February 28, 2023
I started playing Magic: The Gathering about seven years ago. At the time, I enjoyed the game most because of the friendships I made along the way. When I moved to a new city, I had to make new friends, many of whom didn’t play Magic. That made me realize something simple but important: for me, the joy of this game has always been tied to the community around it. Magic was most enjoyable with the friends I met and played alongside. Today, I am fortunate to still have a group of friends to share the game with, as well as Magic: The Gathering Arena to hone my skills. I am also drawn to the beautiful artwork and the rich stories behind the cards. One of the most memorable cards I own is a foiled Thalia, Guardian of Thraben:
This card was a key part of a mono-white Standard deck back in 2022 that helped me reach Mythic rank #797 on Arena, an achievement I am still proud of today. One of my favorite content creators, CovertGoBlue, even signed the card and his playmat, which I still use regularly.
When Phyrexia: All Will Be One was released, I bought a Collector Booster box. I was lucky enough to pull a step-and-complete foil showcase Atraxa, Grand Unifier, along with a couple of Elesh Norn, Mother of Machines. I was so excited that I built my first commander deck in a long time, with Atraxa as the general, and won the very first game I played with my friends, ending with a pretty impressive board state.
As I mentioned, one of the aspects of Magic: The Gathering that drew me in was its rich lore. Being someone who enjoys writing, I couldn’t resist creating my first fan fiction, centered on two of my favorite characters: Thalia and Atraxa. With March of the Machines dawning, Atraxa is sent by Elesh Norn to New Capenna. But I like to imagine what might happen if Atraxa went to Innistrad instead, testing fate alongside its faithful guardian.
Thank you for reading!
The following story, The Angel In Us, is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.
“The Great Work has begun.”
Looking up, Thalia saw an angel floating above a cloudless, moonlit sky. It was unlike any angel the Cathar had ever encountered. Metallic, skeletal wings glimmered under the moonlight. A visor covered its head, shaped like grotesque, elongated horns, and it had four arms. Two of them gripped a staff that resembled the symbol of her former church, yet the metal twisted as if alive, reaching toward Thalia.
“The impure must be cleansed, made perfect. The disease of the flesh must be cured by the glory of New Phyrexia,” the voice boomed, monotone. Twin razor-edged tails whipped the cold air. “Your tenacity is admirable, Cathar. Together, we shall complete what the Mother of Machines began. You are my most perfect creation.”
Thalia bowed her head, revealing the Phyrexian symbol etched on her forehead. She raised her right arm, and the twining hilt coalesced into a metallic blade that ran from her shoulder, dazzling beneath the Innistrad Moon. The metal coiled up her forearm, forming a blade where her hand should have been. Her left arm, armored in Darksteel, shimmered with gold streaks across its black surface—indestructible and flawless. Her third arm mirrored the angel’s staff, Avacynian yet twisted, reaching toward the angel in symbolic reunion. Her fourth arm stretched out as she whispered, “For the glory of New Phyrexia.” Glistening oil seeped from her hand, oozing onto the Innistrad soil.
“Nahiri is back?” Thalia shouted to the stunned council of the Order of Saint Traft. They had returned from the dark hollows of Stensia to Thraben after Emrakul was contained. Thalia’s mind still reeled from the bloody memories of the Thraben conflicts; Nahiri would pay for the chaos she caused.
Odric growled, “If Nahiri is back, likely to exact a personal grudge against my fellow vampire, I won’t hold back.”
“When did you accept your new clan, Odric?” Rem Karolus asked, staring with large, beady eyes. The blond-haired Grete stood bashfully beside him.
“Enough with the past,” Thalia scoffed. “The nightmare I had is vivid even now. I’ve had nightmares before, but nothing like this—not even in Innistrad’s darkest hours. We can’t ignore it.”
Rem Karolus nodded. “But is this horror from Nahiri? We’ve dealt with her before. Emrakul too. Surely she hasn’t… evolved?”
“The oil… at the end of my nightmares… it was thick and syrupy, corrupting everything, including me,” Thalia whispered. “That angel was a demonic projection of Avacyn, one never seen before. Whoever—or whatever—created her can remake us in that horrid image. If that happens, Innistrad will never be the same.”
Odric placed his pale, grisly hands on her forehead. Beads of sweat dripped down as consciousness slipped from her. “Take her to her bed…” was the last faint voice she heard before blackness, darker than glistening oil, swallowed her vision.
Suddenly, a screech pierced the village below. More screams followed. Thalia sprinted toward the source, expecting fire or winged attackers. Instead, black ooze seeped from corpses, and insectile creatures with porcelain teeth leapt from body to body. With each fallen villager, the streets grew darker, slick with more glistening oil.
Thalia drew her sword. The hilt coiled around her hand as she raised it high. Her legion, emerging from their quarters, fell in formation behind her. The Standard Bearer led the charge, Sigarda’s banner waving proudly. Rem Karolus descended on his flying steed, spear in hand, and Odric and Grete followed, prepared for battle.
