Eyes formed from termites scanned the heavens, and ears of tough pinewood took in the gentle sounds of their immediate surroundings. Long, mossy hair almost brushed the ground as the strange creature swept through Yavimaya forest with a renewed sense of urgency. He was called Multani, and he was the spirit of these mighty woods.

Unlike other beings thatdemandedthe use of acorporeal body, Multani was essentially footloose, able to assume any form composed of Yavimaya's matter. As the intelligent embodiment of the forest herself, he also acted as a diplomat of sorts and was able to travel occasionally to other green mana areas of the world. Overall, he was a singular and powerful creature, being innately skilled at maro-sorcery and imbued with the formidable ability to interact completely with Yavimaya. Forest spirits were not known for their weakness.

Now he was simply concerned about colossal Yavimaya. For months, wisps of decay and death had been subtly more detectable on the winds that rushed through the ancient forest's canopy. Always present among the unpleasant smells was the sharp odor of oil. Multani knew what that implied: Phyrexians. The horrifying monsters were the production of a dark genius's mind, and had been perfected in their gruesome entirety over thousands of years by their patient, black god. This noble world of Dominaria was the constant target of the Phyrexians' invasions. Their master originated on Dominaria, after all, and in his inhuman existence he desired nothing more than to conquer and enslave the planet, to take it unto his twisted breast and make it as full of evil as his own artificial world, Phyrexia.

Until more recent days, the Phyrexians had not physically made their presence known. But one bright morning had yielded ominous evidence of their very real threat. Multani had followed the pungent scent of crushed marker beetles to a spot on the sandy coast of Yavimaya, there to find shreds of slick metal and gnarled black flesh. Everywhere, the reek of Phyrexia was present.

Dominaria was not without its defenders, however, and Multani was a steadfast member of that diverse group. Now that he had become sure of the impending threat, he was quick to action. Dissolving his current body of swarming insects and desiccated wood, he awoke the sleeping druids who dwelt deep beneath the surface. Cloaked in silence and cradled eternally by the deepest chambers of magnigoth trees' roots, the druids were staunch protectors of the forest and had repelled threats to her many times over the millennia. With the certainty that darkness was afoot, they now stirred and came to life.

Prepare yourselves. Phyrexia once again sends her foul children to our hearth. Ready us for battle, and let not the evil that wounded us so long ago come again. Multani channeled these thoughts at the waiting druids. The other entities of Yavimaya did not know Multani by name, but simply accepted him as a vital part of the forest. Plated, scaly wurms acknowledged his presence with lithe rolls of their armored heads. Tribes of gorillas and giant, lurking spiders quivered with the anticipation of combat. Elves built shrines to honor him and chanted age-old war hymns under their breaths. Even the most untamed of forest beasts would be ready to obey Multani unconditionally.

With that comforting thought anchored in his mind, he surged through miles of deep-reaching roots and pockets of briny underground seawater. Multani somehow found time to savor the feel of this unique part of the forest, taking in the earthy smells and the rough feeling of wild bark. His attention snapped back to the task at hand. He had arrived at his destination: the last division of Yavimaya's defense that needed his activation.

Multani sprouted forth from the damp soil, instantly assuming a priestly form. Bittergreen shoots and assorted living tendrils hung down to his soft mahogany shoulders. Wiry saplings were his arms and legs, and his face was a creased mass of hardwood with two glowing fireflies functioning as eyes. Bowing in reverence to the heart of Yavimaya, he approached it.

Therevered magnigoth towered over three hundred yards above the rest of the canopy, indescribably ancient limbs still hearty and vibrant with the pulsing life force of the forest. Bright eddies of green mana energy spiraled up and down around a trunk so massive that an entire Elven clan, hands linked, would not be able to complete a chain around its circumference. Multani extended his temporary hands. The delicate sapwood of his palms shone with faint silver light as he began to recite incantations in a language older even than Yavimaya herself. Tones of lilting grace caressed the powerful tree, silver radiance joining with green as the sentient forest recognized Multani's need.

