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Descendants of the Mundane	By : wickedorin Category: Final Fantasy VIII > Het - Male/Female Views: 699 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VIII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants
of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003-2004, as are the
characters Kyrie (Almasy Leonhart Kinneas), Rodger Kinneas, and John Sparda.
Obviously everyone else has been taken from various Final Fantasy games
and Devil May Cry, and other people own those. But you ought to know
that by now, right?

        Background: It was
a stupid idea I came up with while playing Devil May Cry. I mean,
come on. Daughter of Squall meets son of Dante. It sounded
so rediculously funny that I just had to. So I did. In the
beginning, this wasn't meant to be serious, or even to actually exist in
Kyrie's universe at all. It was just too weird not to play with,
y'know? But it grew on me. Damn you, Ky. I guess it's
set more or less a couple of years after the end of Retribution Nor
Redemption. Enjoy, I hope. Do not read, however,
if you've got a really narrow view of relationships or sexuality (keep
the other two stories in mind, in other words--Kyrie and Rodger have been
together for a long time and they're very secure in one another).
You might get warped. Heh heh.

        Also Note: In the interest
of... well, myself, really, this is written under the theory that "demon"
is a term that incorporates all hellspawn--"devil" is used specifically
for a humanoid, intelligent, "higher demon". So all devils are demons,
but demons are not devils. Just in case there's any confusion.

Descendants of the Mundane

Chapter 11

by Orin Drake
        Whereas stepping into the
chamber of ice made them feel lethargic, trapped in a waking dream world,
stepping into the "mirrors" made them once again feel "normal". Already
a dangerous trick, certainly.

        Wandering through the looking
glass may have brought about a false sense of calm and warmth, but Kyrie
wasn't fucking buying it. All that existed on the other side was
a perfect field of black--and that illusion. She stared into the
odd golden eyes of the thing trying so hard to be the vision of her father,
and scoffed. "Had you looked any further, you'd have known I've dealt
with this bullshit before."

        The devil grinned, turning
slightly to show off the perfect replica of Hyperion in his hand.
"It is those of which are sure of themselves that find themselves in the
most trouble, sweetheart."

        Granted. Fucker.
But
that seemed to matter very little in the moment, during such an interesting
introduction. She even took the time and effort to walk around the
illusion, appraising the perfect similarities between the form in front
of her and her memories. The form even smelled of familiar spices,
like Seifer had after he'd been cooking... a little strange for the younger
version before her. "Not quite right, dude."

        A very mild glare was wrought
from the demon, its form changing like liquid metal, melting quickly until
it had become another form entirely--but the eyes remained the same.
The visage of Ultimacea from her imagination (old, ragged, vicious-looking
and terrible) stood where Seifer had been, looking down at the mere human
hatefully. "Perhaps this is better, then."

        But Kyrie... had other ideas.
"Well now how the hell would I know what the old sorceress bitch looked
like? You could be pulling that out of your ass for all I know.
It's far from convincing."

        It was official--she could
annoy even devils. The growl from the throat of the illusion could
hardly have been made by anything mortal. "Your parents were useless
weaklings in my universe."

        "Good hit under the belt."
She threw out, feeling possibly cockier than at any other point in her
life. Wow could she ever do the asshole thing well. Her parents
would be so proud. "So desperate that you're telling me variations
of 'yo mama' jokes? Fucking Hyne, you're just a used-up trash-demon."

        But perhaps... there was
a way to turn the tables of this far too good-natured teasing...
"Seifer was weak."

        Hand on her hip, Kyrie let
a dismissive hand fly. "He was mentally beaten into a corner that
he could not escape for a long time. But he found the way out.
That's what matters."

        "And why does that matter?"
the devil sensed a crack, a path to the inside somewhere in that answer.
"So Squall might have something to fuck on occasion?"

        Instead of anger, a surprisingly
sure smirk rippled through her features. "Boy, you're still trying
to get this shit down, aren't you?"

        Searching... watching...
the devil once more shifted into another form; and this time, it got attention.
The visage of Squall after his rescue from the Deep Earth Research Facility,
right before his death, crouched there with an accusing look in his one
remaining eye. The gore was there, the blood, the smell--everything
remembered.

