Warnings: Explicit violence, some gore, and, yes, character death. PM me if you want an abridged version

Chapter 38 : Don't Cry Out

Zack had to figure what to do.

Despite the fact that they outnumbered the bad guys four to three, it somehow felt like they were the ones outnumbered. They were certainly getting their butts kicked.

The trio had shrugged off all the offensive materia they'd cast. Tifa had tried Ice and Quake. They hadn't liked the ice but it hadn't hurt them much, and they'd just jumped over the quake. Vincent had used Fire to little effect, and his Stop had been useless. Zack had tried Gravity. The clones shrugged it off, a little more slowly than Vincent's Fire, but Gravity was draining to use and Zack couldn't do it anymore. All of them had been using attack enhancers, and they had worked to a certain extent, just not enough. They'd hurt the clones, but they hadn't stopped them—hadn't come close to stopping them really. The only powerful materia he had left was Comet, and he wasn't sure this was the best time to use it. From what Sephiroth had said, the rocks could fall anywhere and good guys and bad were so mixed together that people from either side could get seriously hurt.

So he was down to one option—his last materia—and it was pathetic and silly. When he'd seen it on the inventory list back in the materia pit, it had reminded him of home. He'd picked it out of nostalgia, not reason, and now it was their only hope for evening the odds. It probably wouldn't work, it often didn't, but he had to try.

Let's see if he could turn one of them into a little, fat frog...

His target needed to be the one with the least sense of self. If the target was too sure of themselves, too sure of their purpose, this wouldn't work. That left out the little shit of a swordsman. He was cocky enough for all three of them. Not that the kid hadn't earned the right, Zack thought, as he dodged another viciously fast stroke.

He also should be close. The casting would be more effective the closer he was to the target. That meant Muscle Man was out. He was all the way down the dock trying to pound on Vincent.

That left Willow Boy who was busy firing at Tifa... and hitting her, godsdamnit! It was a good thing she'd taken the time to cast Regen on herself. She'd also thrown it on Tseng, who didn't have über-enhanced healing powers either. They'd've been dead four times over if it hadn't been for that... and he really needed to concentrate on what he was doing.

Hopefully he hadn't spoken his plan out loud. The way The Kid was acting it didn't seem like he had. He'd just have to trust that he'd been too busy to take a decent breath and that had kept his mouth shut.

He parried and backed up, carefully moving closer to the long haired one as he readied himself for the casting. A breath, a moment, and he used a Blast Wave at half strength to push the kid to the side, saving most of his energy for the next one. Jump up, over and down, to land within a couple steps of Willow Boy, and cast Transform.

The clone's shape wavered and hung up, then down he went, shrinking and changing colour, changing shape. The look of stunned surprise was almost worth the bullet he took—the last one Willow Boy shot before his hand was too small to hold the gun. Zack kicked it over the edge of the dock and into the water—one less thing to worry about. While he was at it he tried to stomp on Willow Boy's new shape; might as well give that a try too, but being small and green hadn't slowed him down much. He hopped away in a blur of speed.

'Ah well,' the First thought, 'time enough to take care of him later.'

Sensing movement behind him, he turned. The Kid's face was contorted with furious fear. His brother—litter-mate, fellow clone?—had been changed into a frog. Zack knew it wasn't permanent, in fact, it wouldn't last very long at all, but The Kid didn't. With an incoherent shout, the boy tossed a ball of crackling black smoke at the SOLDIER. It moved toward him like a dust cloud, thick and fast and coalescing into something other than smoke.

"Fuck!" Quick as the smoke that was now a massive, fanged beastie, Zack's wings had him up and out of the line of fire. "What the fuck is that thing?" Zack shouted in surprise.

"Do you like my little pet?" the clone asked, smirking. "I can call more if you want to play too."

Twisting in the air to look at it again, Zack got ready to attack. To his horror, he saw that the beast was heading straight toward Vincent. Vincent, who had his back turned as he whirled and kicked and dodged Muscle Man.

"Vinnie!" Zack called out in a panic, but it was too late. The thing reached the spooky gunman and snatched him up in its fangs. It flung its head around, working its jaw, digging into the gunman. Almost instantaneously, the grey smoke of the creature was joined by a thicker, heavier fog. In the short time the SOLDIER watched, the black fog developed red and purple lightning.

