Hojo cackled as he typed away at the computer. Chaos had fallen upon the world. Sephiroth was back, after all these years. Oh, he knew the boy wouldn't be so easy to kill! He was back, and he was going to bring such beautiful destruction to this wretched world. Having gotten access to the powerful black materia, the consequences of such magic now loomed above the sky, haunting the people below with the inevitability of their end. A blazing red ball of death, every day, crept closer and closer. Nothing Shinra had tried could stop it. There was a certain group out there, made up of escaped experiments, maddened eco-terrorists, self-pitying fools and washed-up employees desperate for a purpose, trying to stand in the way of both the company, and of Sephiroth.

But they were hopeless. Perhaps Shinra could be stopped, but not Sephiroth. He'd known the boy from birth, and they had no idea of just how powerful he truly was. He was a failed experiment as a replication of the Cetra, but the perfect conclusion in the creation of a killing machine. In fact, he was better– for he had arisen high above his circumstances, into something beyond.

"Oh, son," Hojo laughed so hard his lungs felt as though they were about to burst. "These fools think they can stop you! But we both know how such arrogance will end!"

His fingers continued to tap at the keyboard. Shinra was attacking the Northern Crater, where Sephiroth's body was located– and they'd managed to remove the protective barrier around it, though his son was unharmed. Hojo was on limited time; it wouldn't be long before Shinra would attempt to shoot again, and he feared of what would happen if someone tried to stop him. He had to send energy, much energy, to the location of his son. He had to know, to see with his own eyes, the potential full power of his beautiful experiment.

He grinned. What a wonderful scientist he turned out to be.

"You always looked down on me, Sephiroth. But look who's helping you now, my boy" he spoke, glancing out the window towards the crater. The land ahead was barren and eerie in its silence. In fact, he noted for a moment that things were too silent. A chill crept up his spine, as if something were about to lash out and hurt him– a feeling he'd not felt since he was a child.

"Hojo."

The scientist's demeanour changed instantly. He whirled around like a startled creature, white fingers quickly reaching for the revolver he kept in his pocket. Was he hearing things? He aimed his weapon in the direction of the voice, hands growing slick with sweat. His mind sometimes played tricks on him, which was unsurprising considering how much exposure he'd had to Jenova. This would not be the first time he'd heard the voice of his son, when there was nothing there. (((At least, this time, it had not been Lucrecia))).

"You know full well the powers granted by Jenova. Your gun is useless here."

The voice felt far more real than usual. Hojo sighed, and put his gun away. If the voice was a hallucination, then he should simply carry on with his work. If the voice was real, then there was no reason to do so.

"I do not have the time for this," he muttered to himself, turning his attention back to the computer. "Science waits for no one."

"Nor does death," the voice hissed. "Do you believe me to be a mere illusion?"

Hojo froze as cold fingers curled around his shoulder, stifling a gasp. The touch was deceptively light, for he knew its owner could crush his bones in an instant, if he decided it appropriate. Indeed, this was no vision– Sephiroth's mastery of Jenova had reached a frightening– and fascinating– level.

"My dear boy," Hojo drawled, grinning with refusal to show how terrified he truly was. "Can you not see that I am trying to help you?"

"I need not your help."

Hojo wanted to flinch. Those serpentine eyes, so inhuman, yet so like that of the one person he'd ever loved. He despised to think of it, love made no sense to him– it was illogical, it tainted the waters of his goals and risked steering him off his path of objectivity and discovery. Yet, even he had been weak to its clutches. To her.

And now, her remnant stood before him. With a gaze of ice that somehow burned more than the most infernal hell, and a stature that made him feel like he was cowering before a great dragon who carried the jaws of death.

"It's been five years since I saw you last," Hojo spoke, backing away but making no moves to leave the room– he knew there was nothing he could do to escape, unless Sephiroth allowed him to. "Yet you have still managed to give me the opportunity to make such wondrous discoveries. All these new theories on the nature, biology, abilities of Jenova... even beyond the grave, you've managed to be a miracle of science."

Hojo grinned crookedly, trying to speak without a single stutter. Sephiroth's own expression was almost like a mirror, his lips quirked into a sly smirk that hid whatever bitterness he was feeling. Hojo knew the boy well enough to read him well, while others were unable to see past his stoic– now smug– mask, he could tell the boy had so many emotions writhing inside him. Hatred, anger, melancholy, pain, agony. The world would only see a vengeful heartless soldier, but all monsters, deep down, were just frightened, lost children. Hojo knew this better than anyone.

"Even beyond the grave, you find ways to use me," Sephiroth narrowed his eyes.

"Use you?" Hojo raised a brow. "Is that how you see things, my boy? Do you hate me so much that it blinds you to the truth?"

"And what truth is that?"