        And that time, it really
did hit far too close to home. She lost her mindset for merely a
second; but it was long enough to have picked up on. Dammit.
That was one thing she hadn't been ready for.

        "Feeling guilty, little
girl?" Squall's voice mocked gently.

        "I've done what I could
do." She hissed back, keeping her voice as level as she dared.
"I have no regrets, and I'm damn well not sorry for anything."

        The illusion liquefied and
shifted into that of an older Zell... most of the head gone from his suicide.
The voice was liquid, gurgling, insane. "For anything?"

        "He made his own choices."
She swallowed the desire to shiver at the gore, at a body that surely could
never have spoken even if it had survived the gunshot.

        There was one last effort...
and the devil knew she probably saw it coming. The all too familiar
form of Sephiroth melted into being, cold green eyes and all. "But
you should be ashamed. To feel sexual attraction to the man that
would have killed you more than once, that very nearly destroyed your parents
so many times--'"

        "I feel sexual attraction
to twigs." She dismissed. "Not to mention how overrated the
whole 'shame' thing is."

        But this form... was merely
to throw her off guard. "Hell has doorways to worlds without number..."

        "Yes, yes. And?" Can
we hurry this along so I can get out of here, please?

        The sound that only could
have been Sephiroth's chuckle echoed as if there were stone walls around
them. "And it would truly terrify you to know what the reflections
of your parents are involved in. Even the great Sephiroth has an
endless mission somewhere." His perfectly recalled black leather
uniform changed, the edges coloring crimson and becoming sharper.
A single black wing sprang outward, the sound of tearing flesh from his
back, splattering blood from the feathers as it flapped once. "Some
of your still-living family, as well..." Again the form changed into
a creature that looked so much like Cloud it was frightening... but no
more so than the strange outfit and the claw, looking as though they had
been stolen from Vincent...

        She shook her head, convinced
that the images were incredibly odd tricks of her unconscious. After
all, if the devil could read enough into her memories to pick up subtleties,
it could probably pick bits and pieces to throw together on its own, as
well. "Spouting nonsense like it'll scare me? Is that it?"

        "If only you could see their
consciousness." Another liquid shift left the devil looking like
20-ish Squall with long hair and a much harder expression than she ever
remembered. "How their lives are shattered and left to darkness..."

        "Cloud and Vincent are happily
settled these days." She responded, her eyes narrowing. Something...
she had to admit to herself, that something was not right about these things
she'd been shown. It made the pit of her stomach heavy, filling her
with a dizzy nausea that she did her damnedest not to show. "And
my parents, and Sephiroth, are dead."

        "Only those beings that
you can comprehend." The odd illusion of a Squall that couldn't possibly
have happened grinned, the devil knowing that he was close to breaking
her resolve. He'd gotten her to think about it, to grow uncertain
of herself. "Their essences go so far beyond what you know now.
They will never rest."

        She could not help the unconscious
motion, wrapping her arms around herself at the very thought... She
remembered that tiny glimpse she'd gotten of the real Sephiroth before
he'd released her... how much she'd wished him peace at last... Of
Vincent's nightmares, and Cloud's still more or less hidden feelings of
the past. And her parents... didn't they deserve peace? Didn't
they all deserve rest? "Is there no heaven?" her voice quivered.
She thought of John's father, and his search...

        "There is only entrapment."
The devil growled, its form once again changing into a man she knew she
had never encountered in any form before. He was tall of tanned skin
and silver hair down his back--but looking a far cry from a relation to
Sephiroth. The eyes were golden like Ultimecea's, but more still.
Perhaps on some level, a little less mad. There was an insignia on
his chest that, when she looked at it, would not come into focus.
A dream image. A symbol from another world--

        "You are an illusion."
She spoke up, convincing herself as best she could. "And I haven't
time for your games, or your questionable seeds of doubt." Her strength
began to radiate, the Materia wildly shimmering with her emotion inside
of her. "Other universes? No, I don't doubt their existence.
But they aren't my fault, either. So if I happen to run into them,
I'll tell their inhabitants the same thing I'm telling you. Fuck
off and leave me alone."

