He rammed his clawed fingers deep into the witch engine before him. With an almighty roar, he tore back the thing's skin, splitting it open and spilling billions of writhing machines. The tear deepened. Wriggling white maggots showered across the titan suit. Ignoring them, Bo kept ripping until the two hairy halves peeled away from each other. He flung the empty halves down onto the Phyrexian hordes.
Well done. Urza said, ripping one of his own tormentors into chunks. It seems we can learn from Weatherlight and her crew.
Where once scores of witch engines had menaced the titans from the sky, now hailstorms of maggots fell to ground.
Szat burned the beasts as they fell. He draped the dead husks over his shoulders like trophies. Nothing can stop us, now! See? Even the puny mortals are driving for the cave mouth. Victory is in reach. He crowed, pouring maggots into his mouth and spewing them forth in flames. Nothing can stop us!
* * * * *
Maggot-engines plunged in a thick cascade ahead.
Rhammidarigaaz banked sharply into clear air. The dragon nations-red and black, blue and white and green-followed.
Plasma cannonades hurled blanketing fire toward them. It seemed crimson silk unfolding on the wind. In moments, it would slay them all.
Darigaaz led his folk in a steep dive toward a Phyrexian division below. The cannonades ceased their fire. Even Phyrexians would not vaporize their own troops.
Rhammidarigaaz did it for them. He spat flames on the Phyrexian vanguard. It ate them away.
The dragon nations shot out over the main body of the Phyrexian army. Breath baked bugs in their shells. Talons cracked Phyrexian skulls. Wings hurled monsters like leaves.
There were spells too. Darigaaz drew volcanic might into the crystal of his scepter. Lava churned within the pure glass. It gathered into a whirling vortex. Light blazed forth and brimstone hailed out. The fiery hunks of stone whistled as they fell. They stuck to gray flesh and burned their way through.
Scuta shuddered, struggling to throw off the burning things. Shock troops thrashed as magma sank between ribs. Bloodstocks slumped dead and smoldering on still-charging legs. Wherever lava and air and oil met, beasts exploded.
This was no Urborg. The coalition was winning this time. Darigaaz could feel it. Weatherlight and the Circle of Dragons ruled the heavens. Metathran and the Steel Leaf elves ruled the world. Gerrard and his prison brigade ruled the underworld. All the while, Urza and his titans closed the circle around Tsabo Tavoc.
With a hiss of volcanic steam, Darigaaz vaulted skyward. His dragons coiled like a deadly veil behind him. As plasma mounted up from cannons, Darigaaz and his folk plunged in another strafing run.
Fire belched down. Phyrexians rose in ash.
This was no Urborg.
* * * * *
Agnate and his forces fought forward down a path of soot. Weatherlight had paved the way. Burning beasts and fields of glass led to the caves. Agnate's army marched with grim fury. They owned this highway. They cleared Phyrexians like weeds. Agnate's battle axe grew dull-it had split so many skulls, so much chitin. Still, it was a deadly club, and Agnate's rage made it a lightning bolt.
The axe smashed a Phyrexian skull. Horns atop that pate bent inward. The monster staggered. Agnate kicked its belly. He strode over the fallen thing.
Another hailstorm of maggots began. The wriggling mechanisms cracked against helms and shoulder pieces. They fell in treacherous fields before the Metathran, who kicked them aside. Anyone who fell was swarmed and suffocated by the maggots.
"Forward!" Agnate shouted above the hail of creatures.
They had almost reached the cave mouth. The place was already a charnel house. Gerrard and his prison strike force had been brutal. They had slaughtered hundreds. Phyrexian oil-blood formed a shallow marsh. Bodies lay like flagstones in a vast floor. Even now, a platoon of the prison brigade guarded the gates. They cheered Agnate and his troops as they broke through.
Eladamri, Liin Sivi, the Steel Leaf warriors, and the other division of Metathran approached from the opposite highway of death. The pincers drew inexorably together. The Phyrexians caught between those two claws would be sliced to pieces. Those outside were even now being stomped to death under the feet of titans.