Throughout the entire surface of the woods, treefolk uprooted in huge showers of dirt and rock. They were the most prolific and strong willed of Yavimaya's fighters, capable of visiting total destruction upon any foe. Under normal circumstances they were the elders of a gentle race. On this night they stood ready for battle. For a time, the forest would be able to think for itself.

Satisfied that the defense effort was well underway, Multani traveled to other areas of Yavimaya, systematically assessing the threat imposed by the impending Phyrexian invasion. Here and there were scraps of the foreign beasts that served as a food source for negators. At the edges of the forest could be found the footmarks of the scuta, the shield folk. At one point Multani encountered flattened tracks of land that could only be the trails of wheeled dragon engines.

He began to worry about the magnitude of the attack when he discovered leavings that explicitly indicated the presence of gargantuas. A gargantua took a century to grow in the vats of Phyrexia, and vast amounts of resources were required to maintain the mountainous creatures. Yawgmoth of the Nine Spheres did not squander such resources on scouting parties or routine harassment incursions. Did that mean they intended to take Yavimaya? The idea troubled Multani deeply. Though he did not doubt the forest's proven ability to defend herself, he couldn't shake the miasma of foreboding that continued to permeate his thoughts. Phyrexians had a certain way with getting what they wanted.

In the late afternoon of the next day, as the weary sun swung toward the west, the conflict began.

Multani was busy mobilizing the last of the Elven fighters when an insidious hum made itself known on the horizon. Pausing, he squinted at the last tawny rays of sunshine that spilled over the leafy canopy. From out of that lingering radiance flitted a plethora of unmistakably Phyrexian airships. The vast, agile armada swooped low to the ground while curved bays opened out of their underbellies. With the sound of rough cloth rasping against steel, black troops leaped out of the transports or slid down thick ropes to meet the soil outside of Yavimaya. The larger craft began to discharge gargantuas en masse, and the entire body of enemies quickly wedged themselves into phalanxes to support the thunderous creatures.

Then arose an almighty tremor in the earth as dragon engines broke the sea at the forest's beaches. Many they were, more than Yavimaya had ever seen. Gold-shod maws split wide, issuing plumes of crimson and nightshade fire that cleft the sky as a challenge to the fortitude of the sentient land.

Now Multani's own forces readied themselves to give battle. As the first waves of negators charged the outlying trees, spitting dark vitriol at the forest's borders, Elven archers plucked long bolts from their quivers and strung them with practiced efficiency. They sighted as the dark fighters approached firing range, then loosed a lethal storm of ordnance. More than half of the first negators and footsoldiers perished in that instant as acid tanks and implosion units were punctured by the Elves' unerring darts. Many of the defenders themselves were struck by the viscid stuff; the sight of their comrades' faces melting and appendages sloughing off was a psychological weapon in itself.

More arrows shot forth from the Elves' positions, but the Phyrexians had reached the forest by that time. Some archers fled for cover. Those many that stood their ground were butchered swiftly and silently by the twisted warriors. On cue, rangers swung down from the trees and unsheathed their Elf-steel to cut a path through the Phyrexians. Long blades hewed and chopped next to the bludgeoning limbs of bellicose treefolk. A gargantua perished on the front line, so full of rune swords that it resembled a pincushion. Two more were swallowed up by emerging wurms whose bright yellow heads were in turn severed cleanly by poisoned Phyrexian blades.

Dragon engines scored deep troughs in the sand as they raced up their beachhead and crushed the first trees in the way. A determined wedge of druids and rangers stood in their path, combating the dragons' metal and magic with their own. They were torn up like so many turnips in a field, but their purpose was accomplished: one of the engines whined angrily as rivets popped along its side and persistent druid flames consumed its innards. Several more met their immolation only moments later when a knot of redwood treefolk attacked. Both sets of adversaries died, locked in a Plutonian embrace of wood and steel.

