Magic The Gathering - Invasion Cycle 03 - Apocalypse # J. Robert King.pdf - Magic The Gathering - widez2

A POCALYPSE

INVASION CYCLE • BOOK III

J. Robert King

J. Robert King

Chapter 1

The Gladiators

It all came down to this: two men kneeling side by side

before Yawgmoth.

These were no mere men, of course. One was a virtual

god. His long, ash-blond hair spread across the stone, and

his powerstone eyes were cast in deep shadow. Urza

Planeswalker had first opened the gate to Phyrexia, had

fought the first Dominarian war against demon hordes, had

planned and executed the current world war down to its

minutest detail. He had lived for millennia and had spent

all the while preparing to face Yawgmoth—though he had

never expected to do so in a full, abject, and willful bow.

Beside him knelt a man who wasn't even a hundredth his

age. No gray showed in his jet-black hair, and no worry

lines in his high forehead, though he had inherited worry

enough for a whole world. As Urza had unwittingly begun

this great horror,

Gerrard had unwillingly received the onus of ending it.

Centuries of eugenics had distilled courage, resourcefulness,

wit, tenacity, and ferocity in a single vessel—Gerrard

Capashen. With these qualities, he should have defeated

the invaders. Instead, he bowed to them.

Side by side, the two best hopes for Dominaria pledged

themselves to Yawgmoth.

The Ineffable was there and not there. Yawgmoth's

mind formed the black dais where Gerrard and Urza

bowed. Colder, sharper, more merciless than granite, the

Apocalypse

dais stole each breath as it panted from the two men. It felt

their homage in splayed and sweating hands. Beyond their

fingertips lay more pieces of Yawgmoth's mind—cudgels,

axes, swords, maces, whips, flails, branding irons, and every

other death conceivable by the Lord of Death. These

fantastical weapons, ored and smithed and sharpened by

the One Mind, glowed avidly. Yawgmoth was in the dais

and the weapons, in the black sands that filled the wide

arena and in the black stands that circled them and the

black sky that overarced it all. The arena and its weapons

were no more or less than the dream of a god.

In all this irreality, only one thing was real.

Gerrard lifted his head and gazed toward the stands.

A solitary figure stood there. Hanna. Hair of gold, eyes

of blue, skin of silk, lips of rose—only she was solid and

true. Hanna had become all the world to Gerrard. He no

longer cared to save Dominaria or even himself. He cared

only to save her. To do so he had damned his own soul.

That was why Gerrard bowed here.

But what bent the knee of the Planeswalker? Surely he

did not bow for true love. Who, out of all eternity, had ever

deserved Urza's love? Who but Yawgmoth himself?

Suddenly, Hanna was not alone in the stands. From

dark corridors, creatures emerged.

The first were tall and gaunt, with skeletal faces and

bodies draped in black robes. They moved like puppets on

strings, weightless and jittery. Behind them loped hulking

creatures.

Enormous eyes rolled fitfully in their rumpled faces.

Clawed hands knuckle-walked down stairs. Then came

spidery monsters that ambled on clicking legs. Beasts

arrived in multitude—goat-headed warriors and cicada

men, clockwork horrors and gibbering imps, creatures with

mucous-skin and brains on arthropodal legs, monsters

Magic The Gathering - Invasion Cycle 03 - Apocalypse # J. Robert King.pdf

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