you will allow me to stay and study.”
“I should have left you for Jin-Gitaxias,” Glissa mused. “You and Sangus can sit and learn while the strong rule.”
“I will leave you to your devices if you leave me to mine.” Glissa nodded an assent, her cables of hair slightly falling in front of her face. “Which way do we walk, Master Sangus?”
With two of his arms, Sangus directed Tezzeret to a golden door in the wall of the empty room. Tezzeret pulled open the circular door and stepped through. The three travelers entered a huge cavern, lit by blinkmoths and a steady blue glow. Throughout the chamber were massive, lattice-like trunks of interwoven veins: an enclosed metallic forest. Some of the veins were thicker than a human’s chest, and the trunks themselves were enormous. Tezzeret walked closer to one: “Tell me what these are. I can sense their power.”
“They are mycosynth,” Sangus answered.
“The pillars of New Phyrexia,” Glissa added. “They have fostered the evolution of Phyrexia and ensured the spread of the glistening oil. These are the things that meld flesh and metal. You want it the easy way, Tezzeret. The mycosynth provides the materials for our natural evolution, and I have no problem butchering to see it happen.”
The human looked up at the towers that reached the dim ceiling of the cavern, where they spread like inverted roots.
“I remember these when I was first brought to Karn. We are close.”
Sangus nodded, and they began their hike through the chamber, whose floor was rather level. Glissa began hearing creaks, whirs, and rumblings. They were being watched. “Lead us, Prophet. I will not hesitate to slaughter the Orthodoxy. If you want them alive, then you lead. Though I doubt your veracity.”
Tezzeret stepped in front of them, followed by Sangus. She did not know what lay ahead of them, but she would be able to fight her way out. The whole ploy could be a trap to assassinate her, but if she were to die, they would have attempted to do so already. Yawgmoth, the original Father of Machines, had been defeated, and no single entity would replace him. This was a tenet she and Vorniclex had founded the Vicious Swarm upon. Struggle, competition, and strength would ensure Phyrexia’s dominance. Once a lord became complacent, he became weak, and Karn the golem was no fit Glorious Father. Glissa hated “politics,” but it appeared she would foray into the political machine. If Karn accepted her, she could kill him and return to the Tangle victorious.
After passing three of the massive mycosynth pillars, Tezzeret stopped, and Glissa saw the porcelain-encased Apostles step forward. There were five of them, but the Phyrexian in the center was undoubtedly Izathel, a hulking construct with porcelain plates sutured to sinew, bone, and flesh. Izathel was a High Chancellor in the Core who was said to even challenge Elesh Norn on occasion. Glissa was not aware that they had drawn the attention of the chancery, but, then again, the Orthodoxy was deeply entrenched in the Core. She readied her left arm, but gave Tezzeret a moment to speak.
And she found her arms magically forced back to her sides.
She struggled to no avail. She tried to move her feet, but they would not respond. They were not melded to the floor again, but she had no power over her body. She looked toward Sangus, who seemed to also be invisibly bound.
“I am Tezzeret, Prophet of the Father of Machines and Evangelist of the Ardent Etchings. As requested by the Most Blessed Elesh Norn, Grand Cenobite of the Machine Orthodoxy—and through the good will of the Elder Dragon Nicol Bolas—I have come to present Glissa of the Tangle and Sangus of Lumengrid as converts to the Master’s most Glorious Work. I ask that you escort us to the Father.”
All the hesitation Tezzeret demonstrated throughout their journey from the Tangle to the Core had vanished, and he spoke like one of the detestable Apostles of Karn. The man was a shapeshifter of sorts it seemed, adjusting himself to his situation. Glissa had expected him to show his strengths already—melding her to the Cambree Gardens and casting lightning against the Viridians—but he continued to display new talents.
She hated him.
Izathel cocked his massive, rat-like head, and although a porcelain jaw opened, his words did not match its movement. A smaller mouth within the contours of sinew and meat articulated his words. “The Grand Cenobite foretold of your arrival, Prophet. We had not intended you to be an aberration. Elesh Norn does not trust those who are Not-Whole.”
“The Father of Machines has marked me as his gift and charm, both Prophet and Protected. As an act of faith in the Orthodoxy, I have converted two heretics to be sutured to us and to serve the Lord of New Phyrexia as he deems necessary.”
Glissa struggled again, but not a muscle or copper plate would move. Perhaps Tezzeret was not going to let her live. She would have to kill him.