Multani held his own where he could; in one infested area huge vines whipped an entire host of negators to death, and in another, a gaping sinkhole materialized to devour half a legion of spiked steeplejacks. Still, it never seemed to be enough. The hovering fleet of airships joined the battle, gun emplacements singing shrilly as they pumped out short-lived webs of black mana that rotted all life they touched. Multani countered with giant, flexible willows that groped for ships and dashed them to bits where they could.

Elves cheered at one point as several gourmas pinned down the last gargantuas and finished them off with their high-propellant cranial needles. In the next moment they were agonizing when one of the mechanized drakes breathed a sheet of fire that roasted every remaining druid and most of the feral gorilla warriors. Though every part of Yavimaya cried out in torment, her denizens fought on. Multani drained a significant portion of his mana in the casting of his next spell, a wind of green frenzy that imbued every one of the forest's defenders with fleeting but incredible strength. Kavu lizards and Elven soldiers overran enemy lines, flung themselves bodily onto hardened artificial carapaces and punched wide holes in them, jamming gears and stopping pistons with their compacted cadavers. The dragon engines fell, though Yavimaya's own army waned in numbers.

As the struggle wore on in the night Multani saw many small victories and bitter losses, but no defeat of the conflict was comparable to the mortal blow: the last platoon of footsoldiers, negators, steeplejacks, and scuta drove into the cornered Elves and beasts. Deep in the center of Yavimaya, they slaughtered them all. As the other fighters, ranging from kavu to simian, rallied for a last stand, the firmament itself was rent asunder. It was a portal ship. Thousands more of the fell invaders poured from the gap in the sky, many deploying threadlike parachutes and sailing to the ground. Crewed battleships followed, gun batteries fully charged and ready for combat. The Phyrexians had known they were going to win all along.

Multani fled into the heart of the forest, unable to bear her rape with his own senses. He wept, barren of thought, waiting only for his existence to end.

An almighty stentorian shriek filled the sky. Multani opened his mind in wonderment, and saw through the eyes of the forest. A myriad of metallic gems whistled across the heavens at an astonishing pace. As they drew nearer, he saw what they truly were-- falcon engines. The workhorses of Urza Planeswalker's aerial army, falcon engines were designed to be extremely sensitive to the smell of Phyrexian oil-blood. The engines would detect the foul creatures at high distances and launch themselves, inescapably fast, at the targets. Their presence in Yavimaya was indicative of only one thing: the powerful demigod Urza himself had come to the forest's aid! Thousands of screaming falcons now dominated the night, plowing into glistening bone and sinew to eradicate the stench that was Phyrexia.

Cerulean flared on the horizon, marking Urza's presence on the battlefield. Though capable of simply planeswalking at any time and thusly eliminating the need for real travel, Urza often preferred adherence to the physical realm. He now glided on streamers of bright cyan and ardent crimson, fully clad in power armor of his own design and ready to engage the Phyrexian aircraft. At his back flew dozens of helionauts, bioengineered soldiers who piloted hardy one-man war airborne war vessels. Indeed, Urza was renowned as the great artificer of Dominaria, and with good reason. The helionauts' land-bound counterparts marched to the fight beneath him.

Skillfully utilizing the high-level magic at his disposal as a planeswalker, Urza took on whole cruisers by himself while his helionauts dispersed to wreak their fury. Dynamic orbs of electricity crackled sonorously from his bejeweled fingertips; clubs of ice smashed the hulls of black ships. Urza fixed his gaze upon the heart of the forest for an instant, gave a knowing bob of his head, and resumed the pattern of destruction. The Phyrexians countered with their god.

The active portal that defiled the night suddenly flashed as with rolling peals of lightning. A vast face appeared in the circle, and it was terrible to behold. Even Urza's heart pattered at the sight of those shadow-limned features in the ether-- the ashen cast of brow, darkly seamed forehead, high, craggy cheeks and wide eyes dancing with obscene fiery mirth. It was Yawgmoth, Overlord of Hell, the bane of Urza and even more ancient than the four-thousand-year-old planeswalker. Now he grinned, the profane gesture up-turning his hideous mouth in a smile wreathed with blackest mana. All combat ceased as Yawgmoth spoke.

