A/N: Hello everyone. I hope you will enjoy this Final Fantasy VII fiction. I enjoyed the story "The Last Vampire" by C. Pike so much that I decided to use a faintly similar plot and incorporate Pike's writing style with my own in a FFVII story.

Important notes: This is an AU, yet not an AU - there is still Midgar, Kalm, etc., but no 'Meteorfall', Vincent in a coffin for 30 years, etc. So keep in mind that it's the same setting with entirely new events.

Vincent, for his appearance, is almost a cross between how he looked as a Turk and how he looks after the experimentation. So, somewhat shorter hair, not as 'dark' clothing, but still quite dark. He tries to blend in, for the most part, in the story so he won't be too noticeable to anyone taking interest in him and possibly discovering that he's a vampire.

None of the characters will be extremely out-of-character.

Thanks for reading. Please leave me a review after you are finished telling me how it was. The next chapters will be a bit shorter so it won't take forever to read. Updates will be weekly. Thank you to everyone who favorites/alerts/reviews. I appreciate your support.

-Rot-chan

Disclaimer: I do not own The Last Vampire or Final Fantasy VII.


Thirst

CHAPTER --- 1


For 5,000 years I have been a vampire. I cannot remember the name I was given at birth; instead I am Vincent, the vampire. I would rather be called nothing, but this sacred name I cannot deny, for Sephiroth, creator of our monstrous blood and kind, spoke my name upon his lips when he created me.

My creation was the time God graced our tarnished planet; thought today it is considerably worse. Now the world rests somberly in her ruins, destroyed from a third world war, misdirected nuclear missiles, and the near end of humankind.

The Midgar streets below my window are ashen and scarred with a thousand miniscule lines only visible to my ancient eyes, eyes stained vermillion from age and the consuming of blood. I can hear the breathing of a rat in the apartment building six floors below my room.

My hypersensitive sense of smell brings out the thick scent of must and rotting wood to my nose and I am suddenly nauseous, feeling strangely ill despite having stayed here for two days.

I am a strange creature indeed.

My own blood has given me powers beyond even my comprehension. Breathing, eating, sleeping…they are necessary yet they are somehow unnecessary, another contradiction to add to the many contradictions that make me who I am.

I can breathe like any human, yet I am able to hold my breath for over a day's time until I am desperate for air.

Food is not a part of my regular diet, and I can go for months without it.

Sleep is optional, unless I am severely injured. But if that ever was to happen, it would be simpler to remain awake, refrain from drinking blood and allow death to come.

I have been waiting for it.

In the eyes of human beings, I am Stoker's Dracula, a Transylvanian descendentcoming to rip out their throats in the dark. True, I drain the blood of humans, though only if I am in need of a feeding after a long four or five months without it, but it's not worth stalking them and playing games in the shadows prior to doing this.

Also, daylight does not stop me from pulling someone into a dark alley (how appropriate for my reputation) where no one is near and suck them dry. Rays of the sun are only an annoyance, nothing more; they cannot reduce me to ash or stone.

Truthfully I did find amusement in watching Nosfertatuand Claudia bare their fangs and thrive in the moonlight, for it was humorous to see human beings so infatuated over an animated corpse with human tendencies. Vampires, it seems, have always interested humans everywhere.

Myths, folklore, books have been created to capture my essence and strike fear in small children.

My essence, for I am the last vampire.

 THIRST 

For days I have remained hidden.

My estate in Kalm – thousands of acres of land with surrounding dead wood – is locked up. The beautiful mansion is aged and has yet to be restored, but it would look terribly out of the ordinary to add a gazebo or heated swimming pool that aristocracy could hardly afford.

For me, it would be very simple to add any additions to the home as I pleased. My bank account is suspiciously wealthy with millions of dollars saved. The explanation for this sum of cash is "a large inheritance from the death of my relatives." It's almost sad how using so little of my hypnotic power can convince the tellers to believe me and not say a word of it to any one else.

The note I received just two days earlier was formal and carefully scripted, arriving at my door from a personal messenger:

To a Mr. Valentine:

I wish to meet with you.

You have interested me for quite some time.

I would wish to speak with you as soon as it is possible…

A mere exchange of words, that is all.

-Hojo

On the envelope, which I now hold in my hand, there is a return address in messy calligraphic scribe. The sender – this 'Hojo' – resides on the outskirts of Midgarin the secluded business district where the lower middle class live and small businesses lie.

Somehow I have become a bit paranoid. It is not in my nature to assume the position of the prey, for I am His evil creation and the ideal predator. Yet something unnerves me about the sudden request from this strange man.

