I observed the proceedings from my vantage point high above the city. I surveyed the chaos unfolding according to my design. Ten thousand years of planning had led to this moment, and watching it unfold was almost as satisfying as the ultimate victory that would soon follow.
The planeswalkers were gathering exactly as I'd anticipated. Forty of them now, perhaps more by the hour, each one drawn by the beacon like insects to flame. They believed themselves to be powerful and that their abilities made them special. They would learn otherwise soon enough.
"The teams have formed, my lord," one of my agents reported through our mental link. The fool Lazav thought himself clever, thought his Dimir operatives were infiltrating my operation when in truth I'd known about every single one from the beginning. "They're attempting to understand the barrier."
"Let the pathetic insects study," I replied, allowing amusement to color my mental voice. "Understanding will not save them. The barrier was designed by minds far superior to any currently trapped within it. They might as well attempt to comprehend the workings of the Blind eternities itself."
I had been planning this operation for longer than most civilizations had existed. The beacon was merely the most visible component of a machine that stretched across multiple planes and realities. While those gathered insects focused on the obvious, the true work proceeded in shadows they couldn't even perceive.
The Eternals were my masterpiece, perfect soldiers crafted through ten thousand years of refinement. I'd spent centuries on Amonkhet perfecting the process, creating an army immune to death, tireless, and absolutely obedient. The fools of Ravnica thought they were fighting a guild war. They had no conception of what true warfare looked like.
I released the first wave of Eternals into the city through hidden portals scattered across the districts. Not the full force, that would come later, but enough to establish a perimeter and begin the process of securing the ritual sites. The planeswalkers would eventually notice them, but by then it would be far too late for any meaningful resistance.
"My lord, the Firemind has begun investigating unusual mana flows near the beacon," another agent reported. Niv-Mizzet, that insufferable wyrm who thought himself the pinnacle of draconic evolution. "Should we take steps to eliminate him?"
"No," I said, savoring the anticipation. "Let him investigate. Let him believe his vast intellect might unravel what I've constructed. The revelation of his inadequacy will be all the sweeter for his certainty in his own capabilities. Besides, his presence serves a purpose. The guilds trust him more than they trust each other, which makes him an excellent focal point for distracting their attention."
I had encountered Niv-Mizzet centuries ago during one of my visits to Ravnica while establishing preliminary connections for this very operation. He'd been predictably arrogant, convinced that his age and intelligence made him my equal or perhaps my superior. I'd allowed him that delusion then because it served my purposes. Soon, he would understand the gulf that separated his limited brilliance from my transcendent genius.
The planeswalkers below were organizing themselves into teams, coordinating their efforts in that sickeningly touching way mortals did when facing threats beyond their comprehension. Combat teams, analysis teams, and information gathering operations. All of it was disgusting in its futility.
They didn't understand what they were facing because they couldn't conceive of someone who'd been orchestrating events across multiple realities for millennia. They thought in terms of immediate threats and short-term responses. I thought in terms of cosmic-scale chess games, where the opening moves had been made before their ancestors were born.
"The combat team is preparing another assault on the barrier," my agent informed me.
"Excellent. Have the defensive systems respond with increased force this time. Not enough to kill, that would defeat the purpose, but enough to demonstrate the futility of direct confrontation. I want them desperate and afraid when the time comes. Fear makes people compliant, makes them easier to manipulate into accepting terms they would never consider otherwise."
I had learned that lesson from watching countless civilizations rise and fall across the multiverse. Fear was a tool, carefully applied, that could break the strongest wills and reshape the most stubborn people. The planeswalkers would resist at first, would fight with everything they had. Then they would despair. Then they would accept whatever terms I offered because any hope was better than none.
The Elder Spell was nearly complete, its components scattered across Ravnica in locations the planeswalkers couldn't reach without exposing themselves to forces that would crush them. Every Eternal I'd positioned carried a fragment of the working, thousands of pieces of a puzzle so vast that even seeing the full picture wouldn't reveal how to stop it.
"My lord, there's an unexpected variable," the agent said with hesitation that suggested fear. Good, fear kept servants obedient. "A divine presence among the trapped planeswalkers. He deflected the meteor strike we attempted and has been organizing resistance efforts."
I extended my perceptions toward this anomaly, examining him through magical sensors I'd positioned throughout the city. Divine essence, yes, but different from the gods of Theros or the avatars of other planes. An outsider, someone who'd wandered into my trap by pure chance.
Interesting, but ultimately irrelevant. Divine power meant little when facing the working I'd constructed. Gods could be bound, their power redirected, their essence harvested. I'd imprisoned deities before, bent them to my will. This one would be no different.
"Monitor him," I instructed. "Document his capabilities and identify any weaknesses. If he becomes too much of an inconvenience, we'll eliminate him before the final phase. If he proves useful, we'll find ways to exploit him. Everything serves the design, even variables I didn't originally account for."
The beauty of my plan was its adaptability. I'd built redundancies into every component, alternative paths for every possible failure point. Even if the planeswalkers somehow managed to disrupt one aspect of the operation, ten others would continue unimpeded. Even if they broke the barrier, which they wouldn't, it would only delay the inevitable by hours at most.
I had walked the multiverse for over twenty-five thousand years. I had toppled empires, manipulated gods, and reshaped the fundamental laws of entire planes to suit my purposes. These gathered insects thought themselves significant because they could walk between worlds? I had been doing that since before their species evolved language.
The guild war below me was my creation, orchestrated through centuries of carefully placed agents and subtle manipulations. The death of the Azorius Guildmaster had been my design, executed by agents who believed themselves independent actors. The collapse of the Guildpact had been my goal, achieved through erosion of trust and amplification of existing tensions. Every riot, every battle, every drop of blood spilt in the streets served to weaken Ravnica's defences and to prepare the ground for my final move.
"Release the second wave of Eternals," I commanded. "Have them establish positions around the secondary ritual sites. And begin phase two of the mana siphon. I want the city's leylines redirected to feed the Elder Spell by the next few days"
"At once, my lord."
I folded my wings and descended toward the city, to observe from closer vantage. There was a particular pleasure in watching one's designs unfold and in seeing pieces fall into place exactly as predicted.
The planeswalkers would fight. They would struggle. They would believe themselves heroes standing against overwhelming evil. And in the end, they would provide exactly what I needed: raw planeswalker essence to fuel my ascension to beyond godhood, beyond anything this multiverse had ever witnessed."
As mortals look to the heavens for their gods, so shall those gods look up to find me.
I had been powerful for millennia. Soon, I would be unstoppable, wielding the combined power of dozens of planeswalker sparks channeled through a working that would reshape all of reality according to my will. The multiverse would finally have proper order, proper structure, proper hierarchy, with me at its apex where I had always belonged.
The mortals would thank me eventually, once they understood. Or they wouldn't, and I would simply not care about the opinions of beings so far beneath me they might as well be insects.
Everything was proceeding exactly as I had designed it. And nothing, not divine intervention, not the Gatewatch, not the combined forces of Ravnica's guilds, would stop what I had set in motion.
I was Nicol Bolas, the oldest and most intelligent being in the multiverse.
And victory was inevitable.