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

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.