Warnings: avari_maethor on LJ asked for blood. I think this'll make her happy.

Chapter 54: Go Back to Sleep

Zack looked at the purple clad troops gathering just outside the entrance to the room and rolled his eyes. "Well, fuck," he said in disgust. "Honestly. Freedom sure is pricey."

A quick glance confirmed that his companions were returning to normal. He shifted his sword holding it in both hands in front of him. "Make sure of Nero," he ordered his companions, "I'll keep these guys off you." Tseng nodded silently and Yazoo fell in behind him using his genetically enhanced abilities to run as fast backwards as Tseng was running facing front. It was a cool trick, Zack thought. He'd have to see if he could do it.

He took a deep breath and repeated his pre-battle mantra, the words, the belief, the same ones Angeal had taught him so many years ago. "Never lose your dreams and no matter the situation never let go of your pride as SOLDIER." Despite what Angeal had done, the words still resonated for him.

He opened his eyes and saw that the DGS soldiers were pouring in. The first bullets were fired and he deflected them with his broad Buster sword. "Irasshaimase!" he yelled. 'Welcome to my shop' it meant. During the war the Wutaian warriors had shouted it at the invading Shin-Ra forces before joining battle and Zack liked the ironic symmetry of using the phrase here.

Then he placed himself in the middle of the entrance and proceeded to kick some DGS ass. He used every trick he'd ever learned—Assault Twister, Death Jump; Hells, he even used Chocobo Stomp—anything he could remember or make up that would take down the DGS troops in large quantities. And it worked. Whole waves of them fell. And that was good and bad.

Good because their bodies piled up and formed a barrier that limited how many could come at Zack at once. Of course, the bodies should have dissolved into the Lifestream but the First figured that Hojo—the sick fucker—had altered the poor bastards too much, made them so unnatural they had no place there anymore. It was heartbreaking, yes, but the reality of it gave Zack an advantage and he wasn't going to turn it down because every pause in the action, every break, allowed him to build up to the next move, recover a bit more health or mana, and the more he could do that the longer he'd last.

The slaughter was bad because it was making the footing treacherous. First there was the blood—and Zack decided the weird purple-red liquid was DGS blood. At the start of the fight it had merely dribbled across the floor in little rivulets but as more bodies were added it had become streams of liquid wending their way across the battlefield. Now the stuff covered the floor in sheets and, for whatever reason—fucking Hojo again—it never thickened or got sticky. It was always thin and slick and lethally unstable. The only way to escape slipping in the stuff was to climb on the layers of dead soldiers but they were just as unstable and dangerous.

Well, he could always back up but that would also allow DGS deeper into the room which meant it would be easier for the enemy troops to slip past him and attack Tseng and Yazoo. Those two were still finishing up with Nero—he could hear them fighting—so they didn't need any DGS grunts on their asses and he didn't need Nero sneaking up behind him. Therefore couldn't move. It was that simple. So, with all his small-town jungle-boy stubbornness, he planted his feet on the thinnest layer of corpses and he got fighting; swinging and whooping and twirling, keeping the soldiers focussed on him and nowhere else.

He should have fallen. Hells, he should've tripped and been buried under the mounds of corpses, and he probably would have if his wings hadn't come out and stayed out. They were so much help he was seriously wondering how he'd ever fought without the little buggers. He'd slip and they'd pump and he would stay on his feet. Or there'd be a small avalanche of bodies coming toward him, threatening to pull him under and they'd lift him up and out of danger. And he didn't really have to do a thing; they just worked with him like his arms or his legs. It was completely cool and he took back every unkind thought he'd ever had about them. As if they'd understood his thoughts, the little things worked even harder than before.

Still, it was a bit of a losing battle and Zack knew it. There were just too many of them and they had snipers now, sitting on the upper walkways that he couldn't reach without letting the ground troops get under and past him.

He barely felt the first bullet, either going in or being pushed back out. Same with the second and third but, by the time the shots hit the double digits, he was noticing them. They hurt more, they didn't heal as fast, his uniform was getting wet from his blood and, despite the mako his system was burning in order to keep him moving, he was starting to feel cold… not a good sign. Eventually, he'd be damaged enough that he'd have to stop and then the swarm would kill him really dead.

So be it, he thought. He didn't want to die but if that's what it took to keep his friends safe, to give them a chance to survive and to save the world, then that's what he'd do.

As if there'd ever been another choice he could make.

Again, Chaos shot the huge mechanical suit, a preliminary version of the final WEAPON, that Weiss had entered and growled with frustration. It wasn't that they weren't hitting it but that half the time the shot bounced off the dense metal and hit a portion of the wall or ceiling and exploded uselessly. It was frustrating, fascinating, unforeseen. They had to find a way to counteract the proto-Omega's armour. As far as they could tell, part of its resilience was due to the streamers that joined machine to the ice-green mako. Ethereal bonds it was using to feed and strengthen itself.

Fascinating, they repeated. Annoying, they replied.

"Chaos," yelled their small warrior, prize, female, "We've got company."

They turned to look but were unimpressed with the scrawny under-equipped soldiers that came through the door. Pathetic, they thought. Desperate, they agreed. There were only about a hundred of them.