"I did not create you to use you. Perhaps that fool, Doctor Gast, had such a motive. But not me. This was all for something much bigger, not merely my selfish individual pursuits. This was all in the name of discovery, truth, science. It is above you and I, after all. You are an intelligent boy, Sephiroth, I thought you'd be able to see that. Through this experiment came the creation of a being above everything else on this planet."

"You weren't the only one involved in Project S."

"Ah, you speak of Jenova– your mother?"

Hojo flinched as a rod of steel formed right next to him, slicing the fibres of his lab coat and reaching behind to impale the computer. It was as if Sephiroth had willed his Masamune into existence. The scientist could not stop the whimper from escaping his lips, the first sign of his fear, when he saw the blank rage in Sephiroth's eyes.

"Tell me the truth, Hojo. You are going to die today, but whether your end comes with merciful swiftness that you do not deserve, or slow agony that will make you wish you were dead– that will all be dependent upon you. Pick your next words very carefully– I know more than you think."

"You're angry... and why is that, my boy? Do you not believe it worthy to exist for the sake of science?"

Sephiroth shifted his Masamune, so its tip pressed against Hojo's neck uncomfortably.

"Do. Not. Test me."

"I'm not," Hojo replied, grimacing as he put up his hands in a submissive gesture. "I simply fail to understand your emotions, boy. Why the anger?"

"This world will be mine," Sephiroth whispered ominously, a hungry glow in his eyes. "Everything will gather and merge to become part of me. I will rise above whatever fate you and Shinra had attempted to enforce upon me. Only then will I become something greater. But now, in this moment, I wish only to see you suffer. I've not forgotten how you treated me."

A burst of pain throbbed at one of Hojo's knuckles. The scientist groaned, warm flecks flicking across his face. When he looked over to the source of his discomfort, his eyes widened with realisation– he was missing a finger. It fell next to him, like a pale worm.

"You know I am knowledgeable in human anatomy. I can make this very long. I will. "

Hojo fell to the ground, his back crashing against the metal desk behind him. He could no longer hide his fear so easily; his hand was shaking as blood dribbled down a crimson stump where his finger should have been. His face whitened to a shade even more pale than it usually was.

He laughed. Sephiroth stuck his blade into Hojo's arm, just below the wrist, and twisted it. It scrapped and sliced along bone, muscle, sinew and flesh. Blood vessels popped and tore and bled, painting the old scientist's skin red. And yet, there were no cries of pain.

He could only laugh.

It hurt, of course it did. But Hojo's cackle was not always one of joy. It was involuntary, a way to hide and mask whatever he truly felt– and now, it was fear. Fear and terror of a most primal kind. He did not wish to die. He was (((afraid to die))) .

But emotions would only cloud his mind. He had to ignore them, to be the perfect scientist unbiased by subjectivity, no remorse or empathy for the specimens he mutilated and tortured, not even allowing himself to feel so for his son.

Sephiroth had always terrified him. When he looked into the boy's eyes, he saw Lucrecia– his one and only weakness.

"You've always been a fool," the silver demise mused. "Your laughter does nothing to deceive me. I know you are afraid, Hojo. I know you've always been afraid of me."

Hojo's eyes were watery and wide, mouth gaping like a suffocating fish who'd scream if they could. But the only sound he produced was this senseless laughter. He could see, in Sephiroth's orbs, that the boy looked upon him as if he was the most pathetic sight that he'd ever seen.

"P-project S," Hojo sputtered between short bouts of snickers. "Led and organised by Doctor Gast Faremis, Professor Marcus Hojo, and Professor Lucrecia Crescent. The goal was t-to create a human with the traits of a Cetra. This was done by injecting the genetic material of Jenova, believed to be a Cetra at the time, into the newly formed foetus of a human being. Professor Lucrecia put herself forward and allowed her foetus to become the specimen in question."

Sephiroth stayed his hand, watching Hojo with those blank, yet simultaneously furious eyes.

"The specimen was formally dubbed to be the aforementioned 'Project S', but was colloquially referred to as 'Sephiroth'," Hojo grit his teeth. "Professor Lucrecia was incapable of remaining unattached and objective during the p-performance of the experiment. She was removed. As Project S was tested, he showed no signs of the abilities of the Cetra. Upon realising Project S was a failure, and Jenova had been misidentified, Doctor Gast left. I remained.

"D-do you not see? The others were incompetent. They did not truly care for your potential. They did not see the experiment through to the end like I did. Lucrecia was blinded by subjective emotion; she grew delusional. Doctor Gast abandoned you when he understood your true nature. I was the only one who remained by your side, my son."

Sephiroth's expression was unreadable, but Hojo could tell he was processing everything. It did not seem as though this was information he was hearing for the first time; the shock of Doctor Gast's abandonment and the fact that his mother had not died in childbirth, as Hojo had told him, seemed to be things Sephiroth had grown aware of. But there was something that seemed to react when Hojo uttered the words 'my son'.

