In one alternate strand of time, Argentum did not come to be.

Instead, Karn accidentally left the oily infection on Pyrulea. Powered by the plane's sun, the oil adapted to a new substrate, and made the vegetation of the plane into mycosynth. Gradually infecting all life with metallic mutations, the process of phyrexianization was considerably quicker, no overseer to stop the spread nor a hiding spot for a greater infection to grow.

Pyrulea simply fell, and became New Phyrexia.

Open to new sources of mana but still with the genetic memories of the nine spheres, these phyrexians set to built ten spheres. Unlike Old Phyrexia, New Phyrexia would have to work with a dyson sphere, and so the highest spheres were those closest to the sun while the lowest were at the edges of the plane itself.

Surgical Abyss

The original surface of the plane, no light reaches this far down, beyond the mechanical lights to study and operate. It is a truly dysmal landscape, an ocean of oil underpining the whole plane. It is nonetheless far from a wasteland: beyond being the largest oil reservoir, it is also a prime center to experiment on planar portals. Studies on metaphysics take place on the islands amidst the oily ocean, obsidian structures made from solidified oil itself.

When the time comes, these will initiate the invasions. Sleeper agents are being worked on, carefully maintained and altered to resemble species from potential worlds. For now, they are itterated and recycled, as the wizard seers divine images from other worlds in the oily depths. The non-sleeper agents inhabittants take black metal and oculatory organs often in tumorous masses, often resembling sea life. Some are even rooted like corals, in perpetual surveillance.

The ruling praetor of this sphere is Rrahar, a massive crinoid-like creature. When the transition of Pyrulea into New Phyrexia was in place, she, a former human explorer, sought to become the Mother of Machines. However, as wisdom grew as the spheres aligned, she decided to instead swear fealty to the Father of Machines, having the highest authority beneath him - and some say she's technically more powerful. Behind every ruler is a great researcher, spy and experimenter, after all.

In the end, both she and the Father of Machines share an ideal Phyrexia where mechnical perfection at the expense of flesh is paramount. They just differ in a collectivist versus individualist take. She thinks less of praetors with brutish mindsets or who wish a flesh singularity; the former are just useless brutes, the latter woefully uncreative. No matter; everything can be a tool.

The Forges

The sphere above is a labyrinth of pipes, lava swamps and oil geysers. The influence of and mana makes these the most individualistic and uncooperative of this Phyrexia. They style themselves as warlords, when in reality they are factory bosses, only operating because the rest of the whole needs their services.

Phyrexians here refine and perfect metal, as well as repurpose the metallic parts of failed organisms. They themselves have blackened, basalt-like metallic flesh encasing igneous insides; some have humanoid forms, while their servants often resemble mockeries of creatures like bats and goblins. A particular kind, the furnace gremlins, take special pleasure in tearing things apart, especially if they can scream.

The ruling praetor is Hrom'en. He is a demonlord who holds the tenuous position of praetor were every warlord is out for themselves. Multiple times he has tried to rebel and become Father of Machines, and multiple times the might of the collective has beaten him into submission. He loathes and resents other factions, and at times locks the furnaces to outsiders, only to be forced to open them back again.

He just can never win.

Predator's Paradise

Here, light shines, both faintly from the sun above and from the furnaces below. Here, phyrexians live by Yawgmoth's ideal of strength, and abide by his evolutionary ethics. Only the strong must live; as soon as a newt is out of the vat, it must fight to survive.

Forests of flesh and metal create an almost mountanous terrain, favouring designs with claws or sharp hooves. Copper and bronze plates cover the decaying flesh of these phyrexians, in a state of rot as they are assault by miniscule parasites, they too part of this cycle. Some have fiery interiors, keeping the pests at bay.

Life is simple for Yan'kaath, the praetor of this sphere. He values strength and lack of surgery, operating only when strictly necessary, believing the oil to be a perfect mutagen on its own. He resembles a vaguely goat-like creature, a serrated beak instead of jaws and three talon-like hooves with molten veins covering his flesh. He has little respect for the so called Father of Machines, but is locked in battle with Hrom'en, stomping the demon back to the depths. He is therefore often called "Hrom'en' Jailer", and indeed some speculate that if not for this enmity the beast would be strong enough to fell the Father of Machines.

Flesh Singularity

Where the light of the sun not only brightens but is joined by the bioluminescent glow of thousands of conjoined phyrexians. As if melted together in a mesh of gold and raw flesh, they collectively resemble a vast net, vines laid upon eldritch buildings. They sing perpetual choruses for the Father of Machines, a dissonant and horrid sound known to lead to indocrination.

All are equal in this vinescape, so collectively they are the praetor Bila. They are subservient to the Father of Machines, but retain some authority within this sphere. They believe joining the singularity to be a privilege, an afterlife for the truly blessed, and hope one day that all phyrexians and indeed all beings in the multiverse are worthy of joining.

Nobody is in such a hurry.