"Fuck!" Zack swore again. Tifa was a good distance from Vincent, she'd be okay. Tseng was too close. He flew in that direction.

"What kind of coward are you?" The Kid yelled, outraged at the SOLDIER's retreat. Zack didn't even hear him.

Clones forgotten, he moved toward the Turk using all his enhanced speed. He called out, "Tseng!" and the Turk looked up in surprise. Zack reached out, grabbed him under the arms and, with a grunt of pain—his ribs were maybe a bit more than bruised—lifted him away.

"What is going on, Commander?" he demanded calmly even as the First felt bones grinding in places they shouldn't.

"Trust me," Zack replied, "You don't want to be to close when Vince recovers." He set down close to Tifa, a little harder than he'd planned since one of his wings had a couple bullet holes in it. Tseng groaned as bruised and broken bits were jarred. The smell of their blood filled the air.

"I don't understand," Tseng protested gently even as he checked and replaced his clip, movements awkward from injuries from his fingers all the way up to his collarbone.

"Vincent's going to change, isn't he?" Tifa asked by way of a greeting. She took another wary look at the clones and the red-black cloud that had been Vincent, before turning to her companions. "Here," she said to Tseng, "Let me set your shoulder."

"Yup," Zack said, "On the plus side, we can relax now 'cuz the battle's over." He too kept his eyes on the action, even as he grabbed small elixirs out of his field back and quaffed them. He wasn't sure he had enough steam to throw a regular bouncy ball let alone cast some materia. Even his little wing hands draped limply over his shoulders, exhausted and hurting. He handed one to Tifa who was busy Curing the worst of Tseng's injuries before seeing to her own.

He watched the little frog hop frantically toward his brothers. The dark-haired warrior had to resist the impulse to warn him to stay away from whatever Vincent was going to become. Chaos would laugh at them before ripping their hearts out. On the other hand, if one of them was willing to fuck him, the demon probably wouldn't kill them at all. The First snuck an embarrassed glance at Tifa. It would be like watching a porn movie with his sister in the room. Ewwww.

The youngest clone had moved up beside his larger brother, closer to where his 'pet' was now chewing fog. The boy was frowning, and Zack could almost hear him thinking as he tried to figure why the SOLDIER had run away and what the beast was eating because it certainly wasn't the guy it had scooped up. He looked almost cute when he was puzzled, and Zack felt sure Chaos would find him 'tasty'. The young one raised a slim hand and called his creature back to him. No body fell to the dock. No blood pooled on the wood. There was only a swirling mass of black and lightning, a shrinking ball of light that was growing brighter and brighter. Zack knew it would soon explode outward.

"Fuck, here he comes," he warned his companions, urging them down to the ground.

Light, unnatural and pus-ugly, filled the battle zone. It was compression, it was expansion, it was everything and it was nothing. The world destroyed and rebuilt in a moment. Tainted by something indefinable.

That's not how he remembered it from Chaos' previous appearance...

"Oh," said a new voice neither high nor low, neither male nor female, but somehow all at the same time. It was familiar, though Zack couldn't place it, but it certainly wasn't Chaos' smooth baritone. "This isn't the lab. I've never been here before. In visions of the dark night; I have dreamed of joy departed; but a waking dream of life and light; hath left me broken-hearted."

Even Zack could recognize that it was a poem, because the Not-Vincent-Person-Thing's voice had changed its rhythm the way people often did when spouting poetry.

The SOLDIER risked a peek at Vincent's new being. Setting aside the mystery of Not-Vincent's voice, he was surprised by the form the gunman had taken this time. It was very different from Chaos' deadly elegance, or even Vincent's own sleek, if gloomy, presence. Even the purple thing had been dangerously attractive.

This one wasn't.

As usual with the gunman, his alternate shape was bigger than his normal form: taller by at least a head, very wide through the shoulders, and bulkier all over. If Zack had to describe him in one sentence, he'd say the guy was built like a meatpacker and dressed like one too, with a thick leather smock and steel-toed boots. The weirdest thing about him was that he was wearing a mask, the solid kind that had holes for eyes and a slit for the mouth. It had a slight beak, making it look like a raptor, and Zack recognized it as a style that had been common for goalies in Speed Ball nearly forty years ago.