Silently, Izathel turned away and stalked toward the farthest wall while was still obscured in shadow beyond another half-dozen mycosynth towers. The other Apostles followed him, and Glissa felt control return to her limbs.
Tezzeret turned to both her and Sangus. “Follow my lead or pay the consequences. You are my prisoners until further notice. I will ensure we are alone with Karn. Now follow me.”
Taking in the shadows, Glissa obeyed. This planar voyager was curious indeed. Vorniclex had hoped to use him to test the other praetors. It appeared this man was more competent than she anticipated. The vedalken was not worth her attention, and if he tried to do anything to benefit Jin-Gitaxias, she would have him mutilated and reprocessed. Glissa walked forward, reveling in the contractions and extensions of her muscles and metal. She looked up again, almost wishing for blinkmoths to light the ceiling of the Core. She had not been here in a long time, it felt.
Izathel had opened another golden door in the wall, and Tezzeret did not wait. He stepped through, then allowed Sangus and Glissa to pass him. The blue-metal human stared down the hulking form of the High Chancellor, who closed the door, leaving the trio alone.
Glissa recognized this room.
A few mycosynth lattice spires erupted from the ground and branched onto the ceiling. Most space was covered in shadow, and she saw Orthodoxy Phyrexiana scuttle to the shadows where they exited the chamber through other portals and chutes. In the center of the room rose a crumbled spire that emitted a weak yellow glow. Soft motes of golden light hovered around the central column—a darksteel pillar. Darksteel was indestructible, but the spire was clearly degenerating.
It used to lead to the Panopticon, the seat of the Warden Memnarch.
How did she know that?
And then Glissa remembered her first flare, as she looked into the green lacunae—the goblin’s sketches of mycosynth and spores.
The pillar was Karn’s throne, the symbol of power to the Father of Machines.
Tezzeret already stood before the throne, genuflected like a sniveling Orthodoxy apostle. He glared at her, and she fell in behind him, but stood. She could not bow to the golem on the throne above her. The golem was thick, solid. His head nestled against his chest—which glowed red through the markings of some unknown rune—as if he were sleeping. Sangus stood beside her.
“Ineffable Father,” Tezzeret implored. “I, your gift and servant, Tezzeret, have brought you playthings.”
Glissa opened her mouth to retort, but the Father of Machines roared.
“Get that Viridian out of my sight, Tezzeret! She is a traitor to her people and a blight to Phyrexia’s glory! I want her dead!” He seized, lost balance, and crashed down to the foot of the pillar. Tezzeret, Glissa, and Sangus all stepped back, and Glissa flexed her fist as the golem’s head lifted up, the angry red furnace of his eyes replaced with a soft yellow glow. “Sunseeker,” whispered the—
—“golem. Said to make sure you got the ball,” Geth’s grey head reports drily, clearly not happy without any leverage against us. The small silver sphere next to the silver box looks innocuous enough. The empty chamber in which we stand is eerily quiet without the Ascension Web or Memnarch.
“Bosh? Bosh is alive?” Slobad chirps.
“Don’t be stupid,” Geth sneers. “This golem was big and quicksilver, as you well know. Like he was melting and frozen at the same time. Friendly fellow,” the lich muses. I can’t help but smile to hear the awkwardly casual phrase come out of Geth’s thin lips. “Said that you two were supposed to wait for him, if you want.”
Then, to my surprise, Geth instructs us to look inside the silver box. As Slobad stitches the necromancer’s head to a spindly-legged construct reminiscent of Memnarch (as we had promised to do), I discover our soul traps within the chest. They are two small rectangular objects.
Breaking them means that Slobad and I can be free. I turn to my companion.
“Do you know what this means? We can go back.” I pause for a moment, catching the ball of joy that has manifested in my throat. “Back to the world Memnarch took us from. If we break these.” I hesitate on showing excitement, but Slobad’s teeth quickly appear in a beaming smile.
“The golem said that was your choice,” Geth interjects. “Break these and disappear, or wait for him.”
“Sounds like a trap,” I admit. After all the intrigues and magic and running, can our way out be so simple? Just break the artifacts?
Before replying, Slobad picks up the small silver sphere from the box, briefly considers it, and places it in his satchel. “Think we should wait,” he says, resting his familiar hand on my green skin. “Slobad’s spent his whole life hiding from the world. We know everybody’s safe, huh? Now there’s no need for Slobad to hide from anything. And something . . .,” he trails off, then finds new thoughts: “Slobad don’t know why, but he want to trust the golem.”
