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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Descendants of the Mundane and the general overall concept of Descendants
of the Mundane is entirely copyright Orin Drake 2003, 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.

        Be warned! This
chapter contains really gruesome descriptions that I know some people are
just gonna get all bothered about... but that's the joy of reading, right?

Descendants of the Mundane

Chapter 7

by Orin Drake
        They sat there for a while,
paying little mind to the squishy living floor, just trying to get their
wits about them. All possible questions seemed too ridiculous to
ask. There was no one around who might toss them an answer, anyway.
The air was... so much worse than their wildest imaginations could have
prepared them for. It was actually beginning to stick to their
skin, like air polluted with oil leaves a film. Very disturbing.

        "Well." Kyrie coughed,
giving her husband's arm an uncertain squeeze. "I don't think we
should stay here."

        "Me either." While
he agreed completely, one look around... besides giving him the creeps,
it was extremely disheartening. This was certainly new. And
not in a good way.

        Carefully attempting not
to take in more air than she absolutely had to, she rose from the floor.
A dizziness hit her heavily--then, luckily, passed. Wonderful.

        As her eyes adjusted to
the relative darkness, she noted that they were in a nightmarishly large,
round-ish chamber. Not that that fact alone did them any good.
But, if there were walls, there was no doubt a way to get through them.
At least Kyrie still had her most trusty of weapons and a stash of bullets
in her belt. "Well?" she inquired blandly.

        Rodger shook his head, having
no idea whether one direction would be any better than another. "Whatever
route looks less scenic."

        She smirked, looking for
any sort of specific doorway. What resembled one seemed a good way
in the distance, only recognizable because it lacked the pulsating lights
of the walls. Not a fun thought. Leading the way, gunblade
drawn, she tried to mentally prepare herself for a battle. You'd
think by now this kind of shit would be over with...

        There was a... peculiar
tremble as they approached the arch of the "door". It wasn't quite
like an earthquake. It more closely resembled...
Digestion.
The very thought was a little repulsive. Taking no chances to wait
and see, they kept a good pace into another chamber--

        Boy what a mistake that
had been. They emerged atop a slightly elevated platform made of
the same disgusting soft floor... only this time, they had company.

        She swallowed, no longer
able to control the bile rising in her throat without the action.
That group of... things was completely... not right. At all.
They... oozed. They looked like half-dead dogs that had had most
of their flesh ripped off, some with exposed bones, others seeming to leave
trails of themselves behind...

        A shudder went through Rodger's
body faster than he had intended--but it made no difference. He was
unarmed. One couldn't very well carry a shotgun everywhere they went
in the day and age in which they lived. Kyrie's gunblade was one
thing; it was her family's legacy, and a weapon of such beauty and perfection
that it may have been a crime not to show it off. While he felt the
same way about his treasured guns, they were quite a bit harder to carry.
It had just been a normal morning, a normal day of not even thinking to
need weapons...

        All it took was all those
pale orange eyes on them at once. No matter. The gunblader
forced herself not to cough on a deep breath, bringing Fire to the surface,
mentally sending it through Eleison. A bullet erupted in flame, exploding
like tiny napalm as it hit one of the monsters. Five of the beasts
around it caught flame, howling then seeming to melt away. Odd, to
say the least.

        There were still about half
a dozen other creatures, all taken to startlingly fast runs toward the
invaders. Well, that would not do. For the sake of "mixing
it up" a little (and to see if it were any more effective) she called Ice
to her blade. Three of the racing creatures solidified on impact.
The other four--no time. It was a slip, giving a little too much
power up in an increasingly desperate situation, but that blast of Fire
and bullet did cause a pretty amazing amount of charred hellbeast, even
seeming to burn a good patch of the floor underneath them.

        Only realizing her mistake
after it happened, she reminded herself to take an extra moment before
moving. Powerful though she might be in some senses, she knew that
too much use of Materia would drain her physical strength quickly.
Obviously, they could not afford that little tidbit.

        "Are you okay?" her husband
inquired softly, concerned. She'd almost seemed to swoon a little
at the end of that... and not in a good way.

        "Yeah." She assured,
gaining solid ground again. "Just... not used to this place's dynamics
yet, I guess." She paused, making absolute certain that the grotesque
animals were no longer able to stare with their creepy orange eyes.
"I suppose we'd better go."

        Rodger kept a biting comment
to himself. After all, it was hard enough to breathe without talking.

        A set of gold and crimson
eyes watched their progress from the shadows. It wished to attack--hungered
for the kill--but it knew enough to wait. First, watch for their
weaknesses. Only then, during the next moment of dropped guard, would
it attack. Death was not preferable to its master, but if necessary...

