Chapter Text
This was originally written in 2017 to resemble an MtG story article and as such included card art which I did not copy over and might be lower quality than later chapters.
The chaotic clanking of knocked over bottles and scattered equipment filled the room as Heinrich frantically searched for his tools with shaking, withered hands. The specimen he’d been delivered only two days ago was almost ready, and the excitement at the prospect of finishing it drove his old bones into a frenzy. Cool leather met his fingertips as he finally uncovered the arcane implements of his craft, draping the bindings open on the operating table as he turned to rummage further. This time it was different, this time he didn’t know what he was looking for. The last batch of limbs hadn’t been good enough, hadn’t been right. It needed to be perfect for his masterpiece. Everything had to match. Had to fit.
Thuds and wet squelches soon echoed from the walls as limbs were discarded onto the stone floor. “Won’t do... Won’t do at all.” He muttered, rasping voice jittering as his body betrayed the symptoms of several sleepless nights. “Too large...” He grunted, tossing a leg over his shoulder. “Decayed..” Another part discarded. He picked up the next one and paused. “Fresh... Female. Athletic build...” His voice barely a whisper as he admired the exquisitely preserved leg. “Can’t be more than a week old...” A grin spread slowly across his wizened features, revealing a crooked set of yellowed teeth.
“It’s perfect!” The doctor declared, excitement erasing his fatigue that was so evident only moments prior. He slowly, carefully placed it next to its new owner with a look not unlike a doting father before turning back to the metal cart. “You outdid yourself this time! With so many corpses around I was worried you wouldn’t be able to tell the old from the new but...” Heinrich trailed off, watching as the figure behind him placed the last of the discarded limbs back into the container before staring blankly at him.
Its empty eyes burned into his, the reanimated corpse standing near motionless without something to do. The face was the most intact part, the rest of the head borrowing flesh from other parts. Though the rest was covered by leather and cloth, even most of that was as mismatched as the body parts composing the zombie. Intact clothing was almost harder to come by than body parts in the far reaches of Nephalia, especially in recent times.
“Right.” The old man coughed, waving the skaab off and shaking his head. He had to stop doing that, it wasn’t a person. Not anymore. Even so, she’d always been a good worker when alive too. Was there much harm in complementing a job well done? He watched the corpse wheel the creaking cart from the room as the heavy door slid shut behind it. Regardless, it probably wasn’t healthy to do so. He had much greater concerns than the feelings of a reanimated corpse right now.
Sliding a small leather band over the ankle of the new limb, he slowly got to work. He pulled a small pen-like metal object out of his toolkit, the enchanted metal glowing softly as it reacted to his touch. Carefully and painstakingly his hand moved. With the barest amount of pressure the pointed tip slowly carved intricate and glowing patterns along the leather. Even running on so little sleep, Heinrich’s skill at this task didn’t waver. Each rune he inscribed glowed the perfect amount; none of them touched and all of them were perfectly formed. Barely exhaling to keep his old hands steady, the tool inscribed the last symbol into the soft leather.
Even after all these years of honing his craft, it wasn’t easy work. If each rune wasn’t exact, if it didn’t match the others engraved on similar bands and copper plates elsewhere on the body, then all his work would mean nothing. The skaab wouldn’t rise. Worse yet, if the energy didn’t flow properly when he threw the switch then parts of the body could become irreparably damaged and even immolate. Which was why after he was done he spun the band over and over, checking each and every rune closely with as much magnification as he had at hand.
Finally content that the work was done correctly, he started on the far less exact task of attaching the limb to the prepared stump just below the subject’s knee. The skin was almost a match, but he’d be covering up the join anyway. It all had to be exact. Perfect. Every stitch he wove to get it into place. The thread was some of his dwindling supply of angel hair, the perfect binding for a perfect masterpiece. That grandstanding Geralf had his abomination, the inelegant and gargantuan monstrosity constructed in the late Griselbrand’s image. He’d show him. Size and limbs didn’t matter, only perfection.
Heinrich’s mouth once more twitched into a smile as he stepped back. His work finally complete. Tired eyes scanned over the form laid out before him. The large frame, heavy armour, fine robes, feathered wings and scarlet hair tangled with pinkish taint. All of it was perfect. No one had accomplished such a feat before; angels rarely fell in such immaculate condition, and those that did were often carried safely away by their kin or the faithful to be disposed of wastefully. Anyone fortunate enough to come into possession of such sacred finds usually kept it to themselves or bartered with more ‘well-known’ skaberen. Heinrich was certain that would change after this.
