Jace vs. Ob Nixilis

I laughed at the elf's confused expression, her reality unraveling before her. I couldn't help it. It was funny. Something about the eyes.

"Oh, little elf. Would you like to hear something amusing? If you had simply let me finish my work, I would have regained my spark and left your world. I didn't choose you as an enemy, but now I feel obliged to be the enemy you deserve. Kozilek's distortion will allow you to experience the last hours of Zendikar drawn out over the space of a thousand years. Suffering as I did. Normally I don't care for these kinds of theatrics, but you've earned yourself an exception."

Kozilek's spawn encircled the Joraga, slicing space in such a way that no leyline could reach her, like spiders weaving a web of broken reality. She was cut off from Zendikar. Powerless.

My mind strained to direct the spawn. It was possible, but I knew I was walking the blade's edge. Especially with the titan this close, I risked madness or worse. But as long as I didn't command them to do anything the titan directly opposed, I didn't think it would mind that I was borrowing a few spawn to take care of an insect that was meddling with its work. I leapt back into the sky to survey the rest of the field. It had become a rout. Glorious.

Now it was time to leave this place and never return.

After I had ensured that no survivors escaped Sea Gate, of course, I would leave this place and never return.

Actually, that wasn't important right now. I should just leave this place and never return.

Interesting. Someone was in my head. Unacceptable. Telepaths are the absolute worst. I've had far too much experience with people trying to put things in my head that don't belong there.

I had a vague directional sense pointing me toward the intruder, hidden among the fleeing soldiers below. I hurtled to the ground like a comet and blasted away the Zendikari on impact with the muddy, brine-soaked ground. A blue-robed boy stood tall, unhurt but startled; he reflexively split into dozens of mirror images. Not a bad trick.

I whispered a word: the truest name for pain that I had ever learned. In a crackling sphere around me, agony reigned. I felt it as much as he, but I was less of a stranger to pain than this boy. All of the images doubled over, but only one of them actually felt it. It was trivial to pick out the genuine article. I smirked as I lunged for him but shuddered as he met my gaze.

Those eyes hit me like a lance. Discarding subtlety, he assaulted my senses as hard as he could, but that just meant my fist broke his cheekbone instead of taking his head off as I'd intended. He spun to the ground, crumpling into a heap of mud-splattered robes. I stepped forward to snap his neck and be done with it.

Something gripped my wing from behind and tossed me back away from him, shredding the wing in the process. I landed painfully and looked up to see my foe. Though he could have followed up with a second blow before I saw it coming, he had waited. Tall, thick, square-jawed, and determined. A good-looking fellow by most standards. I chuckled as I sized him up. He was willing to strike me from behind to save his friend but wasn't willing to win a fight that way. I liked him immediately. A hero.

I inclined my head to him slightly. "Ob Nixilis. A pleasure. Now, I would ask you to kindly step aside and walk home. You have the look of a general about you, so you must know this war is lost. Was the defense here your doing? Very impressive. I'd love a rematch some time. You pick the world and the terms. But for now..."

He interrupted me with a slash from his metal...quadruple...whip thing. Was he actually wielding a sural? Hadn't seen one of those in centuries, and never on Zendikar. Sural specialists tended to be extremely skilled, or entertainingly short-lived. I sidestepped the attack, annoyed.

"These people are under my protection, demon. Stand down, or I will take you down." He really sounded like he meant it, too.

"Disappointing. Back in my day, if you'll pardon the expression, there was a certain civility to all this. But I guess Planeswalkers aren't what they used to be. For one, they die a lot easier." I raised my palm and let loose a sustained torrent of pure enervation.

And this fellow just stood there with a vexing smirk on his face and a golden glow surrounding his body. Invulnerability! This was shaping up to be more interesting than I had expected.

"Not that easy," he quipped, and he charged, slashing at me in wide arcs. He charged hard but didn't overcommit on distance—he had a reach advantage, and he wasn't giving me an opening to close to a grapple. I kept him at bay with more blasts of energy; most he evaded, but a few struck home. Each time he managed to brace himself with that golden glow of his. Tactical consideration: his protection required him to focus. He had a fluid expertise with it, though. He was flawlessly weaving the shield into his series of attacks, giving me no real openings. More than once, I caught slashes on my forearms, but the wounds were superficial and healed rapidly. He kept me in a defensive posture, and he didn't bite on any of my feints. We fought back to a neutral position; he had managed to maneuver himself between me and the telepath again.

"You fight well, but you can't hurt me, and I won't let you harm any more of these people. I fight for Zendikar, demon." There was plenty of determination in his voice, but I could see the beginnings of doubt edging its way around his face. That's how it always begins.

"Nixilis." I corrected. "And you mean...these people?" I casually flicked a beam of energy into a huddle of stragglers and wounded. Six dead. He flinched as if to press the attack again, but he wouldn't leave his position defending the telepath. "Or do you mean him? Oh, my friend. The telepath has gotten to you, hasn't he? This is why you always kill the telepaths first. How sure are you that you're protecting him of your own free will? How sure are you that he hasn't done a little work in that head of yours?"

His eyes flicked off to the side—back to the telepath—just for a moment. That brief instant was all it took for doubt to open the crack a little wider. And in that tiny moment in time, I was charging forward, and for that tiny fraction of a second, his weight was on his back foot.

There are moments like this in battle, where time stands still. Where the joy of combat overwhelms the senses and the passage of time. He lashed out at me as he dropped into a wrestler's stance, but the strike was high and wide. When our eyes met, I could see that look of joy in his face as well. He loved the fight just as much as I did. Good. I wouldn't have it any other way.

He dropped low to meet my charge, but I was ready for it; he tried to sweep my leg, but, with a single beat of my undamaged wing, I vaulted over him and slashed at him with a clawed hand. His shield deflected the blow, but the impact pushed him a foot farther from me than he wanted to be, and he closed with an explosive charge. I had time to brace for it and settle into a low stance. I had the superior weight and strength, but he was quicker, with a lower center of gravity. I didn't know his exact fighting style, but I was familiar enough with the general type to anticipate what was coming next.

I gave him a target and he took it. He locked his legs against my knee and started to press—a perfectly executed takedown and joint lock. I was heavier than he was, but he'd still be able to break the knee in just a few seconds.

I used those seconds to get control of his right arm, locking it back behind my neck as we grappled close. We splashed in the mud, blood, brine, ichor, and worse, struggling for control—and he was the better wrestler. The knee cracked and a sickening jolt pulsed through my body. The problem for him, however, was that he was expecting that to be the end of the fight, while, in fact, having my knee broken was merely the third worst sensation I had experienced in the last hour.

I used my one good leg and my superior weight to pin him. He gritted his teeth, face splattered with the same mud that covered me, that covered all of us, that covered this miserable, doomed world. He channeled his focus to keep his shoulder from breaking. But I had him. I had him and he knew it.

"You fight for Zendikar? For this broken dung-heap of a world? Well, see how it rewards you!" I pressed his face down hard into the muddy water. He thrashed and flailed, he sputtered and coughed, struggling to get purchase. I could feel the despair and fear as his hands slipped in the mud.

As he batted uselessly at me.

As he started to drown.

Invulnerability proved no match for three inches of dirty water.

"This is Zendikar! The suffering and the waste and the filth! This is Zendikar!" He convulsed once more, and his body went limp.

I held him there for a second more before I released my grip and flipped him onto his back with a splash.

"This is Zendikar," I whispered. "And your fight is over."