        They'd crossed through several
more chambers in a relatively straight path, making their way toward...
something they had no idea about. Period. That was not something
they could allow themselves to think about, however. One of the rooms
they'd gone through hadn't contained another door--so Kyrie had taken it
upon herself to cut one. It was a truly disturbing task. There
wasn't any blood, but the mucus-like goop that emerged was enough to remind
her she should not be doing that again unless she absolutely had to.

        It was behind the wall they'd
sliced open that things really started to get interesting; and that
was saying a lot. All the way on the other side of the pulsing chamber
was a figure. Two of them, actually. One had a sort of glimmer
about it, as though it were made of ice. It didn't last long at the
mercy of what was clearly a sword the likes of which Cloud would have appreciated.

        As for the weapon's wielder...
the guy was simply unmistakable. Covered in slime and crusted gore
as he was, the silver hair and red leathers came through. Even if
that hadn't been enough, those bright blue eyes, widening at the sight
of them, was the most definite affirmation. His jaw hung, his mouth
slightly agape for a moment as if he'd forgotten how to speak. At
last, there was only one question that seemed appropriate. "What
the hell are you two doing here?"

        Kyrie shrugged, overall
appearing very nonchalant. "Just our luck."

        John shook his head, as
surprised at her natural tone and Rodger's easy-going grin as he was by
their appearance. "Well... can't say I'm not glad to see you.
But... how?"

        "Earthquake." She
answered with a shrug.

        The blue gaze narrowed considerably.
Earth splits leading directly to Hell simply didn't happen. Someone
very powerful had wanted them here; or, to be more precise, had probably
followed his scent and accidentally gotten his friends, instead.
Not good. He'd tried to leave before endangering them...

        "So." Kyrie aimed
to interrupt the thought process that seemed to be bothering him.
"We're here, we may as well help."

        Regardless of finding the
corners of his lips raising of their own accord, he sighed. While
he was completely appreciative of her offer, he was also distraught that
they were somewhat forced into the situation. He'd wanted to leave
them in the safety of their own lives, not bring them into his shit.
"I'm afraid we'd have to travel together, anyway. The gateway back
to your world is right by where I'm heading. And it's not easy to
get to."

        "A lot of gateways down
here?" Rodger's interest was piqued.

        "Hell is definitely a cross-roads..."
the half-demon oversimplified. It was, in essence, connected to all
worlds... some were just harder to get to than others. There was
a reason for the sheer number of Hell myths of all cultures--time and space
found a number of rotating portals. It all depended on the levels
that were accessible from that particular world. "No weapon?" he
noticed.

        "Wasn't really planning
on visiting." The brunette joked. "Not my idea of a vacation
spot... how 'bout you, honey?"

        His wife smirked, hefting
her gunblade over her shoulder to rest for a moment. No way she was
going to sheath it with all that glop on it. "I'm more of a shut-in...
but I'd rather be a shut-in at a beach resort in Balamb."

        The silver-haired boy let
a breath of relief from his lips. Even given their circumstances...
this was nice to have again. He accepted the situation, possibly
opening himself to trust more vast than he ever had before--pulling what
was once his father's coat back, he indicated his pistols with a nod.
"Ebony or Ivory?"

        "Uh..." Rodger was
surprised, to say the least. He simply didn't think it was his place
to take one of them...

        "Go ahead." John invited,
somewhat suggestively. "But be careful. The kick's likely to
rip your arm off if you're not ready for it."

        Sounded like his kind of
firepower. With a brazenly amused expression, he stepped back and
gazed at them. "Black or white?"

        "Black goes with anything."
Kyrie answered. "But white would look good with your jeans."

        "White it is, then."
Carefully tugging Ivory from his side, the half-devil took a moment to
check the bullets. It came automatic when he was in battle, but otherwise
it was so easy to lose count. Good thing he'd checked--for only a
second, his hand glowed a gentle red. He grinned, letting his cocky
side show off just the slightest bit. "Complete with automatic reload.
Well... sort of."

        "Neat trick." The
brunette commented.

        John nodded his appreciation.
"My father taught me this spell. Saved his ass many times.
If you need a reload, just hand it to me."

        Rodger took it carefully,
feeling its incredible weight. Were he not used to larger rifles,
he'd never have been able to hold the thing at arm's length. He only
took a moment to turn from them, aiming at nothing in particular.
Yeah, it would take some getting used to. But it felt good.

        "And where'd you get that
kick-ass sword?" Kyrie couldn't help but notice the enormous weapon on
his back.

