"Sephiroth, why did you need to cast so many Sleeps?" Zack asked. "A single spell twice a day has been enough, even with his..." He swallowed. "...changes."


Everything was not fine.

Zack watched as Sephiroth gently laid Angeal out on the ground, arranging his head, neck, and new limbs so they were spread and isolated for better inspection.

Angeal's neck had elongated to twice its natural length, becoming a stalk-like structure of lean muscles, sinew, and bone that connected head and body, almost as a stem holding up a leaf or bud. That Ahriman body was undeveloped, small like an infant's. It looked like a partially deflated balloon. A large round lump lifted its center where the eyelid was closed—the eyeball. Beneath that, thin lips rose over the steep ridges of thick, heavy monster-jaws.

Sephiroth stood and touched his Seal materia. He then cast the strongest Sleepel that Zack had ever experienced. Though focused on Angeal, the magic was so powerful it washed over the entire area, setting the A-Ahrimans to yawning and quieting the forest of its comforting birdsong. Even Zack yawned.

Sephiroth cast the Sleepel again, and a third time. After that, he stared down at Angeal, as though pondering some weighty and world-shaking matter. Of course, at present Angeal was a subject more than worthy of analysis and concern. Sephiroth's expression was utterly blank, not a trace of emotion showing through.

"Sephiroth, why did you need to cast so many Sleeps?" Zack asked. "A single spell twice a day has been enough to keep him under, even with his..." He swallowed. "...changes."

Sephiroth looked at him sharply. "I told you to cleanse the specimen container. There are some brushes with the medical supplies. Make sure it's clean. Sterilize it with bleach then rinse it thoroughly with the saline. I'll take care of the rest."

Immediately after issuing that order, he whirled and stalked to the truck. He equipped mastered Fire and Cure materia on his bangle. He then extracted his sword, his Masamune, and stood for a moment just holding it. One hand gripped the hilt, the other caressed the blade. He turned it over and back again, making daylight gleam on the polished steel surface, and stared at it as though he was lost in thought.

Zack picked up the container. He took a few steps toward the truck, toward Sephiroth, and hesitated, frozen when Sephiroth looked back, expression as impassive as stone but eyes focused like lasers. Zack followed that intent gaze with his own, and was unsurprised to see it fixed on Angeal's unmoving, unnatural form.

With a sudden burst of determination, Sephiroth pivoted and returned to Angeal's side. Then he just stood there, staring and staring.

Despite a million questions flitting through his head, foremost among them particularly disquieting ones about Masamune, Zack set about following his orders. He didn't dare disobey, not with Sephiroth's current mood. The man looked like he'd snap at any moment. As long as he just stood still, it should be okay. It should. Nothing terrible would happen.

He kept telling himself that.

Zack rinsed the jar out with stream water, scrubbed it with some soap, and rinsed again. He swirled some bleach inside it, making sure to wet the entire interior with the toxic chemical before dumping it out. Then he rinsed and rinsed with the sterile saline until no trace of bleach scent remained. Throughout the process he kept checking on Sephiroth, who remained unmoving by Angeal's side. Cleansing the jar only took a few minutes, but Zack rushed anyway, urgency driving him hard.

The whole time Sephiroth stood over Angeal, fingering Masamune's sharp blade and staring down at his friend's misshapen form. Occasionally, he looked over at Zack, but his gaze always returned to Angeal. The A-Ahrimans fluttered and hovered, making questioning noises. Sephiroth's eyes again slid to Zack by the stream.

Zack rose to his feet and held out the container. "It's done, Sephiroth. You can check it if you wan—"

Masamune flashed.

A thud echoed as the blade slammed into the ground. Angeal's head rolled sideways a quarter turn, cheek and nose resting on the dirt, facing away from the lower stump midway through its neck, away from its detached, Ahriman body.

Zack uttered a gasp and dropped the specimen container, his eyes suddenly so wide they felt like they might fall out of his skull. His jaw hung open; he felt paralyzed, his body refusing to move, to even breathe.

The A-Ahrimans screeched and screamed, taking to frenzied flight. They careened in crazy directions all about the campsite, up and down, back and forth, circling, shrieking, shrieking.

Sephiroth cast another Sleepel, quick and dirty, directed only at Angeal's head.

The fresh stumps oozed a colorless, thick fluid. Air whistled as Masamune came down again, shortening Angeal's neck to half its remaining length. Sephiroth kicked the chunk of neck and the quivering Ahriman body away—just in time.