"So often has my reality been disappointingly monotonous, but now, finally, here's a whole new canvas for me to explore." That was weird, Zack decided, because it seemed like the Not-Vincent person was looking right at the young clone when he said it.

"Where did you come from?" The Kid demanded.

"Where did I come from?" Vincent's new form responded, "Well, that depends on whether you believe in the gods. If you do, then perhaps they brought me here," he raised one long fingered hand to his heart. "I lived my days apart, dreaming fair songs for God; by the glory in my heart, covered and crowned and shod."

"Huh," the big one frowned, puzzled.

Willow Boy, still in frog form had stopped moving toward his fellow clones. He was nervously hopping from side to side. Maybe he sensed something his brothers didn't.

The Not-Vincent ignored the interruption and continued declaiming; "'Now God is in the strife, and I must seek Him there. Where death outnumbers life, and fury smites the air.' I wish I'd written that." The creature sighed, "You would make a lovely canvas," he continued, reaching out fingers that seemed to be growing. Zack rubbed his eyes. He felt a small hand—not one of his wings'—grab his shoulder. Tifa peered beyond him at the scene being played out on the dock.

"Your skin is such a pretty pearl colour, and then there's your hair and your eyes. You are a wonderfully monochromatic canvas. It would make a beautiful backdrop for the essence of life." He tilted his head and swayed, "I could share my paints with you to create the proper balance. A touch of green would be perfect." He stretched out even more, fingers now impossibly long, and almost touched the young clone.

The Kid ducked and moved out of reach. "What are you?" the boy yelled, "Where's the other one, with the red cape?"

"That's Hellmasker," she whispered to Zack, "He's Vincent's second-most powerful form after Chaos. We should move back behind those shipping crates." She pulled at him until he started moving backwards, but even while he was obeying her, Zack thought. 'What the fuck?' The Thing That Had Been Vincent was spouting poetry like a more widely read version of Genesis. How was he dangerous?

"The other one isn't here and yet he is. Isn't it obvious?" The androgynous voice filled the dock. There was no response from the clones. "You don't see it. I shouldn't be surprised, so few see the world for what it is." The creature waved his arms at their surroundings. "This is the realm of impermanence. Matter isn't solid and it's never still. It's limited only by the boundaries of your own mind. A mind that knows no boundaries, one that can see the beginnings and endings of things, can control the matter that forms all that we can touch." He sounded so sincere, and so fucking bizarre, that Zack blinked.

The small fighter continued to whisper, "He said that Hellmasker scared everyone who encountered him. Apparently, even Chaos thinks he's dangerously unstable."

"Shit," Zack murmured in bemusement. He took another look at Vincent's current incarnation. He looked strong but somehow cartoonish, and his oddly distorted voice didn't help the SOLDIER take him seriously. Chaos was frightened by this?

The clones exchanged a baffled look and Zack had to remind himself they weren't responding to his thoughts but to what Hellmasker had said before, which had been weird stuff about controlling all matter. Huh, he thought, it sounded like Jenova's little clones and the weird poetry guy should get along just fine; they all wanted the same thing after all.

Then the little one shrugged, and the big one turned back to Hellmasker and sneered, "That doesn't explain you."

"Fine," Hellmasker's flattened voice sounded impatient and disappointed, "I am an artist, is that simple enough? There's no point in talking to you," he nodded toward the big one, "but I would still like to paint you." He tipped his head at The Kid and took a step forward, "It will be perfect. I will paint you in pretty colours, blood red, bone white, death grey. Life against death played out in your flesh. A form of immortality you'd understand and I will make it beautiful for you."

The small clone laughed at the masked figure in front of him. "You're fucking crazy!" he said in a bit of irony Zack could appreciate.

Hellmasker paused but only for a moment. "I suppose it's to be expected. All the best artists are misunderstood. Genius is never appreciated until after death." He shuffled a step closer to the boy, "When last I died, and, dear, I die as often as from thee I go, though it be but an hour ago—and lovers' hours be full eternity." A step closer. "Not that the others are my lover. They have not an artist's soul." Another step.

Muscle Man inserted himself between Hellmasker and the smaller clone, "Don't touch Kadaj," he ordered, chin up, fists clenched. He was ready to fight.

