"Your resistance was almost admirable human," your escort began, "for one still plagued by flesh and sinew your dedication to your companions rivals those of our orthodoxy."

Though your body aches to the point where you can nearly stand you muster up what little strength you have left to spit at the twisted masses of metal where your captor's feet should be. Its strange, pyramid shaped head tilts slightly as if trying to interpret the gesture. Not for the first time you feel a slight twinge of frustration at enemies that don't understand your courageous shows of defiance.

The guard examines your spittle for a moment longer before dismissing it as irrelevant and continuing to jostle you down the macabre bloodstained halls of the annex. You pass horrors, a series of isolation cells filled with your mirran comrades. Some lie limply against the floors, staring straight ahead; others are being subjected to examination and varying stages of phyresis, cranks, drills and all manner of other sharp tools being prodded, forced and twisted into the soft supple flesh of the resistance; of all these horrors however, the one that stuck with you the most was the few mirrans who still held hope in their eyes as you passed. They would stare at you with their eyes, hoping that this was all some elaborate, death-defying plan to rescue them and obliterate the pyrexian scum that plagued your home.

A chamber was prepared for you of course. A stalwart phyrexian roughly grabs your arm, the former leonin thrusts you into your cell, closes the door and leaves you to your own devices. The cell is barren and featureless. You suppose phyrexians have no need for decorum so it stands to reason that their captives would be given none of it either.

You aren't sure how much time passes, the light is always the uniform dimness of the Orthodox and you haven't seen a meal yet. Your already battle bruised body becomes even weaker as your hunger only ever increases. You begin to black out to feverish dreams of metal blood and sweat.

It is during one of these restless dreams that you awake to pure blackness. For a moment you wonder if you have gone blind and try to raise your hand to your face. Your wrist meets with a cool leathery restraint and a quick check reveals that both your arms and your legs have been securely fastened. As unsettling as this new development is you feel a sense of relief, your eyes are probably just covered by a blindfold of some sort.

The relief is short lived however, as you suddenly feel dozens of fingers move across your body. As the cold, needle like digits dance across your chest and shoulders you realize that your armour had been removed. As the spidery fingers dash even lower you realize with a start that you are completely naked.  A hand closes delicately around your member and begins to gently crawl across it. You haven't been able to release any pent up sexual energy so it is not surprising that even in this horrifying situation your penis begins to grow as the slender hand gingerly pokes and prods with its sharp fingers. Though it doesn't actually affect your vision in any way, you close your eyes and imagine that the cold metallic fingers of the unseen phyrexian are the warm loving hands of Melira. Her pale breasts exposed as a nervous smile plays across the edges of her mouth.

Your feverish delusion continues as her sweat covered breasts swing up and down as her hand moves more and more quickly across your shaft. Melira's face moves closer to your now fully erect penis. She glances down, smiles mischievously at it and softly allows her breath to cascade across the head. The waves of pleasure create a ripple of ecstasy along your entire body and you let out a soft moan of grattitude.

At the sound of this a flurry of metallic clicks and taps assault your senses and shake the smiling vision from your mind, the numerous unseen hands quickly withdraw their exploring digits, leaving small scratches across your skin. The near-simultaneous stimulation, pain and lack of release couple with your exhaustion and you fade into a welcomed oblivion of unconsciousness.

---

You awake on your knees, staring ahead at a small staircase and the polished porcelain feet of a phyrexian atop them. A red, flowing shawl lies in front of you. Your eyes are drawn to the scarlet silk and travel upwards to see the creature that dons it. A slender feminine figure, forged from the same white porcelain as the countless other phyrexians you had slaughtered sits upon a pristine throne. Unlike their cracked and dirty carpaces, the being before you has kept its feminine body spotless. The porcelain skin is unblemished and unmarred. Your gaze follows the slender red cloth until it ends at the creature's waist. Her torso lacks a porcelain plating and her exposed veins and arteries create an almost lewd display. Her chest cavity and the empty spot where a heart would rest are covered by a simple breastplate and her red and raw face is half covered by an incredibly large and elaborate helm. You had heard stories of this thing before, the higher ups in the rebellion had spoken of the five praetors leading the charge of phyrexia and of the grand cernobite of the Machine Orthodoxy. You realize with an involuntary shudder that you are grovelling naked before Elesh Norn.

Despite your attempts to conceal your fear a faint smile plays across the lips of the fearsome praetor.
"Very good child" she says in a voice of cold ivory, "while it saddens me that you still possess the frailty to display humility, I am pleased that you have chosen to show it this day."

"You open your mouth, no doubt to utter a blasphemous defiling of the perfection I seek. This will not do. Your defiance and dedication would be noble were it not directed against us. For those who stand against the Orthodoxy there is no semblance of respect or admiration. Only the inevitable fall."

Your mouth hangs open in silence. The praetor's voice carries with it such a commanding aura and your body is so exhausted that you cannot even summon the energy to speak. Norn gazes at you and pauses for a moment before she continues.