“Onwards to the village!” Thalia shouted, and the troops advanced.
The black mites were no match for her army’s resolve. Radiant lances pierced through the alien invaders, reducing them to dust. Yet the aftermath horrified Thalia—victims were disfigured, their flesh eaten from the inside, wires jutting through torn holes. By moonlight, the glistening oil evaporated, leaving only the mutilated corpses. An eerie silence settled over the battlefield.
Then, an angel descended—clearly an angel, with four arms like the one in Thalia’s vision. Two held a scepter bearing a strange, unfamiliar symbol—the symbol etched on the monsters she had seen.
Suddenly, one of her lancers convulsed, clutching his neck, then collapsed. One by one, the soldiers fell as if struck by invisible force. Instinctively, Thalia swung her sword, casting a protective spell that sent the remaining troops—including Odric, Grete, and Rem Karolus—retreating.
She now faced Atraxa, Grand Unifier.
“Your prayers, Thalia, I have answered,” Atraxa droned, spreading metallic wings. “I am the angel you need. I am the angel Innistrad needs. Embrace me as you embraced Avacyn.”
Thalia stepped back, gripping her sword tightly, pointing it at Atraxa but remaining silent.
“I know you expected Sigarda, your last hope,” Atraxa continued. “But another angel remains—someone forgotten—who can help purify this plane.”
Thalia glimpsed green in the sky. Another pair of skeletal, black-and-white wings approached. Dark-haired, wired strands formed blinking eyes on this angel. Four arms, one holding a dead angel in a green dress.
“Sigarda!” Thalia cried, horror overtaking her. The Champion of Light lay lifeless, held by another angel. Liesa.
“All four sisters, sworn to defend Innistrad, now meet this grim fate,” Thalia thought, nearly retching. Bruna and Gisela had fallen to Emrakul. Liesa had been reborn, corrupted. Sigarda was dead. Along with Avacyn, the fate of Innistrad seemed sealed.
Atraxa hissed, “You have something I want, Thalia. The Moonsilver spear. Retrieve it from your cathedral and hand it to me, or all will fall to New Phyrexia. You have one hour.”
Thalia’s heart pounded. Unlike Liliana’s personal threats, this was pure conquest—a soulless alien army demanding the key to irreversible destruction. Yet she was not helpless. She could regroup, plan, and fight. Holding her emotions tightly, she retreated to Thraben.
***
The empty halls of Markov Manor lay in ruins. Shards of glass littered the floors, remnants of stained-glass windows once adorned with angelic images whose blood had powered the old vampires of Innistrad. Sigarda remembered the spiritual energy that had freed her from such bonds, and now she wondered if she could forgive the sins of Olivia Voldaren and Edgar Markov. Perhaps Sorin’s justice had sufficed. Perhaps alliances could be forged once more to face this new, greater threat.
“Sister,” a mechanical, scornful voice cut through her thoughts.
Sigarda looked up. Liesa, compleated, stood before her.
“I expected you,” Liesa said, her voice both human and alien. “I know what you’ll say.”
Sigarda’s eyes glowed gold. “I have heard Thalia’s prayers. I know what you’ve become, and I know what you will say.”
Liesa smirked. “Tell me, Sister, what made you bleed at the hands of vampires?”
“It is none of your concern,” Sigarda replied. “You will never understand.”
“Oh? So I don’t understand? I am the obstinate one, fighting against all threats at first whim. I am the one who decides who shall perish. I am the one who doesn’t understand?”
“Remember Avacyn?” Liesa continued. “She never understood my methods. She cast me out—killed me, in fact. What became of our other Sisters?”
Sigarda spread her wings, golden light radiating, but no words came.
“I have learned the ways of New Phyrexia,” Liesa said, voice cold. “Centuries of fighting humans, werewolves, vampires, demons, undead—futile. The curses will outlive us. But there is a cure now, in the glistening oil.” She extended a hand, and black, shimmering liquid oozed across the shattered floor, devouring everything it touched.
“I consorted with Phyrexians, Sister. We are one race now—perfect, harmonious, glorious. We do not fight each other. We are family.”
Sigarda stared at her compleated sister, seeing no soul, no compassion, no angelic essence remaining.
“I bled for a reason,” Sigarda said. “I will never let the perfect become the enemy of the good. Humans are good, even with their flaws. Avacyn was wrong to forsake them, and I will not allow it again, especially not at your hands.”
Sigarda produced a glass vial—the Moonsilver essence. Liesa recognized it immediately, realizing the power it held: eternal, Blessed Sleep for the angel who drank it.
“What are you doing? The Great Work must begin!” Liesa gasped.
“Answering Thalia’s prayers,” Sigarda replied. She drank the essence in one gulp and collapsed. Lifeless, but her soul intact.