        "I had it hidden here.
With these clothes. Just in case." He pulled the blade, holding
it out proudly "It's Force Edge... my father's. And his father's.
It's... the line of Sparda, I guess." While the pride held true...
that last sentence contained more of a weight of sadness than he'd meant
it to. He tried to shake it off with more signature cockiness, showing
off by spinning the sword through his agile fingers. "It's a big
help down here."

        "I bet." She tossed
back, amused. "Alright. We're all armed, so... now what?"

        "Onward." John simplified.

        "You didn't get much of a
head start, huh?" she joked more or less spontaneously as they passed into
another eerily revolting room.

        Their "guide" glanced back,
not getting what she meant at first. It hit him on a completely unrelated
note--both of the "Hell virgins" wore clothes that looked awfully clean
to have been in there long. They must not have had to travel far
to find him. "Ah. The gateways to the inside shift a lot.
I've been wandering around for..." he started to count in his head, then
gave up calculating. "Hours."

        The idea that doorway positions
changed so regularly... was freaky. Perhaps no more freaky than any
of the other shit happening, but... Even though she wasn't completely
certain she wanted to know, she felt the need to ask. "Does time
pass differently here?" The concept of Time Compression had always
given her the creeps.

        John had to think about
how to word the answer. "Time can... slip. It's never solid."

        Rodger got a definite shiver
at that idea. He knew by now he ought to be getting used to things
never seeming to follow any sort of solid rules, but... differences in
the movement of time itself was absolutely frightening. Especially
considering the possibilities of massive time slips between Hell and, say,
Esthar...

        Admittedly, Kyrie was looking
to change the subject, but she hadn't meant for her random though to have
been expressed out loud. "Do you suppose my parents are down here?"

        "What, for being gay?" the
"Hell expert" grinned. "Nah, Hell doesn't work like that."

        "Good to know." She
found herself smiling. Ha, those little bastards were wrong, all
of them. "So tell me..." she went on, feeling brave--until they had
to pass through another hole in the pulsing wall that looked like it'd
been torn open not long before. No matter; conversation was
a good distraction. "Your father knew this place?"

        "Yeah." He responded,
holding back a shudder. "He wasn't born here or anything, but...
he did get dragged back here a lot. Being half devil, I suppose that
was bound to happen." He made a valiant attempt to grin, suppressing
the memories that threatened his consciousness.

        Well, this was just interesting.
"And if your father was half devil, then his father..."

        "Was a full devil."
He finished. "Sparda was... very prominent here once. He was
a general... but that's about all I know."

        Resisting the urge to spit
for the sake of perhaps not having the awful taste of this place in his
mouth for even an instant, Rodger swallowed, instead. It was hard
to imagine anyone thinking this place was... "normal". Ol' Sparda'd
had a good idea to get out. "So your mother was..?"

        The pause lasted almost
too long. "She... was a woman. A regular woman." Granted,
that hardly explained how he came to inherit pretty much all of his father's
powers, but... that much mattered very little. Their guide paused,
stopping dead in his tracks and listening. Nothing. He'd hoped
he'd only been imagining things, but one could never be too careful.
"But let me ask you both something." Now was as good a time as any.
"Is Vincent any sort of Hellspawn?"

        The two of them laughed,
making the chamber around them tremble from the sheer power of pleasant
emotion. Hell was not the sort of place a person laughed in.
It was Kyrie that responded, after catching her breath. "That is
debatable. But, technically, no."

        Somewhat surprising.
"What... is he, then?"

        She grinned at that, almost
finding it hard to respond seriously. "Human, once. An assassin.
Then, for lack of a better description, a psychopathic scientist changed
his DNA. None of us are quite sure exactly what he is now."
It was a weird thought, really. Cloud had been through a similar
thing, though not quite as dramatic. The two "old pals" had long
ago come to terms with the fact that they couldn't remember shit after
Sephiroth's supposed death via Lifestream, not to mention large chunks
of life before that. Or, mostly--sometimes Cloud had a little too
much to drink. He wasn't an angry drunk for the most part, but every
once in a while a sputter of memory would get him going. Names like
"Aeris" and "Barret" came up an awful lot--but none were uttered with as
much reverence as "Tifa". Nor as much hatred and heartache as "Sephiroth".
Not that she didn't understand that part all too well.

        As for Vincent... he seemed
to refuse to acknowledge the possibility that anything had happened after
the incident at all. Kyrie knew better, somehow--but the man didn't
show his concerns for himself. The nightmares may not have gone entirely,
but they were clearly less a part of his life than they had been.
He never did speak of their specifics, and likely never would. But
she... she watched him, sometimes, when Cloud would ramble. He'd
cringe, albeit slightly, when certain things were said. More often
than not, he'd simply leave the room. And one thing he would never
do was fall asleep in front of anyone.