They have guns and their female was a melee fighter, Chaos pointed out to themselves, she could be damaged. Their thoughts skipped in concern before they flicked their fingers at the DGS troops. Red lightning flared and jumped from gun to gun, warping the metal and making the weapons useless. Good idea, they purred. Minor alteration to matter, they explained.

Now, without their projectile weapons, the DGS troops were no real threat to Tifa. Still, they felt compelled to enquire further, lest they overestimate the fighter, lover, cohort. *Do you need help?*

"I'll let you know if I do," Tifa answered, already moving to the attack.

Humming approval of the small warrior, they turned back to Omega-Weiss and thought on how to kill the conundrum, annoyance, their enemy. They could think of only one way to weaken Omega's armour: the streamers had to go. But how could they destroy something that was just tainted air? Before they had a chance to try anything they were approached by floating balls of pale metal that whirred delicately.

Of course, nothing that innocent looking could ever be harmless so they strengthened their outer surfaces and made sure Death Penalty was fully functional. They angled away from the small warrior, dragging the floating bubbles with them—bubbles which eventually stopped moving and opened petals like a tulip. Unlike a flower, they shot high-powered lasers but they weren't ordinary beams; there was a percussive factor that blew Chaos into a high whirling spin. They furled their wings and let their tail provide the counterbalance they needed in order to land on their feet, which they did, heavily, but not ungracefully.

Interesting, they hummed. Annoying, they repeated before firing at the bubble that had shot them. It had folded up its petals, however, and was once again a smooth, impenetrable ball. Their shot bounced off the surface.

Very annoying, they corrected and they all agreed.

Another ball was opening close by so they shot it instead. It exploded nicely, once again knocking them backwards and searing their surface with heat, but they were partly mollified. The floating flowers had a weakness that could be exploited. It was a good thing to know. Now it wouldn't take them long to destroy the deadly little baubles. As long as they avoided the rays and stayed far enough back when one exploded, it would be easy…boring, but easy.

One of the flowers veered toward Tifa who was in the centre of a darkly seething mass of DGS soldiers. Chaos didn't think the weapon would care about its allies anymore than they did, which meant that their lover, cohort, prize, was in danger. They shouted and moved quickly toward her. The petals opened, getting ready to fire. Chaos shot at the centre of the flower but the angle was wrong and they couldn't hit the vulnerable core. They were close, so close, but they wouldn't reach Tifa in time.

Bash it, they said. Ineffectual, they argued but it might knock the trajectory off so that the beam missed their warrior. They followed Gigas' inclination. They flipped in mid-air, bending so they would kick the centre with their pointed sabatons. It was a perfect hit and the flower exploded.

And it barely hurt.

No energy feedback, they hypothesized but that didn't matter either because they knew the weapons' true weakness now. Now… they could really have fun with flowers.

Purple-black clouds, thick and malevolent, swirled over Sephiroth's outstretched hand, coming together and filling the open space with thunder. There wasn't any lightning, just an ominous flashing glow. The dark mass threw out whirling streamers that burrowed through the sky, lazily aiming for the thing that was Hojo and Jenova conjoined. And Sephiroth stood there calm and commanding like an ancient death god, hair rising and lashing about his tall frame, coat flapping and rippling.

He was scary and sensual and oh so fucking hot and, Ramah's beard, these weren't appropriate thoughts to be having...

Cloud pressed on his wounded shoulder so he could bring his body back under his control. It helped his erection subside, but he still felt weird. He felt fragile yet enormous, unbreakable yet completely mortal, damaged beyond repair but invincible. It was different than what he'd felt when he'd retreated into his mind back in the lab. Then he'd been running away from a reality too harsh to survive. He'd been too uncertain of himself and his strength to believe that he could survive what Hojo was doing to him so, in a way, he hadn't. Now, however, he knew he was strong, knew he could survive, and there was no way in all Ifrit's Hells that he was leaving the General to fight those two alone.

One more hard hit and he'd become something beyond himself.

He forced himself to his feet, using his sword to lever himself up and over. "You're the failure!" he yelled out to Hojo forcing the creature's attention back to him. "You're the one who tried and tried to control the world and failed. That makes you the idiot."

As he'd expected, the so-called scientist reacted with uncontrolled rage at having his intellect questioned. He sputtered out some reply but Cloud wasn't listening. He was watching the wing come toward him, its blood-stained tip a dramatic focal point. It moved forward then down and the wind lifted dust and compressed the air into a lethal weapon.

Lethal, that was, if he hadn't moved himself to the edge of the blast zone.

The wind was still strong enough to knock him off his feet and roll him around. It acerbated his existing injuries and added just enough pain to push him over the edge.

Thank gods for the General's obsessive over-planning because Cloud had known right away what his body was doing and why he was seeing the world in blue: he was going into a Limit Break. He and Zack had been hidden away in the lab when the mutation had first shown up in fighters all over the globe and nobody knew if they'd ever experience one but the General had thought they should know about them, just in case.

So Cloud knew what his body was doing intellectually. What he didn't know was what form his Limit Break would take. He didn't know what actions he'd perform or if he'd transform, or even what the end result would be. All he knew was that he was moving, flying through the air, chasing Tsurugi's blades as they danced around the Hojo-Jenova creature in floating counterpoint to Sephiroth's descending funnel clouds.

