He doubled over, shaking violently. Gerrard. Hanna. Mirri. Selenia… Crovax toppled forward to the black marble walkway, his bloody hands sliding on the smooth, cold stone. A toothy demon leered at him from the pavement. The demon's face was his own, contorted with hatred, anger, and suffering.
He smote the floor with his fist. "Why am I here?" he bellowed.
Don't you know?
The speaker was quite close, almost on top of him. Crovax lashed out in the direction of the voice. His fists met nothing. He scrambled to his feet, panting.
"Show yourself, coward!" he said. "Stop playing these stupid games!"
The air before him shimmered, and an image formed. Crovax shook his head and rubbed his eyes. The being before him was like nothing he'd ever seen. Fully seven feet tall, the transparent phantom resembled a grisly statue made of meat and metal. Its long arms were covered with pink skin only to the elbows; above them its limbs were made of metal rods and pulleys. The creature wore a beaded leather wrap around its waist. The head was the most arresting feature of all. Atop a skeletal torso perched what looked like a massive head in a mask of fantastic gray and red plumes, bone, and black fur. Crovax saw no visible eyes or mouth, though corrugated tubes emerged from the being's shoulders and chest and entered the mask at various points. It made audible breathing sounds, like a winded dog. A gorget of brass circled the thing's wide neck. Jewels gleamed all over the creature, and some glowed and blinked with their own inner light.
"I am Kirril, servant of the Hidden One," said the creature in a papery voice. Crovax could discern no lips moving on the creature, yet he heard it plainly. "You are here because you wished to be. My master has taken an interest in you."
"Who is your master? Volrath? Do you serve the evincar?"
Kirril's cadaverous arm made a dismissive gesture. "Speak not the traitor's name! The one I serve has many names-The Dark
Lord, the Hidden One, the First Master. He is our great lord, ruler of all Phyrexia."
Crovax was impressed, but he didn't allow himself to show it. "What does your master want with me?"
"The Hidden One has watched you, Crovax, since the day you were born. He has seen the seed of greatness in you and bided his time until you recognized it in yourself. That moment has arrived. Once you chose to follow the path to power, you became his servant. But greater things await you, Crovax, if you have the vision and the strength to accept them."
He scowled at the Phyrexian. "I am no man's servant, do you hear? I am certainly not submitting myself to your Dark Lord! I've ruined my soul already with hatred and murder, but I will not bow to anyone in this world-or yours!"
Kirril glided past Crovax. The hair on his arms prickled as the Phyrexian's projected image passed. In his wake Kirril left a strong odor of ozone, as if his presence singed the very air.
"It's common for birth pangs to be painful," Kirril said, proceeding down the concourse. "What's important is how one deals with the pain. Do you let it defeat you, or do you return it tenfold upon those who caused it?"
"What are you saying?"
"The deaths of the angel Selenia and the feline Mirri were not accidents. Who is responsible for these acts of pain?"
"I am."
"That is the weakling's answer. You were not bred to be weak, Crovax. Who started you on this journey? By whose hand did you arrive on Rath?"
His face burned. "Gerrard Capashen!"
Kirril moved on. Crovax watched him go. It was unsettling to see the wall reliefs and pilasters through Kirril's image-or was it his words that were so disturbing?
"Wait," Crovax said.
Kirril vanished, only to reappear directly in front of him.
Crovax recoiled, then recovered his nerve. "If all these things are Gerrard's fault, why do I feel so-so bereft?"
For a moment the Phyrexian's only answer was his blinking jewels. Then he said, "Every being arrives at a moment of choice between avoiding their destiny or embracing it. The weak turn away from power and decry in others what they cannot accomplish themselves. The strong throw off the constraints of restrictive morality and recognize that ultimate good is that which is efficient and successful. You, Crovax, have not made the choice yet. You've acted according to your true nature as a predator, but you haven't accepted the truth of your superiority yet. Thus you are in torment, like the fools who brought you here."
Kirril pointed to the floor between them. A conical vessel with a flat lid materialized. It was made of dark translucent stone or glass. Inside the vessel a dimly glowing yellow object moved about furtively.
"Your new life can provide rewards you've never imagined. Do you hunger, Crovax? Is there an emptiness deep within you?" "Yes, damn you." "Pick up the container."
Crovax hefted the jar. It was a foot high and quite heavy. "Remove the cap," Kirril commanded. The jar was sealed with a strip of lead. Crovax peeled away the seal and lifted off the thick cap. "Take care it doesn't escape."
Crovax peered into the jar. A lobed ball of light the size of a plum floated inside. It moved in slow circles, stopped, and reversed direction like a caged animal. Suddenly, it seemed to sense the lid was off and darted for the open mouth. Crovax clamped his hand over the jar. The globe touched his raw palm and melted into it. He saw the glow through the back of his hand.
A shock passed down his arm, followed by an intense sensation of pleasure. Crovax's dour face broke into a wide smile. The emptiness, the anguish inside him evaporated. He felt invigorated and strong. "What was that?"
"The life-force of a living creature. Every living thing contains it. Most creatures replenish their supply by eating common food and expend it through physical and emotional activity. Because you deny your natural role as a hunter and master of flesh beings, you expend your life-force needlessly, fueling useless emotions like pity, anguish, and regret. You have progressed beyond mortals, Crovax. You now have the ability to absorb the life-force from other beings. Will you use it, or perish like a miserable, weak human?"
The cuts on his hands were gone. "How has this happened?"
"The power was always within you. By your acts on Weatherlight you have awakened the latent instinct."
Crovax dropped the jar. It smashed to flinders on the black pavement. "I want more," he said. "Give me more. I need more."
The image of Kirril spread its bony hands wide. "You will have more-as much as you desire-if you meet the Hidden One's final test." With another fluid turn of his hand, Kirril summoned the dream catchers. Spidery claws descended rapidly from the ceiling, surrounding Crovax in a ring of spiny black "hands."
"What are these for?"
"Your education, Crovax. It is important you know the history of Rath so that you will not repeat your predecessor's mistakes. These appliances will allow you to experience the past as it actually happened. Are you prepared for that? You will know terrors and pleasures few mortal men have known."
This time Crovax wasn't alarmed. He kicked aside the fragments of the broken jar and stood in the center of the dream machines.
"My appetite is very large," he declared.
"Good," Kirril answered. "It must be. Now prepare yourself for your lesson."
Crovax lay spread-eagled on an operating table, somewhere on the Fourth Level of Phyrexia. Tubes filled his nose, and a breathing mask covered his open mouth. No less than four Phyrexian birth priests were working on him at the same time, each with his own quadrant of Crovax's body. In the hazy recesses of his mind, Crovax knew this was happening. He had seen the full history of Rath, and he realized he was getting the same treatment Volrath had-he was being modified to fill the role of evincar.
"What conclusion do you draw from Volrath's history?" Kirril asked him.