        Staring at the grotesque
walls of Hell around her as they moved through another chamber, she really
wished she'd have asked more questions. Or any at all. She
only knew snippets, delicate bits and pieces... and she really wondered
once in a while if she'd be able to handle the whole "truth", anyway.
Part of her thought that may be why they couldn't remember.

        Her internal dialog was
sliced short by John's momentary pause--then he grasped his sword.
His heightened senses told him something awaited them in the darkest
corner of the chamber they'd just entered.

        Unfortunately, that something
had sensed them just as easily. It rolled its translucent form out
into the open until it rested at the center of the room. It was...
even less pleasant than the dog creatures before. At least they'd
loosely resembled something a person may regularly encounter--this globular
dome of jelly with dozens of surrounding tentacles was, needless to say,
not something that would have existed even in the worst of nightmares.
It was dangerous. It was ugly. And, worse than anything, it
smelled even more awful than Hell.

        "Stay back." John
ordered, quickly getting into his fighting frame of mind. "Blast
the sucker when the globe is exposed; and, trust me, you'll know it when
you see it. I'll do the rest."

        Well now. What were
they going to say? They nodded, giving one another a glance.
Instant mental communication--Rodger on one side of the chamber, Kyrie
on the other. As the half-devil ran straight into the heart of the
action, the spouses broke off, darting along the wall until they were more
or less across from one another, aiming.

        Knowing the "globe" when
they saw it was certainly not an issue. John sliced two of the fleshy
tentacles off with one sweep, sending streams of semi-transluscent green
goop squirting in multiple directions. Luckily, he avoided the slime
altogether--he'd already leapt, using all available adrenaline to rocket
his body up and over the squirming glob, thrusting his sword down and into
brightly shining blue globe on the thing's back.

        Kyrie's gunblade fired first,
as carefully as she could to avoid injury to any of their group.
In response, the blue sphere seemed to ripple a little, dimming ever so
slightly at the instant the bullet hit it. Every little bit helped...

        Swallowing, Rodger knew
his first shot shouldn't be that close to John's body. He needed
to get a feel for the pistol, first. Aiming for another of the creature's
tentacles, he braced his back and shoulders up against the wall, using
both hands to squeeze the trigger--the force of the recoil was a hell of
a lot stronger than he'd been prepared for, leaving him with the feeling
he'd been trying to hold back a speeding train as it came right for him.
The fleshy wall of the chamber flexed backward a couple of feet
as the sound of the explosion caused a bit of a tremble in the ground beneath.

        On the up side, another
of the tentacles burst, pouring more of the green ooze from the wound.
John stabbed the globe repeatedly before the suddenly gooey form beneath
him seemed to swallow the glowing ball again. Before he found himself
submerged as well, the half-devil jumped off and darted away from the thing's
reach. One more time, it should only take one more time..
he pulled Ebony and shot twice, disconnecting more tentacles.

        Quickly, Kyrie followed
suit. She saw the next bullet detach another fleshy "limb", then
go through the glob and literally lodge itself, suspended, in the slime.
It was an ewe moment, certainly. At least that seemed to piss the
thing off enough to get the blue sphere to emerge again. She safely
squeezed off two rounds before John leapt again to chop at it.

        Arms sore, Rodger picked
himself up and took a deep breath. This was not looking up for him.
He widened his stance, braced himself a little harder against the horrific
stretchy wall behind him, and tried it again. This time the shot
was easier, but it would still take some getting used to. Nonetheless,
two more tentacles spewed goop, the stumps moving a little slower than
they had before.

        The scent, the motion, the
adrenaline and the situation was all it took. Moving at a speed only
afforded to those with demon blood, he practically fucked the son of a
bitch to death, stabbing until the energy of the creature had dissipated,
sending its physical form to melt into a puddle. Green glop oozed
out rapidly until the thing finally fell flat, collapsed in on itself,
then vanished in a vapor.

        "Okay." Kyrie took
a step back so that the remains would not encompass her boots before it
evaporated. "That was disturbing."

        Even as John shivered with
the feel of the slime on his hands, he warned as casually as he could,
"There's worse, down here."

        Two loud pops sounded as
Rodger stretched his arms out in front of him. Forget just practice--he
needed to build some more muscle on his arms to handle that damn thing.
"Ow." He commented quietly to himself.

        His wife walked over, avoiding
the spot where the creature had "oozed". It might look gone, but...
the chance of stepping in anything left over was disturbing. "Good
kick?"

