Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII, or its characters. They belong to Square-Enix and other respective people, I'm sure.

Author's Note: This is a little excerpt scene I was inspired for after fighting Hojo in the game. I made the battle sound a little more interesting than it actually was for me (I happened to be slightly disappointed in the ease with which I beat him, and I wanted more dialogue), and obviously it contains spoilers. This ficlet was also written as part of a challenge on the LiveJournal community by_the_pen, as an attempt to take the words tragic, bitter, paradise, and make them into a ficlet.

Eden

The figure in a white lab coat, leaning over the console with a look of intense concentration on his face, glasses sliding down a narrow, hawkish nose. Too little effort indeed and Vincent Valentine could imagine a second spectre working alongside the first, one he wanted to remember while longing to forget; his beloved Lucrecia, auburn hair spilling down her back in a ponytail, her vivid green eyes alight with the passionate sparkle she had for her work. Science—they were torn apart in the name of it.

It would be a simple thing to hate Hojo. This man was responsible for countless travesties throughout the length of his sordid career—experimentation, Mako poisoning, murder. The unleashing of Jenova. The creation of Sephiroth in his current state. The death of Vincent's dear Lucrecia...the death of their love affair. And now, perhaps, if he wasn't stopped, then it might be the end of Midgar, or even the entire world as they knew it. There was little question indeed that Hojo, a mad scientist but an utter genius—tragic that such knowledge should be so tainted—deserved what was to come.

It was appropriate that it was raining; stinging droplets that tasted bitter upon his lips, the result of Midgar's scarring presence upon the Planet. Like a disease. He was not certain whether he was saddened or if he found the irony appropriate that the city should be as corrupt as himself—possessed with demons the like of which were found nowhere else. Strange to think they could have ever believed this might become their Eden.

Lucrecia, Lucrecia...but it was paradise with you.

Hojo was saying something now, but the words they spoke were without true purpose, only the tradition of insults and threats exchanged on battlefields since the beginning of time. Vincent closed his crimson eyes and tried to imagine how a human being could be so without remorse, when he, a demon, a monster, sought to atone for all the wrongs he had done. And when he opened them again and looked at the man he had come to kill, he felt those demons stirring, Chaos clawing at his mind and demanding to be freed.

His human right hand coiled around the grip of Death Penalty, the gun she had left him; a silent request that he finish what had begun. His finger tightened on the trigger, suddenly burdened by the idea of adding yet another murder to his conscience. His atonement would be eternal now as it was; what would one more death be?

I failed you once, Lucrecia...I mustn't fail you again.

It took little to unleash the demon that constantly fought for control of his mind and body; Chaos emerged with a vengeance upon the very scientist who had entrapped it in this frail human body...and to be such a weak being, Vincent Valentine fought him too hard—he tried to convince the man that he was a monster, that he should relinquish control to him...but it was rarely that he actually gave in.

Chaos intended to make the most of it.

The battle was long, pitched between two formidable foes. The two companions fighting alongside the winged demon were all but forgotten; yet even they understood that this was between Vincent and the man who had caused him so much pain. That it had become about him and Hojo...an old score to be settled.

When it was over, it seemed both to have lasted an eternity, and to have been entirely too short. Chaos reluctantly receded, replaced by Vincent's tall, slender form, the thing that had once been Hojo crumpled to the cold, rainslicked platform of steel, and Vincent stepped up to watch his former antagonist in his death throes, red cloak whipping around his legs and snagging on the deadly claw that replaced his left hand.

Somewhere in the pit of his cold heart, he felt a sort of pity for Hojo. His marble-etched features contorted in confusion, then he raised the Death Penalty and a final shot rang out into the night.

Rest in peace, Hojo...for I never shall.