The Ahriman body trembled and spasmed reflexively as it puffed up into a firmer ball. The single eye jerked open, the iris deep blue with green flecks, softly luminous with mako—Angeal's eye on a giant scale. It darted around with panicky movements, not focusing on anything. Immature bat wings flapped, claws flexed and clenched, the tail thrashed. Jaws stretched wide in a silent scream.

Masses of thin, white tendrils erupted from all the raw stumps, crawling on the ground, whipping and winding, making scratching noises like the rustling of rats in a wall. Wormy clumps on both sides of the neck chunk tugged it back and forth before settling on dragging it toward the tentacles squirming at the base of Angeal's head.

The slab of flesh burst into flames at a sudden gesture from Sephiroth, who burned it until it was ashes. He burned even that, unrelenting, increasing the fire's heat until it glowed white then blue. He burned it all until there was nothing but fine gray dust remaining.

The writhing feelers from Angeal's head and the Ahriman body stretched to one another, coiling and extending until taut, reaching reaching reaching.

Sephiroth kicked the body farther away. The eye glared and the toothy maw snapped, but Sephiroth burned the entire thing to nothing, just like the hunk of neck.

He sliced the tendrils from the head's remaining portion of neck and disposed of them just as efficiently. He then dropped to his knees, removed his Fire materia from his bangle, and pressed it to the last stump at the base of Angeal's head.

He winced as the burning orb glowed white hot but held on for precious seconds to cauterize the wound. At last he pulled away and dropped the deactivated Fire materia. It rolled, coming to rest beneath Angeal's chin. The cauterization had done its job: No new tendrils appeared from the neck stump.

Sephiroth's hand was burned, the skin charred and seeping blood and fluid. He ignored it. Another materia glimmered on his bangle, the Cure. He didn't direct the healing magic at his own hand, but at Angeal's traumatized neck. The oozing, blackened flesh softened and resumed a fleshy appearance as it healed. A single vertebra, the edges of esophagus, and some tendons showed white against the healthy red muscle where Masamune had sliced through the layers of tissue.

The stench of burning monster and human flesh, and of alien, especially of alien, was indescribable.

The campsite was dead silent. Zack vaguely realized the shrieking had ceased. The A-Ahriman copies were all gone.

Sephiroth finally healed his own hand. He collected his Fire materia then stood up, still holding Masamune. The blade was coated with gooey clear slime. He stared down at Angeal's quiescent head.

"Zack," he said steadily, his soft voice shocking in the unnatural stillness, "fill the specimen container with the last of Hojo's nutrient fluid and bring it here."

Zack swallowed against rising nausea. He'd thought he was done throwing up, that there couldn't be anything worse than seeing that Ahriman eye and toothy grin in Angeal's ghastly new body earlier this morning, but no. He hadn't prepared for anything like this. He'd thought they would put Angeal into a larger container and find Hollander. Hollander would have dealt with the...the deformation, the mutation. Clinically and scientifically. In a sterile, antiseptic lab, not in the woods, not in the dirt.

Zack hadn't expected...hadn't expected the sudden violence, the beheading. He should have—he knew he should have. Sephiroth had stood there, over Angeal, silent, focused with deadly intent, with Masamune, with Masamune, with Masamune...

(Would Hollander also have amputated the entire Ahriman body?)

Zack hadn't expected the tentacles, or the way the flesh had trembled and twitched, the Ahriman mouth screaming without sound, the eye opening despite the insanely powerful sleep spells. He hadn't expected burning, or the stench, or the copies shrieking. He hadn't...he hadn't...

Zack touched his throat. He could almost...almost feel it. Almost feel the sharp pain of beheading, the sprouting, squirming tentacles, the burning, the...the...

It was Angeal. That thing had been Angeal's body. It was a monster, but it was also Angeal. Sephiroth had cut it away, burned it to dust. Burned Angeal.

Zack swallowed again.

"Zack!"

Zack jumped, eyes starting and terrorized. He shivered and gaped at Sephiroth, afraid. Afraid to move, afraid to speak—afraid, so afraid.

"Get the specimen container," Sephiroth repeated, enunciating each word carefully but keeping his tone gentle. "Fill it with Hojo's nutrient fluid. There should be enough left for one more filling. Angeal will need Hojo's special mix to heal."