"You have been strong fleshling. You have refused to disclose the plans or whereabouts of your co-conspirators and have demonstrated a tenacity and unity not usually reserved for those of the skin. In fact, you have already been tried by our grand inquisition and found worthy of blessed perfection. You shall not become an underling or exarch, rather you shall become a personal priest of my chapter. What do you say to this child?"

You shake your head as vehemently as your exhaustion will allow. Even this small action causes the blood to flood to your head and for dark spots to cloud the corner of your vision as you almost black out. Still, your message is clear. A momentary flash of distaste crosses the praetor's face but as it passes a smile forms across her gently oozing mouth.

"Defiant to the end I see. Curious, I wonder how far this dedication of yours will stretch?"

She begins to rise from her throne and descends haughtily down the small steps to where you are restrained before her.

"I imagine you hold on to many misconceptions about us child." she says softly "We are not, as you may imagine, here to slaughter you. We are here to liberate you of the prison of flesh that you inhabit. Our goal is only to unite all into the blessed perfection of Phyrexia. Until all are one we must continue."

Her footsteps echo across the hall as her words seem to linger in your mind

"Just think, why did you lose your little war? It certainly was not the weakness of your spirit or your mind, no child, it was the fragility of your body. Of your flesh. We offer you the opportunity to be welcomed into a form that knows no exhaustion, knows no fear and knows no hunger. And you do know such hunger now don't you?"

Elesh Norn stops just in front of you, a slender arm reaches downward toward your cheek. The quiet sound of blood dripping from between the gaps in her plating matches the pounding blast your heart beats into your temples. Her voice drops to a hiss and then to a whisper.

"A hunger for nourishment of course. But also a hunger for victory, a hunger for power, a hunger for dominance."

You shake your head, trying to block her icy voice from your thoughts.

"Your ambition would not be shunned by Phyrexia. Least of all by me. I enjoy those with drive. Those with motivation. In fact, let me show you exactly the type of dominance you would have were you to fall."

At this she draws her hand away from your cheeks. You feel the faint traces of her crimson handprint upon your flesh.

Wordlessly she signals to one of her underlings. It retreats down a corridor and returns shortly holding another figure by the hand. This new creature is as shapely as the praetor and just as feminine. Tattered wings flow elegantly from between its shoulder blades. Beneath the porcelain plating, her sinew and bone are both visible and pulse with a faint red tint. Her eyes maintain a vacant look within them and her dainty footsteps follow only where the underling leads her.

"We managed to obtain one of your angels" Norn begins, "I have been made to understand that in your world these meagre beings were beacons of hope and authority. This one was a particularly fearsome warrior, damaging many of our legionnaires before at last she was brought into our haven. However, for all her power once she saw the true majesty of Phyrexia she fell to her knees and begged us not to eliminate her. I am a generous cernobite and thus I yielded to her request on one small condition. We released her back to her sisters and mere hours later she had returned to us with their lifeless bodies in hand."

The porcelain praetor gently takes the hand of the angel from her underling and lays it upon your forehead.

"Of course as an angel, no matter how powerful to your people, to us she was still simply incompleat. We improved upon her and now this angel, this paragon of power is nothing more or less than my faithful chancellor. Your kind cannot imagine what it is like to have dominion over such power. She will bend to my will without a second thought, she would blindly give up both her body and her life for me... and for you too if you were to join our Orthodoxy. Come, let me show you what it would be like."

She clicks her fingers and the chancellor helps you to your feet. Her slender arms caress your chest and her face leans uncomfortably close to yours.

"All it would take is a single little fall" Elesh Norn says quietly. She licks her lips as her chancellor brings its soulless lips to yours and kisses you,

"And fall you will..."

Despite the near featureless face of the chancellor, it seems that some shreds of the fiery passion of her former self linger deep inside her. Her tongue mingles with yours and dribbles a small trail of saliva down your mouth as she pulls her head back. With purposefully subdued movements she slowly places her tongue on your neck and as her hands begin to explore your chest and nipples she begins to lick your cheek and neck with a delicacy that only an angel could know.

When she has had enough of your face she drapes her arms around your neck and allows herself to collapse into your form. As her kisses form a trail down from your sternum you are exposed to her once majestic wings. The bony structures still hold onto a handful of tattered feathers while the back of her upper body has been flayed red and raw, with only small pieces of porcelain plate to obstruct the view of her insides. Despite this horrific display the chancellor still manages to maintain a strangely voluptuous allure. Her slender figure flows into exquisite curves and ends in the delicious hips of the angels you had so long lusted over before the war had consumed your every waking moment.

The memory of the angels you used to privately covet elicits a response from your lower regions. As your member rears up, it brushes against the cool metal plating of your fallen suitor. Though she pays it no explicit attention she brings one of her legs between yours and her hands began to cascade down your back to your inner thigh.

Elesh Norn watches from her throne, a knowing smile stretched across the tendons of her face. As her chancellor began to slowly move her hands up your inner thigh and toward your gently twitching rod the praetor's smile broadens and you see a pair of small white fangs peak out from beneath her upper lip.

