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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
- 11
- 12
- 13
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 12

by Orin Drake
        There was nowhere to go but
onward, so they braved the cold as one solid moving object. It wasn't...
so
bad, really. But damn they'd wished they'd been warned or something.
Some heavier socks would have been great... gloves, even better...

        They hurried all they could.
It wasn't that far, John knew... but far enough to remember what a bitch
he'd found it the first time around. And his half-devil (part demon..?)
blood kept him--he literally had to shake the thought out of his head.
Fucking mirror devil. What an absolutely horrible joke. It'd
been way too much, way too real... and then he glanced at his companions,
keeping quick step beside him... Yeah. They had the same looks
on their faces that he was sure he must have had before he caught himself.
They'd probably gotten mentally fucked in the same way.

        The giant cavern had slowly
begun to contract as they kept going, finally resembling more of a large
hallway. Soon, he knew it. It couldn't be much farther away.
Even his toes were starting to go numb. The icy hall began to bend,
cutting off their vision of what was ahead--and while it was dangerous,
he didn't slow down. He knew better. If they were there any
longer than they had to be, he might well be the only survivor...

        And they were shivering.
Of course they were shivering. But it was without complaint.
And they kept in step, moving with him. Watching for danger.
Damn, but they were... probably idiots. But nice idiots to have on
his side.

        An icy shard of what seemed
something akin to guilt lodged in his chest at that thought. Thinking
about what they'd done together... the closeness, in several ways... how
comfortable he did actually feel around them... And what were they
headed toward? The doorway to their home... and the gateway to an
inner region of Hell, as far as he knew. That... that would separate
them, because it had to. Even if they could somehow follow
him instead of taking the faster, safer road directly back to where they
belonged... they shouldn't. He knew that, but it hurt to realize
it just the same. Short of a time as it had been, in reality... he
just couldn't really picture what things were going to be like without
them again. If it weren't for the rank scent of a waiting demon up
ahead, he would have had a lump in his throat.

        As it was, however, all
emotion needed to be repressed--up ahead? No, it was almost right
fucking next to them--and that's what he got for letting his feelings overwhelm
his senses--

        "No thank you." Kyrie
spoke on the way past the demon as if it had made her an offer. How
she knew the gross little maggoty thing with claws was a rage demon escaped
her (and everyone else)... as if it mattered. "I've enough of my
own."

        It was so devastatingly
shocking that it was stupid... and yet, the demon that had been set to
attack... only watched them walk by. No move was made on its part
to follow, much less attack.

        "What the hell was that?"
Rodger allowed himself to breathe when he felt far enough away from the
ugly thing to feel "safe".

        Yes, John really wanted
to know the same thing. His gaze was almost accusatory until he saw
the slightly bitter smile on her face.

        "What?" she teased.
"You think I of all people can't feel a rage demon when I come across one?"

        And despite how little sense
that made, the grandson of Sparda grinned. "That head of yours is
a labyrinth."

        "And you don't want to get
lost." She tossed back, trying to hide the shiver in her voice.
Even the harshest winters in Trabia hadn't been so severe... she tried
to keep her mind off of her agonizingly numbing feet, but it was getting
hard.

        Rodger pulled her a little
closer, his own hands losing all feeling swiftly. Things were beginning
to get just a little scary--even his thighs were going numb, and that was
relatively new.

        "Sorry." John whispered,
feeling the full and sudden weight on his shoulders.

        "Don't be." Kyrie
interjected easily.

        Well, that was... a most
surprising phrase to shut him up, actually. All of the "but"s and
"if"s his mind threw at him could not hold to a candle to her words, somehow.
Every argument he thought up to shut her idea down simply... paled.
That was... more than odd. The girl had powers in Hell... and that
gave him a most appreciated smirk. Almost there, dammit. He'd
get them there safely.

        Then the tunnel curved again,
looking for a moment as if it just may lead back into itself in a maddening
circle... instead opening just a bit at the end to reveal a very simplistic
doorway. A familiar one... and also a slightly devastating idea.
That, physically in front of them, was... it. That understanding
struck with all the force of the universe. It. This was...
it. Through that door there were two more paths... one to where John
was going... and one to the other world his companions had come from.
It was an idea strong enough to stop him in his tracks, having an uncomfortably
paralyzing effect on his consciousness.

        "Is this it?" Kyrie found
it in herself to ask without looking back. The same idea was flooding
through her as well... but she knew how to build an emotional dam in times
of need.