He was nothing but a deadly streak of light, cutting through anything—anything—that was between him and his blades. He rushed through a cloud and it trailed behind him, following him as he plowed through the enemy's body, filling the hole he left in the creature. Then Cloud had First Tsurugi in his hand and he streaked over to where Second Tsurugi waited for him, and he pulled another twisting cloud with him.

Over and over, he gathered the pieces of his weapon and wove his light and Sephiroth's dark into and through and around the bizarre thing that was Hojo. He tied the creature to the power they'd called, binding it here, keeping it here. This time, there would be no escape.

The flowers were gone and this fight was no longer as enjoyable—Omega and his stupid impenetrable armour.

They were more convinced than ever that the secret was in the liquid connection between WEAPON and mako pool. They'd shot the streamers with Death Penalty. Nothing. They had exploded one of the baubles in the middle of the strands but it had had no effect except to create gentle waves in the thick liquid. Next, they lured one of erratic missiles into impacting on the surface of the lake. Still nothing. Mako just wasn't flammable or combustible or even somewhat unstable; at least not in this form.

They watched their companion, prize, cohort, fight the diminishing stream of DGS soldiers, appreciating the clean movements and the power of her. They only wished she was wearing fewer or smaller clothing so they'd have more to appreciate.

"You're supposed to be fighting the machine not critiquing my wardrobe." Her voice wasn't loud after all they were attuned to her and could pick-up her words before she spoke. It was just that she preferred to hear herself say them.

She ducked under an enemy soldier, lifted him up and tossed him with all of her considerable strength. They watched as the poor man arched up high, spinning helplessly before landing with barely a ripple, in the thick mako. Then Chaos saw it. Unlike the other DGS bodies, that one dissolved quickly. The purified mako easily overcame whatever alterations Hojo had made to it, and absorbed its tainted essence into itself… and the colour shifted from icy-green pureness to a darker, murkier colour.

It was brief, a flicker of a moment, but it made the streamers slow and thicken and that made Omega-Weiss shudder and list, just for a moment, but it was enough to show them what they had to do.

Ooo, they purred. Excellent idea, they concurred. They spoke to their companion, lover, partner, *Throw the bodies into the lake.*

"What?" Tifa questioned even as she dodged a hard kick.

They didn't bother repeating it. Tifa was occupied, and they were bored, so it was just as easy for them to go over and start pushing the dead bodies over the floor and into the mako. When pushing got tedious—which happened very quickly—they took to throwing the corpses across the room; right hand, left hand, then with their tail.

"That's disgusting," Tifa said in between attacks, "and disrespectful."

Chaos snorted. That delusional scientist had been far more disrespectful. He had made it so that these beings couldn't return to the Lifestream on their own. Chaos was just…fixing it.

Weiss shot more of his near harmless missiles at them and Chaos nearly laughed but then they thought of a better use for the devices. They waited until it was too late for the missiles to change their trajectory then they grabbed Tifa and went up to the ceiling.

The missiles landed among the remaining DGS troops.

"Thanks," Tifa held on, unafraid of them. "I didn't even see those."

*Our pleasure.* They tightened their grip making sure to press her against them from chest to thigh.

She tapped them on the chin. "Zack warned me about what kind of pervert you are and that's okay, I guess. I'll learn how to deal with it," she said, "but right now, we need to stop Weiss."

Chaos sneered. *Fighting the proto-Omega is not interesting. Not as interesting as holding you.* Their tail ran down over her back and buttocks. *Besides, it will still be there if we... take a little break.*

Tifa looked at him in disappointment. "If Weiss manages to fully turn into Omega while we're 'taking a break' then we'll never have sex again."

The demon growled unhappily but was forced to admit that she was correct. There was also a voice inside them reminding them of a promise. *We will eventually destroy the WEAPON, then there will be nothing stopping us...*

"You've already warned me," Tifa laughed, "Twice."

*After then,* they purred, already anticipating the end.

Omega fired a beam at them, similar to that which the flower had used but much more powerful. Chaos whirled them out of its path and kept them gently spinning even as they returned the small warrior to the ground. She moved toward the corpses and grimaced. "What a waste," she muttered sadly. "I hope somebody manages to kill Hojo very, very dead this time."

He looked at the fallen DGS troops, thinking of their effect on the mako and therefore Omega's stupidly impenetrable armour. *We need more of these carcasses,* they announced. *These aren't enough to contaminate the pool sufficiently.*

"Well, unless more come running in, this is all we got," Tifa pointed out. She was still looking down at the bodies and the blood when she stiffened. "Unless..." she started, stopped and swallowed hard, before continuing. "Unless you contaminate Weiss directly... like Hellmasker did to...to the clone in the underground city."

Her suggestion was soft and it obviously disturbed her but Chaos knew it was brilliant. It was disappointing that they hadn't thought of it. We always ignore Hellmasker, they pouted. Insanity is hard to assimilate, they apologised.

They looked up at their opponent. Omega's bronze was still gleaming though there were darker spots here and there. It had plates and angles and joints that caught the light reflected it oddly. Each curve and hinge and joint would change colour in its own unique way. The metal might buckle or it might flake... or perhaps it would retain its essential strength. There was no way to know without doing.

"Will it work?" Tifa asked from beside them.

*Yes,* they stated, *It should work.* Now they were filled with joy, eager to begin their task. How long would it take to paint such a thing, they wondered.