I look at my friend—
—in disgust. Glissa’s face contorted in revulsion and confusion. Bosh. Karn. Memnarch. The Swarm. Vorniclex. The Tangle. Mirrodin.
Sunseeker.
Breathing in the familiar scents, Glissa steadied herself, and then became disoriented again as something pricked her skin. Her right hand reached instinctively for the back of her neck, and she lowered herself to one knee—inadvertently kneeling before the Father of Machines.
“You have waited for me,” Karn rumbled.
Glissa’s vision and senses went black.
“Looks like he poked her neck just like he pierced your forearm when we got here, Tezzie.”
I ignored Doc.
“What did you just inject?” I asked slowly, emphasizing my command while gathering mana.
The vedalken’s lipless smile returned to his face. I divided my attention between him and Karn, who stared blankly and calmly at Glissa. What did the golem mean that she had waited for him? It must have been more madness. With two still bodies, silence, and Sangus and I standing, it felt as if time stopped. Of course, I knew that feeling after battling Silas Renn’s clockwork magic in the Labyrinth. Time had not paused here—it was just tension.
Spreading his two pairs of hands apart in a gesture of vulnerability and innocence, Sangus broke the tableau and stepped back.
No. Not vulnerability.
Triumph.
“I assured her fealty to the Father of Machines, O Honored Prophet,” he bubbled. I chose not to answer. Sometimes, I learned, listening is best.
“Then why do you pretend to ignore me?” Mr. Chuckles chattered.
“You have done what Lord Bolas commanded,” Sangus continued, keeping his distance. “This shambling, antiquated construct has no chance of reigning over the Phyrexians.” I looked toward the shadows of the room as inconspicuously as I could. What trap had I walked into?
Make use of yourself, dear friend, I demanded of Doc, and be my eyes. Are there Phyrexians around?
“However, we’ve also done as Praetor Jin-Gitaxias has required of us, and placed a puppet beside the golem.”
“Double-agent,” I intoned.
Sangus nodded, his lips hooking up in a grin. “We’re both trapped, Tezzeret. We make do with our positions, though, I suppose.”
“What did you inject her with? She did not need protection from phyresis.” As I spoke, I magically drew the liquid injection Sangus had deposited within me to an etherium bulb I crafted inside my metal arm. He had said that he was protecting me from the glistening oil when he had injected me. I used to scrap for pieces of etherium—now, I could create them, and tinker with their shape and function, as I did now. There was no way Sangus could know my current actions. I shifted uncomfortably on my etherium feet to feign unease and licked my lips as the spell worked its way through my veins.
“A control serum,” he answered simply. “If the Swarm will still listen to her—or, rather, to Jin-Gitaxias through her—Vorniclex will be disarmed. The combined force of the Swarm and Lumengrid will destabilize the Orthodoxy and root out the Steel Thanes. Urabrask has shown little resistance to others. Bolas will be pleased.”
How much of my directives had Sangus been told by my forced master? “If the Elder Dragon ever wanted any centralized power,” I quipped.
Sangus shrugged his shoulders. “I play the cards I’m dealt, Agent Tezzeret.”
“The room is still cleared, as Sangus said it would be,” Doc informed me. I didn’t know the extent of his abilities—if he could actually do what I had asked—but I decided to trust him.
“Thank you,” he answered my thoughts.
The vedalken looked around. Karn still sat immobile, and Glissa was sprawled before him like a sacrifice. We were at a standstill—either we would continue our alliance, or one of us would die.
Death doesn’t agree with me.
“So where do we go from here, Sangus?”
“In good faith, Jin Gitaxias will provide you a small, secret army of his chrome Phyrexians if you agree to assist Glissa here within the remains of Panopticon. He recognizes your utility. I will return to Lumengrid. He only knows of Lord Bolas from your flippant use of the dragon’s name when you arrived, but I do not plan for him to discover much more of our other employer.”
The fluid from throughout my body had compacted itself within the etherium bulb, which I now magically crafted into a small needle. More aware of the scope of Sangus’s role, I returned our conversation to the injection.
“What did you put in me?”
He inhaled slowly. He knew I had caught on. “A tracer, so I could more easily find you later in case Jin Gitaxias lost you, as he did. That was how I was able to emancipate you from the Orthodoxy. I had initially altered Jin-Gitaxias to your arrival, but not to your identity.”