I am almost expecting an ambush when I go to see him that could lead to a discovery of my blood. At this moment, I am in the center of Midgar in this plain hotel. I left my estate to avoid those who could also be watching me closely; really it was no bother, for traveling from my mansion to Midgar by foot with superhuman speed only took a few hours' time. It only agitates me having to be in this city that has fared far worse than any other since the near apocalypse over three hundred years ago.

A thing such as myself cannot be discovered, or the human race will once more be threatened with great danger and extinction.

I am preparing to see this Hojo, and I am praying to Areith and the Holy that have rejected me and sent me to Him that this is not a mistake. This time, I will hail a cab.

 THIRST 

Hojo has a bizarre glint in his dull mortal eyes.

This is the first thing I notice about this middle-aged man, who is a lonely drunk with tied back hair and an ill-fitting suit jacket.

We are sitting in his tiny office, a room with few personal belongings. Branching out my senses I realize the extent of this man's addiction and find that he is quite sick; he will die in less than five years of a failed liver, or perhaps lack of mentality stability through suicide.

Hojo's secretary, a woman who's easy-to-read emotions screamed promiscuity, allowed me to enter Hojo's office. The ramshackle building has a poor patch job on the roof, and a window near the entrance to the main building is severely cracked.

I discover that Hojois a private detective as I use the ability of my enhanced sight to read the business card in the holder on his desk. At this I smile a small smile as I await the accusations and pointless questions the half-sane investigator shall throw at me.

It's grown quite boring sitting around in my mansion without anyone to toy with. I even find it necessary to go beyond reading books and consuming blood every so often.

"Hello, Vincent."

"Hello, Doctor," I say, careful to hide the fearsome knowledge and wisdom collected in my ancient voice. Instead I project myself as a normal, twenty-something man. I play the part well, for I am dressed in black pants, boots, dark gloves and a black shirt covered by a deep maroon cloak fraying at the ends sweeping the floor. I will enjoy playing with this man, cat and mouse.

Pacing the room, Hojo glances at me every few moments and I allow the cape to drop and show the amused expression on my face framed by unruly dark hair. Upon entering the office I noticed that the doctor hid a standard nine millimeter handgun in his belt. It seems the doctor thinks I am dangerous…though maybe it is wise that he does.

"You truly are intriguing, Mr. Valentine! The names – Set, Kura…why not go by just one title?" Hojo inquires, and I can clearly sense the madness in his voice.

"It is not of your concern." I truly do find it bothersome speaking, so I allow my voice to darken only slightly, making Hojo shift uncomfortably. My presence will surely bring him an unsettling feeling he will not be able to place.

"May I ask you another question?" Hojo says and clears his throat. He seems to be itching to drink. I find it almost flattering that he tried to be sober when speaking to me today. Perhaps if I must kill him (which I'm certain I shall do) I'll do it quickly.

"I've discovered that you own one of the wealthiest manors in Kalm, estimated to be worth 4.6 million in value. Is this correct?"

Choosing to remain quiet, I only cross my legs so I do not look entirely still. By nature, human beings are restless creatures. I do not want to appear as motionless as a statue. Though I suppose these factors do not matter anyway, since in the end he will be rid of.

"Do you deny this statement?" Hojo asks. He is starting to feel confident, I read as I penetrate my red gaze into his flat black eyes. This annoys me.

Choosing my words carefully I respond, "I am rich. I don't deny this. Is this a problem?" My voice takes on a sharper edge, more of my true self slipping through as a bead of sweat rolls down Hojo's forehead that's not from the need to drink.

"I-I am only perplexed as to how you managed to withhold your money after the widespread economic failure, with no relatives to speak of."

Now I grow impatient. This man has been well informed and has revealed too much to me.

"Hojo – may I call you Hojo? – I am not going to speak of my past, the matters of my bank account and family. I will not tell you what you wish to hear –"

This foolish man interrupts me in a moment of blind madness as he scrambles to corner me. "But how is this so? You…you are incredibly rich yet you are not known!"

Of course: an alias. The doctor has an alias. I am frustrated with myself for not having figured this out sooner. It would have saved me a greater deal of time than suffering through this boring back and forth banter.

An agitated sigh escapes my lips and I rise in a blur of movement. The doctor blinks rapidly and takes a hesitant step back.

"Who is working with you?" I ask, allowing my voice to slowly eclipse with hidden satanic intent. Fearfully the doctor moves behind his desk. I watch his shaky hand quickly begin to reach for his gun underneath his wrinkled coat.

"It's useless to reach for your gun. I will kill you before you release the safety."

