Duel of the Gemini

Escape

No words. There was neither the need nor the time. Both men just turned to began to run. The White Planeswalker had won: this had been his plan all along. Back in the cave he had been as powerless as Sorin, but out here, his escape was assured. For the moment, both of them were now completely trapped within the expanse of monuments and worship altars. In this place the magic of the stone seal was tied directly into the heart of Orzhova itself, and when broken, the entire city came to life to capture the intruders. Every mage, thrull and stonework brought to life and corrupted by the guild’s magic would be hunting for the source of the disturbance. Far more troubling however were the great barrier enchantments that rose instantly around the city walls like an invisible bubble. Vanishing outside its limits would be impossible now, and smaller jumps within the city would be too easy to follow. This however, was where the light-wielder would take his advantage. Once he had made it to the walls, it would only be a matter of time before he found a weakness, like a crack in the stone or a tunnel, somewhere where the enchantment strained to cover the imperfection. There he would be able to break through. This was an ability Sorin’s darker powers did not share. Only one option was left to him now, one that left him cursing the man who had forced him to use it.
An improvised Planeswalk was not something anyone took likely. The physical effects were akin to driving one’s body through several panes of glass, combined with the insane cold of the Void Realms and the rush of heat upon re-entry.  The better the portal, the more diminished the effects. Perfect portals provided excellent protection and a smooth journey, but took hours, days or even weeks to prepare. Sorin did not have the time for such an elaborate portal and right now a Planeswalk was the only thing keeping him from ending up right back in that vault, this time in Orzhov chains.
Minutes passed as Sorin searched for the tallest tower in the upper quarter of the city. Height would play a factor in his chance of surviving what he was about to attempt. His search collided with that of the Orzhov patrols: groups of thrulls and lower magi each lead by a single upper-level Guildmage. Sorin relied on his own knowledge of their powers, specifically cautioning himself against revealing his own techniques. Black was brutally effective in almost any circumstance, but could have difficulty dealing with its own kind. As long as the Orzhov relied on their darker spells he could continue running for a few more minutes. Eventually he found what he was looking for.
A vanish would do worse than waste mana: it would shriek. A shock wave of mana let off by his spells would inevitably be felt by any nearby mage-hunters. It would be a beacon, signalling his position. Even more troubling, it would confirm his reliance on Black mana. Then again, it was the only way to get to the top of that tower.
The tower roof was flat and wide, with a small statue at each corner. Sorin appeared out of his vanishing spell in a cloud of smoke and immediately knelt down to begin hastily scribbling the incantation patterns. He had already picked his destination: Zendikar. The vampires there had recently chosen a new bloodchief, a female Planeswalker of unspeakable beauty. Sorin had already considered paying her a visit, and now seemed like as good a time as any to begin looking for the mysterious Liliana Vess. What’s more, the metal spearhead was clearly of vampire origin. No doubt Eldranis had intended it be used as a guide for his make-shift planeswalk.
Moments later, the first of the Orzhov magi appeared by magic at the edges of the roof. No thrulls yet: they would have to climb. Sorin guessed more than a few had already begun scaling the walls in a frenzy to catch their prey. The binding pattern was done, but he needed more time for the incantation. Standing, he turned to face the first mage. He would have to continue the chant without interruption, even while fighting, which meant only using spells that didn’t require a verbal command. A white paralysis bolt shot past him – they knew what he was now and had adapted. A second bolt followed by a third. Sorin waved his hand outwardly from his chest to his shoulder, releasing mana in a shield to block the attack. Within moments another mage joined in the assault. They would continue the volley until the thrulls arrived: they wanted him alive.
Finally one bolt hit its mark, slamming into his left shoulder. Sorin rolled behind the nearby statue and continued the chant, nearing the end. He wasn’t injured, not even a mark on the flesh. White was good that way, no evidence. The effect was clear though: the arm was paralysed, completely useless for a matter of hours. At this rate he had only seconds.
All around him the roof was filling with the flash of bright lights as the group of magi grew larger. It was as though the darkness of the night had been lifted entirely by the onslaught of White magic. Looking up, he saw one part of the sky that seemed to be getting even brighter. He realised it wasn’t just getting brighter, it was changing colour. In the distance he could clearly make out a fierce red, a red that grew by the second and began to burn until finally it erupted into incredible flames.
Sorin ducked his head again, forcing all of his concentration onto the last few lines of the chant. Glancing up, he could barely make out the shape of a young woman standing in the middle of a roaring inferno. He recognised her immediately as the fire-wielder Chandra Nalaar. The fire seemed to be raging out of control, or at the very least, out of her body. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t seen him yet. She was facing the magi who had stopped their assault and had instead raised defensive barriers against the new intruder. Sorin considered that the city barriers would have stopped Chandra from arriving after Eldranis had broken the seal. She must have been already inside, looking for something. He decided in that moment that the man he knew as Eldranis was entirely insane: Chandra Nalaar was no one’s ‘associate’.
He heard the fire roar as it exploded again, engulfing the rooftop and burning around Sorin who clung to the shelter of the statue. The Orzhov magi fell back, hissing her name. In that moment, she found what she was looking for.
“Give me the sword!” she yelled, as soon as her eyes fell on Sorin. She took one step towards him, the fire moving forward in time with her body. Suddenly she stopped short, eyes wide and staring at his face. “Those eyes… but how? You’re not him!”
The fire roared again, perfectly in sync with her emotions. All at once Sorin knew: it was now or never. A fire beast he could handle, but the Original of Fire was another matter entirely. Turning to the open air on the other side of the statue he leapt from the rooftop, as far from the building’s edge as he could fling himself. Above his head, he heard Chandra scream and felt the fire crest over the edge of the rooftop, trying to stop his escape. His incantation complete, Sorin shouted the command spell like a battle cry and braced for the impact. This was by far the most improvised Planeswalk he had ever made, and it was going to hurt.
As he hurtled down the tower’s side, he caught glimpses of thrulls trying to catch him: some swung claws, others actually jumped off the wall to try to grab him. In the end, all he cared about was the open portal directly beneath him, waiting to rip him from this world and throw him, violently, into the waiting arms of Zendikar.