Slowly, he ran his fingers over her exposed skin. The alien taint didn’t bother him, that was what most angels looked like these days. What mattered was that she looked perfect, that his runecrafting was perfectly done. Nothing else mattered. The man couldn’t help but giggle to himself in glee as he staggered backwards, his gaze shifting from the still corpse of the divine being to the thrumming engine above him. He had more than enough power for this, the stored energy of several storms and more than a couple of geists stirred inside the metal prison as he reached for the switch.
A loud, resounding thud echoed through the stone building. Heinrich stood motionless, one hand still on the switch as his eyes darted towards the door. That sounded like the front doors. More precisely, it sounded like the demise of his front doors. Inquisitors? No, the hatchet squads of Elgaud were no longer a threat since the fall of Avacyn. A rival? Surely not, his home was well protected by his less perfect creations. So why was he sweating so hard? His eyes moved from the door to the angel’s corpse. If he threw the switch he’d give away where he was to any invader, but if the skaab sprung to life it could protect him.
The sounds of muffled fighting grew closer as he debated the decision. He heard no shouts, just metal meeting stone and dull thudding as heavy, fleshy objects hit the floor. Either he was being invaded by a large but non-vocal force that was doing poorly, or his creations were being slaughtered by the moment. He barely had time to process what he was hearing before the noises got even closer, the door to his workshop slamming open as the still burning form of his risen assistant shambled through and collapsed.
Heinrich felt his blood run cold, the old man paralysed by fear and shock as his eyes widened. The form stepping through over the charred corpse of what resembled a deformed hound was eerily familiar. A large figure, clad in heavy armour over fine robes, scarlet hair and feathered wings of pure white. The angel’s eyes were focused and blazing, her intent clear as she advanced. One hand clutched a golden blade bearing the symbol of her fallen deity. The other was clad in a heavy gauntlet, the fingers coming to pointed tips as embers flickered around them.
He recognised the signs. Goldnight angels were well known around these parts due to the proximity to their home, but since the madness gripped them they’d left him alone. Too preoccupied infighting and butchering villages to worry about lone eccentrics like Heinrich. He panicked as she crossed the threshold and silenced the struggling of his still smoking assistant with one fall of her heavy boot. He blinked for the first time in an entire minute, his sleep-starved brain running on pure adrenaline as he tugged the switch downward.
The effect was immediate, the screaming whir of the engine suspended above them almost deafening as arcs of energy surged down well-insulated cables and into his masterpiece. The intruding angel stopped, her attention diverted to the table. Heinrich took this chance to stagger back away from her until he was pressed against the far cabinet. He couldn’t resist watching the process as self-preservation was overwritten by the overwhelming desire to see his creation finally be realized.
The corpse began to twitch, every muscle in the body contracting and relaxing rapidly as electricity surged through its form. The wings beat against the table, the attached leg kicked and hands grasped at nothing. Then the entire torso arched, the form rising off the table several inches as if it were about to sit up. Heinrich held his breath, eyes wide with fascination as he witnessed a lifetime of work and ambition come to fruition.
There was a metallic thud as metal breastplate slammed back into the stone table, the form twitching several more times before movement ceased. The entire room still but for the rising smoke from where the wires connected to the corpse. Heinrich exhaled, his breath catching in his throat. Why hadn’t it worked? Everything was perfect, he’d done this so many times before with man and beast alike! It was his masterpiece, he’d worked his whole life to achieve something. Anything! Had it all been for nothing? Surely there was something he could do? The corpse was intact, he could try again! Maybe it was the leg? More power? Perhaps...
The sound of heavy footfalls against the stone floor reminded him of his guest, the very much alive angel stepping closer. “The vileness of your acts cannot be expressed in words,” she hissed, the beauty of her angelic voice mired in hatred. Her gaze was terrifying in its intensity as she closed the distance with measured, deliberate steps, her gauntleted hand distorting the air around it with the lingering heat of her pyromancy. This couldn’t be happening, not now. He was so close!
“You can’t!” He blurted out, stumbling sideways along the counter as his hands fumbled for something. Anything to protect himself. The aged man earned naught but cuts to decorate his wrinkled hands as they passed over shards of glass created by his frenzied searching earlier. The angel stopped mere feet from him, her face contorting into a confused glare. Her head tilted to one side slightly.
“Can’t?” She echoed him, her eyes narrowing. “Your crimes against the people of Innistrad are many, I do not need to know you to see that.” The angel stated bluntly, sword raised in accusation. “Your misshapen abominations tell me all that I need to know.” Her head turned to the table and then slowly back to him. “But your crimes against my kin are graver still. You defiled the corpse of an angel with whatever foul practices you employ, and used the spirits of the noble dead to try and reanimate her!” She was shouting now, her blade flickering with flames as if mirroring its owner’s mood.
