[NoR] - [23] - At Last

Ceramic fingers clicked against each other as the Planeswalker got used to his new form, adjusting quickly to the porcelain exoskeleton. His footfalls clicked against the hewn stone, carrying him to the lift. A short Phyrexian, his faceless grin forever emblazoned across his head, looked quizzically at the ‘priest’ approaching. He thought better of asking questions as Razel stepped to the lift, standing and expecting silent functionality. The treatment was expected, and dispelled some of the reservation the Phyrexian had. With a clunk of the switch, the winch turned on and began to lower them to the ‘ground’ level.

Razel held his hands behind his back, watching the Tower climb above him as he descended. A room below the entrance he had come through glowed brilliantly behind a grate, the mechanisms beyond currently being fine-tuned by the smilers. Looking about, he spied a small group of the porcelain priests standing in front of the pilgrims, the Exarch introducing them and explaining further. Razel couldn’t make out precisely what was being said, but he knew it to be inaccurate. Somehow he doubted that honesty was a popular commodity here. As the lift drew closer, the speech became clearer.

“-will be personally overseeing our group. I will be sending the rest of you with the Chaplain here, who will direct you to your first assignments. After your first shift, and after we have prepared them, we will show you to your quarters.”

A murmur of disapproval quickly faded.

“Yes, I know. Isn’t salvation worth any expenditure, though? Find your place within the machine and you will always be content with its workings. Now go on.”

Razel watched as they split into groups, two of the priests leading the half of the group with the Exarch towards the grating, while the rest were directed to a supply chamber to obtain picks and tools. The lift came to a noisy stop, clanging loudly against the floor. Stepping into the common area, Razel set his sights on the grating, ignoring all others around him and making a purposed path toward its entryway. His ruse carried him past the Phyrexians, each assuming he belonged and letting him about his business. The tower, while intriguing, was more than likely nothing but administrative. The glow was what drew his attention.

Razel heard the Exarch speaking to one of the priests as he strode past them, continuing on. The Phyrexian croaked eerily in its own language.

“-I’m not sure, but I know he was with us when we arrived.”

“This is not a new circumstance. We will locate the straggler and repurpose them, as we have those before.”

“Alright. I will get the others started on the tests.”

Stepping out of earshot, Razel wondered if they were referring to him. This meant he would have to be expedient about whatever he did, as it was only a matter of time before the entire Monastery was sealed to locate the missing pilgrim. Glancing through the grating from the opposite side, he noted the other group of refugees leaving the supply chamber, stocked with the tools of their newfound trade. The view disappeared behind the wall as he entered an antechamber. An excavation was underway, and from the appearance and locations of the miners it looked as though the room would be large and rectangular when done. The room was bathed in a shifting light, wavering between blue and white. An arch at the far end poured most of the illumination into the chamber, with a pair of guards flanking the doorway. Just beyond, a large machine was barely visible. A sphere of energy pulsed brightly, contained within several spires that held it steady.

A different priest approached the pair, making its way past them and into the room beyond with no harassment. Razel increased his stride, subtly projecting his false sense of urgency. The guards maintained their composure, not wavering nor looking to him. He strode past them and into the room beyond, silently thanking his patron for his luck. The machine, although primitive compared to some, was clearly an Interplanar portal. He slowed to a walk, taking in the details as he could. The power source was not obvious, and probably contained elsewhere if the conduits were any indication. A series of doors were built into the wall to his right, hidden from the greater monastery. Turning to walk completely around the machine, Razel looped back to the doors and stepped into one randomly.

The laboratory could be nothing but. Tubes, Specimens, Experiments, Equations, countless signs of frenzied intellect were strewn about. A set of pilgrims were strapped to a project further in, their mouths bound shut. A large brain floated in a hollow pylon, suspended in a viscous fluid. Sparks erupted from emitters and a subject let out a dull moan.

The body strapped to the table was unconscious while a matter of artifice was bolted to its head, an antenna rotating endlessly as it wound a figure eight. Razel stepped up to it, running his claws across its flesh. The lack of response failed to surprise him. He stooped over to inspect the machine further, coming to the realization that the ‘antenna’ was actually a needle which projected through and out of the back of the device. The swirling inside the creature’s head made an uncomfortable amount of sense as he caught on to the nature of the subject. The continued disruption of integral parts of the self prevented a complete healing from taking place, locking the poor soul in unconsciousness.

Razel placed a hand on the mechanism, grasping it tightly. The chance at a distraction combined with the opportunity to assist a fellow Planeswalker was something he did not plan to miss. With a firm wrench, the device broke off of its mount and slid wetly out of the ‘walker.

The brain bubbled in its pylon, drawing Razel’s attention. He contemplated breaking the glass. The planeswalker’s eyes batted open, and he recoiled impulsively from the ‘Priest’ above him. Razel brought his attention back to the captive, smiling without giving thought to how it must look. He gathered his bearings, staring at the object clasped within Razel’s claws.

“Why…why have you woken me? What do you want from me now?”

Razel crushed the machine, rubbing debris from his hands and stepping on the needle, snapping it.

“I, personally, want nothing from you.”