        "Great kick."
He admitted with a grin. "A little too much for a beginner..."

        The silver haired boy grinned
back at that statement. "But just right for the expert?"

        "Exactly." The brunette
agreed jokingly.

        Kyrie rolled her eyes in
good humor. "Boys will be boys."

        "Unless it's in your case."
John cracked viciously, going so far as to snag her with his arm, bringing
her toward him in a show of affection. He always got a little giddy
after such an adrenaline spike--especially after a victory.

        "You saying I can't be the
boy?" she challenged, attempting to squirm away.

        Rodger laughed quite hard
at that one. The look on the other boy's face only made it funnier.

        The walls shook with the
positive energy the group gave off, and that only served to silence them
all. It was unexplainable, at first--just a... "dark feeling".
All of a sudden, there seemed to be some sort of motion in the shadows
at the doorway they'd come through. Wordlessly, John released Kyrie
and pulled Ebony, then started to lead them on a rush to the other doorway.
He knew very well that in some situations, it was best only to continue;
especially when such an intense dark feeling was around. It never
meant good things, to say the least.

        The silent communication
decided it all again--Rodger would stay in the middle, ready to attack
should something come at them from the side. Kyrie turned to cover
them, walking backward and bringing up the rear. Whatever the form
was, it remained in the shadows as they moved (very hopefully frightened
of the gunblade, if not the group themselves).

        And then, just as she thought
they should easily be safe with another step... she bumped into a wall.
There was a short moment of confusion, knowing that she'd been following
a straight line...and then she glanced over her shoulder. The hole
that had been directly behind her seemed to have "healed up" for
lack of a better term. It actually resembled a giant scab more than
she liked to have thought about. To make matters worse, whatever
had been hidden in the shadows on the other side was suddenly coming at
her too fast for her to cut through the wall--Shit. All she
could do was dart to a good spot in a "corner" of the chamber to take aim.

        She never had a chance.
The shadow beast used its talons to rip into her shoulders, stopping her
instantly. She hardly felt the razor-sharp claws--instead, it was
the monster's stinger that became all too apparent. Never before
had she been stung by a million wasps at once--though, in the situation,
she'd be able to say she knew what it felt like. For mere seconds
in time, her entire body stung, burned, causing all muscles to slack all
at once. That's all it took for her attacker to quite effectively
remove its talons, turning her and throwing her against a wall that had
suddenly become solid due to the beast's whims.

        "Not... going to be... the
mother, fucking, heroine..." she hissed, reaching for her gunblade.
Her hand refused to grasp, however, and she hadn't been able to feel that
her weapon had dropped with the sting. Black and white spots flashed
even as she closed her eyes, unable to keep them open any longer.
The poison traveled quickly, completely stunning whatever it came into
contact with.

        It smelled the very essence
of her life, the taste of her heartbeat, the timing of her breath.
Yes, indeed there was something powerful lurking inside of her, beating
out of time with her pulse, but--she was not a Sparda. She had no
connection. And yet... she was scented with him. Not
directly, no. Similarly. Different bloodline, but something...
similar.

        Perhaps she was seasoned
with a Sparda child? It pressed its wretched body even closer to
her, digging its claws deep into the muscles of her shoulders again, ignoring
the disappearing struggles, the weak cry--all but the wide streams of fresh
blood. A taste, merely a taste. No, she did not carry the seed
of Sparda. Scented, and perfectly capable, but not claimed.

        But perhaps... just perhaps...
If it brought a fertile human woman to its master, scented with Sparda...
it would be very well rewarded. Yes, yes indeed.

        She fought valiantly, considering,
but she was no match its poison. It took a little more blood and
some force against her windpipe, but that was easy.

        The boys had noticed something
was up almost right away. Rodger had passed into the next room, then
felt some odd sort of heat directly behind him. It wasn't the heat
another body would afford; it was more like an oven had suddenly been opened
directly behind him for a split second. He turned--nearly dropping
Ivory. "Uh, John..."

        The half-demon turned back,
noting the strong tone of worry. His reaction didn't help that any--all
he could do was blink. Walls didn't seal unless there was something
else contained within the room...

        "No, dammit."
The brunette growled in far too calm a manner to express the dangerous
current underneath. He knew something had gone terribly wrong...

        "Stand back." John
suggested, barely waiting for his comrade to step out of the way before
he slashed the wall open again. The flesh of the wall split with
a sickening, fabric-like tearing sound. Sword still drawn, he dashed
forward--

        Nothing. Literally,
gut-wrenchingly, nothing. Not a sign, not a showing. She was
simply, not, there.
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Descendants of the Mundane