After so much killing, after such impossible legions of fiends, it seemed strange so suddenly to rush up beside his own allies. Arms that had spent hours wielding swords and axes now opened in glad greeting. The long parted halves of the Metathran army were reunited before the gates of hell.
Agnate did not allow himself the luxury of joy. Neither, he noted, did Eladamri. The two commanders converged at a stride, approaching the head of the prison contingent. The defenders of Dominaria were ragged and bloody, but grim smiles filled their faces.
"Welcome to Koilos, commanders," the shaggy Benalish leader said. "Gerrard and the rest of our brigade are locking down the caves within. We have prevented Phyrexian incursion from above. I gratefully relinquish command to you."
"Thank you," Agnate said with a level nod. Turning to Eladamri, he said, "And I relinquish my command to you. Lead this army in after Gerrard. He will need every sword arm he can muster."
The elf commander stared amazedly at Agnate. "I was about to offer you my command."
Agnate shook his head. "I have more pressing business. Lead these troops."
With no further word, Agnate marched past the soldiers, into the yawning cave. He tossed aside the battered battle axe. It clanged against a wall of stone. It would be useless in the tight spaces in the caves. Agnate drew his sword and dagger.
Gerrard had done well. Phyrexian bodies littered the floor, with only occasional human corpses among them. The bunkers were burned out, the guard stations smashed, the nooks scoured. He had been thorough-furiously so. Agnate approved.
… Agnate… stay away … a weak voice said in his mind… They are luring you… It is a trap…
I will always seek you, Agnate responded. He strode down burned out corridors toward that voice. The trap is sprung. Gerrard is killing the killers. There are none left to trap me.
… I know. He has been here. He has… slain them… The press of Thaddeus's mind told that he was near, quite near.
Then he has freed you!
… Gerrard could not… free me. No one could. Do not seek me…
Agnate shook his head angrily. I am almost there. Wait for me.
… No, Agnate. Do not… It is a trap…
He was just behind that comer. Agnate bolted around the dark turn. Beyond stood a shattered doorway and the chamber where Thaddeus lay.
What was left of him… He was spiked to a slanted table. His limbs were gone, flayed away tissue by tissue. All of it was stored in solution jars on shelves behind him. They had cut away his pelvis too, and his spine, bone by bone, up the lumbar curve. Abdominal organs occupied various silver trays. Pins jutted from them. Vat priests lay in bloody ruin beneath the samples.
Only Thaddeus's ribcage and head remained. The aorta had been expertly sutured, allowing his heart to maintain pressure through the man's upper body. A large, round rock had even been leaned against the diaphragm to press the muscle up toward the lungs. He breathed through a scabby stoma in his throat. His eyes, in utter despair, watched Agnate approach.
"What have they done?" Agnate gasped, staggering toward the ruined man.
… I told you… seeing me this way… is a trap you will never escape…
Agnate shook his head. "No. Urza will build you a body. You won't die this way. New legs, new arms, new organs."
… I am done fighting for Urza Planeswalker…… I am done fighting…
"I am not," Agnate declared, staring into Thaddeus's tearing eyes. "I will slay a hundred thousand Phyrexians to avenge you."
… Don't you understand? We are Phyrexians… Fight all you wish, Agnate… you are fighting only yourself…
The Metathran's eyes were hard in his blue skull. "Why did Gerrard leave you in agony?"
… He
told me… you were coming. He said you would… want to see me…
"He was right."
… They've trapped you… forever…
Agnate stared down at his trembling, bloody hands and the weapons he held in them. "Yes. You are right. You were right about everything-except one thing. I can free you."
… Yes… Free me…
Agnate dropped his knife. It clattered beside the corpse of a vat priest. With both hands, he lifted high his sword.
"Good-bye, my friend."
… Good-bye…
The sword fell. Thaddeus was free.
Agnate turned away and folded to his knees. His sword dropped to the stone floor. He buried his face in sanguine hands.
Agnate was twice trapped. He would never forget Thaddeus's pleading eyes, suffering in their ruined flesh. Nor would he ever forget the stroke that closed those eyes forever.
Chapter 35
The Seven-Legged Mother
Tsabo Tavoc drew a long breath through swollen spiracles.
