the air nearby.
The Mirran horse fell to pieces before their eyes. Its parts clattered to the floor and Venser got a good look at just how deeply the metal that made up the creature’s skin went until the meat and tendons took over. There was blood, but it pooled for only a moment before disappearing down drains that must have been hidden in the floor.
Elspeth looked up from the floor with wide eyes. The fleshling looked as though she might weep. But she did not weep, and the moment quickly passed. She was on her feet the second after that. Elspeth struggled against her armor and finally stood herself.
“What?” Koth said, staring at the bloodied pieces on the floor.
They all looked at the guide, whose eyes were moving from place to place along the wall of the room.
“Why is it here?” Koth asked. “What do they get from doing any of this?”
Venser would have shrugged if he hadn’t disliked the shrug as an expression. He understood exactly what Koth was asking. What were the Phyrexians after down in the bowels of Mirrodin? He had seen many rooms, and exactly none of them made any sense. For instance, how could the Phyrexians melt down and recast their dead in the furnace? Were they not made by transformation via a contagion? What was accomplished by melting down the metal bodies of the dead? Didn’t Phyrexians grow their own armor? But, clearly, there were no answers anywhere down there. Only confusion and more questions.
The guide moved slowly to where the pieces lay. He looked carefully at the pieces before standing again and looking around the room.
He certainly looked like a guide to Venser. He certainly appeared to be genuine, and not a spy. But what was to say that the forces standing against them had not found a way to recruit a real guide?
The guide located an eyeway in the corner. After he cut it open with a long knife, they all moved through and into the darkened room on the other side.
And into another room, where they found no Phyrexians. The guide moved them along the outer side of the room and then through another eyeway. Then there were more rooms of metal and more exits. Sometimes the exits joined into long tunnels. In one tunnel the guide suddenly stopped walking. He stopped and fell to his hands and knees and began looking closely at the floor of the tunnel, using his fingernails to find any seam. Eventually he found something, and pulled up a hinged panel of metal. They clambered down through the hole and descended a strange ladder of what appeared to be ribs. After that, the guide took them along another passage, and more after that.
“I don’t understand,” Koth said. “What do we accomplish by this running around down here? We have the fleshling. Why don’t we go heal everybody on the surface?
“I am not sure there are survivors on the surface,” Elspeth said, mirroring Venser’s own thoughts.
“There are survivors,” Koth said. “And they deserve our help, but we do not help them.”
The guide raised his hand.
“Hush,” Venser said to Koth.
Koth shot him an evil face in response to the chastisement.
Next they were in another passage that descended at an angle that required them to squat to move. At the bottom was a doorway, barely visible in the blue glow from Venser’s wisps. The doorway was not an eyeway, or a rough-cut hole, but a simple entranceway with smooth sides. This kind of entranceway was uncommon enough. But as soon as they stopped, Venser heard it, the odd sound the guide ahead must have heard: a sort of skittering. At irregular intervals something heavy bounced along the ground. But at other times there was no sound but the whoosh of wind.
Wind down here? Venser wondered.
When the guide moved his hand forward, they advanced. Soon they were at the entrance, and Venser turned off his wisps, so they were once again in darkness. Silently they each felt their way into another vast room. Venser could tell by the echoes from his feet. Water dripped off to the right somewhere. The air was still and stagnant. Like almost every room they had moved through, it smelled vaguely of rotting meat. It was strange air in these underground rooms: it always felt to Venser as though some creature was crouching in it, with its twisted spine as tight as a spring, and ready to pounce.
But there was no attack, and soon Venser’s eyes began adjusting as best they could to the almost total darkness. If there was any light in the room, Venser was not sure where it would have come from. But still his eyes found enough of what they needed to make out something: white blurs.
It was hard to say how far away the shapes were. A hand grasped his, and Venser felt what he thought must be the thick glove of Elspeth’s sword hand. Understanding what was supposed to happen, Venser reached back and found Koth’s strangely smooth palm and held it.
Hand in hand in the darkness they moved. At first Venser thought they were moving toward the blurring shapes, but then they turned and walked until they bumped into the wall. Then the guide, for Venser hoped it was the guide who was leading them, turned them left and they skirted the wall.
As they walked, Elspeth’s hand squeezed tighter and tighter. A couple of times Venser had to disengage his hand and then find Elspeth’s hand again, lest she crush his knuckles and fingers.
But traveling along the wall still took them near the blurred shapes. They became larger and larger until Venser recognized them for what they were. Elspeth’s hand tightened dramatically, and then let go of his and went, Venser assumed, to the grip of her sword.
Venser could see why.
The white blurs were actually strange Phyrexian angels. All white, with what appeared to be a porcelain exoskeleton, covered with chips. Pink tendons wormed from one section of porcelain to another, apparently holding them together. They had tattered metal wings that flapped, keeping them aloft. Their heads were all porcelain, with black round holes for eyes, and a thin black line for a mouth.
And between them they were throwing something round and shaggy. They were throwing the round shape as fast as they could, in a joyless game that Venser could not begin to understand. In that vast room they stood playing catch. Venser thought back to the conversation they were having earlier. Why was any of this here?
One of the angels missed its catch, and the ball fell to the ground with a dull thump. It rolled over and Venser recognized it for what it was. He looked away from the tortured line of a mouth and a flattened nose.
The angels noticed them at that moment, and shot up into the darkness. Venser could see their blurs, and a moment later an angel shot out of the dark and raked a claw down his body armor, knocking him over with the force of the blow. The pain was sharp as he rose, but didn’t feel critical enough to stay on the ground.
By the time he was up, Koth was grappling with one of the angels, who flapped its wings, pulling Koth with it into the air. Venser snapped his mana to his raised fingers, and furls of power radiated out and softened the metal of the angel’s wings, so they drooped and the angel fell. The impact gave Koth the opportunity to wrap his hands around the angel’s head and begin beating it against the floor.
Off to the side, Venser could see Elspeth and the second angel brawling. Surprisingly quick, the angel was able to dodge Elspeth’s attacks. The white warrior began to move her own mana to her sword for a thousand-cuts- in-one strike. But the angel put up its hand and Elspeth’s weapon dropped from her fingers.
She reached down for the sword, but the angel surged forward and palmed Elspeth’s head in its claw. It turned, raised Elspeth off the ground, and threw her away into the darkness, leaving her sword glittering on the ground.
The angel looked down at the sword and cocked its head to the side. Venser began running for the sword. He did not think about what would happen if the Phyrexian had the weapon, he just ran. By the time he reached the place, the angel had bent over the sword and was reaching down with its claw. Venser kicked the sword and it went skittering away.
He’d been struck hard plenty of times in his life. He was raised in Urborg, after all, and his childhood had been far from perfect: his father had broken his nose when he was ten, and that blow had knocked him out for almost an hour. He’d fought in the insurrection there and been wounded in the abdomen with a spear that went through him, knocked him way back, and pinned him to a tree. That one had hurt.
But the blow that the Phyrexian lashed out with was worse.
Elspeth saw it from the shadows. She was on her knees feeling for her blade and happened to look up. Her own head pounded where the Phyrexian angel’s metal claw had squeezed, but otherwise she was unhurt. She looked up in time to see the Phyrexian’s strike: Venser cartwheeled limp through the air like a tossed doll, his
