It died in his hand, suffocated. The sardine-man lay still. It was just as well. All these newts would die in the blast. Urza hurled the thing out toward the beaming pit. The body caught fire even before it struck the mantle of energy. Then it was gone-a better fate than lingering in that helpless putrescence-though not as good as final compleation.

Urza unshipped the last soul bomb from its armored compartment. The device shimmered. The stone at its center glowed with the life force of Tevash Szat. Urza kicked clean the edge of the pit. A few blasts of the ray cannons on his hand vaporized the oil. Pivoting the spikes from the side of the device, Urza pressed it into the ground. The spikes sank away and clamped on. It would take a hundred Phyrexians a whole week to dig it out. By then, there would be no Phyrexians left at all.

What am I doing? Urza wondered suddenly, staring at the sun-bright blaze before him. Why am I destroying this masterpiece? His metallic digits turned the top of the soul bomb, setting the charge. Now the device would be triggered with all the rest. Nothing could disarm it, not even Urza Planeswalker.

The sound of distant battle came to his ears. The others must have been fending off an attack. They had slain the Steam Beast. Perhaps now they fought the Walker. They acted like big game hunters gathering trophies.

Urza's titan engine rose from its knees. Glass and oil dripped from him. He turned on his own path-"repented" was the word the ancients would have used. There before him, he saw his trail of destruction. While vats glowed in a golden garden all around, where he had walked was only ruin.

It wasn't too late to end this destruction. It wasn't too late to join the quest for perfection.

Gerrard whipped his head around and glimpsed angry, haunted eyes.

Ertai held him. It was none other than Ertai, onetime spell-caster aboard Weatherlight. He had been left behind in Rath. This was his revenge.

The eyes were all that remained of the old Ertai. He now had a mimetic spine. It had twisted his body, bulging every muscle, cinching his waist in a slave corset, turning flesh an angry red. From his elbows sprouted two new sets of arms. All four grasped Gerrard implacably.

Ertai's teleport spell took hold. The stern castle of Weatherlight disappeared, taking with it the bright skies over Urborg. In their place, a hot darkness formed. Gerrard blinked, wondering where they had gone. The brimstone air told him-Crovax's throne room. It was large, grandiose, and mad. Twisted columns rose up the curved walls, giving the impression that the room was melting. The vault dripped stalactites that held impaled bodies. Huge dogs with vampiric teeth trotted around the floor, cleaning up the steady drizzle of blood. Beyond them, watching in mute disinterest, stood il-Vec guards.

The centerpiece of the room was an enormous throne of black basalt, carved with a riot of tortured figures. Ensconced in their midst was the tormentor himself- Crovax.

Crovax was another lost member of Weatherlight's crew. In his defense of the ship, he had slain the only creature he had ever loved-his angel, Selenia.

That single desperate act had begun his transformation. Now Crovax was a monster. Talons clutched the throne. Huge forearms and biceps rose to a barrel body in steel. A wide head was crowded with shark's teeth. Even Crovax's eyes were changed, irredeemably mad.

"I knew you would return," Crovax said simply.

Gerrard fought against Ertai's arms, but he could not escape. "Of course you knew. You sent your lackey after me."

Crovax laughed, a sound like teeth on slate. "You have brought your own lackey, I see." He gestured to one side.

Gerrard glanced down, only then remembering Squee. The courageous goblin had hurled himself onto Ertai the moment before the teleport.

"Hiya, Crovax," the goblin said, stepping away from Ertai. "Nice teeth."

There was no humor in the evincar's reply. "Nice everything." He stood, a black cape sweeping out around him. He was stoutly muscled, seeming a spring wound overtight. "I have become the lord of all you see and of much else. I brought this overlay to Dominaria. You might even say, I have become the lord of all the world.

"What about you? Are you still flying your little ship, Gerrard? Are you still cooking grub for the crew, Squee? Or should I say grubs? I always wondered why you made a bugeater into the ship's cook."

Gerrard ignored the taunting and smiled. "Didn't you receive our calling card?"

"Calling card?" Crovax asked, eyebrows lifted.

Gerrard dipped his head. "Wait for it."

A huge crashing sound came above. The Stronghold rocked. Bodies jiggled loose from stalactites and spattered on the floor. Cracks raced down one wall. A pillar tumbled in sections. Guards looked up in suspicion but feared to move from their posts.

For his part, Crovax stood rock solid in the midst of the assault. The rumbling stopped. Final shards of rock smacked the floor. Like a man checking for rain, Crovax spread an eloquent claw. "Oh… that. Yes, I knew Predator would fail against Weatherlight-now that your ship bears Phyrexian arms and a woodland god. Still, Predator did what she was meant to do- she delivered Ertai to you, and Ertai delivered you to me."

Gerrard growled, "You're fixated on me, aren't you. Me and Weatherlight-"

"And Squee too," piped the goblin from where he had wandered. One of the fallen corpses had spilled hundreds of maggots, and the white worms were irresistible. Three moggs followed Squee's every move.

Ignoring the goblins, Crovax strode up before Gerrard. The evincar's breath reeked of unwholesome things.

"Fixation is too casual a word for what I feel for you. Obsession even falls short. Don't you see, we are bonded, Gerrard. We are brothers."

"What are you talking about?" Gerrard hissed. He turned his face away from the putrid breath. "Volrath was my brother."

"By adoption only. You and I have the same true parents- Urza and Yawgmoth." Crovax stared into Gerrard's eyes. "Urza always doted on you, Brother, and Yawgmoth on me, but they both made us. They are Daddy and Mummy." He smiled at his joke, but his gaze was lethally serious. "Ah, yes. You know it. You know of Urza's eugenics programs, how he bred and crossbred to create the

Metathran. He did the same with human stock. He wanted the perfect hero to fly his perfect machine. You came from his experiments, and I came from Yawgmoth's-"

"Yes, and look how each of us turned out," Gerrard interrupted.

"About the same, as far as I can tell," Crovax said. "Both of us fought for our creators. Both of us sacrificed our one love-"

"I didn't sacrifice Hanna," hissed Gerrard.

"You did, Gerrard, and you know it. We each killed our beloved."

"Yeah," put in Squee around a mouthful of maggots. He'd made a feast of them and idly flipped a few stragglers into the mouths of the moggs. "But least Gerrard didn't stab her through the gut. Aieeee!" He pantomimed an eviscerating thrust then flapped his arms like Selenia in her death throes.

Through bear-trap teeth, Crovax snarled, "Kill him!"

The moggs looked up in surprise, their lips wet with maggot flesh.

Crovax roared, "Do it!"

"No!" Gerrard shouted, struggling against Ertai's grip.

With an almost casual gesture, a mogg gripped Squee's neck. Something popped. Squee went limp. He rolled quietly forward, his knobby head lolling against the floor.