Now Hojo is truly afraid. "I don't have a weapon. I just want us to talk, you see?" He is lying. Only a truly talented person can come close to telling a lie to me, so I've grown to dislike liars, I suppose.

Ignoring the tempting idea of using the heel of my boot to kick his scrawny head from his shoulders, I try to pry the information from the pathetic man.

"I will not repeat myself: who is working with you?" I ask in a deathly monotone. Hojo's back bumps against the window behind his desk. A few crows sitting near the ledge caw loudly and fly off.

"I'm not...There was never…" Hojo stammers pitifully, and I darken my eyes.

"I am a vampire." I reveal me age of 2,000 years completely, my tone dark and sinister, horrific. I let him see that the nightmares he had of me are true, the tales are real, and that I shall make waste of him properly.

"I am thousands of years old. I have killed before and I shall kill again. I believe you, Doctor, will be my next victim." Tilting my head slightly, I once more read his emotions and find that he is too scared to speak, his pulse rapid. I wait for a response, but he tells me nothing. I've never had tremendous patience.

I sigh. "You should have taken better care of your liver."

In an almost slow-motion chain of events, I watch Hojo take out the gun in his belt as I assume the form of a pouncing jaguar, lunging for the wretched man.

My right forearm makes contact with his clavicle and chest, and I hear the satisfying crack of his platelets and bones before he has a finger even remote to the safety. Hojo flies backward and hits the wall behind us, the gun now somewhere near the closed office door.

Cautiously I approach him, hoping to Aerith I didn't attack him to powerfully. A moment later I hear his shallow breathing, for his lungs are slowing filling with crimson blood. He is a vault of data and I must clean him out before he dies.

Leaning over the dying man, I use my tip of my favorite gun, fondly called Cerberus for its fatal triple barrels, to tilt his chin towards me, forcing Hojo to stare into my eyes.

He closes them. What a defiant pest. Tears stream down his jaundice skin and mix with a fountain of blood pouring from his nose and mouth as I try to ignore that I haven't fed in what has seems to be ages.

"Who is your informant?" I ask, my silken persuasion making tendril like waves through the air.

"Nngh…S-Shin..ra."

"Shinra."

"Y-yu…" He can barely form words now. I have foiled my chances, so it seems, of protecting my own identity.

"Where can I find him? Tell me."

"N..No…"

My anger gripping me in a momentary hold, I take my gun and pistol whip the doctor's head off of his shoulders, sending the tumbling mass of blood and dark hair flying across the floor. It bounces a few times before smashing against the wall.

Silence sweeps over the room and I sigh aloud. Now I have made this twice as difficult as it was moments earlier. Branching out my senses I find that three doors over, someone is curious to what the noise is, and will rise from their desk in less than two minutes to come investigate the disruption to their paper work.

With great speed I quickly roll up the revolting headless body in the carpet on the floor and use a plastic bag with a bottle of cheap booze inside to store the doctor's head. I go to his laptop - a very basic machine that the middle class use from hundreds of years ago - and tuck it under my arm, opening all of his drawers in a series of blurred movements to check for important files.

Thirty seconds remain.

As predicted, curiosity seizes the other investigator, and I hear the chair push out from a desk on the floor three rooms to my left. With the weightless rolled-up body under one arm, the laptop under the other and the bag in my free hand, I quickly leave the office and head straight for the emergency exit, which thankfully does not activate a general alarm system.

Heading straight for the woods behind the office through the empty alley ways I wish it could have been simple - burning the building down would have been effective to erase any possible evidence. But the secretary has a husband, I discovered; it isn't worth the many losses.

I dig a hole ten feet deep with my hands then dump the bloody rug and the matching head into it and cover it up with the damp soil. I am glad that I hardly got any of the doctor's blood on my garments.

Walking back to the business section's inner city streets, far from the doctor's office, I notice that my cloth gloves have unfortunately been splattered with the blood from my attack. As I pass by a dumpster I quickly slip them inside, sure that the few people walking by will not notice, for it's near evening and not many are outside.

Quite easily I hail a cab and allow myself to relax in the back seat as I ask for the driver to take me to the hotel's address.

Soon I begin to think, my ancient eyes growing unfocused.

Who is this Shinra?

Why did he send Hojo after me?

And what do they wish to gain from my capture?

An unnerving feeling passes over me and I shift, my intuition seeming to be wracked with malice. I must use the evidence I have on the laptop on the seat beside me to discover who the alias is and find him before he finds me.

Tonight, I think as I try to calm my restless thoughts, I shall allow myself to feed - I shall use a woman, and take just enough blood to comfort her and erase her short term memories.

For some reason, this does not satisfy me at all.

 THIRST 