        It took a few seconds for
the question to click... but then the half-devil nodded before speaking
softly. The words themselves should have been funny... though no
humor could really be found. "Yeah. Just a little ways after
this door..." Instead of dwelling on the idea, he merely turned the
ancient-looking decorative knob as if it were a door in any normal house,
and pushed it open. The doorway lead directly to a wide precipice--overlooking
an incredibly large, deep, pit. The high "ceiling" of the stone room
glowed with a slightly red hue, but just barely. It was only enough
to see by.

        Even without being blessed
with above average vision, Rodger could easily make out dozens of glowing
red eyes in the darkness below--enough to get him to stay against the rock
wall rather than step out to take a closer look. At least, once the
door was closed behind them, the warmth of the room was solid enough to
get him to stop shivering.

        "We'll rest for a minute."
John suggested, taking a seat with his back to the pit. He knew what
was down there... and at least they didn't jump. No need... they
were patient.

        The brunette didn't argue,
sliding down the wall and letting his legs take a nice, warm, steady break.
Better than it had been, and better than it could be... but he got the
overwhelming impression that getting home would involve the pit below.

        Kyrie was last to sit, choosing
an equal distance between the two boys for the simple need to be close
to both of them. "Well?"

        Darkening blue eyes met
her piercing gaze. He had to force himself to retain that contact.
"Down there. Technically, you guys go left, and I go right."

        The pit that existed solely
in her stomach had just gotten deeper. She turned from one pair of
eyes to the other, seeming to have a silent conversation with her husband
for several seconds. Yeah, they both wanted to go home, to get the
fuck out of Hell... but they had a friend, too. On a mission.
She met John's eyes again with delicately blank features. "You sure?"

        He nodded, barely.
"Only I'll be able to survive that. If we all went, we'd get separated.
None of us would ever find our way back."

        Interesting. If that
was how it was, then... fine. Enough. But... "And what
makes you think you'll be able to?"

        Hey, that was a good question.
And one he didn't have an answer to. With a sigh, he surrendered
the thoughts that had been going through his head for so long, "I have
to find my father. He doesn't belong here." He stated with
strong conviction, then lowered his head. "Even if he is half devil."

        They may not see each other
after this. It was an awful, potentially hazardous, more than pessimistic
thought to have, but... it was true. And the other two understood
completely. They didn't have to like it, but... they understood.
And Kyrie really didn't like it, but... "You have to do what feels
right."

        John's stomach churned to
the point where he could almost feel it collapse in on itself...
Yeah. It more than just felt right... but he had the distinct impression
that the three of them knew that already. He sighed, turning to momentarily
glare at the rancid dog-like demons below. "I don't know how I'm
going to get through that again."

        Another look passed between
husband and wife... and Rodger gave the barest of nods. The gunblader
made a long stretch of her arms over her head, then arched her back with
a series of pops. "It'll drain most of my life energy..." she admitted
quietly, but comfortably. "But I can do it."

        John swallowed, looking
from one friend to the other. He felt so... wrong about taking that
kind of an offer. It was so fucking sweet that he couldn't take it,
maybe. Or stupid. Either way. "I don't think..."
He trailed off with the sudden realization that he'd been let in on a signal
passing. Rodger's, in fact. Giving permission, he got the feeling.
Permission for what? To...

        "It'll be okay." The
brunette assured quietly. "I'll just have to drag her along for a
while."

        Kyrie grinned at the way
he phrased that. "It might take a while for me to regain my strength,
but... if you think you can get past, then we'll deal with the rest later."

        Taking a slow breath, John
wondered out loud to both of them, "Why would you do this for me?"

        It was she that answered
naturally, completely confident. "Because I think you'd do the same
for either of us. Albeit begrudgingly."

        To his credit, he knew that
last sentence had been a joke. Probably more than true, though.
Hm. Maybe he had grown "among them", after all. With a sigh,
feeling as though he were possibly the biggest, most selfish asshole in
the world, he accepted. "Okay. But... just... I don't know.
Be careful."

        A good-natured wink met
his approval. "Don't ask too much of me, now." With another
mild pop of her back, she stood, giving her legs a good stretch.
Yeah, she was still a little chilly... but the room was warm and when the
adrenaline hit, she knew her muscles would be ready to go. The difficulty
of the situation would just have to be tossed aside. "Well, c'mon.
Let's have a little lovin', first."

        The boys exchanged a look
of sarcastic amusement, then found it in themselves to stand as well.
John swallowed down the unusually poignant emotions in favor of the need
to press on. Oh, god--he hated that need... but it was time for it.
He understood that. It was that killer grin he showed her--that cocky,
ass-kicking expression that got him into more scrapes than he cared to
admit. But underneath it... the barest tremble of his lips gave away
his uncertainty.