“Hey, you know what?” Doc asked—again interrupting an important conversation I was having with a real person. “I think that tracer helped to reawaken me. Perhaps it wasn’t all that bad.”
Let’s hope it doesn’t make you go away when I lose it, I retorted sardonically.
“So I am to stay here, advise Glissa—who will serve as Karn’s lieutenant—and then I will be given a slew of Phyrexians to explore the plane as I see fit?”
“That is the Praetor’s deal. He will be better able to monitor the throne with Glissa here. He has more access to this room than one would anticipate.”
“I accept,” I answered, hoping Jin-Gitaxias was listening at that moment.
Then I threw my etherium arm forward, casting the serum-needle out of me and directly into Sangus’s temple.
His black eyes glazed over, his four arms scratched at his head to remove the needle, and he slipped to the floor. I had crafted the weapon so it would remain within his skull. There was little purchase at the end for him to pull at, and that would only rip away at his brain even more.
“Bolas told me nothing about you, which means you are expendable,” I told him, stepping forward. “I don’t deal well being backstabbed.” Sangus began losing bodily control, so I easily placed my hand on his forehead, over the needle, and provided a small, magical electric pulse, which scrambled his brain and killed him—while simultaneously releasing the serum into his brain, just for a bit of over-kill.
The double-attack was unnecessary, but I was so limited as of late, any exercise of power felt welcomed.
“Did you learn that from Beleren?” Doctor Jest sang in my mind.
You’re a bastard, Doc, I snarled. The mind mage tore apart my brain. I only fried the vedalken’s.
“Now what?”
I looked around at the fallen elf, the crumpled vedalken, and the prostrate golem.
“Now,” I said aloud, “we wait for our new captors. Bolas better be pleased.”
“I don’t know if the Big Guy is ever happy.”
Since their relocation into the Furnace Layer, none of the freedom fighters had been killed. The red Phyrexians in the shafts and tunnels ignored the Mirrans—whether out of pity or patience, Ezuri and the others could not tell. However, Phyrexians were Phyrexians, and it was only a matter of time before he had to fight again.
The dim light of the chamber—provided by an enchanted stone—brightened as the Shield clan Vulshok neared, providing a light that emanated from the stone crevices of his skin.
“Another dead-end after the third portal, Ezuri,” the Vulshok reported.
The elf exhaled slowly, working the stone against his blade. Another dead-end. The Phyrexians did not attack, but passage through the tunnels, tubes, rock, and fleshy chambers was maddening. They had decided to map every step of the way so as not to get lost. Ezuri had no idea how long they had been within Mirrodin without the moons to mark the time.
“Rest and we will try the passage after the fourth portal soon,” Ezuri responded, pausing in his task. They were trapped within their own world, like animals waiting to be slaughtered. Determination and hardness were all that were left to Ezuri. The Elders had disappeared in the Vanishing, so many Mirrans had become infected by the black oil, and his wife was dead.
He had first fought to save Mirrodin.
Now he fought for vengeance.
She sat on a small throne next to the massive golem, looking down at me. I laughed in my head—and was surprisingly joined by Doc’s chuckle—at how Jin-Gitaxias’s serum had fully transformed the compleated Viridian into Karn’s devoted apostle. I had indeed assisted Elesh Norn, but with Jin-Gitaxias monitoring the throne room and having some unknown amount of control over Glissa, I had assisted him as well. I had not bothered exploring the Tangle to see the effects of Glissa’s shift in alliance toward the golem whom the Vicious Swam despised.
“I am a mere servant, Glissa,” I answered. It was mostly truth.
As I had accepted before, my choices were limited. I had been named the Carmot, the humbled conduit which transformed matter into etherium.
“I think the word ‘humbled’ is a misnomer, ol’ friend,” Doc said, coming out of his laughing fit.
I have little agency, but will do what I can.
“Geth should be here shortly for another report,” Glissa informed me. “His gutting of the surface and spread of oil is nearly complete.” I looked at the huge lattice-spires of mycosynth and the few glowing spores that haphazardly floated amid the cavernous chamber.
“I am elated to hear my invitation to the Steel Thane has been well-received.” Geth’s inclusion in my plans had been advantageous. I had approached him, offering a chance to position himself amid Karn’s favored subjects—Jin-Gitaxias may not have expected such a move, but my sometimes-favor with Karn (when he remembered me) secured my plottings. With this, I had kept the Steel Thanes within the competition, which would have prevented full control by Lumengrid.