Chaos roared in anticipation and the room shook.

Zack knew that there were too many of them. He'd known it even before he'd sent Tseng and Yazoo to the far side of the room. But they'd had to split their forces and this was the best option. Didn't mean that it didn't suck because it totally did; he hated being shot... Especially by snipers...

Snipers hid up on high walkways where swamped swordsmen couldn't get at them easily. They waited until the poor swordsman stopped moving, just for a second to catch their breath, before firing and completely ruining break time. Plus they used large caliber bullets that opened large hard-to-heal wounds.

The first couple weren't bad but combined with the bullets fired by the regular troopers Zack knew it wasn't looking good. He was using up his reserves, he had no time to chug elixirs or cast Cura—even if he had any mana left, which, you know, he didn't. He felt the tingle when Yazoo healed him and he would've kissed the little sprite if he'd been within arm's reach but he could hear Nero spouting off behind him. The fucker wouldn't stay down.

Which left Zack by the main door... with snipers on the walkways.

Chaos howled in joy at the challenge of riding Omega's slick metal armour. The WEAPON was spinning with unnatural speed, arms extended to the fullest. Perhaps it was hoping that centrifugal force would throw Chaos off. If so, their opponent was out of luck. They merely stabbed their tail deep into the metal structure and used it as an anchor. They let their metal bleed into its metal, absorbing and exchanging molecules and waited until the WEAPON stopped spinning. Then they continued their journey to the central core, which wasn't near as much fun…

In order to begin the process of painting the WEAPON, they'd jumped on its hand when it tried to hit them. They should have slid off—metal on metal didn't make for good traction—except they'd altered the structure of their sabatons to make them soft and slightly sticky. And now they stood and fired directly into the areas where the armour overlapped—vulnerable areas that Death Penalty could actually damage. They were also infecting the armour with every step and the canvas was, indeed, reacting beautifully with the organic paint. Now the once bronze armour was almost completely green—light green, deep green, pale green and dark. There were patches where black was starting to form and there were spots that were nearly completely white. All in all, it was a beautiful process.

Unfortunately, it was also a slow process.

Omega's metal was tough, resisting the alteration, and the mako pool wasn't contaminated enough. Which was why they were climbing Weiss' arm and shooting at whatever openings they could find. They hummed a child's rhyming song for no reason other that it was pretty and it was an interesting ride they thought in appreciation as the proto-WEAPON's limb undulated in an attempt to shake them off.

Exhilarating, they agreed. Sex with the small warrior will be better, they countered and all of them approved of the idea.

"Keep your minds on the battle!" she yelled out.

*We can keep our minds on many things,* they countered for it was true. They took a moment to admire their comrade, lover, prize, as she tossed Deepground soldiers around like dust motes in the air. Her movements were, as always, compelling, fluid, strong, confident... such a pretty palette.

"Minds," she shouted, "On battle!"

They wondered where Weiss's body was within the machine, for the Tsviet had been correct in one thing: this WEAPON couldn't function without a human mind controlling it. Kill the mind, kill the WEAPON. Then they could indulge themselves in the small warrior.

Their body hummed in anticipation…

Suddenly, Chaos didn't want to wait anymore. They changed their leisurely stroll into a march, focussed and purposeful. Any appreciation for the armour's slow transformation disappeared.

It was well beyond time to have the small warrior to themselves.

Sephiroth's funnel clouds pierced the abomination's body in seven places—fourteen if you counted entrance and exit wounds separately. The darkness within the clouds tainted Hojo's mutated form and spread like a disease. It would kill him eventually, but Sephiroth didn't want to wait. He waved his outstretched hand and the funnel clouds spun. They tightened in and around Hojo's body, squeezing it, and the General could see the black ichor dripping from the holes.

Hojo was still screaming insults at them, foolishly thinking that there was a way out for him. Jenova, on the other hand, was silent. She was wiggling and squirming and... He squinted and focussed...

"Cloud," he called, "She's trying to separate from Hojo."

His blond lover immediately jumped into the air. He wasn't blue anymore but there was still an aura of power around him—he was a warrior now, thoroughly and absolutely. Tsurugi had its own glow, its own magic, as well, and it sang a death song as Cloud moved to the attack. It sliced easily through the alien being as she tried to crawl out of her host.

Then Cloud swung Tsurugi in a sweeping back hand blow that landed right on her neck. It went through sinews, muscles and bone like they didn't even exist. The body slumped over Hojo's shoulder, lifeless, dripping more of the noxious black liquid that was their blood. Her head fell onto the hard platform with a dull splat. It was unlikely she would recover from decapitation but Sephiroth didn't want to risk it. He cast a Firaga at the body part and watched with satisfaction as it exploded into mist.

Hojo had finally stopped talking although he was still making noise; an incoherent keening that was, even now, more rage and pride than fear, as if he still couldn't accept that two former specimens could actually defeat him.

As long as he died, Sephiroth didn't care if Hojo never acknowledged that they'd won.

The clouds squeezed and Cloud sliced and cut. Sephiroth tried to throw another Firaga at the remnants of Jenova but the cast was sickly and weak. The storm was draining his mana.

"Cloud," he called again, "Cast Fira on Jenova's body."