        She pretended not to have
noticed, instead granting him a moment's shit-eating grin herself.
Instead of giving a false assurance that even she wasn't certain she was
capable of, she over dramatically wound her arms around his neck like a
woman who hadn't seen her only true love in years. Closer, she teased,
"Come back, John. I don't like good-byes. And you wouldn't
want to piss me off."

        "The hell I wouldn't."
He found himself more than eager to play along, giving her a much-needed
and satisfying hug.

        It wasn't the sort of kiss
songs were written about, of course... but it was... the reassurance that
he needed, if only for the moment. People would be surprised if only
they knew the power of those who believed in them... They released
without remorse, and Kyrie moved aside to prepare herself for the flow
of energy.

        Rodger wasn't the sort to
just let someone who'd stumbled into their lives to merely leave without
a good-bye... well, not when they'd made a good impression on his
life, anyway. He walked to the silver-tressed boy, borrowed gun in
hand. "Take this away. It scares me."

        John grinned, grateful.
Without thought, he spun the handle and seated it neatly within its proper
place at his side. Surprisingly normal to have had it handled by
someone else, even if it had been out of necessity and for a short period
of time. Not that he'd make a habit of that shit, of course...
He held out his hand, almost feeling the seconds tick away until the time
they'd have to separate...

        The brunette grasped his
outheld palm for a shake... then decided in a "what the hell" moment to
grant him a hug, instead. One of those "manly hugs", of course.
To which the half-devil viciously decided to take humorous advantage of
and reach down to grab Rodger's ass firmly.

        To no surprise, Kyrie was
watching intently. "Okay, you two. Don't get me all horny before
I have to focus my energy, here..."

        "There's not a thing we
could do that wouldn't make your horny, Ky." Her husband teased
over his shoulder, making a big production out of nipping the side of John's
neck.

        The action brought them
all to laughing--pushing back the overwhelming feeling of finality.
Releasing, the son of Sparda placed a stylish hand on his hip and commented,
"And take care of her. She's... 'special'." The boys chuckled
in harmony.

        "Goddamn right." She
cut in, one last calm check of her Materia. Much as she didn't want
to grasp onto the idea... the time was now. She had to be prepared,
fully. "You just cover me, love." She almost advised, handing
Eleison to Rodger. "If there should be any one of those things that's
smart enough not to be mesmerized by the Ultima, then you've just got to
start blasting."

        "Will do." He lazily
saluted. At least there was a gun that didn't knock him on his ass
every time he used it.

        She nodded, turning to John.
"Whatever you do, don't look right at the orb."

        "I can do that." He
assured, though slightly worried. He wasn't sure what an Ultima was,
but it sounded pretty destructive. And, were it to drain most of
her very life energy... well, he'd be careful. "Once I get in there...
you'll both have to get out."

        She made a quiet sound in
the affirmative. "As soon as the glow disappears, it's safe to go
down there. And... that's probably all you have to know."

        "That sounds safe enough."
He joked.

        Ugh, the moment...
She could feel bile riding higher, her gut seeming to compress and get
heavy... and that was simply all she could take. There would not
be a moment of regret, no time for mourning what hadn't happened yet--it
was not the time. Knowing it'd be a rough landing was hardly a thought--the
Ultima circling her would be enough to get her down safely. One subtle
hand gesture got the others to avert their eyes as she closed her own--calling
on her most powerful Materia. Once she felt the heat rise between
her palms, she merely stepped off the side of the precipice--

        Her consciousness faded
right about there, allowing only the energy and the direction to go on.
A ball of green light flooded around her, setting her down safely--and
mesmerizing the demons to stare at the glow. Energy peaked to an
almost searing level until the Materia could build no more from her body
without risking serious injury, then released in what looked like a layered
shockwave of crackling green light.

        The sound of the shockwaves
hitting the far walls drew the attention of the boys waiting at the top,
getting them to look over. Only one beast remained alive--wounded,
bleeding, but still very much alive. And very, very angry at the
slumped creature that had wounded it.

        Rodger saw it instantly,
taking two shots right off. Each one hit with a crack and a gush,
but the thing didn't do much more than glare at him before continuing to
stumble toward Kyrie's limp form.