        And with that, the mirror
was shattered. She stood there for a moment in the cold room, looking
back at the cracked glass of hers... all black, radiating a spider web
that was a little too familiar in that moment. But she wondered...
just how she'd been able to break through that illusion with such simple
words.

        "Not words."
Something... surprisingly unfamiliar pulled at her mind. "Just
surprise. And truth. Your own heart, your own truth; keep your
light alive..." And then it was gone.

        She swallowed, shivering
as she gazed into the plain silver surfaces of the other two mirrors, unable
to see inside. She hoped very badly that the other two would get
their asses out soon. For some reason, she really wasn't comfortable
being alone anymore.

        "Hey there, John."

        His skin crawled at that.
It was his father's voice, his father's perfect intonation, expression,
words he'd used a million times... Even though he knew that being
was not Dante, it was disturbingly hard to accept. "Don't bother
with niceties, demon. They're of no use."

        "But they're so much fun,
Sparda." The familiar man shrugged off the insult, his grin turning
as sharp as the exposed teeth suddenly became.

        "My name is John,
dammit." The boy snarled. He was more than his fucking bloodline...

        "You are right." His
father's voice taunted. "You aren't deserving of the name Sparda.
You've been running like the coward of your bloodline."

        "I haven't been running."
He growled, feeling his defensiveness rise more than he could control.
"I still make it through gateways."

        "By running."
The devil growled, making the perfect sound that Dante made when truly
angry. "That is the only way you could have found that gateway."
He paused, taking a moment to sniff the air around them mockingly.
"You're scented with their world. Scented with those pathetic humans."

        He saved himself from declaring
something as stupid as, "I care for those pathetic humans"
by a mere breath. He knew not to let things like that slip
in a place such as the one he felt all too trapped in, but... for a moment,
he'd almost forgotten.

        Although, really, it was
too late. The devil had picked up on the thoughts. "And that's
why I always told you that love ain't worth it, son."

        John snarled back, "You
are not my father."

        The demon's expression was
a sick mockery of the devious grin Dante once possessed in his youth, before
"all the shit happened". "I would bet that even if I stood before
you in my trueform, I would be closer to you than your father ever was."

        "Be silent." The boy
responded, eyes tinged with red. He wished desperately for a way
to cut the demon off quickly, that he'd learned some sort of binding spell
of silence... but of course, he never did have that kind of patience.

        The subject was shifted,
having seen the possibility of a much larger mental wound to prod at.
"You and your blood could have been great had you not let it be
poisoned..."

        Puzzled by the words, the
red gleam in his eyes died back down to blue, and he forced his own breathing
to steady a little. "Poisoned?"

        The devil turned away slightly,
the tone turning to one of bored indifference. "That girl's blood...
it taints you as surely as your father tainted the demon whore."

        He was... dumbstruck.
Completely, absolutely, stricken with absolutely no ability to speak or
comprehend for way too long. Something... felt... personal.
"What the hell are you talking about?"

        The demon laughed in his
father's voice, holding up the illusion for as long as possible.
"Your mother was not a human. She was a demon."

        "Fucking liar." He
grunted, eyes narrowing dangerously. "A devil would not suffer a
demon's company."

        "No, a devil would
not. Your father was a halfling, directly half human.
But you... you are so much more..."

        "You're about to find out
how right you are." He countered, rage filling him swiftly.
His teeth clenched, muscles aching to release the pent-up energy building
within them. "The lies you expect me to believe, using my father's
face..."

        "Lies?" the devil chuckled
heartily. "You know not when the lies strike you!" The creature
took a step forward, its flesh seeming to melt and reshape until it resembled--

        Even John could not keep
up the harsh outer shell quite as easily when he saw the perfect visage
of his mother before him. It was a completely unavoidable response;
it'd been so long, so terrible... She'd been gentle and beautiful,
but so strong... until he'd seen her dead. What he knew had to be
her, anyway... the flesh had been hardly recognizable...