“He may have more information on the three trespassers new to our world,” Glissa answered, clearly disgruntled in regards to my machinations.
“UrzaJeskaTeferiVenser,” Karn muttered, his voice resonating throughout the chamber. I could still not decipher his nonsense—although a couple of the earlier syllables sparked a memory of Phyrexian history in me, perhaps the name of a hero from the Annuls of Dominaria—but I don’t think Glissa could either.
Regardless, the arrival of three additional planeswalkers was auspicious. If I could convince Glissa to hunt them down, I could draw her out of the Core—where she was protected—to the surface, where she was vulnerable.
And there I could have her killed. She was enjoying her power a bit too much, and her position afforded the Lumengrid praetor too much control. Nicol Bolas did not want a single leader at the helm of the Phyrexians, and removing Glissa already could shift the power center again. Then I could find a new way to deal with Karn.
“I await your orders, Glissa,” I said, running my etherium fingers through my tangled cords of hair.
I was a servant. A puppet. Trapped in a cage, surrounded by the scraps of a metal world.
But I had always been resourceful with scraps.
And that's Machinations on Mirrodin!
I welcome all constructive feedback on plot, characerizations, style, and whatever else.
Thank you for reading.
First, the positive points:
- I think you nailed really well the characterization of Mirrodin. It felt like a dark, corrupted metal world, where a race of metal zombies were almost in control of everything. I really appreciated the mentions of Darkstell, Blinkmoth, the Razor Fields, Lumengrid, Tel-Jilad, the 5 suns, among many others. Naming the things that we, as players and magic readers, are familiar with, makes the story much more like Magic. This was an incredible job, and I really liked the feel you gave to it.
- I really love the concept of Karn being just a mindless puppet. Or, in that case, more like a figure with an honorary title that was given to him to keep the other praetors at bay. I didn't understand exactly if he had any sort of real power (like, magical and physical power) or not, but to think of him as a babbling corrupted creature makes a lot of sense, and it makes the story more interesting.
- The political intrigue among the praetors was amazing. The way you depicted all of them hating or distrusting each other made for a very entertaining read, and I was particularly fond of your characterization of Vorinclex. He was savage, menacing and very phyrexian in general. I appreciated that a lot.
- In general I think the writing was very good as always, and I had to look up some words to remember what they meant in english. There were some typos along the way, but really minor things, and as a whole I think the structure worked fairly well. I like stories where you have change of perspective, from Tezzeret, to Glissa. There was also some Ezuri and Geth at the end, and although I liked their characterization, I will have some negative things to mention about them down below.
Now, to the negative aspects. Be certain that I think the story was great in general, and the things that I perceive as negatives just come from my personal view of storytelling and probably are entirely subjective (i.e. other people might like what I'm saying I disliked).
- The personality of Bolas' contraption in Tezzeret mind felt a little bit over the top given all other personalities in the story. Maybe he was suppose to be the comic relief, but the 'Doc' felt a little out of place with his sarcastic jokes and manners. I would make him just a tad bit more serious, but I liked the idea a lot (of Bolas' putting such a thing in Tezzeret's mind).
- I think the whole plot revolved too much around the arrival of Tezzeret, and suddenly all the praetors were caring a lot about that. I loved the politcal intrigue that spawned from this, but I think it would be better if other things were discussed and brought to the attention of the praetors, to give the whole story a more realistic politcal feeling, giving that the biggest leaders of Phyrexia for sure have multiple things to worry about all the time.
- Ultimately, I didn't understand Tezzeret's plan. He says that he has few options and that Bolas asked him to keep Phyrexia descentralized, but when putting Glissa on the throne he actually helps with the centralization of power, making Jin-Gitaxias (and probably to some extent Elesh Norn) stronger. And then in the end he says that he would kill Glissa as a consequence of that, but it felt a bit confusing to me, not sure if I missed something. Also, not as a negative point but more as a question: was Tezzeret protected because Karn said he was his gift or something? If so, did the protection come from Karn or actually from Elesh Norn's faction? It wasn't entirely clear.
- I loved the concept of making a big plot story full of legendary creatures, but at the same time I think the story needed a couple more John Does such as Sangus, the vedalken working for Jin. I feel that when you create your own random characters it helps to flesh out the moments where the more famous one show up in the story. Meaning: if the story has a lot of characters you invented and suddenly Vorinclex appears, it feels even more impactful because the reader takes that as an important moment in the plot, whilst in a story where 4 of the 5 praetors show up to speak, not so much so.