Hellmasker turned to peer at this obstacle. His bird-like mask tilted this way and that. "The gods were generous when they made you, weren't they? Or perhaps you owe your existence to something less ephemeral." He leaned close, sniffing loudly. "You stink of the laboratory, and you desire the world's destruction." A step back, "My host told me what you are, the one I do not name told me your purpose. 'Nor shall you scare us with talk of the death of the race. How should we dream of this place without us? The sun mere fire, the leaves untroubled about us, a stone look on the stone's face?'"

Zack realized where he'd heard that voice before—it was what the TV stations did to disguise the voices of confidential informants and whistle-blowers. It was some kind of mechanical masking. No wonder the guy didn't sound human, aside from all the death poetry he kept reciting, it almost made Zack wish for Genesis and his endless quotes from Loveless.

Almost.

The large clone merely looked more belligerent at the end of Hellmasker's speech. He didn't look inspired or enlightened, or even curious. He just looked ready to defend his smaller litter-mate.

After a moment, Hellmasker declared "You are not a worthy canvas," and his left hand grew and changed. The high-pitched whine of a small motor filled the space, and the blade of a chainsaw cut through the middle of the large clone's body, spattering blood and guts and bone over the dock, over his brother, and over himself. He brought the tool back for another pass, and then another. He sliced through arms and legs, sometimes only partially and sometimes completely severing the limb. The mess was horrifying, and the speed was shocking.

'No wonder he wears that leather apron,' Zack said in stunned understanding.

The youngest clone, Kadaj, stood absolutely still, the silver-blue blood of his clone-brother dripping down his face and showing up against his dark leather clothing like stars in the night sky. He was in shock, Zack figured, and who could blame him.

Where in all the hells had the chainsaw come from? He looked more closely at The Creature That Had Been Vincent. The chainsaw was part of its body; grown out of its arm where its hand used to be, and it was changing shape as he watched—changing into something smaller. Zack noticed that Hellmasker's torso was slimmer than it had been but it was bulking up again. He could see the ripple running up the thing's arm as matter returned to chest and shoulders. It had somehow pulled the mass of its body down into its arm to form the chainsaw.

Fucking impossible.

He kept watching.

Hellmasker didn't stop with dissecting the corpse. It now had a slim axe instead of the chainsaw or its hand, and it began making almost delicate cuts into the larger pieces. It used the flat side of the blade to flick the smaller bits into new positions around the main parts. It ignored the small clone's, Kadaj's, quivering form. Instead, it whistled while it drew patterns in the blood. It was some tune from thirty or forty years ago. Zack recognized it: his mother had listened to that tune. The SOLDIER felt his gorge rise and swallowed hastily. Not only didn't SOLDIERs throw up on the battlefield but he didn't want that thing hearing and maybe becoming curious enough to investigate.

"What did you do?" The Kid whispered hoarsely. Hellmasker ignored him. "What did you do to Loz!" the clone repeated louder but still harsh.

"It was self-defence," Hellmasker didn't look up from his 'canvas'. "He ate him up from head to toe, chewing the pieces nice and slow. It took an hour to reach the feet, because there was so much to eat, And when he finished, Pig, of course, felt absolutely no remorse. Slowly he scratched his brainy head and with a little smile he said, 'I had a fairly powerful hunch, that he might have me for his lunch. And so, because I feared the worst, I thought I'd better eat him first'."

The creature finally paused in its work, "I don't actually recommend eating raw humans as you never know what they've ingested. Too many people have no understanding of all the benefits organic food gives a body."

Tifa had long since ducked back down, not wanting to watch. "Could we go help Cloud?" she asked hopefully.

Zack shook his head, "That thing's between us and the platform. I don't think it would be a good idea to grab its attention."

"I agree with the Commander. Unless he can fly us both over there–" he slanted a questioning glance toward the winged SOLDIER. Zack shook his head; his wings were still drooping. "–then we should remain as still as possible."

"You bastard!" the small one, Kadaj, yelled. He raised his sword and charged. He moved so fast he was a blur. Hellmasker didn't move, didn't dodge, just raised a lazy arm. When the sword came down, it sliced into the creature's forearm—and it didn't come out.

Kadaj tugged, trying to pull his blade out of Hellmasker's arm. The arm didn't move until Hellmasker twisted it and let its... flesh wasn't quite the right word, Zack decided, because flesh shouldn't do what Hellmasker was doing with it. The creature let its arm flow down and around the blade until it wrapped itself around the clone's wrist.