        In her perfect voice, the
devil preached, "Didn't you ever wonder why the dogs would neither bark
at you nor let you pet them, John? You confused them too much.
They couldn't understand what you were. That's why the priest down
the street couldn't walk by you without shivering. It's why the boys
at school wouldn't look at you, let alone play with you."

        "Dammit, that's not true!"
he almost pleaded, backing away from the form as though it were turning
into a bigger monster than it already was.

        But the illusion of his
mother followed with outstretched hands. "And why do you think you
were left alive while I was torn to pieces? While your father took
off back into Hell? You were to be found again, John... because you
were so valuable... so powerful..."

        "Shut up." He whispered,
seeing no boundaries to the darkness around him, no walls in sight.
And still, knowing in the back of his mind that the thing in front of him
was only an illusion, a devil causing trouble... the seeds of doubt had
been cast.

        "What's the matter?" his
mother's voice was smooth, soothing like times long since dead. "Don't
you like the idea of being special?"

        "Fuck you." He breathed,
gritting his teeth. He could not let this thing get to him,
destroy him... it was latching onto his memories a little too firmly to
let it dig any deeper. "You could have been one of the filthy demons
that got away with killing my mother, for all I know."

        The image of his mother's
face suddenly contorted, growing black. The entire form faded until
there was nothing--then exploded in a form too large and vast to completely
comprehend. It was a grotesque nightmare of eyes, hands, bits and
pieces of things in flames, and a shell of absolutely deviating, fearful
awe. Exactly who it was could not be understood... but what
it was became sickeningly clear: one of the higher echelons of Hell.

        And that, more than the
rest, just fucking pissed him off. "Where is he?" he screamed, knowing
that the answer would have to come.

        A voice unlike any his ears
had ever had the displeasure of hearing responded, laughingly. "His
body is dead. His soul is with me."

        "No!" he yelled back.
"Tell me the truth!"

        "You are blind to
the truth, boy." The form boomed, the bass of its voice making John's
whole ribcage vibrate. "And even if you come to know the truth, it
will not save you. Any of you."

        "Fuck you!" John yelled,
control completely obliterated. "A person makes their own destiny!
That's how it works above the surface of this fucking prison! You
can't control anything not willing to be controlled, you formless, shape-shifting,
always ugly, fucking, lunatic!"

        In absolute and complete
surprise, he heard... a crack. A breath later, the mirror shattered
to the ground, forcing him to stand before it in the cold room, staring
back at the blackened glass. Well. Gee.

        Not surprisingly, he glanced
over to see Kyrie already on the other side, waiting for them. Arms
wrapped around herself, she was shivering beyond her control.

        He walked to her with a
swallow, trying not to let his mind wander on the fact that Rodger seemed
not to have made it out yet. He slid one arm out of his coat, stepping
beside her, wrapping his free arm around her waist and the side of his
coat over her shoulder to offer her warmth while they waited. It
was the least he could do, really. "He'll make it." He almost
felt stupid trying to reassure her.

        "I know." She half
whispered, returning the gesture by encircling his waist with her arm.
But she was still worried. Nervous. She knew... what went through
her husband's mind sometimes... and if the demon could pick up on that,
using Sephiroth... she shivered with things far worse than cold.
No. He was strong, dammit. He'd be okay. "So. How
was it?"

        "It was... different."
He admitted simply.

        She closed her eyes, letting
her lips twitch upward. It was... better not to be alone with her
thoughts. With the new uncertainties presented.

        "And you?" he prodded.

        "'Different' works."

        The first thing Rodger focussed
on were those fucking eyes. They glowed like the light of
his nightmares, but he was way too pissed and too busy trying to remain
calm to bother being afraid.

        "At last we meet on the
edge of the world." The thing that looked like Sephiroth spoke with
a flourish.

        "I'd tell you to go to Hell,
but I see you're here already." He let himself slip just enough to
grant a mild satisfaction. Hey, someone had to do it.

        "Tsk, tsk." The devil
teased. "Poor boy. Still shaking on the inside."

        "Fuck off." He hissed,
an unplanned invasion of anger.