        John was already leaping
off the ledge as he called, "I got it!" On the last word, he opened
fire with both guns blazing. Each bullet tore a shred of flesh from
the demon's body until it let out an otherworldly squeal--silenced only
by the loud crack of its broken back as John landed on top of it.
For good measure, he used another couple of bullets on its head... but
when there was no motion from underneath, his success was pretty clear.

        Trying to ignore his understandable
nervousness about possibly breaking a limb, the brunette carefully dropped
the gunblade to land below, blade-down. Fast enough so that he didn't
have time to think of the gruesome possibilities, he simply dropped down
over the edge, feet first... then let go. Lucky for him, the pit's
floor was pretty much even, allowing a rough but somewhat easy landing.
Whew.

        With a grin and a nod, the
half-devil congratulated him. But when he looked over to the other...
Kyrie looked dead to the world. Her skin was far more pale than it
seemed it should ever be, the movement of her chest as she breathed almost
nonexistent. He felt an incredible guilt, shards of it seeming to
collect in his throat.

        But Rodger only scooped
her unconscious form into his arms. He was sure she'd be okay--though
had he been asked why, he wouldn't have been able to give an answer.
"It's alright." He assured, holding her close to warm her body up.
"She'll be fine after she gets some rest."

        John nodded, but the awful
feeling didn't dissipate. "Can you get her back through alright?"

        "Piece of cake." He
grinned naturally. "But you better be after us sometime."

        That felt... astoundingly
good. An invitation. Really and honestly--and a smile to match.
He could only nod and return the expression, really... Too much to
say, and no time to say it. He waved, holding back an awful lot of
things he'd rather not reveal... then turned to the more elaborate door
to the right. That was the one he'd been after before, the one he
knew he couldn't take when he'd been chased and accidentally landed...
elsewhere...

        "On three, then."
He heard behind him, helpfully. "Three."

        Yeah. He almost laughed
at that. But he knew he couldn't--all of his energy was already put
wholly into grasping the handle.

        A cascade of light.
Then a cold, intense rush of darkness. Dizziness at first was replaced
by a slightly weightless feeling... and then solid ground underfoot.
He'd made it. The Chamber of Souls. The place where the actual
souls resided. Even his parents had only heard of this place--and
here he was, standing inside of it. The darkness was so absolute
that even his highbred vision needed a moment to pick up the subtleties.
Blinking, making sure he was seeing correctly, he rubbed his eyes lightly
and looked again. He stood dead center in a global chamber, on a
stalk of stone that must have extended downward thousands of miles... if
not more. His eyes simply could not take in the sight, and his brain
would not allow him to believe it--it was like he was inside a hollow planet,
and covering the walls were tiny individual chambers that held glowing
light. To him they all resembled trillions (More... so much more...)
of tiny pins. He even tested to see if his eyes weren't playing tricks,
reaching a hand up to pluck several dozen with his fingertips--but of course
he could not reach. This was real. This ungodly chamber...
how would he ever find his father? Were he immortal, he could look
for eternity and never find him. This... was truly... the center
of Hell...

        He felt tears in his eyes;
tears he hadn't felt the sting of in twelve years, when his mother died.
Not even when his father disappeared did he feel this bitterness, this
helpless--he had believed his father had gone to look for his mother's
killer. And certainly, he did. But something happened along
the way. And now he, his son, was unable to right either wrong.
This was utterly, simply, impossible.

        And all that help he'd gotten.
Rodger's quick thinking, good shooting. Kyrie's disturbing sense
of humor and willingness to fight with him. He hoped--dare he try
it; he prayed--that they had gotten out, alive and well. Sinking
to his knees, utterly overcome with the immensity of this impossible task
before him, he cried out for his father; all that came from his lips was
a whisper.

        Knowledge struck him instantaneously
like a living thing, and he bore witness to shattered memories that weren't
his. From his father's eyes, he saw the two demons that had killed
his mother--huge, slimy, black skinned and scaled like reptiles, three
purple eyes each, their bodies balanced on things that resembled fish tails.
His father had killed them, turned to his demon form and ripped them limb
from limb--and then the trap had been sprung. The sour taint stunk
of Mundus.

        A barrage of images attacked,
the circumstances surrounding the previous run-in with the devil indisguishable
from imagined encounters, nightmare images. Bits and pieces of the
truth peppered the lies, some imagined, some forced, none making sense.
Emotions colored the still frames, but they were just as jumbled--thoughts,
sounds, tastes, all things becoming overpowering but too vague to understand--until
darkness finally won out.