Cloud nodded so that the General knew he had heard the order. The blond warrior paused in his attack to collect the mana he had left in order to make the cast as strong as he knew how. Unfortunately, the materia responded with enthusiasm to Cloud's will and what exploded from it wasn't a controlled stream but a wild explosion of fireballs that flew out like lava spewing from a volcano. The balls hit just about every part of the abomination except Jenova's corpse.

"Shit, shit, shit," Cloud cursed. He backed away from his attack and dropped to the ground. He ran to the bags and dug around. Sephiroth was willing to wager that he was looking for an ether so that he could try the cast again; his young lover was nothing if not tenacious.

Cloud drank the liquid down and turned back to try again. "Well, huh…" the Nibelheimer said in surprise.

Sephiroth followed the blond warrior's gaze and he could see that the thick black ichor had caught fire where his Fira had touched them. Dark orange flames danced and crackled along the liquid, whether it was dripping down Hojo's body or climbing up it.

"Odin's balls," Cloud breathed. "Do you see that, Sir?"

"I do," Sephiroth confirmed. The flames were following the substance wherever it went and that included the open wounds... and the inside of Hojo's body.

Now, the funnel clouds were tinged with orange light and the General wondered if the fire had reached the blood-rich organs. Whether it had or not, heavy steam poured out of the holes. The smell of burning meat tinged with acidic mako and the foul stench of Jenova's alien cells slammed into Sephiroth and he gagged.

He never gagged...

Instinctively he brought his hand down to cover his nose and mouth, afraid he was actually going to vomit. He looked up in horror. His funnel clouds were dispersing, retreating back into the main mass swirling high above the battle. He wouldn't have the strength to call them back! Before he could get caught up in self-recrimination, the fire, freed from the clouds' dampening presence, flared and shot out of Hojo's body like fireworks from a tube.

The smell grew even stronger and this time Sephiroth couldn't stop his body from emptying itself. He didn't see the professor's body fall to the platform, wings thrashing uselessly, but he felt the surface dip and rock. It just made him heave even harder.

"Sir, sir, it'll be okay," Cloud's voice was close, which meant he was close. Sephiroth opened his eyes and Cloud was, indeed, standing right next to him, near enough that the genetically-enhanced warrior could feel the heat of the smaller man's body. He was facing the abomination, sword held in front of him defensively.

Cloud was protecting him, Sephiroth realized in wonder.

He was so caught up in the emotions caused by the realization that he nearly missed the faint trembling running through the platform. Trembling that grew into shakes, that turned into tremors.

"Get down!" he ordered, pulling the blond down to him, making him turn his back.

He was only moments ahead of the explosion that ripped through the obscenity that Hojo had become. Orange light surrounded them, blinding heat. They curled lower into the ground, dropping their faces to the dark surface. Blasts of air buffeted them and threatened to blow them over, and maybe even off, the platform, but they dug their hands in and held on. Wave after wave struck at them as Hojo's body blew itself apart piece by piece and limb by limb. They were hit by body parts, sent flying through the air with the force of the blast—which didn't smell any better close up—but those were soon carried up and away as the compressed air surged past them in another wave.

It seemed like forever but was only minutes. There was one final explosion that made the whole platform jump, and then it was quiet.

Or maybe it was the ringing in his ears making it seem quieter than it actually was. He could see Cloud's mouth moving, could sense the tone of it, but he couldn't hear the words. "I'm unharmed, Cloud," he could barely hear himself speak—what an odd sensation—"Are you?"

He thought Cloud said he was 'fine' but lip reading had never been one of his skills. Who needed to read lips when one could hear conversations a courtyard away? Then Cloud gave him a shaky smile and pointed at their packs. His lips moved and the General thought he might be offering to go fetch a potion or some such thing. He was sure that's what the blond had said when Cloud struggled to his feet. Unwilling to be less worthy than his lover, Sephiroth also climbed upright.

He wavered for a moment but managed to find his balance. It was possible the platform was still shifting, but he rather thought that he was woefully out of balance.

It turned out that Cloud was suffering from the same malady. The smaller man had to take a couple hasty jumps sideways to keep from falling back down. Sephiroth grabbed him, pulled him upright—kept himself upright—and together, weaving like drunken soldiers on leave below the plate, they made their erratic way over to the backpacks with their precious potions and ethers. Sephiroth would have liked to believe that he sat gracefully but he was honest enough to admit that his legs just gave out from under him. Cloud joined him in a boneless heap.

The young fighter raised a shaky hand to his head and the General noticed that Cloud was beyond pale and heading into ashen grey. He looked at the quick, shallow movements of the soldier's chest; it was possible something was seriously wrong with Cloud. He refused to panic as he dug through the bag for an elixir but he practically broke the neck in his haste to get it open. He shuffled over to where Cloud was wavering with unconsciousness—or worse—and forced the soldier's mouth to open. Slowly and carefully Sephiroth poured the green liquid in, stopping to massage Cloud's long neck so that he would swallow the healing liquid.

It worked. Cloud consumed it and faint green sparkles appeared, floating over his prone body. Sephiroth poured more down. This time Cloud managed to swallow on his own. The sparkles grew brighter and a thin green mist emerged. By the time the blond had swallowed the whole bottle his colour was back; peaches and cream with a hint of tan, and the trembling had left his hands.

