What the fuck happened! Bazil thought waking up.

It remembered the strange vibrations coming to it through the ground and the sharp pain before blacking out. Had one of its fears been realized? Had it been picked like a common daisy?

How long had it been out? It hoped it didn’t miss its meeting with Greeny.

The plant needed those meetings, missing one would be making a blow to its mental health. One it could recover from, sure, but the week would be hard. Bazil had grown accustomed to its chats with the entity and was relying on them to keep its mind from crumbling. Not being able to share its thoughts with her was hell for Bazil. There was no one else it could talk to about its dreams of world domination, torture, and sex. No one else to share its fears and anxieties.

Additionally, it genuinely cared about the girl and she seemed to need those talks just as much as it did. Bazil was truly worried about her.

But the sentient plant could not allow itself to wallow too much in self-pity, if it wanted to do something about what happened it needed to act. But first, it needed to gather information about its new situation.

Calling out its Status showed nothing new, so Bazil focused on its Improve senses Skill and other Skills that could provide him with much-needed information.

The first thing it noticed was that is was actually night, or it thought so. There was no light it could feel on itself and its Photosynthesis Skill was inactive, but the temperature of the room was higher than usual. Too high for normal nights, but too low for normal days, either Bazil had been out long enough for the nights to grow hotter or - more probably - it had been moved.

The plant had grown, not by much but more than the passive natural speed of Bazil’s Growth Skill should have done in a day or two. Its bug-catching trap was still there and in good shape, its severed roots had grown back a bit, and its stem and normal leaves had grown, the dicktatoe was a bit bigger too. A quick use of the Mathematics Skill told it its blackout had lasted around four days. Bazil had missed its meeting with Greeny, but it would only have three days to wait before the next one. The Grass was angry at having been spoiled of its talk with the girl, but it was relieved to not have a full week to wait for the next.

Focusing back on itself and what had happened during those four days, Bazil noticed the presence of a stolon, it wasn’t very long compared to its previous one, but it was growing steadily. It was also curled around something. Focusing on the sensations from its roots system, the sentient plant found a kind of wall circling it.

The wall had a nice cylindrical form keeping the dirt around Bazil, its roots were touching it everywhere. The stolon was passing above the wall and then circling it from the outside. The wall was even passing under the dirt, making a hard limit to how deep Bazil could grow its roots. But on the exterior, the stolon was laying on something else, something softer and warmer. Something kind of familiar in its texture but that Bazil couldn’t place yet. The wall on its side was feeling kind of like the stones Bazil’s roots sometimes encountered, but a bit different too.

So, a bottomed cylindrical wall, wider at the top than at the bottom, feeling like stone, and resting on something feeling familiar, it didn’t reach high above the earth too. Yep, Bazil’s mind knew that particular configuration, it had seen it a lot of times in its previous life as a Human.

Bazil was now a potted plant. Probably atop a wooden table.

A potted plant.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! It screamed in the confinement of its mind.

Sometime later, having calmed down from his feat of panic and rage, Bazil resumed its self-inspection, Meditation Skill in full-blown use to help it stay in control.

As previously noted, it had grown a bit. But now that it was paying closer attention, it was evident its underground parts had grown less than those aboveground. Bazil assumed it was some kind of self-regulation from its Growth Skill based on the lack of space for the roots to grow. Had the Skill noticed the space was limited and focused its passive activity on a non-hindered part? Bazil liked that idea.

There was also a good amount of its poison in all of its air parts, and thorns had grown all over them. Bazil was relieved that the Growth Skill was making sure to keep the basic installation of its meager defenses. Like a template to be reproduced. Those protections may have failed the plant, but in time, as they leveled, they would become sufficient for it to stay safe. If it was not killed before…

Seeing as its stolon had been coiled around its pot and the earth was wet, the plant deduced that it had some kind of caretaker. It was rather good news, its captors didn’t want it dead. But it would have to escape or make a deal. It was actually incapable of communication, so it would need to work on some escape plan, and for that the most important thing was information.

So Bazil focused on growing its stolon. The inquisitive root was the best thing it had for exploring its surroundings and gather data. To supplement it, the plant sprouted a second one from its stem. It made sure not to make it start at an obvious angle from the first - like at the exact opposite or a ninety-degree angle - as to not attract too much attention.

If Bazil wanted more information it would have to actively search for it. But it needed to brace itself, starting to grow at its usual speed when actively focusing on it would attract too much attention. No, Bazil would carefully monitor its growth in terms of form and direction, but it would let the speed to its passive state. The rest of the time it would focus on its Improve senses Skill. Maybe it could bring the Skill to level twenty and get a new and useful one, like for the Growth and Thorn Skills.