The sword was gone, dissolved into the thing that had been inside Vincent Valentine.

Hellmasker turned to fully face the young boy. "Who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls." With the encased wrist he lifted the boy until he stood on his toes, "That was very brave and very foolish." A pause, a tilt of the head, "I will paint you, and you will be my masterpiece."

Hellmasker's other hand came up, fingers changed into long, slim blades. "First we must prepare the canvas," it said and began cutting off the boy's leathers. The clone struggled—who wouldn't?—but Hellmasker merely slimmed itself down a little more and stretched out its feet until they formed manacles around the boy's ankles. When Kadaj tried to punch and gouge, it grew another arm and caught the boy's other wrist and lifted him, stretching him out in an 'X' shape.

"So very beautiful. Most people don't appreciate the different forms of beauty; their vision is limited by the standards set by idiots or the weaklings of a scared society." It ran blunt fingers over the clone's exposed chest, tracing bones and the dips where defined muscles met. "may i feel said he; (i'll squeal said she; just once said he); it's fun said she," it recited lazily, lost in the possibilities the clone's body obviously inspired in him.

"How long will this form take to wear off?" Zack asked the air, muscles tensing with the urge to go to the clone's rescue. Forget the fact that the little shit had been doing his best to kill them all, that he was insane and was working to destroy the planet, the dark-haired SOLDIER had the feeling that nobody deserved having Hellmasker 'paint' them. He ducked down, looking away. He'd seen enough of this kind of thing in Hojo's lab; he didn't want to see anymore.

"I don't know," Tifa confessed, "Vincent didn't like to talk about it. He just said to stay away from Hellmasker and I didn't press him."

Zack snorted, "Not that pressure would've worked." The small fighter smiled weakly in agreement. "What about you, Tseng? The Turks were keeping an eye on the lab; surely you were briefed on Vince before you came to the camp?"

"Thirty years ago, we didn't have the resources or the influence to force continued surveillance of a facility that was supposedly abandoned, especially one in such a remote location. We only started monitoring the mansion again after you disappeared three years ago."

"By that time Vincent had already become a myth and had gone to sleep in his coffin," Zack finished for him. "How convenient."

Tifa backed up his accusation, "You knew enough to bring his old gun."

Whatever argument was brewing between them was cut short as a horrifying scream filled the cavern. Hellmasker had started work on the small clone. They could hear the sizzling and bubbling from here; followed shortly by the smell of diseased flesh. "Such a lovely contrast, don't you think?" the creature asked, its mechanical voice almost dreamy.

Once again, the SOLDIER was forced to swallow hard to bring his gag reflex under control.

Zack shut his eyes and whispered a prayer, "I want Chaos back."

Cloud finally knew what Sephiroth had planned. He'd received the orb from Zack's girlfriend, Aeris, and she was the last living Cetra... except that Sephiroth had been injected with so much of Jenova's genetic material that he could be considered at least partially Cetran. He could activate the materia but he needed a willing sacrifice.

Sephiroth had been planning to sacrifice himself.

Somehow, he'd known that Jenova would show up and try to kill him, and he had planned to let her kill him. 'Well fuck that!' Cloud thought viciously. Zack's girlfriend had said that any sacrifice would do, as long as they believed and were willing to die. He believed. He believed in Sephiroth. He believed that the Silver General was more important than anyone and he knew he was willing to die to protect the man he loved.

So, if it came to it, he could be the sacrifice that carried the prayer into the Lifestream and sealed its purpose.

He shouted and charged at the huge alien again. He jumped, used his wings to get in close, then he swung at her over and over, hoping to cut her and infect more of her more quickly. He growled at the ineffectiveness of his materia. Next time he was grabbing Vincent's Stop or Sephiroth's Mystify. Now those were statuses that were fucking useful!

"Do you really believe you can become a god?" he shouted at the monster.

She whipped out a tentacle and knocked him to the ground, with rib-cracking force. He rolled, his wings already tucked away and safe. "I've already been a god," she declared, "On a hundred worlds, I've been worshipped. On a thousand more, I've been loved."

"And by destroying this world, you think you can go back to that?" He fought off a waving tentacle. "After two thousand years on Gaia, can you really go back to what you were before?"

She narrowed angry red eyes. "I will go back to it," she declared. "It is my rightful place and I will go back."