There. That was the one thing he'd not known. Or, perhaps he had– but he'd no wish to accept it.

"Your son?" Sephiroth spat, the last word with particular venom.

"Yes," Hojo forced a grin. "I am your father."

"You were no father to me," Sephiroth pulled the Masamune from Hojo's arm, and thrust it through Hojo's shoulder. The scientist yelled in pain, and Sephiroth watched with pitiless expression.

"You are nothing but a blight. A broken, pathetic worm who masquerades as a scientist and hides behind the accomplishments of other equally broken, pathetic worms."

Hojo panted, a trickle of red spilling from his mouth. Some of it had stained his glasses, and he instinctively reached up and brushed his fingers along the glass, trying to clean it. Even such a simple movement was agonisingly draining, and his arm fell by his side after smearing the blood.

For a moment, his mind wondered to the visage of an old, bearded man. The man of his own childhood, who was supposed to take care of him, but only ever neglected him. Why was Sephiroth so angry over Hojo being who he was? The boy should be thankful, for Hojo did what his own father never bothered to do– he was a part of his son's life. The boy would never understand, but all he did was for a greater good beyond them both.

His son was the most perfect specimen he had ever seen. Perfect in every way. But such perfection could not be reached through coddling and infantilisation, like what Doctor Gast and Lucrecia had wanted to do.

Now look at what he is.

Hojo stopped himself from grinning, for fear of further provoking his son– but he certainly felt the urge to do so. Sephiroth seeked godhood, but in Hojo's mind, he had already reached it. A being far above any other in existence, pure, independent, and unclouded by delusions of morality.

"Lucrecia would be horrified to see what you have become," Hojo sneered, locking eyes with Sephiroth. "Good."

Love was always conditional. He knew that very well. The foolish cries of that grieving woman would be stifled quickly if she knew the truth about her son, if she saw where he stood today. He could only hope that, wherever she was– whether dead or alive– she could see what a perfect, horrifying, beautiful product of scientific creation her son had grown to be.

Sephiroth stepped closer. Behind him, flames formed and arose into a dance of death, framing the angel of destruction in divine crimson light. Hojo chuckled, eyeing the sadistic smirk his son harboured. He was his most wonderful creation. Joy and horror twisted in his chest as he regarded his son with pride. He was terrified to die, but at the very least, his legacy would remain.

"Just a moment, dear boy," he drawled, coughing up blood as he spoke. "Surely, Sephiroth, you are not blind to this truth."

Sephiroth stepped so close that there was no more space between them. He looked down at the crumpled, old scientist, refusing to kneel to his level. The crackle of flames was the only sound to be heard, overwhelming heat contrasting so strikingly against Sephiroth's cold, frigid gaze.

"Were it not for P-Project Jenova– for Project S. For Lucrecia, Gast, Shinra and I... you would not exist. Were your foetus left untampered, what makes you you simply would not be. Your power, your strength, your intelligence, your appearance, even your name. Your extraordinary nature, all your greatness– it is because of me. The only way you can exist is as a scientific experiment. Never forget that, my boy."

Sephiroth did not move. He was still as a statue, remaining outwardly calm in the face of Hojo's words. The moment seemed to last an eternity, the sound of crackling fire mixing with the scientist's feeble, wheezing chuckles. The room felt colder than the most isolated regions of the northern continent. And the angel of destruction bore a frightening expression, one of darkness and impending doom.

"Better a monster than to be one of you."

***

Marcus Hojo remembered, almost as though it had happened yesterday, how lonely he had felt as a child.

The walls of his room were damp, and smelled subtly of rot. His bedsheets were tattered and torn, and the only toys in his room were the rocks and sticks he'd collect from the outside. He was a small boy, thin and underfed, with a mop of greasy black hair and squinted eyes that tried to make out the blurry world around them.

He'd sit by his bed, hugging his knees as the faint sounds of strife came from outside. He wasn't sure why, but his parents almost always argued. His mother was withdrawn for most of the day, injecting herself with blue-green substances and getting lost in some trance. His father would take him to school on most mornings, which seemed to be the only time that he was at ease. At home, his mother would always pick fights with him, throw things at him– and sometimes Marcus, if he was in the way– and his father would no longer have time for him. So, he'd in his room, alone, tears in his eyes as he'd listen to the shouts and screams of his parents outside.

He did not fear death. Some nights, just as he was falling asleep, he'd wish that he'd not wake up the next day. He'd come to the conclusion that none would miss him, for his parents sometimes acted as if he didn't exist, and everyone in school seemed to hate him. Other nights, he'd think of what life was like outside the slums. How much more comfortable and luckier the people of Midgar were when they found themselves living on the upper plate.