---

“Hoy, Damian!” Mikhaïl exclaimed. “Come over here.”

It was early morning and the Beorn had just finished taking his breakfast, a simple slice of bread with butter and a big mug of tea served by the always enthusiastic Silvia who was now cleaning it.

The Alchemist could see that his male assistant was worried when he called him.

“Y-yes, Sir?”

“You’ve done a good job so far taking care of my plant,” he started by recognizing the man’s efforts. It always paid to do those kinds of things. “But it’s obvious it needs more space to grow, I’ve ordered a big planter to Antoine, as well as a decent amount of fertilizer. I want you to go fetch it and whatever else he may have for me. When you’re back we’ll transfer the plant to it.”

It took the slave Human half an hour to bring everything, during this time Mikhaïl chated with Silvia and observed his treasured plant. He also installed the different planters and pots where he wanted them.

Part of the lab was now filled with lots of clay pots and wood planters where Mikhaïl would have his Gardener grow lots of herbs and plants to use in the lab. It was a significant investment of his budget, but since he had access to a double one for the first week - due to the fact he had been allowed to use the unused budget of the previous week - he had been able to do it, in time it would cut on his expenses and provide him with high-quality products.

On another side of the room was the biggest planter, a three meters long by fifty centimeters wide and one meter deep wooden box, filled with the highest-quality fertilizer the Herbalist had managed to get. It was the place for his prized treasure to grow, safer from potential interferences from other plants than if it was by their side. A second and smaller planter was installed just beside it.

“Perfect,” he said when everything was in place. “Now, for the transplant, I trust you know how to do it, you’re a Gardener after all. But I want to do some experiments, so first, you’ll put the plant in the middle of the planter. I want as many roots on each side, and you’ll extend one root to each extremity of the planter.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Also, I want you to cut out the tuber. Be careful not to damage the roots doing so,” Mikahïl continued giving instructions.” After that, you’ll cut it in four and plant three parts in the second planter, I’ll have a few experiments to do on the fourth part.”

“As you wish, Sir,” said Damian before executing his orders.

Mikhaïl examined how the man carried out his demands. First, he filled the smaller planter and half of the biggest one, he did so with a mix of soil and fertilizer. It would not do to starve the plants by a lack of nutrients or to poison it by giving it to much of it. Then, after having put on a pair of sturdy leather gloves, he carefully uprooted the plant from its pot and cautiously shook the earth off of the roots. The Gardener slowly and delicately untangled the roots from the tuber in the middle, it was a particularly difficult process as the roots were not only entangled, but even fused in some places, it made for an extremely intricate net.

The Beorn was glad to see the Human managed to remove the tuber from the roots by only cutting a minimal amount of those - with his approval, of course. Then putting the strange dick-shaped organ on the side, the Gardener put the plant in the middle of the big planter and laid the roots around it. He made sure to follow his orders and coiled the roots under the stem while having some of the longest expand toward each of the planter’s sides. He then filled the recipient with the earth from the plant’s previous pot and soil from a bag, he also added some fertilizer to the mix. Damian made sure the aerial parts were aboveground and the root system was entirely covered by dirt.

After that, the Gardener cut the tuber into four parts, as asked too. He picked up three of those parts and delicately sank them in the earth of the smaller planter at regular intervals. He covered them with a bit more fertilizer.

Once all the installations completed, Damian watered the two planters. It served to remove the air bubbles from the ground, those could dry the roots, as well as to water the plants.

During all of these, Mikhaïl had noticed that Damian was less afraid of him than usual. It looked like taking care of the plants was good for the stressful assistant. The Beorn would remember that as it was a good way to control the lower slave.

After putting back the watering can, Damian brought the part of the tuber he had left on the table to Mikhaïl.

“Here, Sir,” he said presenting his boss with the unplanted part of the tuber.

“Well, I must say I’m impressed,” acknowledged the Herborist. “You did really well. Now, take that tuber peel it, and cook it. We’ll have brave Akim here test it for us, we’ll see if it’s comestible. It should be, but it always pays to make sure of it. You’ll keep the peeled skin on the side for later.”

“Yes, Sir,” the Gardener said before going on another side of the room and using his experience as a Cook.

“Now, Silvia, dear, it’s your turn to learn.”

“Yes, Sir!” Exclaimed the expectant girl. Mikhaïl had seen her look attentively to Damian’s work, but she too needed practice, and the Alchemist had other plans for her than taking care of plants.

“It’s time for your first lesson about Human anatomy. Take the butcher knives and a healing potion,” a devious smiled on his face the Beorn turn to the man still tied up on the center table. “It’s time for the good Akim to have a more hands-off approach of our job,” smirking at his bad pun he took one of the knives from the girl.

