Jump 092: Magic: The Gathering - New Phyrexia

Jump 092: Magic: The Gathering - New Phyrexia

Location: The Mephidross
Age: 18
Identity: Drop-In
Drawbacks: [+600] A Watchful Eye, Opposing Forces

[100/1600]  A Singularity Of Flesh And Purpose
[300/1600]  Grace And False Frailty
[700/1600]  A Faith Of Flesh And Steel
[1100/1600] And From Scrap, Perfection
[Free]      Will To Survive
[1400/1600] Purity
[1400/1900] Item Stipend (+300)
[1500/1900] Darksteel Ingot
[1900/1900] The Fist of Suns

"Oh, no, no, no. HELL no. I am NOT having this."

New Phyrexia is... well, it's not quite as bleak as you'd imagine. Yes, any resistance against New Phyrexia's conquest of Mirrodin has been crushed, but they haven't been completely eliminated. Still, it's a remarkably grim situation and their extinction is all but inevitable.

Or at least it was, until someone decided that this was the next place that I should go on my journey, and the most notable thing I gained from having a sudden connection to this plane was an immunity to the corruption of the Glistening Oil, and coupled with what I gained in Kamigawa the ability to bestow it on others such that they could likewise do the same to a limited quantity of individuals.

This, of course, gained the attention of all of New Phyrexia, because destroying the resistance at their leisure becomes more complicated when they can't be Compleated, and when those are are already corrupted find themselves clean of any of said corruption. And while the Progress Engine faction redoubled its efforts to speed the conversion of the plane, the only thing that a sane person of appreciable power could do in my position was to fight back.

And not pull any punches.

The end result? Truly mass cloning of myself before I marched forward across the entire plane as one, all of them drawing on the mana as the legions of myself marched toward their citadels, toward their factories, toward their strongholds. Nothing left in my wake but choked dust and rusted wastelands, conjuring weaponry with the First Magic, spitting endless waves of superheated plasma to reduce everything ahead of us to atoms, lashing out with fiendfyre to destroy that which resisted mundane damage. Carving my way to the core and to the furnaces, erasing everything from existence that wasn't darksteel, for even fiendfyre has its limits. Using divination to locate and eradicate every last drop of glistening oil, every remaining Phyrexian.

The Phyrexians had united to stand against me, and fell as one. The plane of Mirrodin was left as little more than a wasteland in my wake. The mercurial seas were drained to nothing, the mycosynth annihilated, the tangle and razor fields flattened. When all was said and done, all that was left were the five suns and their resting places, cleansed of corruption.

Oh, and the surviving resistance.

They were of mixed emotions, with everything that happened, but the whole of the plane wasn't destroyed at the least. On the other hand... while I did not have a Planeswalker spark per se, I do have other methods of getting from world to world. Opening portals to other planes and letting people evacuate the ruins of Mirrodin en masse was a fine solution; I just spent the rest of my time here draining every erg of mana that I could, short of the five suns themselves.

And converting it into gold, because alchemy, and then stowing said gold in the Gate of Babylon.

I'm pretty sure a potential deluge of mana will be handy somewhere down the line...