A beam of blue energy shot out from her—where it came from, Cloud couldn't tell—but she was moving it towards Sephiroth's kneeing form. Desperately Cloud jumped in front of the beam, raising Heaven's Cloud as a shield and reflector. He cast another Barrier on both Sephiroth and himself. He was willing to die, but not until he could take her with him: it was the only way to make Sephiroth safe. The beam hit his sword and he tried to bounce it back toward the alien but it scattered and became useless. It didn't last long, a few seconds and she'd finished casting, but Cloud could feel the cold heat in his blade. It didn't go away, but lingered, making his hands slightly numb and freezing the Poisona into lumps.

Not exactly the best treatment for a good blade.

He tightened his grip. "I'm going to stop you," Cloud said simply, throwing another Bolt at her. He charged in expecting the lightning to have the usual effect on the alien being. It didn't. Instead, she threw out an elongated hand and caught him on her claws.

Dagger spikes of pain all through his chest.

Burning agony in all his cells as the virus in him responded to their progenitor, duplicating, accelerating—wanting to become one with her.

"You. Are going. To stop. Me?" her voice dripped scorn. "All a failure like you can do is die." She jerked her hand and Cloud slid down farther on her long, long claws.

It hurt.

It hurt like all Hojo's experiments combined. He wanted to run away, retreat, go away from the pain. He didn't have to feel this. His mind started to sheer, he could feel it fracturing, just like it had in the lab. Then he heard a soft voice, hoarse with fear and the beginning of rage, "Cloud…"

It was Sephiroth. The General was watching, seeing him caught and helpless as a hooked trout. He's stopped whatever it was he was doing. That was bad, Cloud thought, and his mind snapped back. He would not retreat. He would not fracture. He was Corporal Cloud Strife of Nibelheim and He. Would. Not. Give. Up.

He grabbed Jenova's wrist with one hand and used it to push himself off her claws. "Don't stop what you were doing, Sir," he ordered Sephiroth. He didn't want his actions to be wasted. She curled her fingers, tearing them through his soft belly. He screamed behind clenched teeth. Still, he was nearly free. He readied himself for a final effort. "I'm willing to die for what I believe in," he stated with absolute conviction, "Are you?" He glared at her huge, reptilian eyes in challenge.

She smirked, revealing teeth that weren't quite fangs. "If it would free me of this world, I would die a thousand times over… and laugh the whole time."

Perfect.

A push and a wiggle, desperate breaths to keep from passing out, and he was free. "Then let's hear you laugh, bitch."

With the last of his strength he shot forward. He had Heaven's Cloud in both hands, tip first, and he blurred as he moved. She couldn't dodge and she couldn't knock him out of the air. He was too close and too fast. He braced himself for the impact but Heaven's Cloud slid into her neck easily. More easily than the Corporal was prepared for because, when the blade stopped at the hilt, he didn't. He slammed right into her and bounced. The pain nearly made him black out but he held on. He'd felt pain before. He knew pain, could work through it. Hold on. He decided, once he could think again, that being bounced around had been a good thing because it pulled the blade around inside the delicate tissues, increasing the damage and decreasing the chance that she could heal the wound before it killed her. With that in mind, he placed his feet on her ribs and twisted and twirled and tried, in every way he could think of, to make the injury fatal.

She made sounds, or tried to. Her mouth opened and blue-ish blood poured out amidst gurgling sounds. Her tentacles thrashed, moving wildly and beating out her distress on the platform. He tossed his head, trying to flip away the blood that covered his eyes. Steam, from where the cold blade met hot blood, left the wound and scalded him.

She brought up hands to grab at him, hitting him, flailing in desperation. He used his wings to keep them away, batting at her wrists and arms. It worked for a while but then she hit his tucked left wing and Cloud heard something crack. He swallowed a scream, panting through his mouth to control the pain. The next time she brought her hands up he swung on the sword and kicked them away.

Her tentacles were moving so quickly that he could no longer distinguish individual thumps on the platform. Instead there was just a steady drumming that blended into one solid, endless note. He could feel heat through the leather of his gloves. He unstuck his eyelids, wondering what was happening. Sickly green-black colour was spreading out from where Heaven's Cloud was impaled into her neck. It looked like the Status Strike was maybe finally having an effect. But it was also doing something to his weapon because it was changing colour too.