“Mmmhmm!” Made the unluckiest person of the room as he looked at the Alchemist and tried to crawl away from him.

“I trust, you know how to cut an articulation between the bones, right?” Asked Mikahïl to Silvia.

“I’m a Cook, Sir. I’ve done it already,” the slave girl defended her honor.

“Good, but it’s not the same to do it to a dead piece of meat from a cow or a sheep. Here you’re going to do it to a live Human being. There’s going to be warm blood flowing and trashing from the pain, fortunately, the screams will be muffled by that sweet gag,” pointing at the tied man’s head. “Look, you need to pass the knife above the hand bones and under the arms ones,” the teacher said, “it may be rather complicated because the hand part of the wrist is full of different bones.”

“Mmmmhmmmm!” The test subject made, rightly fearing for his hands and still futilely trying to escape.

“Shush you,” was Mikhaïl’s only reaction. “See, here is the scaphoid,” he said pointing to each bone through the flesh and naming them in turn, his student seemed eager to learn. “You also need to make the cut clean and fast,” he added while drawing the cutting line to follow, ”and to be ready to apply healing potion. You don’t want your subject to die from blood loss.”

“I see,” the girl answered seriously.

“Now, give me the potion, I’ll show you how to do it, then it’ll be your turn,” said the Alchemist.

Once he had the potion next to a cup on a small table next to him, Mikhaïl firmly grabbed Akim’s left arm, and with a quick and sure move of his own left hand, he shortened the poor man’s member. Just as quickly Mikhaïl grabbed the severed hand and put it in the cup, with the knife beside it. In the same motion, he grabbed the healing potion, uncorked it, and poured it directly in the man’s open veins and arteries before applying some to the bare flesh. He had done all of that without releasing the arm he held in his right hand, doing everything with one hand only.

Taking a quick look at Silvia he could see the girl was mesmerized by the speed and dexterity of the Beorn, it was pleasant for his pride. On the other side of the room, Damian looked too busy taking care of his cooking to react. Focusing back on the injured man, the Herbalist made sure the wound was healing right. Satisfied to see skin already growing on the stump Mikhaïl let go of Akim’s arm and turned to Silvia.

“Mmmmhmmm!” Exclaimed the handless man, he was giving everything he had to free himself from his bindings. He trashed and struggled with all his might, but it was useless, the ropes tying him to the table were too tightly gripping and he even had manacles on his arms and legs. Poor Akim was too secure to hope to be able to free himself, but the fear and pain gave him the strength to struggle. Mikhaïl wasn’t worried, the Human would not escape and in time he would lose the will to fight, the Alchemist would have other uses for him then.

“It’s your turn now, Silvia,” he said to the girl while wiping the blood off the knife.

“Y-yes! Sir!” Mikhaïl saw the young woman gulp and weakly grab the right arm of the poor victim. She didn’t seem to be completely fine with the act of maiming. She had stabbed the test subject several times to verify the quality of the healing potions, but severing a hand was a step above and she didn’t seem quite ready to do it.

“I don’t have the day to wait, girl,” the Alchemist insisted.

She pressed her knife where he had told her to start cutting and - thanks to the knife sharpness - the blade easily sliced the skin. Blood started dripping from the feeble wound, stopping the Slave in her action.

“You can do it,” the Beorn encouraged the Human girl to continue.

Executing herself she applied more strength to her movements, silently thanking the tight-bindings preventing the man’s trashings to disturb the path of the knife. But when the blade struck the first bone she stopped again, face as pale as a sheet.

“Go on, you’re not finished,” Mikhaïl said as he walked to her side and grabbed Akim’s arm to secure it with his left hand. He put his right one on Silvia’s shoulder to encourage her.

Gulping loudly the girl gripped her knife with two hands and resumed her grisly task. It took her two minutes and her face was covered in tears and snot, but she managed to complete her boss’ orders.

“You did very well, Silvia. Now go rest and clean yourself a little, I’ll take care of the rest,” said the Herbalist while he applied healing potions on Akim’s new lump.

The girl didn’t need to be told twice, she walked out of the room to wash away the blood of her clothes and hands and to take a well-deserved rest. On her pale face was a feeble and half-deranged smile, probably her Slave Class’ Skills at work.

Once Silvia out of the room, Mikhaïl ordered Damian to clean the knives and the blood that had flowed on the table, the ground, and the tied Akim.

He himself took the two severed hands away. He deposited the fresher one on top of the rightmost bit of dicktatoe in the smaller planter and the hand he had severed himself on the left side of the big planter.

He was curious to see if the plant would find Human blood and flesh to its liking. It was a carnivorous, thorny, and poisonous plant. A vicious little vegetable. It may have a taste for more gruesome activities.