- I didn't understand exactly what contributions to the overall plot of your story were given by fleshing out Geth and Ezuri. Both characters felt very tangencial to the main storyline, and I would be glad with them either being mentioned more one the side lines or showing up to have more important roles. For instance, I thought I would have a moment of Ezuri meeting Urabrask where the red praetor explain his motives to remain neutral in the war, which would be kinda cool (although goes a little bit against the thing that I said of stuffing too much important characters in the same story).
Whew. I think that is it for now, I will wait for you to reply something and then I can share more of my impressions as I elaborate them a little bit more. Overall, it was a very nice, very entertaining read, much better than the average Uncharted Realms stuff for sure!
Read my other stories as well (some ongoing):
Reaper King (a horror story), Kaalia of the Vast (an origin story), Sequels for Innistrad (Alternative sequels for Inn), Grey Areas (Odric's fanfic), Royal Succession (goblins),The Tracker's Message (eldrazi on Innistrad) and Ugin and his Eye (the end of OGW).
Thanks for reading.
My goal here was to tie together some disparate story threads. First, I wanted to link Test of Metal to the Tezzeret we saw in the webcomics. Then, I wanted to try as best could make sense of the original Mirrodin trilogy with our return the Scars block (thus the continuation of Glissa's flashes, which this time revealed scenes from her previous life in the original trilogy). My other largest problem was Glissa loving Karn in Quest for Karn but hating him in the Planeswalker's Guide to Mirrodin and New Phyrexia. I also wanted to touch on Ezuri as a resistance fighter who was also the jerk we met in Quest. I tried to pull a little style from everywhere (Doc's tone from Test and reference of Phyrexians by color--i.e. "red Phyrexians"--fromQuest). It is for these reasons that main characters show up--my goal was more to fill in blanks than create my whole own cast, which, as you noted, has its pros and cons.
Some additional responses:
Doc. I worked to keep a consistent Doc from Stover's Test of Metal. Once I began working, I did not go back to the novel, so I very well may have overwritten Doc. Otherwise, I was aiming for consistency.
Praetors. I decided to focus the story on Tezzeret, so in that vein, we only saw the praetors' machinations in relation to him. I was afraid that length was already getting the best of me. I wanted Tezzeret to experience many of the praetors, but we only needed to see how they interacted with him. While this may be a flaw, that was, at least, my reasoning behind it.
The Plan. Tezzeret was sent to ensure that New Phyrexia did not unify under one leader. Tezzeret planned to play the praetors off each other. In the end, one of Vorniclex's minions (Glissa) is on the throne, which would benefit Elesh Norn--and would piss off the others. However, Jin-Gitaxias also has a hand in controlling her. Geth may be more loyal to Tezzeret than Glissa--and who knows about Urabrask. Thus, Phyrexia is not more stable. Beyond that, we do not know Nicol Bolas's motivations. Tezzeret just needs to keep things in flux.
Tezzeret's Protection. Karn liked him, so Elesh Norn followed suit (and so Karn didn't send him off to Lumengrid). There was no magical protection involved.
Geth and Ezuri. I included Ezuri to set up his appearance and characterization in Quest for Karn. I also have an idea for him post-New Phyrexia, which his new card wonderfully validates if I ever get around to writing what happens after Quest and before Elspeth’s letter that served as a prologue to Godsend. As for Geth, he was my way to introduce us to Sheoldred and also give Tezzeret another ally of sorts that he could use later on to disrupt any solidification of power.
Again, my goal was to fill in gaps and connect characters and stories. I wanted to see Tezzeret’s arrival and then explain Glissa’s strange devotion to Karn in Quest.
Most of you explanations make perfect sense, this is a short story after all, so you can't tell everything (like other praetor's machinations). But I do believe Geth and Ezuri justification will make the most sense with the the new entry that you're writing about New Phyrexia!
And overall, as I said, I think it was an amazing job, very well done.
Cheers.
Read my other stories as well (some ongoing):
Reaper King (a horror story), Kaalia of the Vast (an origin story), Sequels for Innistrad (Alternative sequels for Inn), Grey Areas (Odric's fanfic), Royal Succession (goblins),The Tracker's Message (eldrazi on Innistrad) and Ugin and his Eye (the end of OGW).