Well, if he survived this but his blade didn't, he could always go back to using a gun. He reset his grip on the hilt and twisted it a little more.

She wrapped a clawed tentacle around his leg and tugged. He held onto his weapon despite the blood coating it. The force of it pulled him down—and the blade with him. It made the cut even worse, made it longer and wider. More blood streamed out. She didn't stop pulling. The blade got caught up on her collarbone. She didn't stop pulling. He refused to let go of the hilt of his weapon, gritting his teeth, and tightening his grip. He could feel his muscles, stretching unnaturally long. The bones in his spine and ribs were separating. It was excruciating. He couldn't stop the scream that tore through him. Just when he was sure he was going to be torn in half, her tentacle fell away. The noise of them drumming against the platform had stopped.

It was over. He'd won... except he wasn't willing to trust it, not yet. He'd let go of Heaven's Cloud when Jenova's body dissolved into the Lifestream and not a moment before.

He lifted himself higher, trying to make himself more secure in case she was faking it. When he looked down her body to try and judge if she really were dying, he saw that her tentacles were moving just as rapidly as before. The only reason they weren't making noise against the platform was because she was levitating. Floating above the platform. Not much, not yet, but Cloud could see that the rounded surface was starting to look smaller.

If she got much higher, he might not be able to jump down safely. He certainly couldn't fly with a broken left wing.

He let go of Heaven's Cloud and climbed onto her shoulder. He began punching the side of her face, putting all his remaining strength into it. He aimed at the base of her skull, as near as he could figure. It was a vulnerable area in humans; hopefully it was equally as vulnerable in mutated aliens.

They rose higher. He kept punching but he was losing strength. He should stop, Cast cure, catch his breath, let himself fall off... something. Instead he kept hitting her, whispering a desperate prayer: please let this work, please let him be safe. It took some time before he noticed the subtle vibration suffusing her body or the increase in temperature. When he opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—her body was surrounded by the blue light she'd used in her beam spell. This was more focussed though, more intense, and lined her body in a field only two fingers wide.

'What the fuck?' He sat up and looked at the wound in panic. Was she closing it?

No. It was still gaping and running with blood. His sword was still embedded in her neck but it was cracking, splintering. 'What the fuck?' he thought again.

...you shall die with me, puppet...die a traitor's death...

He heard her voice, vindictive and malevolent, in his head and then he was at the centre of a maelstrom. No time to prepare. She'd exploded, he realized, with him still on her shoulder. A sharp pain in his belly; he looked down. A piece of Heaven's Cloud was there. Blood coated his hands. He'd experienced this before.

This had better have worked, he thought before he couldn't think anymore.

Light, heat, wind, cold, dark, breath, sight...

Death.

The strength of the explosion flung Sephiroth across the platform in a sliding fall. The orb, the precious orb of Holy materia, was knocked from his hand and bounced, once, twice, then off the platform. It bounced on the steps, once, twice, then into the deep, endless water. A 'thrum' sawed through his brain, echoed in his bones. It was done. It had worked. The Lifestream would fight Meteor and the infection in its very essence. Their enemies were its enemies. They had a chance at winning now.

Except... where was Cloud?

He looked up, at where Jenova used to be. There was only an expanding ball of silver-black something. Bits of flesh started to fall and he raised an arm to protect himself.

Was he... Could he have been...

"Cloud!" he shouted in hope and fear. He raced to the edge of the platform. Maybe he'd be able to see ripples in the water from where the Corporal had entered it. There were tiny circles only, nothing big enough for a whole person no matter how small he was.

"Cloud!" Nothing. He moved to his left and looked again. Nothing. Nothing, nothing and nothing.

"CLOUD!" This time the cavern echoed with his agony of loneliness and despair.

AN: The poems quoted by Hellmasker are, in order:

'A Dream' by Edgar Allan Poe
'A Mystic as Soldier' by Siegfried Sassoon
'The Legacy' by John Donne
'Advice to a Prophet' by Richard Wilbur
'The Pig' by Roald Dahl
'Howl, Part I' by Alan Ginsberg
'may i feel said he' by e e cummings

I am not a huge poetry buff, although I do have John Donne and Roald Dahl in my library, mostly I looked up poems to match what I wanted Hellmasker to say. Thanks to poetryfoundation dot org and poets dot org.