***
Thalia gathered her most trusted generals—Odric, the Master Tactician; Rem Karolus, Slayer of Angels; and Grete, aspiring Cathar. They were relieved to see her return but had questions. Who was that demonic angel? What were those creatures? Thalia had no time to explain. All her focus went to a grand plan: defend Innistrad and repel the invaders.
“Odric,” she said, “you are the best tactician on Innistrad. Lead Rem Karolus, Grete, and the lancers to distract Liesa and subdue her. I will take the Moonsilver spear to Atraxa—but I will not hand it over. If necessary, I will use it to end her.”
“What about Sigarda? Will she help us?” Rem Karolus asked.
Thalia’s throat tightened. “She is in all of us,” she whispered. The angels were gone, but their ideals lived on through her and her people.
A gryff darted across the cloudless sky. Liesa was dragged away by a red-caped figure, leaving Thalia to confront Atraxa. The Grand Unifier’s metallic wings spread wide.
“So, you brought your little army,” Atraxa sneered. “Hand me the spear, or I will destroy your plane.”
Thalia lifted the Moonsilver spear, gleaming under the Innistrad Moon. “Atraxa, for a Grand Unifier, you are cowardly. Take it if you can. If not, it will be shoved down your chest.”
Atraxa smirked. “Pitiful. The multiverse will be remade in New Phyrexia’s image, and you cling to false hope.”
The two clashed. Thalia artfully dodged Atraxa’s staff, rolled to the side, and raised the spear. Sparks flew as weapons collided, rocks flying from the mesa. The air trembled, but the Moon remained unflappable.
Atraxa pressed hard, her staff scraping Thalia’s cheek, drawing blood. “Sigarda is dead, Cathar. She refused perfection. Do not repeat her mistake.”
“Sigarda is in me!” Thalia shouted. She struck, hurling Atraxa to the ground. The angel staggered but quickly regained composure.
A moment’s confusion allowed Thalia to thrust the spear toward Atraxa’s chest. The moonlight intensified, illuminating the Moonsilver’s power. Suddenly, Atraxa felt her arms turn to flesh, her metallic form replaced by something organic. Four additional glowing orbs appeared in the sky, bathing the plane in light.
Thalia seized the opportunity, striking Atraxa’s shoulders with the spear. Atraxa fell, overwhelmed, as mites swarmed her.
A tall porcelain figure, draped in a red gown and streaked with sinuous flesh, approached Atraxa. Her broad visor concealed her eyes, or perhaps she had none. This was the last thing Atraxa saw before blacking out.
Atraxa awoke to Thalia pressing the Moonsilver spear into her chest. The scream that escaped was no longer alien—it was human, terrified, impassioned.
“Your tenacity is admirable, angel,” the porcelain figure intoned. “You shall be my perfect creation.”
Thalia leveled the spear. “Before you die, demon, any last words?”
Atraxa struggled to speak. “Thalia… I… admire you… you never gave up… even when hope was gone… you… you were just like me…”
Thalia’s eyes narrowed. “Those words won’t save you. Any last words?”
“Yes… Guardian of Thraben… when I die… bury me on Mirrodin.”
Another scream tore through the air as Thalia was struck from behind by another spear, angel-shaped. Liesa had arrived just in time to protect her master.
Gasping her last breath, Thalia murmured, “Avacyn was right to kill you,” before fading into the Blind Eternities.
***
The new cathedral surpassed any that had stood over Innistrad. White porcelain walls streaked with red, sinuous flesh radiated perfection—the kind Saint Traft might have envisioned to deliver the Blessed Sleep.
The Order reconvened in the Fair Basilica. Thalia began discussing defenses and strategy when a figure appeared: a girl with white hair, glowing eyes, and blades for arms. Streaks of unholy light traced her face.
“Nahiri, we meet,” Thalia said, trying to recall her intentions. Despite the past, a warmth welled in her chest.
“Yes, Thalia,” Nahiri said. “We are one family now. Our past disagreements are behind us. Will you join me in the grand pursuit of perfection?”
Thalia felt no resistance. Instinctively, she and the Order lowered their heads in acknowledgment of their new ally.
Elesh Norn entered, Moonsilver spear in hand, Liesa flying at her side. The Order knelt.
“Rise, my children,” she commanded. “Atraxa sacrificed much for me to hold this relic. Now, with Moonsilver under my control, the multiverse will be perfected faster than I ever imagined. The Great Work has begun!”
She tapped the spear against the root of the Realmbreaker. Beams of silver light shot into infinity.
***
Epilogue: Sorin Markov
Sorin Markov stood in the empty halls of ruined Markov Manor. Blood dripped from his fingertips as he unfurled a scroll and wrote:
“After the four Sisters came Avacyn, after Avacyn came Sigarda, and after Sigarda came Thalia. Now there are no more angels nor Cathars to defend us… We look to the Moon.”
He gazed up at the unmoving, cloudless sky. The Moon shone in steadfast radiance, a silent witness to Innistrad’s new era.