Magic the Gathering: Phyrexian Invasion - Book I: Ancient Barriers

A stem-off of the magic the gathering storyline in a way none have attempted to my knowledge. A conspiracy involving Nicol Bolas and Phyrexia is brewing as the multiverse slowly moves towards chaos after the Theros crysis. An unlikiely band of planeswalkers attempt to intervine, but soon realize that they were too late before they'd even began. (This book I s one of three and is not nearly as good or captivating as the other two which are nearly finished. I warn you the beginning is shotty and the book is hard to put up with until the last few chapters. Afterward the end, and the next book is much better so please bear through it.)

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8. Walking Death

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The battle was proving tiresome. Sorin was exhausted from the endless onslaught of Phyrexians. Even with the largest of the ships now gone, they hadn’t let up an inch, whereas the soldiers were now fighting with their backs mere feet from the walls of the fort. They fought with all their might, but it was futile. It was now late in the night, and they hadn’t the strength to go on.

A Phyrexian crusaders blade came at a down stroke towards Sorin’s neck, but was deflected by his blood streaked claymore. A single swipe left three crusaders headless and a forth without a weapon. Even while exhausted form battle, Sorin was more than a formidable foe. He appeared to be damn-near unstoppable, but in truth he was at his breaking point. A mighty roar shook the ground. Ajani came charging through the lines of enemies, leaving a trail of dismembered Phyrexians behind him as he went.

Ajani made short work of the Soldiers that surrounded Sorin’s position. Weariness shown in his eyes as he looked to Sorin. Sorin gazed back in silent approval, and began barking commands at the remaining soldiers to keep the enemy out of the fort. The Phyrexians had completely bypassed the ground-spikes and the trenches. The archers and ballista weren’t proving to be very affective this battle. 

The Phyrexians were regrouping, and prepared to send another wave at them. They had begun their campaign with over two thousand men, now they easily numbered nine hundred able-bodied survivors and two hundred sickly men slowly dying in tents. The next wave was charging for another onslaught. Sorin stood tall, and raised his claymore high. He would’ve cleaved the heads off the first four had a Phyrexian ship not done that for him. An enormous pod crashed into the ground a mere twenty feet in front of Sorin and Ajani, sending debris flying in all directions, crushing the nearby Phyrexians.

The topside of the pod burst open as if torn open form the inside. An enemy emerged like none the soldiers had fought that day. It stood six and a half feet tall, with an almost human build. It was cloaked, hooded, and clad in thick metal armor fashioned into skulls in countless places. A cloth mask covered its face, and it carried a menacing staff of unknown origins and looked as though it could tear bones clean from the limbs that hold them.

It had obviously been human at one point, as Sorin could detect the scent of pumping blood and starved flesh. It looked at Sorin with its (or his) mechanical, glowing eyes, cold and calculating. “Sheoldred requests you relinquish the artifact.” His voice was the only truly human characteristic he possessed. It was slow, cold, and cruel, but human. Ajani spoke first. “Hmph, and if we refuse and run you through just as we have your mechanical brethren?” It did not move, it stood perfectly still for almost thirty seconds. Then, as if it had never moved at all, it was in crouched position with twelve dead soldiers lying around them, oily needles protruding from their bodies. “I am Vector Signious, voice of Phyrexia, herald of joyous death.”

Vector Signious now had Sorin’s attention. He would slay this foe, but be very cautious doing so. “Vector Signious, come take it!” Not another word was said. In less than a second, Vector’s staff was grinding against Sorin’s claymore and bouncing off into mid-air, only to be redirected back at the vampire twelve times while Vector floated in mid-air in what seemed to him as seconds but was actual one. Sorin was shoved back four feet by the mere speed and ferocity of his attack. His speed rivalled that of a blood-starved vampire. Sorin was in for a match.

He released the barriers that generally withheld his full vampiric strength, and attacked. They took off at each other at full speed, each’s unbridled velocity beyond mortal limitations. Ajani could not conceive (nor keep up with) the speed they were travelling at. They leaped and sprinted ridiculous distances, constantly clashing sword against staff. Sorin was fast, but Vector was always a hair faster, getting in that extra strike, slowly draining Sorin’s reserves. A lucky swipe of Vector’s staff left a gash in Sorin’s left arm. The effects of the Phyrexian oil began to take effect immediately. Sorin felt weaker, not too weak to fight, but weak enough to slow down to a dangerous speed for their fight. Vector kept getting more and more hits in as the battle progressed, whereas Sorin couldn’t touch the Phyrexian.

By this time, Signious had managed to chase Sorin away from the battle, and any potential aid. Sorin was now very ill. He could not run any longer, and in fact found it hard to stand. His left arm was now completely useless, as he’d lost all ability to make it move more than slightly, and could now only wield his claymore one-handedly from his shoulder. Vector laughed at the dying vampire lord. “The lens.” Vector commanded again. Sorin was now on knee, the plague ravaging him faster than it had the others. This was certainly no ordinary strain of Phyrexis plague oil. Sorin looked up at his foe, gripping his sword with what strength he had left. “Pry it from my corpse you bastard!!” A sudden flinch of movement, and there was no more light. Blackness…
                                                    

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