Sephiroth nearly collapsed in relief.

Now it was Cloud's turn to baby him. The soldier dug through the pack and pulled out a potion. He opened it, with much less force than the General had used so the top came off smoothly. When Sephiroth's hand shook, Cloud placed his over the General's and gently guided the bottle to his mouth. It was a weakness that Sephiroth had been trained to despise but Cloud didn't seem to think it was unseemly...hardly seemed to notice it in fact.

The potion was a soothing, rejuvenating warmth that he soon felt in every area of his body, every bone and muscle, every pore and cell. There wasn't a part of him that wasn't affected. It was almost painful it was so intense but at the same time it was wonderful.

His hearing came back with a pop. "Ah, much better."

"Yes, Sir," Cloud agreed. He'd grabbed a cloth from the bag and was cleaning Tsurugi, removing each blade and wiping it down carefully. Or it would have been carefully if he'd been watching his hands. Instead his gaze was fixed on the large discolouration on the other side of the platform. "He's really dead," Cloud mused.

"Yes, he's really dead." Sephiroth confirmed. He couldn't feel the professor's poisonous aura anymore. "They both are."

"So it's over?" Cloud turned to look at him, eyes large with hope.

"Yes," Sephiroth nodded, "This part is over. However—"

Cloud laughed, "There's always a 'however'."

Sephiroth allowed himself a smile. "However," he repeated with emphasis, "We have to find the others, find out if they've located Weiss or any of the other DGS forces."

Cloud laughed again, a rueful chuckle. "I'd forgotten about those guys."

Sephiroth raised a brow. "You forgot Commander Fair?" he asked in mild disbelief.

"No, not Zack," the young blond protested with a blush, "but that there were other bad guys out there to be fought."

"Ah," Sephiroth said, "Understandable." He stared at the corporal, still alive and well, so strong and resilient and decided that he could take a moment or more to enjoy what was in front of him—visually only, unfortunately, but it was still satisfying. Cloud, bashful in romance as he wasn't in battle, blushed and looked away.

"Um, Sir?"

"Hmm?" was Sephiroth's response.

"Exactly how do we get back to there?" The soldier's voice was softly amused. "I don't know about you, but I have no idea where we are."

"Ah… that."

"No more soldiers left," Tifa called out from the entry, "and it looks like the stairs are clear."

*Then you must rest and heal yourself, my small warrior,* Chaos responded with anticipation. *For when the battle is finally finished and we will have time to... enjoy each other.*

"You know, I've had drunken bar patrons who are less persistent than you."

*And that explains why you are here and not with them.* Chaos chuckled, *You are not one to chose the weak-willed.*

"If you call me a prize again, the deal's off." Tifa scowled at them with anger that was only half-feigned. They couldn't help but roar their appreciation of her fearlessness.

They were at the top of the mechanical being that housed Weiss—if that was the proper word. He was buried within the body of the proto-Omega. Chaos could just see the former Tsviet twisted around wires and pipes and whatever else joined the humanoid to the machine. They peered down through what appeared to be a protective gel and decided that they couldn't tell how far it was to their enemy.

They poked the substance with one booted foot and it wobbled. They shot it and the beam was absorbed without visible damage, although the smell of scorched soup filled the air. Disgusting, they thought. Inconvenient, they added. They only had one choice: when guile or tactics were useless, brute force was always an option.

*We will be back, my tasty little treat, and then it will be time.* They didn't wait for the female's response, although they had a good idea of the tone she would use.

With a whoop, they jumped up, pirouetting for the joy of it, then they turned and, pumping their wings to give them as much speed as possible, they dived into the thick substance. It was disgusting just as they'd thought but they didn't let that stop them. With wings tucked tight to their body, they propelled themselves forward by using their tail and their determination. They avoided pillars that hadn't been visible from outside the machine and knew that this was some other space in time—connected to, but separate from, reality. They swam and dodged, turning and twisting, enjoying the pure physicality of it.

The tunnel lightened and they burst through into somewhere... other. A bubble that wasn't empty but it wasn't filled like the tunnel had been. The gel was thin, more like a mist in the air. They could feel it against their skin. Other than that, it was an empty space. Everything was pale and the floor was a mirror. They turned and saw nothing, just an endless and limitless horizon.

Impressive, they commented. Pretentious, they sneered and refocused their mind on the most important question: where was their enemy?

Just then flower weapons appeared, bursting into existence with little flashes. And not just floating bulbs, there were also large stationary ones that neither moved nor fired at them but merely opened and closed at random. They seemed to have large crystals as their centre and Chaos couldn't help but think that the change was significant.

The floating buds shot at them, just as they had in the outside world, but were easily destroyed, just as they had been in the outside world. When there were only a couple left, and their respawn rate had slowed to almost nothing, Chaos drifted over to one of the larger flowers and examined it. Like their smaller cousins, they were impervious to attack when the petals were closed. Unlike the floating bubbles, they weren't damaged by gun fire when open either.

Frustrating, they complained. Unimaginative, they agreed.

Punch them?

They decided they liked the idea. At least it would alleviate their frustration with the extremely tedious process.

It worked. When the petals opened they could kick and punch the crystals until they burst with a flash of light causing no injury except to their, admittedly limited, patience.

