J. King - PLANESHIFT

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

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

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

Phyrexia at last was safe.

The pneumagogs fluttered all around the kneeling titan. Their wings made a scissoring song of praise. Their voices spoke into Urza's aching mind.

Welcome home, Urza. Welcome home.

Another titan shimmered into being alongside Urza. Taysir's multicolored engine took form. He lunged, grasping Urza's suit and hauling him to his feet.

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

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

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

Destroy Phyrexia! It was more than Urza could bear.

He triggered the kill rubric.

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

The titan suit toppled backward. Sparks from the grass ignited the oil. It flashed fantastically. Mantled in fire, the titan burned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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