Impious Basilica

In this medial sphere there are towering buildings drenched in a golden twilight. Here lie the clerics of the Father of Machines, vifying amidst themselves for his attention, so far above them.

Phyrexians of this layer are mostly humanoids with gold as their metal of choice, usually in the form of angels and demons. They conduct bizarre religious ceremonies that believe to make them worthier of the Father of Machines, and all compleations must at least be blessed by them. As such, they frequently travel the spheres, and act as a sort of embassadors between the various phyrexian realms.

Ruling precariously is praetor Nata'th. A zealot devoted to yawgmothian scriptures, they see themselves as the most worthy in the eyes of the Father of Machines, whom they conflate with the now dead Yawgmoth in their strange mind. Far from being a complete lunatic, this winged menace is a clever calculator, and knows how literal lesser phyrexians tend to be. A simple mandate can thus be applied in rather unexpected ways, and so keep lesser clerics in line lest they be cast down for repurposing.As a testament to their power, they rarely leave this sphere beyond being called to the upmost one, when all other residents of this basilica have to do missionary work to other spheres.

Aether Turbines

If the minions of Rrahar are the most interested in finding ways to travel to other worlds, the residents of this sphere might be the ones to crack the code. This sphere is rather abstract, metal spires twisting in abstract and mind-bending shapes, to the confusion of even other phyrexians. The residents have no such problems, madly creating new designs in experiments with metal and metaphysics.

Quicksilver is the metal of choice here, and indeed most phyrexians of this sphere are constantly changing, either by mutating themselves or requesting further surgeries, often adding hot liquid metal. A hint of artistic individualism hovers in this desire, making them dangerously close to heresy, but they are allowed to exist as their use is clear.

Praetor Amanka presides over dozens of researchers. Formerly a sea serpent, this creature now has various limb-like appendages and a face that nobody seems to quite agree on what it looks like. Ambiguity is how they like it; though enruptured in its passionate work, they are very well aware of how their emotions are against phyrexian orthodoxy, and thus must play a dangerous game of stoicism when interacting with other praetors. And given the interesting the Father of Machines has shown in their experiments, visits to this realm are frequent.

Dross Lianas

Composed of hanging platforms of rotting flesh and plant matter, this is the "meatiest" of the spheres. The phyrexians here are however no less adamant about the strength of metal, and indeed they bear rusting carapaces often filled by fungi or insects, constantly requiring imports from other spheres.

In a way, this sphere is like a mediator between the Flesh Singularity and the Predator's Paradise. Denizens here value the survival of the fittest, but also desire a connection to their surroundings, often blending in with the hanging canopy through specialised surgeries. If the forges handle failed metal, the lianas handle failed flesh, and it is here that most vats are grown, later sent up or down to other spheres by levers.

The praetor Arrayx hangs amidst the vines, a creatures like a chamaleonic sphinx, perpetually suffused in oil and rot. He bides his time, waiting for the Father of Machines to either show weakness or for all other praetors to off themselves. Patient is his game, and there is ever so much work to do.

Burning Armory

This sphere is composed of mighty ziggurats, holding New Phyrexia's armies, currently yet to be deployed. Creatures here are based on the pneumagogs of old, bearing metallic and fleshy red carapaces and vast wings, their spiritual side yet to be awakened, barring a few maintenance workers. When it will be, they will passionately cast out the impurities of flesh from the multiverse.

Ever impatient for this glorious fate, praetor Tai'harroth lies in wait, oblivious to phyrexian politics, only caring about the glorious mission it dreams of.

Experimental Gardens

The second highest sphere is a well lit garden of vast metal and flesh woods and liquid metal oceans. It is a biome perfect for experimentation, where designs are itterated while respecting the need for the oil to mutate.

In a way, they resemble old Pyrulea, large metallic plates that float in the "waters" even resembling the giant leaves of old. They are constantly monitored by a host of organisms, taking the vats from the Dross Lianas and experimenting on them, otherwise oblivious to the rest of Phyrexia.

Praetor Rano leads this sphere. They have little time for the rest of phyrexia, other than the Father of Machines' specific instructions. For them, might is just as important as innovation, so while they favor predation as means to weed out the week, said predators are constantly itterated upon until more sblime designs can be seen. For this they are honoured as the "most phyrexian" of all praetors besides the Father of Machines, which draws the ire of the other praetors.

An ire they are compltely unaware of.

Solar Facade

The topmost layer of phyrexia encircles the sun itself. Here, beings are almost always almost entirely made of gold or silver, with little flesh remaining. They are the most "pure" of the phyrexians and adhere strictly to a few verses of the Yawgmoth scriptures, singing them in praise of the Father of Machines.

He himself was an archon once. Initially fighting the corruption, the more the oil ringed through his skull, the more orderly and perfect Phyrexia seemed. So he betrayed the remaining survivors and enraptured the emerging praetors, declaring himself the Father of Machines. Through his hieromantic magic some could protest but few ever did, and now this aberration of gold and silver flies with many hinging wings just beneath the sun, observing all the spheres below and shaping them to his desires.