More of the floating flowers popped up and Chaos shot them, practically yawning. He moved past the debris to the next stationary bubble and waited for it to open before destroying it and drifted to the next. If this was the final battle between them and Weiss, it lacked a little… zing…

With a sigh, they moved on to the next bubble-crystal, shooting another moving flower almost as soon as it appeared. They wanted Weiss dead and the proto-Omega destroyed so they could return to their small warrior, partner, prize... they chuckled to themselves knowing that Tifa would follow through with her threat to hit them if she knew they were still calling her that. It could be fun, they mused…

Finally—finally—the last of the stationary flowers was destroyed and the mirrored floor turned opaque. It rippled and Chaos could just barely see a ball moving underneath the surface.

Weiss, they wondered? Please, yes, they prayed.

It was a large bronze ball but there were patches of greenish-black. It was possible that Chaos' paint had changed the base tone and it had been carried over from the larger machine. Chaos purred for, if it were true, then half their job was done for them.

It pushed through the flooring, barely disturbing the smooth surface. Metal streamers, looking like malboro tentacles, dangled down, seemingly without purpose.

Attack it, they asked; envisioning a physical attack such as the ones they'd used to take out the crystal flowers. Shoot first, they decided.

They raised Death Penalty but the ball started to undulate, sections waving and wobbling, each to a separate rhythm; it looked like the ball was going to break apart. Odd, for they hadn't even shot it. However, if the ball broke on its own then perhaps Weiss would emerge and they would be able to finish the fight they'd started in the other space. Hmmm, they paused and considered.

Then they stepped back to wait for this, the final confrontation.

His leg went out from under him and he couldn't get it back under his control. Probably because the bullet had torn huge chunks of bone and muscle from his thigh. He looked up and his vision hyper-focussed on the DGS sniper high up above him. He could see the fucker's small grin of triumph as he sighted his rifle. This was it, Zack knew, this was the end.

Ah shit! He wanted a chance to say good-bye to Aerith; tell her one last time that he loved her. And then there was Cloud and Sephiroth; two of the best friends a guy could have...

Dying fucking sucked, he decided.

He looked at the sniper and gave a cocky little salute. There was no reason for him to do it, he was just being his usual smart-ass self, so he was somewhat surprised when the trooper's head exploded. "Woah," he said in awe, "magic fingers…" Then Yazoo tipped his head back and poured a noxious tasting potion down his throat.

"I'm not losing anyone else," the clone growled and Zack knew that he was thinking of his brothers. It was nice that Yazoo considered him in the same category as his beloved fellow clones, but he wasn't sure a weak potion would be enough to keep him from dissolving. All it would do was hold off the inevitable. His feeling of being cold was going away, replaced by the savage burn of mako eating his cells in an attempt to get the energy it needed to heal him.

He saw Tseng in the corner of his eye, gun raised, eyes calm; the picture of laconic... Turkness or something.

"Nero?" he gasped. He leaned over, putting his hand out to catch his weight. He could see his muscles trembling. Wouldn't be long now before he fell over completely

"Completely dead," Yazoo answered. The young fighter had his nasty looking gun-blade out and was kneeling beside Zack. He looked fiercely protective and chillingly scary and the SOLDIER was reminded that the clones had been raised to be soulless killing machines.

Well, the soulless part was out, but killing machine was still on the table...

He coughed and he could feel the warmth of the blood he coughed up with it. Lung shot, then. He'd kinda figured that. He could feel the potion doing what it could but there was too much damage and he knew it. Next he knew, he was staring up at the ceiling.

"Zack?" Yazoo's voice was panicked. "Zack, you can't do this."

"Hey, sprite," he scratched out. He blinked and even that small action hurt. "You did good, I'm proud of you." He could hear Yazoo saying 'nononono' in a continuous stream but it was distant. "Continue living, Yazoo…live for me."

Yazoo shook him and fuck did that hurt. "I'm not listening to this bullshit, Zack."

"My dreams and pride, I give it all to you."

The young fighter wasn't listening. "Sephiroth brought you back once. I'm him so I can do it too." Zack frowned because that really didn't make any sense.

And then he felt it: the pull, the connection, the call... Jenova cells to Jenova cells, General to SOLDIER. It was less intense than when Sephiroth did it but Yazoo was only based on the Silver General.

"Yaz..." Zack's voice was filled with questions he couldn't ask.

"Hush, Zack. You saved us, now we save you. That's how it works." Soft lips pressed against his forehead and with that small touch the power bloomed inside him. His body awoke and recognized the clone as one-the same-ourselves. He knew they were two bodies but he wanted to be one.

"Yaz..." This time when he spoke his voice was filled with yearning.

"Do you sense that?" the General sat up alertly.

Cloud stood up, on guard, holding Tsurugi in front of him. He peered into the space beyond the platform extending all his senses. He finally had to shake his head. "I can't feel anything."

"Someone is calling." Sephiroth stood abruptly, his body rising in one smooth motion, "We must go." He held out his hand and Cloud took it without hesitation.

"Go where?" Cloud asked, his wings snapped in anticipation.

Sephiroth looked down at him and smiled. "We must answer the call, of course."