The thing that kept him going was a book. One he'd taken from school, and vowed never to return. It was a book of science, thick and flowing with information about the world around him. Whenever things were too much, he'd retreat into its pages and find comfort in the knowledge. Sometimes, it felt like he couldn't hear his parent's fights through the door anymore.

***

School was tough. Most of the others despised him. They thought him strange, different, not one of them. Many ignored him. A few attacked him, beating him and kicking him until he'd weep. Hojo grew to hate himself. For if it seemed the entire world hated him, what worth did he have?

The book was what saved him. All those nights when thoughts of death and worthlessness were plaguing his mind, he'd take it from under his bed– he always kept it there, right within reach– and block out the world as he absorbed more and more information about it. All his feelings were just chemicals. Nothing more.

He'd wipe away his tears, and read. Feelings were useless. They only brought him down. But now, he knew he had a purpose. Science was his calling, the one thing that made him feel like he wasn't worthless.

(((The one thing that brought him joy)))

***

He'd gotten comfortable. Too comfortable. He'd excelled in his studies, and relocated above the slums. He'd told his parents, to their faces, that he'd never wanted to see them again. After that encounter, he never knew what came of them– not that he needed to, nor wished it.

He joined Shinra and rose the ranks as one of its best scientists. But he wished not to be one of the best, he wanted to be the best. Still carrying the book from his childhood, the one thing he took with him from the slums, and keeping it by his desk, he did all he could to stand out from the rest. Yes, some may dub his actions 'unethical', but the experiments he did on the various creatures always had such fascinating results. And President Shinra seemed to have taken a liking to Hojo's morally questionable approach, because Hojo rose those ranks quickly.

His world shattered, however, when he met Lucrecia.

She could keep up with him. She wasn't like most of the researchers, who got all worried about the morality and ethics of their work. No, she prioritised discovery and knowledge the way he did– at all costs. When he noticed his more tender feelings cropping up in her presence, he'd chastise himself for it. He feared them, for he'd not known love before.

He convinced himself he just appreciated her capabilities and potential as a scientist. But she was the first thing he'd had in his life, since discovering his fascination with science, that he could say– deep in his mind, but not aloud– that he cherished.

***

But things changed. Is that not the nature of life? Of existence? Change was inevitable.

Lucrecia, and his love of her, was no exception. She'd never stop nagging about that specimen's fate. That he was 'her son' and she 'had to be with him'. In the beginning of the experiment, Hojo had believed that the two had an understanding. That she had enough respect for their work not to allow flimsy, foolish feelings to ruin everything.

Perhaps she allowed herself to be controlled by her emotions, but not Hojo.

When she disappeared, he could only think good riddance. No more would she risk holding back or interfering with Project S's progress. No more would he have to deal with those annoying pangs of affection he once held for her.

But he could see her in Project S– in Sephiroth. Though his eyes were inhuman, reflective of his strange genetics, there was something in them that reminded Hojo so much of the woman he once... no. He could afford to think of her so anymore.

Hojo never showed it before Project S, but he was terrified of him. Terrified by the look in his eyes, so afraid of the fact that, in a way, he was a remnant of a part of Hojo's life he wanted to forget. So, he'd not show Project S any tenderness, even if he began to see him as a son when his test results became favourable.

Yet, in spite of this, Hojo always knew Sephiroth was going to be a special specimen. Better than anything he had sculpted before. The perfect specimen, the perfect killing machine– the perfect monster. Hojo was harsh, but he was preparing his son, his perfect specimen, for greatness that neither could comprehend at the time. Sephiroth was the beginning and the end, the unflawed finale to all scientific progress.

The boy had always admired Doctor Gast, and despised his own father. But Hojo cared not, for in the end, Doctor Gast did nil to aid Sephiroth in achieving true greatness. He was only flesh and blood, now rotting away in some unmarked grave– Hojo remained. Doctor Gast and Professor Lucrecia were incompetent fools, in the end, it was Hojo's ambition that solidified his legacy in such a wondrous, perfect bringer of demise.

Science had been his saviour. The one thing that stayed his hand from taking his own life, when he had nothing to live for. He lived and breathed it as if it was his own oxygen. He let it rule his life, devoting himself like a scholar to God's word.

Sephiroth loomed over him, expertly utilising his blade to give the scientist the most agonising end possible. He was correct– Hojo screamed at the top of his lungs as his flesh ran red with blood and white with exposed bone. His body was breaking with each passing moment, contorting and cracking and distorting into unrecognisable crimson entrails. His glasses fell to the side, one of the lenses splintered.

His son was right. He craved the mercy of death.

And yet, between his agonised cries, he still cackled as ribs snapped and pricked his lungs. Was it not ironic?

Science had been his saviour– and now, it brought him his end.