Jess Lebow - The Darksteel Eye

Memnarch strapped himself into his infusion device and watched the red pinpricks of light float over his body. Funneling the mana, the magical process commenced. His skin flushed, and he felt the familiar fire as the serum burned away the ignorance from his body. The fires he felt would purify him, make him stronger, so that he might be a better servant to his master.

His head buzzed with the pain, and his eyes filled with tears. The light pulsing in from the mana core coalesced as it always did with the first infusion of the morning, and there, arrayed before the guardian of Mirrodin was a vision of the creator himself-Karn.

“Master, you have come.”

The vision did not say a word. It wavered in the middle of Memnarch’s laboratory, drifting above the floor as if it were a ghost of the liquid metal planeswalker.

“Memnarch has been so lonely-and afraid. It has been so long since your last visit. Memnarch fears you will never return. This place, this plane you created, is beautiful and wondrous. You have truly provided anything a guardian could desire.” Memnarch dropped his head. “Except companions. Memnarch had to bring them here himself. All the creatures, except Memnarch himself of course, every one of them was brought here by my soul traps. At first, Memnarch only wanted subjects to experiment with. He wanted to see what made them tick.

“But now Memnarch knows why they work. He has observed their habits, catalogued them all. And he cannot say that the work has been unrewarding. Those who seek knowledge find solace in discovery.”

Memnarch stared at the vision. “Though the experiments continue, Memnarch still lacks a companion,” he continued his conversation with Karn. “Memnarch has even tried to make the creatures here understand him. The one called Pontifex has been to see Memnarch many times. Many times. If Memnarch wished it, this one would stay here in Panopticon, would stay with Memnarch forever. But that is not what Memnarch wants.

“These creatures, they do not understand. They do not have the capacity for emotion.” Memnarch looked up to where the eyes should be in the ghostly image before him. “They are instinctual and predatory, but that is all. They tear each other apart so that they may simply survive another day. Oh, they fooled Memnarch for some time. The systems and rituals they have created seem sophisticated, very sophisticated indeed. But upon further study these things-these complex systems that Memnarch has watched, has hoped would show an understanding, a level of higher intelligence and emotion-have proven just the opposite.

“These creatures, the poor pathetic vermin who populate this plane, your plane, they are nothing to Memnarch. There is no hope of finding a companion among them. They are incapable of love, incapable of providing Memnarch with what he needs.”

The guardian sighed. “Memnarch has even tried to build a companion. You have seen Malil.” Memnarch chuckled. “Yes, he does look as Memnarch once did-a tribute to you, Lord Karn-and a hope that Memnarch could get what he lacked from a creature just like himself. But it did not work. Though Malil looks like Memnarch, Malil is not Memnarch. No, no. He is a good servant, but he does not suit Memnarch. True. He will do whatever we say and without argument.

“Perhaps that is the problem. Perhaps Memnarch needs conflict in his life.” The Guardian shook his head. “No, there is plenty of conflict on Mirrodin. Memnarch has seen to that. It is something else, something lacking.”

Memnarch stopped talking as the serum hit the inside of his brain. The fires spread through his skull, and all capacity to speak was taken from him. Then the burning turned to a throb, and he resumed his conversation.

“Forgive Memnarch,” he said, feeling a wave of exhilaration run up his spine, making him stronger, smarter, more confident. “But your creation needs you. Memnarch needs your attention, your companionship-your love.”

The articulated arms withdrew, and the infusion device reset itself, unlatching him.

“Why do you stay away? Why do you not give Memnarch what he needs?” Memnarch pushed aside the arm straps and stepped from his device. “Why do you not talk to Memnarch when he asks for you?”

The Guardian blinked his eyes. Several of them cleared of tears, and the ghostly image in the middle of the laboratory faded. Memnarch closed the eyes with the clearest view. The image of Karn returned through the blurry eyes, but only partially.

“Do not go, Master,” he said, ambling forward on his four spindly metal limbs. He squinted, trying to bring the vision into focus. But by squeezing his eyes closed, he forced the remaining tears from them, and the image of Karn vanished.

“No!” he shouted. “Do not leave Memnarch. You have been gone too long, and you will return at once!” Memnarch spun, looking all over his laboratory for signs that the creator had returned. “Do you hear me? I said, ‘Do you hear me? ’ ”

There was no answer.

Memnarch let out a wail. Inside he was alone. In his laboratory, he was alone. On all of Mirrodin, he was alone.

Sadness welled up in his chest. It felt as if a heavy weight had been placed on top of him, one that he couldn’t see or ever remove. He had chased the Creator away. Today it had been his harsh words. Before it had been his devotion to his mission, his blind loyalty to do whatever it was that the Creator had asked. He would have done anything for Karn. He did everything the master had asked of him. But when he had done those things, it had been because he wanted the companionship and attention from his Creator. When he had been given the role of guardian, he had thought it would bring him praise and acknowledgement from Karn.

Instead, it had left him alone, stranded here on a dying Mirrodin, as his body devolved into flesh.

The sadness in his breast turned to anger. With his powerful legs, he kicked over a table, sending beakers and scientific equipment skidding across the floor. Those items that didn’t break in the fall Memnarch hunted down, stepping on each and every one of them until they were all broken into tiny shards. Those things he couldn’t break he crushed, smashing them down under his weight until they were flat. Next he turned to the window that looked out on the interior of Mirrodin. Lifting the turned-over table into the air, he hurled it with all of his might. Its four legs collided with the glass. The entire pane shattered, turning the window into a billion slivers, each one looking like a diamond. They fell like raindrops-some of them following the table as it plummeted to the ground far below.

Even this did not satisfy the anger in his heart.

Memnarch spun and grabbed one of the articulated arms on his infusion device. His own arms were small and scrawny in comparison to his enhanced legs, but they held much strength, and he reeled back, ripping the appendage from his device. Sparks cascaded from the broken limb. Bits of broken metal dropped to the ground with a metallic ring.

Without hesitation, Memnarch lifted the shorn arm over his head. It bent at the joint, no longer held in place by hydraulics, and the Guardian whipped it forward, thrashing at the control unit of his infusion device.

The arm’s tip whipped over as the arm came down. The point connected with the controls, burying itself deep within the panel. Memnarch pulled it back for another strike, but the sharp edge, stuck inside the device, held firm. The Guardian let out a roar as he yanked again, and the arm snapped, half staying lodged in the controls, the other half coming away in Memnarch’s hand.

Again the broken limb came up over Memnarch’s shoulder, and again it came down on the device. The Guardian wailed as he pummeled and pummeled some more. Metal bent. Sparks flew, and the machinery withered and died under the assault. With another strike, the serum tanks exploded, flooding the floor of the laboratory with viscous, milky-white liquid. With the next, the power supply was torn out, and the device went dark.