Chapter Text
To say that Urabrask was in a lot of pain would be the understatement to end all understatements. After Elesh Norn had declared him a heretic she had her honor guard separate his limbs from his body. Luckily for him Norn had underestimated his durability and had managed to just barely survive his quartering. “Barely” being the operative word there. And so when Urabrask fell unconscious shortly after his tormentors left he was surprised to wake up again. And even more so with the individuals talking in a corner of the room.
The first was Brudiclad. He wasn't too surprised to see him. As he was the closest thing Urabrask had to a second in command and one of the few beings the praetor would dare to even somewhat call his friend. And, most notably, one of a handful of non-Gitaxians who had extensive knowledge of Phyrexian biology. And thus, the most logical choice to bring him to fix him back up. The other one however, was the real curiosity.
Urabrask hadn't spoken with her. But with the hold Norn had over the plane defectors always tended to end up in the Quiet Furnace. And news travels fast when the daughter of the dictator’s second in command is declared a heretic. However as this had only happened mere days before the invasion of the multiverse occurred he never had time to track down and properly speak with her. A shame too. As from the rumors he was able to hear about her she would have been a great asset to his cause.
As Urabrask more properly came to he took a moment to investigate his surroundings and found himself in the shack that Brudiclad called home right on the edge of where the Furnace Layer met the Mirrex. A plethora of tools for both disassembling and reassembling other Phyrexians hung on the walls. And the room somehow maintained a level of cleanliness that was usually reserved for the Surgical Bay.
The next thing he noticed was that he had his limbs back. They were not perfect. The metal was of a lower quality than he would usually settle for and the craftsmanship looked like it was done by a blind amateur but he supposed it was better than being dead.
He then turned his attention to Ixhel and Brudiclad. Who were still having their conversation in the corner of the room. Straining his ears he eavesdropped on the conversation.
“But what if he doesn't wake up?” Ixhel said, “What if?-” whatever the angel was about to say was interrupted by Brudiclad’s metallic drawl. “You don't need to worry darling. He's already doin’ much better. I'd reckon that he’ll be waking up good as new any day now.” Urabrask was suddenly aware of Brudiclad’s eyeless vision gazing directly at him. “Or, right now.”
Ixhel ran over to the Praetor’s bedside and helped him into an upright position. “Thank Yawgmoth you’re alright. I was starting to think that you weren’t going to make it.” Brudiclad let out a chuckle. “If by starting you mean five days ago then yeah.” He was quickly given a bonk upside his head by the angel but otherwise she didn’t give him any attention. “How long was I out?” Urabrask asked, his already gravely voice even hoarser from lack of use.
“About a week. And we could really use your help. With the invasion unsuccessful and most people who had any leadership positions dead things aren't looking so well.” Urabrask looked at Ixhel and saw genuine desperation. However bad things were she was willing to ask for the help of someone who had probably almost died several times over the past month or two. And seeing that desperation he knew that he had to at least try to help out.
“How bad is it?” He asked. “Very. But believe me when I say that the furnace has hardly been affected and even then it was the safest place for you.” That was a bad sign. The furnace was hardly a safe place even at the best of times. What with all the lava flows, the bloodthirsty goblins, the giant structures that tended to be structurally unsound more often than not and the ever present threat of Solphim coming along and deciding that she didn’t like the particular area you were standing in. So for Ixhel to think that this would be the safest place to be in things must be bad.
Ixhel continued. “Glissa somehow survived the invasion and is now running a guerilla force against any other Phyrexians who try entering the Tangle, the individual project leaders of the Progress Engine have had numerous petty squabbles over resources, with the Steel Thanes all dead nothing has stopped the Dross Dwellers from declaring all out war on each other and with both Mother and Norn dead the Orthodoxy's come under new management so to say and it hasn't been going so well.” “Who took over? Izathel? Ria?” Asked Urabrask. “No,” Ixhel responded, “much worse.”
Meanwhile in the Fair Basilica
Skrelv sat on the throne. He had no idea what it meant but the mean lady with the big head once sat there barking out orders to the others and now that he sat there the other mean people listened to him. He enjoyed eating her remains. Even if the glowy stuff the winged lady left behind tasted awful.
Many had tried to come close, but he had fended them off. There was a reason the mean lady had used mites as part of her personal enforcement team and that was because their poison was quite deadly even to the poison resistant Phyrexians. He let out a chirp of satisfaction as one of the servants brought him another femur from one of the fallen. Life was good.
Back in the Furnace
“I can see how that might be a problem.” Urabrask said deep in thought. “What about the Mirrex and the Facade?” “Not lookin’ good on those fronts either chief.” Brudiclad said. “When the Walkers and the resistance stormed the Seedcore It caused some mighty fierce tremors that led to the Facade fallin’ down on the Mirrex and leavin’ it uninhabitable… Eer, more uninhabitable than usual I mean.” “And that reminds me.” Ixhel interrupted. “The suns.” “What about them?” “They’ve gone missing. Nobody knows exactly why but our best guess is that it has something to do with whatever happened in the Seedcore. As you can clearly see we could really use some assistance. So what do you say? Will you help us?”
Urabrask took a deep breath. He knew that he was injured. And that he was never the best leader. The last time he could even remember giving out a direct order to all of his faction was five years ago when he told them to leave the Mirran Resistance alone. But even then he knew that if New Phyrexia was in as bad a shape as Ixhel had made it out to be it was only a matter of time before the chaos spilled over into the Furnace and he would be caught up in it whether he wanted to or not. At least this way he would be the one deciding the terms of the battles. And so without a second thought he only had two words to say.
“I’m in.”