Disclaimer- I don't own Magic: The Gathering, which is property of Wizard's of the Coast.
This is the final.
Somehow, Urza always knew that he wouldn't survive the war against Yawgmoth.
After all, spending four millennia on one goal, forever focused on what would come to pass tomorrow, he never once realized that he would have nothing without Phyrexia.
Without opposition, Urza would simply continue tinkering and improving his machines, until he became a second Yawgmoth.
Before his link to the Ineffable was severed by Gerrard and the Soul Halberd, he would have welcomed such a chance. But now, he knows that this is the only way he could have ended his life.
Gerrard, his son in so many ways, will end it. The boy hates him with a passion. And he should.
Urza engineered him, cross bred hero after hero, to create one hero that was the sum of a thousand others. Not a white knight, or a pure heart. Not a man of chivalry and honor, of rules and white mana. No, that could be twisted by Phyrexia. It had to be someone like him.
Someone who understood Phyrexia... and hated it. Who was not a saint but a warrior, a sinning paragon of courage.
And like Urza, Gerrard Capashen will die in the conflagration that will ultimately unmake the Lord of Death.
These two men were made for this day.
A millennia old madman and his reckless progeny.
To call them heroes before this day would be to stretch the definition of a hero.
But now, now they can be heroes.
Together, they will sacrifice all they are to kill Death.
Gerrard reaches for him now, hands raised. His rugged, exhausted features look remorseful.
But this is the only way.
With his gemstone eyes, Urza acknowledges the end.
And even as calloused, impossibly strong hands tear into his skull, taking the Powerstones that make him a Planeswalker, Urza feels nothing but the one thing he has never known since he slew his brother, destroyed a continent, rocked a world, and ascended.
Even as his life force begins to ebb, his immortal soul passing from this realm, he feels the power that is vivified by his sacrifice.
It is pure.
It is golden, full of all colors, mixing together to become a pure, untainted, vindicating force.
An avenging fury of a goddess, manifest to strike down Yawgmoth.
The light is blinding now, and sweeps across his and Gerrard's forms, unmaking them entirely. Soon it will unmake a god.
The pain is unbearable, melting flesh and bone away with effortless ease.
And still, Urza is satisfied.
He knows peace, dying a hero's death.
He has sacrificed all he is to saving the world.
He is golden.
What began as a one shot character sketch became a three part look into the psyche of the most enigmatic hero I've ever come across. I enjoyed it, because it was an exercising a type of writing I rather enjoy.