Disclaimer: I own nothing.

WARNING: Lots of blood and gore. This was hard for me to write because normally I get a little queasy reading things like this, let alone writing it.

Impulses. Nasty, filthy, bad impulses. They had been pulging in Vincent Valentine's veins for a long time, each time he stepped out of his solitude. The thoughts that came with it, the sounds he made just thinking of it, he knew it was wrong, but how could he stop such... powerful impulses?

It began with the liking of blood. He had accidently bite his lip while eating, and found the taste of the blood that seeped through interesting. He wanted more of it. He remembered that after that day, the taste of blood was still engraved on his tongue, and it wouldn't go away. He couldn't wish it away, couldn't scrub it away... It would not go away.

He remembered its copper taste, the way it lasted for weeks after he let it slip silently into his mouth. He wanted more. He lay awake at night thinking of the impulses that surged through his brain. It was disgusting, wrong, he knew it was wrong! He didn't even want to let it begin. But it already had. It had begun way before he could stop it.

He had laid awake for so many nights, suffering through the peak of his most vicious impulses. Even when he was asleep, the dreams of the satisfying taste crept up upon his sleeping mind, driving him to the point to where he wanted no sleep. He was tired all through the day, but for some reason nighttime seemed to be his strongest point. The moon seemed to give him power, all the power he needed to fulfill the sick impulses that covered his mind. Each day he put on a different facade, protecting the animal inside him from ever being seen by another. It was painfully secretive. He thought he could take it easily, being a quiet, dark, reluctant person. But he wasn't hiding it easily.

He had even stopped visiting her. He stopped visiting Lucrecia, discontinued his walk into the dark cave, pushed away the thought of gazing upon her sleeping form. It had seemed that those demons had floated away, and these...

These...were the new ones.

He hungered for meat. He thirsts for blood, he drove himself to the point where he'd do anything to get it. He began pricking his finger at times, taking advantage of the crimson ectasy that developed from his action. He thought he was losing his mind, going completely insane from being locked up in a coffin for over 30 years. He didn't want to do it, but his heart didn't care. It wouldn't take the time to let it subside.

Vincent Valentine approached Shinra Manor. His stomach growled with hunger, his tongue suffocated, dying for something to quench the thirst that lingered. Lightning flashed in the dark skies. His crimson eyes gazed upon the outside of the manor, knowing the inside was swimming with the demons of his past. This is where Hojo had shot him, this is where Lucrecia saved him, this is where Lucrecia left him, and this is where Hojo turned his body into the figure it is today.

Now was his chance. Now was the time, the only time he thought that he could ever get his revenge. He breathed in slowly, and walked inside.

Hojo's lab. He could tell he was here. He could smell him, he tracked him down in his mind. Vincent Valentine wouldn't leave until he got what he wanted.

No, Vincent Valentine wouldn't leave until he got what he felt he deserved.

Walking further into the lab, he spotted him. Hunched over his desk, scribbling down words on paper. The sight of him made Vincent want to hurl. (I would too). The glasses, the neck that was so hard to look at without wanting to throw his hands around it and strangle the crap out of him. The bony hands, the quaky movements, they all made him sick. It made him sick to his stomach. Vincent allowed his shadow to fall over Hojo, startling the scientist in writing. He looked up in fear, a mix of confusion and horror on his face. "V-Vincent Valentine!" he croaked, getting up from his seat, backing away. Vincent walked towards him, his figure somewhat menacing. He pulled Cerberus out, pointing it at Hojo. "No! Stop!" Hojo yelled, throwing his arms in front of his face.

"I'm hungry, Hojo. And I could really use a drink, also," Vincent said coldly, crowding Hojo into the corner. Hojo feared his shadow, his tall, slim body that still had much power. Vincent glared, his stomach growling louder. Hojo whimpered. "Please, stop! Have mercy!" he yelled. Vincent scowled. "Right.." he said, before pulling the trigger, sending three bullets propelling from Cerberus' head, into Hojo's torso. Hojo fell to the ground, unconscious. He twitched every now and then.

Vincent put Cerberus away, kneeling down in front of Hojo's body. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was nasty, disgusting..

But his heart didn't care.

He picked up Hojo's body in his arms, setting him on the table. His eyes never opened. Hojo looked at the man's wrinkled skin, and instantly sunk his teeth into his neck. Blood poured from the wound, but he made sure most of it fell into his mouth. He slurped the body dry, until he was sure there couldn't be anymore blood left. A large smile crept upon his bloody lips. "Yes.." he said, his voice dripping with revenge and blood alike. He began eating away at Hojo's corpse, savoring the meat he had. The need he felt inside was no longer there. The want, the undying impulse even began to subside. He tore away at Hojo's body, throwing away the less meaty limps. He tore off all of Hojo's flesh as though he was a flesh eating virus. Blood and gorey pulp covered his hands, hung and dripped from his lips.

Most of his body was gone. He had everything. Vincent's stomach was full, his heart pounding, mind resting. He laughed softly, tearing at the remnants of flesh that were left. He wanted more. He wanted more than he could find. The taste was satisfying, mind blowing, better than anything he had felt in over 30 years. He hadn't had such a rush. He laughed louder, slurping up the blood that was still left.

And when he was finished, he was full. He was full of everything he needed. He didn't even think he wanted anymore. Too full of the things he had hungered for for so long, it made him so happy he was almost sick to his stomach. He didn't want more, but his body did. He twitched uncontrollably, foaming rabidly. He didn't want more. He knew that. He knew his needs were wrong, he knew they were disgusting...

...But his heart didn't care.