Heinrich didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t fight. He couldn’t fight a strong farmer armed with tools, never mind an angel. His gaze was locked on the blade, the glowing metal burning his eyes as he trembled in place. The old man swallowed hard, hands raising on instinct even as his pants grew warm with his body’s admission of his fear. This wasn’t fair! This flight was supposed to be gone, extinct! No one should have bothered him! “Y-You can’t! I-I still ha-”
He didn’t get to finish his plea before she was upon him, her gauntlet-clad hand closed around his throat and lifted the struggling man from his feet. “You don’t decide what I can’t do!” The angel shouted back, her blade pointing to the table as she stared him down. “You did this! You defiled her and you will pay for your crimes.” Heinrich choked, hands extending out and grasping at the air as he struggled for his life. None of this was right. He was supposed to become a legend tonight, not die. No one would know his work. They’d never see what he was capable of! “By the right of my flight I judge you guilty of necromancy, heresy and geist-harvesting.”
Heinrich’s eyes began to bulge in their sockets as his brain struggled for oxygen, the old man gargling pointlessly as he became aware of the searing pain in his neck. He could see the air before him distorting with heat, the angel’s gauntlet cooking the flesh of his throat as her grip slowly tightened. His legs kicked beneath him, hands grasping at her arm only to recoil as they pressed against the scorching metal. He couldn’t die like this. Not now! He was so close! So close to perfection, to achieving everything he and Annabelle had dreamed of! He couldn’t see the corpse of his assistant anymore, his vision fading as his body began to fail. One final gargled whimper escaping his chapped lips before the angel’s hand closed fully and decisively.
The smoldering corpse of the stitcher dropped to the ground with a thud as Serena released her grip. The tall angel stared down at the man’s body as flames began to swarm over his dry clothing. She stood there for several moments watching the flickering embers spread and consume every part of his body. She shook her head, sliding her blade back into its place at her hip as she walked away. Her temper had gotten the better of her again, she should have killed him quickly and been done with it.
The angel slowly marched over to the table, her footsteps the only sounds besides the quiet crackling of fire. Serena sighed as she looked down at the corpse upon it. Her hands gently tugged the cables free, severed the rune-marked bands and then glided over the other angel’s wings to straighten out the feathers. There was a beauty to her even now. The stitcher hadn’t attempted to alter her form much. Serena swallowed quietly as she inspected the alien growths, the tangle of pink where her hair seemed to sink into her shoulders and wings.
She carefully pushed aside the lattice and sinew until she felt her gauntlet meet metal. A soft smile crept across her lips as she pulled her find free. A small, golden holy symbol that matched her own. It was distorted, of course, they all were now. Serena felt a pang of sadness shoot through her body at that thought, then shook her head. This wouldn’t do. Holding the symbol in her bare hand she heated her gauntlet and gently, carefully, began easing the metal back into shape. The process took several minutes but eventually her labour was rewarded with a symbol of Avacyn near identical to her own.
Serena allowed herself a moment to appreciate the beauty of the golden metal as it glimmered in the dim light before placing it to the side and turning her attention back to her fallen sister. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” she whispered quietly, her hands moving slowly as she straightened out robes and adjusted the positioning of the corpse’s tabard. “There wasn’t anything I could do to prevent your death,” the angel continued, her smile faltering slightly as she carefully parted the tangled red hair. “But I promise that I won’t allow any of you to suffer in death, not if I can do anything about it,” Serena’s smile returned even as a tear ran down her face.
Finally she reached for the symbol again, holding it up to the light once more before reaching down and running her hand over the face of the other angel. She knew her face, at least she thought she did. The taint hadn’t affected it much. Gently she placed the symbol down on her sister’s chest and slowly pulled up one of the corpse’s arms and draped it so that the hand touched the golden metal. Serena did the same with the other and then took a step back, admiring the work she’d done. The fallen angel was the picture of serenity, clutching the Avacynian symbol in both hands as if calmly asleep.
Several more tears rolled down Serena’s cheeks as she observed silently for several moments, a simple smile still worn on her face. “I’ll make things better if I can. I know you would have wanted that, before...” She stopped herself, shaking her head. Her hand caressed the matted hair one last time before she raised her arms. Golden flames erupted around the Goldnight angel, consuming bookcases and cupboards alike as they filled the room. Her smile faltered again as she turned away, the flames parting for her as she walked. Serena stopped in the doorway, turning her head. “Sleep well, sister,” she said quietly, crossing the threshold and past the smoking corpses of the skaabs she’d slain. The flames surged in her absence, eager to consume the building and all the bodies within.