Your thoughts are immediately drawn back to the former angel as she wraps her flawless lips around your penis. Her tongue slides down your shaft as she pushes her head down your penis, the sensation is almost overpowering. As she slowly draws her head back her skeletal wings gently trace lines down your spine, the movements of her wings synchronize with the rhythm of her head bobbing up and down along your cock. As she speeds up the skeletal pieces of porcelain dig into your skin like the arms of a lover. The ecstasy proves too much for your bruised body and a shockwave of pleasure rockets down your body, the lips of your personal angel begin to remove themselves from your shaft and gently ease off the head of your penis. She looks up at you with her cold smooth face and you swear you see an impossible smile upon her porcelain features. Her empty brown eyes reflect a tenderness and caring you have never seen in either the words or actions of the countless foot soldiers you so readily slaughtered. The fallen seraphim glances down at your now throbbing cock and inches forward just far enough to plant a light and loving kiss upon the very tip of your penis and something inside of you simply snaps.

Your cock spasms violently and your head goes blank. As if possessed you lunge forward and throw your arms around the angel's torso. The strength of your embrace knocks you both to the ground but you don't notice. You madly plant kisses all across the cold breasts of what was once a proud and noble angel of Mirrodin, your cracked and dried out lips leave small red marks on the otherwise spotless body. As you entwine your arms between her legs your fingers explore her taint. Her once divine snatch is covered only by a small piece of porcelain and your eager fingers quickly find the slit into your heavenly partner. At this stimulation the former angel twitches and spasms in a strange inhuman way, as if the responses for such physical stimulation have been forgotten but not erased from what was once the noble and reserved mind of the purest of all the Mirrans.

You feel a cold spidery hand upon your back. At some point previously Elesh Norn must have left her ivory throne for now she is directly behind you, as you and her chancellor writhe beneath her she speaks softly into your ear.

"Your old world would not have allowed this. To deface so pure a creature as this so called 'angel'. She would never allow herself to be displayed so lewdly before you and bend to your will so easily. Even now you seem to reluctant to enact your true desires out of some sort of organic stigma. Such weakness and humility does not become our Orthodoxy. Let your hunger out and take from this creature all that you hunger for."

At the sound of her voice you realize that her words ring true. Why should you respect what was once so beautiful but is now simply another phyrexian? You remove your now bloodstained fingers from your angel and insert your swollen cock. Despite the cool metal coverings the inside of the angel is warm and moist. As the two porcelain plates close around your shaft an overwhelming sense of ecstasy courses through your rod and you need to steady yourself or risk ejaculating all over her right then and there.

You begin to pump your hips, your pelvis thrusting relentlessly into hers all the while listening to the praetor's words as she stands above you.

"She feels no pain and you house no sympathy to her. She is perfect and soon you shall be as well."

Even as you ravage the angel her hips begin to move in time with your own thrusts. As her body rocks and twitches she reaches up a cracked porcelain arm to your head and brings your lips to hers. The two of you embrace like lovers and your mouths try to swallow each other to the rhythm of your thrusts and jabs.

"She is beneath you. She does not deserve your mercy. She exists only that you may reach perfection. Listen to me now."

The angel's cunt oozes a strange red mixture of blood, oil and other fluids you cannot identify. While normally you would be disgusted by this sight, now, entering her so feverently and so forcefully you see it as nothing less than beautiful. To have such power over what was once so noble a creature. The feeling of domination combines with the ecstasy of the sex and a pleasure like nothing you've ever felt before courses through you.

"Already you begin to reach perfection. The flesh that would act as a barrier is being overthrown. The two of you have joined to become as one. Now accept the rest of our Orthodoxy into you. Let us penetrate your being that we may spread our glory with you."

Norn's words mingle with your sweat and the faintly sweet smell of the angel's sex; with your pleasure, your pain and your lust; finally you can take it no longer and surrender your will to the words of the praetor, allowing them to bore into your mind and penetrate your very soul, all the while thrusting as hard and fast as you can into the beautifully broken angel that lies before you.

"This has gone on long enough," Norn begins, her mouth inching closer and closer to your neck, "there is much work to be done if we are to spread Phyrexia's majesty to the rest of this world. You must finish here with this now."

Eager to appease her you find yourself endowed with renewed vigor and pump away even harder than before. The obscene wet sounds that emerge from your twisted union of flesh and blood and metal and sinew is something the likes of which Mirrodin could never have witnessed without the glory of Phyrexia to aid it.

"Perhaps you require additional motivation." Norn muses to herself, and just like that, she plants a kiss upon the nape of your neck, her sharp teeth digging softly into your skin. As the praetor draws back and licks your blood from her lips the last vestiges of restraint snap and semen bursts from your cock. You shudder involuntarily as burst upon burst of your seed erupt from your penis into the once sacred body before you. After you have allowed a significant amount to ooze into your angel you pull out and run your hands down your shaft, splattering the rest of your semen onto the face, breasts and stomach of the chancellor. She slowly begins to rise, her mechanical legs shaking slightly and allows your seed to drip down her face, as she stands before you she makes no effort to remove any of the ejaculate from her voluptuous form. Your semen rests upon her figure marking her now and forever as yours.