        John fell forward to be
caught by his elbows, panting with the intensity of the information he'd
been given. Yes, his father's soul was here, somewhere... but two
very distinct things stood out in his mind. One, that he was not
here,
trapped within the walls of the chamber. And two... his father had
ultimately surrendered himself so that his mother's soul would ascend.

        With a shaky hand, he wiped
a rogue tear from his eye. At least his mother was safe. That
was certain, and complete, and reassuring. But there was only one
thing that could have happened to his father, only one thing that those
who surrender themselves to Hell become. The great and powerful Dante
Sparda, son of the great devil warrior Sparda... was nothing more than
a slobbering demon servant, to be reincarnated at the will of the Master
of Hell. For a devil to become a demon...

        He shook, his body shivering
with the simple idea... he may have killed his own father in demon form.
Numerous times. But his father had tried to kill him, as well.
It wasn't... it wasn't right...

        Something scraped
at the ground behind him. Even had he not been so deep in despair,
he'd not have had the time--a grotesque demon with huge wings, tentacles
wriggling out of its chest and admirable claws all too clear to behold,
pounced. John cried out, feeling the muscles in his forearms pierced--abruptly
silenced when he turned his head and witnessed the saw-toothed monster
glowering at him. The eyes were brilliant, vicious orange--but it
wasn't the color that had caught him off-guard. His worst fears had
come to pass. Through those eyes--they do say the eyes are the windows
to the soul--he saw his father's; tormented, agonized, reliving things
that may or may not have happened, only a helpless battery to power the
demon body.

        "Dad!" he choked, knowing
that there would be no response. The soul and the body were disconnected
completely--but anything was worth a try.

        The demon leaned forward,
sniffing him like prey. It then slowly opened its mouth--five rows
of razor sharp teeth sprang up from the black flesh, three reptilian tongues
wagging as if to taste the adrenaline and fear.

        John screamed out of desperation,
kicking at the beast's back legs. The demon only put more pressure
on his body, the solid stone underneath him pushing the air out of his
chest. He didn't want to hurt the soul within the demon, didn't want
to take this action, but there was no choice. As much as it hurt,
as unnaturally awful as it was to feel his own forearms rip more once he
moved them, he grasped his guns--his father's guns.

        The demon paused as if startled--but
John couldn't afford to wait. He shot, blasting the beast clean off
of him. As the claws took chunks of flesh with them, he cried out
sharply--but there was no way he could slow down his pace now. Standing,
gasping in breath as fast as his lungs would allow, he raised both pistols
and shot--

        Only to scream again.
The recoil! It was bad enough with sore muscles, but with shredded
ones... He'd have to ignore it. Two more bullets went flying,
knocking the demon back a little further, each one gaining a painful grunt
out of the attacker.

        Bleeding something glopy
and brown, in pain and absolutely pissed off, the demon leapt forward again--into
another bullet. Half its jaw fell to the ground, one tongue still
wagging across its surface.

        John felt he would either
faint or puke his guts out at any moment. Neither seemed a good option.
"Dad!" he tried again. "Dad, please! I don't want to kill you!"

        The monster ignored his
cries. Not only was it hurt and pissed, but now its upper jaw was
exposed. It had the remote intelligence to make use of that new ability,
striking at its adversary like a cobra.

        The boy leapt--then teetered
on the edge. Oh, this would not do. If he fell in this place,
he'd never land. He fired again, just trying to gain time to come
up with a better idea.

        Another bit of knowledge
struck him from behind. It seemed ludicrous. Stupid, suicidal--but
what did he have to lose now? If he killed the demon, his father
would just keep being tortured in the realms of Hell, made use of for another
stinking demon creation. But maybe... just maybe... he holstered
his pistols, and waited.

        There was no need to bide
his time; as the monster leapt, ready to strike again, John grabbed on.
It was like an embrace, all arms and legs grasping hold. The demon
was so shocked that it tumbled cleanly over the edge, riding in a free-fall.

        Time to see what a moron
he really was. Stomach churning, hair flapping, arms aching, just
wanting to be with his friends again and forget the stench of this infernal
pit--"I grant you mercy!" he screamed, holding on for dear life.
The images flashed through his mind's eye again--his mother's death, his
uncle's torment, his grandfather's disappearance, his grandmother's murder,
the lives destroyed, the could-have-beens that were never quite forgotten,
the realities that were wished away so many times... "I grant you
freedom from your guilt and your pain!" Even through the tears in
his eyes and a steady dark haze overcoming his vision, he thought he could
see one of the demon's eyes shimmer, changing from orange to blue, a familiar
human-like whisper rushing through his head that sounded like his own name...
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Descendants of the Mundane