Thaddeus's death was intoxicating. He had died slowly, consciously. It was the best death, a perfect bouquet- intense, quiet, virtuous, patient, doomed. Agnate's sword had given a final piquant burst of emotion-regret, love, terror, release. The only scent that lacked in that death had been hatred-pure, hard-edged hatred.
Agnate exuded it now. His sword had drawn all the welling despair up through its hilt and into a new man. There, it became hate. Thaddeus's death had been intoxicating, but Agnate's hatred was thrilling.
Tsabo Tavoc breathed the glad reek of it.
Agnate was not the greatest hater in the caves, though. Gerrard was. His fury had been strong at the mouth of the cave. It had grown only more powerful with each head he had lopped, each gallon of glistening-oil he had spilled. Gerrard fought as though he battled Death itself. He was a fool. No one could beat Death except Yawgmoth. Gerrard's hatred would lead him to the Ineffable.
All things had come to fruition just as Tsabo Tavoc had planned.
Let them think they are winning. Let Urza and his titans stomp the ragged remnants of the Koilos land army. Let Eladamri post his guards in the blood-painted caves he has won with tooth and nail. Let Gerrard advance toward the portal, believing he can shut death away from himself and all Dominarians.
In fact he will be drawn through, Tsabo Tavoc thought gladly, the first in a harvest of souls. He will be drawn through, and they all will be drawn through.
At great cost, the Dominarians had won themselves a bottomless pit. Gerrard could not close the portal. Nor Taysir. Nor Urza. As long as it remained, Phyrexia would always hold Koilos. Dominarians would fling their sons and daughters into the pit, calling them warriors and freedom fighters though in truth they were human sacrifices to implacable Death. They would battle a ceaseless tide of Phyrexians, not realizing the womb cannot keep pace with the vat. Koilos was not lost. It was transformed into an eating machine that would swallow millions.
Tsabo Tavoc smiled. Plates slid in her segmented mouth, drawing back from filed teeth.
She had won Benalia. Now, she was winning Koilos. Her crowning glory, though, would be the moment she presented the savior of Dominaria, the champion of Urza, to Yawgmoth. He would reward her. He would unseat Master Crovax and give Tsabo Tavoc command of the Rathi overlay.
Shackled and brimming with hate, Gerrard will be yours by day's end, Great Lord Yawgmoth.
* * * * *
This felt good-killing them like this. Leaving them in pieces behind. Somehow, when the monsters were chopped up and sloppy on the cave floor, they seemed cleaner than when they breathed and scuttled and walked. That's how he thought of it-cleansing the caves.
Torches held high, Gerrard and his contingent rounded a corner.
Two monsters launched themselves from the darkness beyond. No longer did they fight in phalanxes. Now they fought like trapped dogs.
Gerrard's torch fell away. His sword rammed into the rushing chest of one. Steel lanced between obscene ribs. It sank deep, rupturing the heart. Oil sprayed around the edges of the blade.
Even dying, the thing fought on. Its knobby arms clamped down on him. Its claws pierced his sides.
Gerrard roared, prying his sword sideways. The blade snapped ribs and tore clear.
The beast slumped, leaning drunkenly on him before it tumbled sideways. Gerrard batted its arms away.
The fight was finished. Three Benalians had slain the other beast-at the cost of their own lives. Their corpses sprawled on one side of the cave.
Gerrard stared at the two Phyrexians. Their flesh was rotten, gray and shabby. Gritting his teeth, he hacked down with his sword. It clove the face of one dead monster. The blade rose. It fell again. He cut the thing's skull in half. The sword slashed down again. It opened the beast's face along the jaw. Gerrard lifted his sword for another strike.
A hand clamped on his shoulder-Tahngarth's hand. "Save your hate. We've plenty more ahead."
Gerrard severed the beast's neck and kicked the head across the chamber. "I have enough hate for all of them." He began working over the other body.
Tahngarth released his shoulder. As Gerrard chopped, he was vaguely aware of the soldiers around him, working to lay out their comrades as was fitting. Only when they had finished did Gerrard kick his way through the Phyrexian remains and lift his gaze.