Like everything else about this battle, Weiss' appearance was... anticlimactic. The former Tsviet was pushed out, extruded almost, from the guts of the ball. When the fighter looked up it was obvious the he was awakening from a kind of fugue state for he was dopy and confused. Chaos could have easily shot him a dozen or more times and would have but they were too busy being displeased. They did not think there would a legendary final battle. They would never be sung about or turned into a tale for the gods…

Tifa will sing for us, they reminded themselves and it almost mitigated their disappointment.

It took the Tsviet a moment to realize where he was and what was going on but then he smiled at them. "Impressive," the pale warrior said, "Together…we would have been... unstoppable."

Then he slid forward and down and the ball wasn't bronze anymore it was black: greenish-black, purple-black; black with blue and red flashes. It was a swirling black that swallowed Weiss and the metal ball as they collapsed into a nothingness that was truly endless. It was the void of space but without planets or suns or any hope of safe harbour.

It was entropy in its absolute form.

It crept out from where Weiss was falling into it, stretching into the pale space and sucking all the matter into it which meant the mist-like gel that filled the air.

Chaos realized that, if the entropy touched them, they would also be sucked in, become part of the void—and there would be no matter for them to use to manipulate an escape.

Departure was imperative, they decided. It took only a flash of thought for them to be hurtling away from the growing emptiness. However, behind them they left a tunnel of turbulence that entropy quickly assimilated as it so much easier to dissolve through than the undisturbed substance in the other areas.

Chaos moved faster, keeping just ahead of the all-consuming void.

They were heating the gel now, its matter being first seared then burned to ash as they propelled themselves through it faster and faster. Entropy followed, never catching up but never really falling behind either.

They went back through the passage they'd used to come here, dodging the oddly placed pillars, avoiding the occasional weapon discharge. Their muscles actually felt strained but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered but reaching the end, escaping…

There! They could see the opening.

They yelled their determination into the muffling fluid, pushing with their final reserves for one last burst of speed. They exploded out of the machine, back into the room with the mako pool and Weiss' hungry throne and Tifa.

It also had a ceiling. How had they forgotten the ceiling?

They spun, unfolding their wings and spreading their body, in an attempt to halt their momentum. It worked for the most part; they slowed from invisible blur to merely incredibly fast in a heartbeat. They still had to take some impact on their arms and legs and tail. The room shook but the ceiling remained intact.

"Chaos," Tifa shouted up at them—a wonderful sound—"What happened? Did you find Weiss? Is it over?" Then, in a completely different tone, their small warrior murmured, "Odin's mercy… What is that?"

They pushed away from the ceiling and swooped toward their waiting companion, lover, warrior.

*Weiss and his proto-Omega are destroyed,* they informed her. *They are returning to the void from whence they came.*

"So it's over?" Tifa stood well back from the machine and Chaos could understand why. There was an ominous beauty in the black tendrils that were encircling the machine, pulling it into the dark mist that had formed over the pale liquid—wonderful contrast. They could see the metal stretching and stretching, caught in an infinite moment. It was both perfect and flawed, timeless and momentary.

*What in me is dark illumine,* they recited, *what is low raise and support, that to the heighth of this great argument I may assert Eternal Providence and justify the ways of Gods to men.*

"What?" Tifa looked at them with eyes wide in fear.

Chaos looked down at her, so insignificant in size and power when compared to them, and smiled. *Gaia is reclaiming her own,* they explained. *The WEAPON and its conduit are returning to the planet where they will wait an eternity to be needed again.*

Her eyes narrowed, filled now with concern for them. "Is that what's going to happen to you?" she asked. "Are you going to return to the planet?"

*We are tied to our host. As long as he endures so shall we.* They extended one finger, carefully keeping the talon tucked away so that they could stroke it down her cheek without causing harm. *We shall outlast you by many years, small warrior.*

She swallowed, blinking rapidly. "I'm not sure if that's reassuring or just plain creepy."

*It is what it is,* they replied, *and all the thinking in the world will not change it.*

"Huh," Tifa snorted. Chaos raised a brow in question. "Did you get that attitude from Vincent or did he get it from you? Because that sounds exactly like the kind of gloomy existential pronouncement he'd make." She crossed her arms and her foot tapped out her irritation.

Chaos couldn't help it; they laughed. A booming sound that filled the room and masked the shrieking collapse of the final WEAPON. They reached around her, with arms and tail and wings, and lifted her up so they were face to face. *Very well, beautiful warrior, we shall cease to talk of such 'gloomy' things. After all, it is time for us to do some 'claiming' of our own.*

She pushed away from them as far as she could and they were impressed with her upper body strength, far out of proportion to her delicate frame. "Excuse me?" Her eyes flashed.

Their eyes flashed in return, *Did you really think that we would not consider intimacy with you as our reward?* The tip of their tail curled softly, slowly, up her leg. *You cannot be so naïve.*

"And I said, if you called me 'your prize', I'd cut you off for life and you'd have to give Vincent back the driver's seat." She meant it, they knew. Every line in her body and every tense muscle showed how serious she was about this.

*We are an ancient being of nearly unlimited power,* they murmured, *and you have us at your mercy.* They leaned forward and nuzzled at her neck, breathing in her rich, feminine flavours, rubbing her with their more complex aroma. They licked and she shivered. *We shall call you 'mate', instead.*

AN: The poem Chaos recites if from Paradise Lost, Book 1 by John Milton.