"Hail Urza, wise master of artifice," he mocked, "It is well-arranged that we so meet, for you have served as a petty bramble to Me for far too long. I will possess that which is so dear to you, in the end. My world."

"Foe of old," the planeswalker quietly answered, though remembered pain and anger stirred at the roots of his soul. "Your agenda today is null. I am Urza of Terisiare. Well do you know that my power will stay any plan concocted by a… Phyrexian." He spat the last word as if it was an oath.

"Your ignorance pleases me. It always has, you know. Even unto the last, you will only better facilitate My will. You are hated by the folk of Dominaria, seen as a warmonger and vilified as a mad corrupter, a killer, a planeswalker fearing imagined bogeymen. You mask yourself with false names, as Malzra of Tolaria, afraid to disclose your identity to those of the plane you fight for unceasingly. Nothing do I feel for you but pity." Yawgmoth wore an expression of contempt, intensified by the shades that danced across his grossly contorted visage.

"Would but that you could have such feeling! Demon! In this hour I name you craven, and wretched master of slaves. Come and try my power, O Yawgmoth of the Nine Hells!"

As Urza's words resonated deeply throughout the forest, he raised his gauntleted palms high above his head and cast a firebolt of great magnitude at the seething portal. Yawgmoth deflected the assault with a wave of malignant energy, and looked with unsurpassed loathing into the planeswalker's eyes. Urza's eyes, after all, the Mightstone and Weakstone, were the only truly physical aspects of his body. They were once a single stone, but were split after a horrible conflict that has been buried in the annals of time.

Urza returned the esoteric glare with some effort. All illusion of organic ocular nerves was dissolved, and the naked gems set in his head plainly revealed. The two super-entities were involved in a supreme test of wills; an ultimate duel of mental force. All around them the combatants of both sides came to their senses. Multani surged back to the war front, and the bloodbath renewed itself.

For many hours the battle continued, even though Urza's falcon engines had caught the Phyrexians unawares. The damnable fiends had soon adapted to the threat, catching the automatons in their able claws with and reducing them to servos and scrap metal. The falcons afforded the defenders a decisive edge, though, and the fight swayed in their favor. Helionauts owned the sky, operating in perfect formation to effectively disable the much larger Phyrexian ships. Their beams of blue mana needled the sluggish craft with surgical precision, neatly destroying sails, engines, and mana relays. Helionaut vessels were highly reflective of black and red magic, in addition to being quite agile and thus capable of dodging most anything thrown at them by Phyrexian fleets.

The land skirmish bade well for Yavimaya, too. Urza's Metathran, the engineered soldiers, coordinated devastating attacks alongside the forest's inherent defenders. Together, the small armies of Urza and Multani cut down the dwindling Phyrexian resistance. When Yawgmoth's repugnant warriors had been all but excised from the battlefield, the crusaders of Dominaria looked to the titanic portal in the heavens. Multani could faintly discern the massive ship that maintained it. Under his direction, the fighters bombarded the portal with every form of munitions at hand, from salvaged Phyrexian explosives to the light bomb load carried by all helionauts. Locked in the monumental clash against Urza, Yawgmoth was powerless to stop them.

At last the hated rift collapsed. The forest spirit was satisfied, knowing that Yawgmoth only retained his godly power while he was safely ensconced in the core of his artificial plane. The twisted being had once been a man.

In a body of stout timber Multani celebrated with Urza and the two victorious hosts upon the next evening, and mourned the many deaths of Yavimaya's precious dwellers along with the planeswalker's fine soldiers. Urza seemed lost in contemplation, gazing out of the clearing and past the hearty trees of the forest to a place only a planeswalker could envision. Multani, too, was in no state of mind for ribaldry or acclamation. Both idly swirled symbolic wineglasses of dark burgundy crystal as they stared vacantly into the warm night, sternly lined features and ash-blonde hair next to careworn wooden pate. They were closer in spirit that night than ever before, those two who embodied the Dominaria they loved.