Confusion bloomed on his face as he tried to make sense of his situation. Razel reached to his restraints, unclipping them and offering his hand to help the ‘walker up. His uncertainty threatened to take over his face.

“Why are you doing this?”

Razel withdrew his hand, standing tall and placing his hands behind his back to project an image of regality.

“My reasons are my own. Do not concern yourself with them. I want you to do precisely as I say. If you do, you will live.”

The ‘walker nodded, his vigor starting to return.

“I won’t refuse charity. What do you want me to do?”

Razel extended an arm, unambiguously indicating the antechamber prior.

“Exit through the portal chamber. Do not planeswalk until you are in front of the tower. Do you understand?”

The planeswalker vaulted to his feet, looking around the lab in disgust.

“Yeah. Well, whatever your power play is…”

He walked over to the doorway, turning back to finish his thought.

“…I hope it fails. Miserably.”

He took off at a sprint, rushing past the guards outside the main entry to the portal. The commotion rose in volume as the priests made chase, the screams drowning each other out. Razel strode to the doorway, waiting just behind it and ever so slightly out of view. As the security detail barged in, Razel stepped behind them unnoticed, slipping back into the portal room. A pair of the ceramic clerics ran across the chamber on the other side of the portal, leaving a far door ajar. Urgency spurred his steps as he crossed to the door, slipping in the crack and closing it behind him.

The ramp wound down into a pit, vats upon vats stored in the most compact way possible. Smells that defied description wafted through the cave. The workers within were all either blindfolded or visibly without sight, some with eyes sewn shut and some simply lacking the sockets. A few refugees toiled away while an Overseer wandered the floor, monitoring their efforts. The Monitor looked to Razel, cocking its head and trodding up the hill to meet him half way.

“Why are you here, Priest?”

Razel again stood straight.

“A Planar-walker has escaped. I am to inquire among the humans as to the circumstances.”

The Phyrexian expressed his equivalent of disbelief, dropping the issue and turning to lead the way down. Razel took the chance to prepare his sacrament, extending an arm and readying to strike. A faint tugging at his mind caused him to hesitate, hoping that it was just his fellow Planeswalker escaping.

“STOP THE IMITATION!”

Razel and the monitor spun around, facing the detachment at the doorway sent to seize the infiltrator. Seeing the icicle, the Monitor roared, swinging at the fraud. The Officers stormed down to trap him from both sides, cornering him against a bend in the path.

“You’ve nowhere to go, infiltrator. Surrender and we may allow your pieces to be sent to our Praetor.”

The ceramic melted from Razel, beading together and reforming his robe as his body rebuilt itself. Several of the officers stepped back, unsure of how to handle this. They exchanged confused looks, the Monitor showing several of them aside to get at the planeswalker.

“LET ME PREPARE HIS FLESH!”

“Not today.”

Seeing no other egress, Razel stepped into the eternities, immediately finding himself in a new room, dropped in a cell with the ‘walker from before. The rime mage frowned deeply, knowing this was not where he meant to go. The tugging prior surfaced in his memory, suggesting a reason he certainly didn’t like. The other ‘walker bounded over to him, taking him by the shoulders and ranting.

“Stop ‘walking! You’ll only end up back here! I tried several times, always the same. Just trust me on this.”

Razel kept frowning, ignoring the other prisoner.

“Are you even listening to me?”

His eyes scanned the room, noting the same style of power conduit coming out of the wall and attaching to a large array of plates, each cut to wicked angles and assembled with a sense for both function and aesthetic. The blades radiated a pale light, a similar glow emitted by the bars of their cell. The ethereal pull revealed that the machine was generating the planar well, offering Razel a clear target.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

Razel closed his eyes, visualizing the machine. The image lingered as he mentally familiarized himself with the device’s physical structure. His eyes snapped open, staring intently at the Well projector. The other ‘walker realized what he was doing, looking from Razel to the Well and back again.

“Is…Is that thing what’s doing it?”

Razel nodded gently, compressing his will on the machine. A loud slamming of a door preceded brisk footsteps, urging him to hurry. In an instant, the machine collapsed, the entirety of its existence compressed into the last second, condensing countless ages to utterly destroy the object. The glow faded from the bars, taking the tugging with it. His fellow ‘walker hollered with joy, shoving the door open and dashing up the stairs to confront his captor. Razel overheard a quick and efficient death, unsure of whom it had claimed. He sped over to the ruined machine, following the power source and resting a hand on the wall it attached to. The steps began to slow, drawing near the end of the stairwell. Not taking any chances, Razel ‘walked once more, not wanting to discover who among the Phyrexians knew of planar well technology. His shunting into the Portal room brought back his frown, which threatened to become a permanent feature. The seething mana contained in the portal drew him toward it, doubtlessly repurposed into an emergency well. It was a policy he was familiar with from his own days enforcing it. At the sound of approaching entities, he faced his captors with forced stoicism. His control fled as he saw the Vulshok leading the Phyrexian security, oil seeping from fissures which used to be igneous. Rokh stopped across from his former protégé, motioning for his minions to do the same.

“I’ve been looking for you.”