Derelicté

Razorgrass clinked in the breeze as its stiff steel blades played across the fields. A lone pair of porcelain priests strode through the flora, their passage made easier through some unseen parting of the plants at their feet. Their décor reflected the several suns dully, plates and parts wrought haphazardly across their visible musculature. Sharp ceramic angles and harsh edges indicated their allegiance to the church of the machines, New Phyrexia's current best stead for leadership. Their conversation seemed banal even as their voices scraped from repurposed vocal cords.

"Such a waste of talent. A job for a Souleater, not a member of the Orthodox proper."

"Opinions are immaterial. She has requested us personally for this. There is danger in that."

"What danger? Ambition is only made easier by the unwitting compliance of those you aim to replace. Her edict assists us more than it will affect us."

Their goal eased into view over the hill, a roughspun hovel of razorgrass woven with drunken care. Alcohol hung in the air, a noticeable undertone to the constant whiff of oil which inundated the plane. No door had been built as instead an unrecognizable skin draped from the aperture to provide privacy to its occupant. Pointed porcelain claws pulled the hide aside, both priests slipping into the surprisingly spacious abode.

Sleeping in the corner they spied its owner. His rough and ragged robes were filthy and odiferous beside his ramshackle pile of jugs, which offered an obvious source for the alcoholic tang. He mumbled something and rolled over, his shaggy hair thick with grease and clumping in odd ways. His hand was wrapped around a darksteel flask, tightly clutched and held with care close to his heart.

"This is it? THIS is the interloper we are sent to repurpose?"

His cohort kicked dirt at the derelict, who made no indication of consciousness.

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

With a nod and a flick of the wrist the priest extended shards of bone from his hand, stepping menacingly towards his prey. Shuffling surprisingly fast to his feet, the individual backed away from the two, pressing precariously into the woven wall behind him.

"BACK OFF, CHUMPS! I'M NOT DOING ANYTHING! I DIDN'T DO IT! IT'S ALL CIRCUMSTANTIAL! YOU HAVE NO PROOF!"

The Priests shared a look of confusion.

"He speaks our tongue without using our words…"

"He is an abomination."

"STOP TALKING ABOUT ME!"

His hands pushed them back without touching them, throwing the pair through the wall and into the dust. Razorgrass billowed away from the ruined structure, the Occupant still wobbling in the back of the hovel. Confusion became alarm as they screamed to each other.

"WHAT WAS THAT?"

"WE NEED TO KILL HIM NOW. STOP STALLING."

Spurs shot from the Priest's hand, shards of bone streaking at the dirty 'walker. They sunk seemingly without effect into his flesh, tearing the robe further but otherwise only eliciting incoherent rambling.

"I DON'T KNOW NOTHIN' 'BOUT NO WALLS OR NO GNOMES MADE OF MEAT I DIDN'T DO NONE'A THAT-"

"WHY WON'T HE SHUT UP?"

The second Priest called the loose leaves of razorgrass to his aid, swirling the glinting steel flora into a whirlwind of blades. His points were made very clear as the spikes shot through his foe, causing visible damage but still drawing nothing but panic.

"OW! OW! YOU WANNA SPEAR FOLKS? FINE! GET OVER HERE!"

Pulling a grappling hook from seemingly nowhere, he blindingly spun the chain and lodged its hook into the closer priest's spine, wrenching him forward and grasping his head with an unnaturally enlarged fist before crushing it like a burnt slice of bread.

"WHAT THE FU-"

"C'MERE!"

The remaining priest never got the chance to respond. As his neck collapsed under the crushing grip of the metal links, he found only confusion in the sudden and complete ending of his ambitions.