"Let's go. The portal cannot be far now."
* * * * *
Multani managed to regrow enough of the damaged spar to allow Weatherlight a more graceful landing than her last. Still, the ship came to ground like a box of rocks.
It was little more than that just now. Two ray cannons had overheated and melted down. A third had been blasted away. The hull was riddled with ruptures that even Multani could not close completely. The engines ran red hot and barked gray smoke when Karn shut them down. He pulled his hands from the control sockets where they had been embedded and plunged the glowing things into a bucket of water. She would not fly again, not for hours, and would perhaps not fight for days.
Thankfully, she didn't need to. The ship had landed just beside the cave mouth-now in Dominarian hands. The Phyrexians above ground were routed, pursued in their thousands by tramping titans. The caves were filled with Dominarian defenders. All reports indicated decisive victories. Eladamri and his army descended to the portal.
Mantled in steam, Karn ascended from the engine room. He emerged, massive and brooding, onto the deck. Sisay arrived on deck at the same time, descending from the bridge.
The old friends spoke in accidental unison. "I'm going to help Gerrard."
Sisay smiled, fondly running her hand along Karn's massive jaw. "I'm glad to have you at my side."
Another figure rose from below. In the heat of the sick bay,
Orim had doffed her turban. Her coin-spangled hair dripped with perspiration. She mopped her brow with a rag and tucked it into her healer's cloak. A ready supply of powders, salves, and bandages waited in the pockets of that cloak. Her intent was clear.
Seeing her comrades, Orim strode to them. "Everyone's stable below. There'll be lots more injuries in the caves."
In emulation of Sisay's gesture, Karn ran a yet-warm finger beneath the healer's chin. "We'll all go get him."
The healer's eyes clouded in regret. "Not all of us. Not the one Gerrard wants to see most."
Sisay put one arm around her friend's shoulder. "You did all you could. We all miss her."
The silence that followed was broken by a scampering sound and a shrill squeal.
"Squee go to see him, too!" The green little man vaulted down from the bow gun and clasped hands with his friends.
Karn reached out, wrapping the group in an almighty embrace that lifted them from their feet. He strode purposefully across the deck and leaped over the rail. He fell weightlessly but landed like a hammer on an anvil. The folk in his grip smiled with chattering teeth as he walked into the cave.
Sisay managed to speak for them all. "Thanks, Karn, but I need the
exercise."
Considering, Karn tromped to a halt, set his friends down, and gestured ahead of him.
"At least let me lead. I may not be a fighter, but I'm a fair shield."
"A shield?" Sisay said, eloquently staring him up and down. "You're more of a wall."
Squee leaped onto the silver golem's back. "G'won, Karn. You lead, long as Squee rides here."
Satisfied, the massive man tromped down into the Caves of Koilos.
* * * * *
This had been a particularly harsh cul-de-sac. Gerrard had lost ten soldiers to only four Phyrexians. As before, he took out his anger on the bugs' corpses.
Tahngarth and the others meanwhile laid out the bodies of the brave fallen. A torch lighted their heads. There were no longer cloths enough to cover faces. The ten lay staring at the ceiling. Stalactites dripped on them.
Gerrard's sword chopped again into scale and meat. Tahngarth no longer tried to halt the mutilations. Perhaps he understood. Gerrard was only doing to these bodies what their plague had done to Hanna.
Wordless and grim, Tahngarth led the rest of the contingent out of that slaughterhouse. They crowded through the narrow exit and into the passage beyond. Their voices made watery echoes as they headed deeper into the cave. With them went the angry light of the torches.
Gerrard was left with his own torch and the one that tended the fallen.
Cold darkness closed around him. It felt deadly. Gerrard was at home among deadly things. The smell of glisteningoil wreathed him. Positioning a torch at the heads of the four Phyrexians, Gerrard raised his sword. It hung there like a scorpion's tail. The blade fell. A monster's head rolled free with a sound like stone grating on stone…
Gerrard whirled.
A huge, round stone rolled down a track beside the door. With a boom, it sealed off the chamber's only exit.
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