Heart of the Gemini

Epitome

Teysa’s arm broke free of Sorin’s teleport before her body did, her hand barely landing on Gideon’s arm in time to stop the White warrior from launching a bolt of mana at the nearest angel.
“They’re ours!” she cried out as she regained her voice.
“About time we had some re-enforcements!” he yelled back, turning back to face the Alliance of Light. The mana-shield had completely fallen now, and the mages that had been maintaining it were either lying dead or unconscious on the battlements, or throwing mana-bolts into the ranks of the armada. Those that were still fighting cheered as the angels flew overhead. From below came a crash as metal and stone collapsed and the great portcullis was torn from its bearings. The outer wall had been breached.
It was known that Gideon was to lead the Orzhov soldiers personally, and now he appearing in a blaze of light at the head of the column. As the two armies collided, it was all he could do to push the faces of his former field-mates in the Boros Legion from his eyes. Meanwhile, Razia screamed in fury as the two angelic forces met in the air.

“Well, well, this is a fine mess…”
It was all Sorin could do to stop himself running his dagger through the torso of the man standing behind him. But then, he had tried stabbing necromancers before, and it rarely worked. Jarad looked approvingly over the sea of red, blue, green, and above all white banners, and slowly raised his hands. The sound of his clapping just made Sorin want to stab him all the more.
“It’s about time,” he hissed.
“I wanted to see the best the Orzhov had to offer before we… interfered.”
At a glance, Sorin guessed the Church’s mortal army was outnumbered five-to-one, and at least 2 of the Desperation Angels had already been reduced to ash by Razia’s clones. They needed help, and soon.
“We’ll you’ve had your show... now it’s time to deliver.” As he spoke, Sorin promised himself that if Jarad didn’t do something useful soon, he would personally deliver a dozen of Lyzolda’s explosive capsules to every part of the Golgari labyrinth.
“Oh don’t worry, Markov. I’ve brought something extra special for you. It just took a little longer than we planned. They don’t move very fast, you know…”
“What don’t?” Sorin asked. Jarad’s grin was diabolical.
“Zombies.”

Sorin couldn’t believe his eyes. Not that his comprehension hadn’t already been pushed to breaking point by all that had happened so far: now, on top of everything else, he was watching a horde of Golgari zombies shuffle across the western courtyards to meet the flank of the Alliance’s armada.
“You’re mad, Jarad.” The necromancer-elf had not stopped smiling.
“Quite so, Markov, but in a very special way.”
The undead creatures were not exactly human, even if they had once been so. The majority were several creatures, torn apart and reassembled in useful or simply amusing ways, then reanimated with Golgari magic. One thing was for certain: what they lacked in speed, they would make up for in resistance. The undead famously do not feel pain, do not feel fear, and do not stop fighting after the loss of a limb… or three.
When the shuffling force arrived, the Legionnaires responded with sword and spear. With a raw hatred of everything unholy or blasphemous, they tore at the Golgari horde. But for every wound, every slash, every severed body part, the undead warriors fought back, unflinching, unfeeling, tearing aside armour and flesh with claws and teeth. It wasn’t until the Legion Commanders saw what was happening that the tables began to turn.
The Boros Legion was not without an answer for undead opponents. It was simple, and effective: it was fire. The spell-wrights of the Red-White guild were alarmingly effective at producing waves of fire, the likes of which Chandra Naala herself would have of been proud.
“You’ve brought kindling for them to light their siege weapons!” Sorin roared. “Your zombies will be annihilated!”
“That’s the idea!” Jarad cackled back.
Before Sorin could respond, the battlement was rocked by an enormous explosion.
“What in hellfire was that?!”
Jarad was not listening. His arms were outstretched like a man receiving a standing ovation. In the distance, his zombie army was exploding. Each time a Boros fire-spell touched the necromantic flesh, the entire animated corpse was torn apart by an erupting inferno, decimating any legionnaires within a considerable radius. More dramatically, any zombies that were burned by another’s explosion also erupted, until all anyone could see was a giant wave of conflagration.
Sorin had to hand it to the deranged zombie-elf: this did change things.

“You call exploding zombies an army?!” Teysa’s rage was more terrifying than anything Jarad could have brought with him, and Sorin was having limited success calming her down. “We’re trying to end the war, not blow half of Ravnica to your unholy hell!”
Jarad looked utterly unconcerned with Teysa’s objections. His work was done, he’d been paid, and he was satisfied. Meanwhile, Gideon had arrived to question the new tactics as well.
“You do have strange allies, Markov.” Jura was smiling, but Sorin still wasn’t quite sure if it was a compliment.
“Thank you... I think. But I won’t be enough.” In fact, there was only one thing he could think of that might settle things, but somehow at this moment fighting the combined forces of the High Guilds seemed somehow easier. One way or another, something needed to be done, and this was the only chance he was going to get to ask for it.
“Gideon,” he said, “Leave this to me. I’ll lead the army – I’ll hold back the Alliance. Right now, there’s something only you can do.”
The White Planeswalker studied Sorin with suspicious eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to ask me to do something I really don’t want to do?”
“Because you and I both know there is only one thing that can end this war, as it should be ended…”

Night was falling, the night that should have seen the start of the Festival of Balance. Battered on their flanks by the exploding Golgari zombies and losing the aerial advantage to the Angels of Despair, the Alliance of Light had retreated to regroup and begin a new offensive in the morning, when White mana would be at its strongest. Meanwhile, Teysa stood next to Sorin on the battlements and surveyed the damage.
“We won’t survive another day of this,” she said solemnly. Sorin knew it, but it was another thing entirely to hear her say it. For the Scion, her entire world was being torn apart, brick by brick, one life at a time. As much as she pretended not to, she felt the pain of her army as her own. When she spoke again, Sorin heard the burden she carried reflected in her voice.
“There’s only one more thing I can do to save us, but it will mean the end of this city.” Sorin didn’t ask what she meant – there was no need. Teysa, not Sorin, was the Scion of the Orzhov. Whatever she had in mind was her decision, and hers alone. There was only question to ask.
“What do you need?” he said as she looked at him with her piercing eyes.
“Mana,” she replied.