        "Ah." The form of
Sephiroth chuckled quietly. "That is not for you. You haven't
gotten over the fear of it yet."

        The fear of..?--no time
for questions. Only to get the hell out and get on with this crap,
already. "You're not really Sephiroth. So I couldn't possibly
fear you. And even if you were, it'd only be hate."

        The laughter was clear and
gut-wrenching. "Oh really? You do believe that, don't you?"

        The anger... was growing.
He kept it quiet, calm, by example. "It is hate. And a lack
of understanding."

        The demon's smile fell for
a moment, curious. It continued to listen, wasting no breath nor
the possibility of springing the trap too early.

        Annoyed with the silence,
Rodger growled unthinkingly, "Why did it have to be her?"

        "You mean, why did it have
to be you." Its voice countered lowly.

        His lips pulled back, exposing
his teeth and an expression of distaste. Maybe there was a grain
of truth there... but he didn't have to admit it out loud.

        "She wanted to be taken."
Sephiroth's form prodded, his voice lowering even more dangerously.

        "Not by you." Rodger
countered.

        Ah, that was amusing.
"Oh, come. I saw the attraction."

        "Yeah, she's pretty free
with that." He let a grin flirt across his lips. "But you meant
to have much more than a safe, pre-approved little fling."

        And the trap's springs were
tight... "Did she ever tell you what I did to her? All of it?"

        As much as the bile and
anger flooded his throat, he could not allow it to consume him. "I
don't need every blank filled."

        "Have you any idea how many
times those 'nightmares' of hers end in orgasm?" the devil continued, pressing
closer slowly.

        It took several heartbeats
to assure himself that the anger could be kept in check. "You know
what they say about fear and desire." --Oh fuck.

        "What do they say
about fear and desire?" the creature grinned venomously, green eyes glittering.
It was an unexpected jewel found in the middle of the path, to be sure.
When the boy didn't respond, it went on. "Is it that fear and desire
are sometimes... the same thing? Is that what you're reaching for?"

        Well, he certainly wasn't
helping himself, here. Made worse was the fact that the perfect representation
of Sephiroth had begun to move closer to him, taunting, threatening--and
then it made contact. That seemed most disturbing of all.
The boy looked down in surprise to where the front of his shirt was tightly
fisted in the form's gloved hand, and felt the shirt pulling against him.
He felt it. It was... it was more real than he'd though it
could be...

        "What is it, boy?" the double
of Sephiroth hissed dangerously, green eyes glowing brighter with raging
insanity. "Afraid of a demonstration?"

        He swallowed, but found
no relief from his suddenly dry throat. No matter. "You're
an illusion."

        That smile... that fucking
frightening, wrong smile... "Then why are you sweating?"

        "Human behavior. Adrenaline."
He snapped, spouting off some anatomy. Anything to break away, anything
to make it stop long enough to get his thoughts back together, to fight
it off before panic overwhelmed him--

        "Then fight me off."
The devil pounced, grasping the boy's wrists and throwing him flat on his
back to the floor.

        He knew it wasn't
real--but he also knew that he could feel the pressure of hands wringing
his wrists. A sudden, complete curtain of panic covered all else.
He was slipping--"Augh!" A knee had been jammed between his
legs and brought up forcefully, sending them apart so harshly that his
muscles felt on the verge of tearing. In fact, when his jeans were
torn open, he thought for one very cold second that it had been flesh--giving
way to an even more horrible possibility. He struggled mindlessly
against the cold emptiness that suddenly invaded his exposed skin, throwing
his body against the heated weight above him, all too closely feeling the
possibilities grind against his struggles--caught in a paralyzing grasp
by the pair of eyes... that were not quite Sephiroth's. He knew,
somewhere deep in the recesses of his almost hollow mind, that had those
eyes belonged to the actual man, he never would have escaped. This
time, however...

        Sensing it was losing the
boy's concentration, the simple cruel teasing stopped. Instead, it
became
one of those fears, grasping Rodger's hands in one of his unwordly powerful
fists and somehow, in dream-like logic, succeeded in flipping the boy onto
his stomach and pressing its weight down on him once more, rendering him
completely and perfectly helpless.

        His eyes flashed open in
sightless panic, witnessing nothing but darkness before him, all senses
gone for a moment... all but touch. Fucking touch. Awful, horrible
touch--that was no longer leather he felt against the exposed portions.
He cried out in terrified frustration, him imagination far too strong than
anything else could ever have been in that moment--succeeding only in the
paralyzing knowledge that his struggles were not only in vain, but causing
even more pleasure to the sick son of a bitch on top of him--

        No, dammit, it was
all illusion. It was only in his head, only in his mind--

        --Grinding harder, moving
faster, pulling back to--

        Sounds began exploding around
him to distract his thought process with absolute perfection. He
closed his eyes tightly against the possibility of accidentally seeing
something, able to hold back the images of the illusion, but not the sounds.
Not the perfect sounds of his wife crying out, begging, thrashing, pleading
his name... of that cold bastard's laugh, moaned threats, the sound of
leather belts against flesh...

        "No." Rodger stated,
teeth grating together. Louder, stronger, "No. That did not
happen."

        The weight on top of him
merely pressed against him in the most nightmarishly intimate of ways,
somehow feeling even warmer and more frighteningly real than before.
"You weren't there. She called for you, but you weren't there."

        He tried his damnedest to
ignore the iron clench of every single muscle in his body at the
accusation, let alone... "No." He hissed, eyes flashing
open with complete truth flooding his mind. The sensory overload
that had been him on the ground was no longer happening, having become
only the standing visage of Sephiroth remaining in front of him again.
The devil's mask was not so self-assured any longer--a needed push forward.

        "That did not happen."
Rodger's voice grew stronger with the tumbling realizations that he could
control it. "She'd have told me that." He swallowed, not quite
willing to acknowledge his next realization, but understanding it was the
only way out of this. "And the real Sephiroth would never have let
himself do that. Any of it." Personally, he didn't believe
that. But Kyrie did. He knew she did. Somehow she'd seen
through the rest of it... and so he would place his faith squarely on her
heart.

        The illusion being struggled
to hold on to its memorized form. It was a last-ditch effort, the
last possibility it had to gain control, especially after the other two
had already evaded its grip... "Don't you know that our destinies
are intertwined now, hers and mine?" it smiled wickedly through Sephiroth's
mouth, completely becoming the man again for as long as it could manage.
"Our blood is shared... everything I am, she has a part of. And everything
she is..."

        "No." He growled
instantly, slashing at the air with his hand. "That is not
true! You didn't curse her!"

        Having broken through, the
devil pounced on its victim's mind. It had reached his goal, settling
into a full moment where it was mistaken for the real creature it represented
rather than just the terrified struggling of earlier--and the boy only
thought back on his choice of words and emotion too late.

        "Bellus Lunctus!" Rodger
screamed without thinking, his mouth moved without understanding why or
what he was saying.

        And then... he was cold.
Very, goddamned, cold. Blinking, his sight came back to him--in the
form of a shattered mirror, all of the glass turned to black and a good
deal of it laying at his feet. His mind was as solidly numb as his
fingers were becoming.

        Then the thought process
picked back up again. Those two words... "Bellus Lunctus"...
what were those two words?

        "Beautiful Together".
Came the answer. "Beautiful Together". The wedding ring.
Whether he'd been saved by the words, by the girl that possessed them engraved
in her ring or by some other force he didn't really care to reflect on
at just that moment... he looked over and saw the other two, shivering,
having waited. And he couldn't hold back.

        He felt the flutter of her
racing heartbeat against him as he threw his arms around her. Yeah,
she was pretty good at playing it cool on the outside. There was
no reason to call her on it, though. Not right there.

        John was a more surprised
hug participant, unable to really think of all that much of a reason to
have been hugged in the first place... but hey, warmth. And it was
kinda... sick-sweet. They all had that much going, alright.

        There was a genuine, nice,
beautiful moment there. Interrupted, of course, by the one who was
expert at cutting off anything heartfelt when she really needed to.
"Okay. It's too fucking cold in here."
- 10
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Descendants of the Mundane