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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
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 a few more kinda gross things. You should know the
drill by now.

Descendants of the Mundane

Chapter 8

by Orin Drake
        Rodger almost stumbled at
the sight. The room was absolutely, completely empty. The same
room that they had only just left--and without Kyrie.

        John's blue eyes suddenly
seemed to take on a hint of red as they narrowed. The scent was unmistakable--a
shadow minion. Personal right-hand creatures of devils themselves.
He was certain that someone had sent it to grab one of them.
She just happened to have been the last one in line, determined by luck
and circumstance... "We have to keep going." He assured quietly.

        The brunette was uncertain
if it was rage or a general numbness that was encompassing him, burning
like fire in his gut and over his skin. He was unable to respond
at that point.

        "I have a good feeling we'll
catch up with her." The half-devil continued, a little stronger.
He was pretty certain that she wasn't dead, but it was more or less guaranteed
that she was physically attacked. The fleshy surfaces of Hell had
a way of soaking up any spilled blood, so there was no proof... but the
idea lingered in the room like a scent. If he could simply follow
that scent... "This way." It would take everything not to rush;
the worst thing they could do was to become distracted.

        While distraction was an
enemy, Rodger found himself unable to think of much else. From room
to room, he would follow John's lead, allowing the other boy to shoot whatever
lay in the shadows for the most part. This was half necessity--there
was no way Rodger was able to fire off rapid shots yet. The other
half was that godawful distraction, again. Only when faced with true
life or death was he able to snap out of that one.

        A truly countless number
of rooms seemed to roll by like countryside from a train, almost disconnected
and feeling unreal. He was literally in the stinking pit of Hell,
seeking his wife. It reminded him of a hundred myths, none of which
he'd have been able to pick out in a logical sense. Myth had more
than power.

        John was more careful than
usual. He saw the slightly glazed look in the other boy's eyes, wandering
blindly save for the absolute need to defend himself. He marked it,
recognized it, and remembered it. "I can't express how sorry I am."
He suddenly admitted over his shoulder, moving into another chamber.

        Rodger shook his head, grateful
but dismissing. "It's not your fault we're here."

        Hmph. "Well, actually--"

        "You tried to leave
peacefully." The brunette interrupted with a touch of humor--not
at all reflecting how tight his stomach was. "Wrong place at the
wrong time. That seems to sum us up pretty well."

        What an interesting way
to put it. With one last sensory sweep of the chamber, and assuring
himself there was only one open doorway, the half-devil pointed toward
a flat, wide-open patch of floor. "I'd prefer we had furniture.
But we don't. And we need to rest for a little while so we don't
wear out." It wasn't so much for himself... but he could use a moment's
break from hunting. It got to be so awfully draining.

        Rodger stared at the indicated
spot, taking a moment to let the concept sink in. He really couldn't
argue the point--he was tired in so many ways. Nodding, he sat, just
sort of letting his legs go limp underneath him. Immediately the
rank smell of Hell assaulted him, his nostrils closer to the floor.
Even that, however, didn't really phase him.

        John had been watching,
closely. Every motion, every twitch of muscle, every irregular heartbeat
and spike in temperature. It was all so very... interesting.
Sitting as well, he struck up conversation. "Aren't you... I mean...
Aren't you worried about her?"

        The other boy laughed naturally--but
his eyes didn't quite show it. "I'm scared shitless." He admitted,
almost in a joking manner. "I've got no idea where she is, or what's
happening to her, and I am scared, shitless."

        It's not that the silver
haired boy was in doubt of that fact. It was just... surprising,
the way the emotions were handled. "You don't show it."

        "Well, that's one of her
tricks that I must have picked up." The brunette shook his head,
feeling almost ashamed that he should be able to hide his fear so well.
"She was damn good at it. All that she's been through..." He
sighed, turning his attention back to the living walls around them.
"I barely believe she's still sane."

        He felt kind of weird about
asking, but... it was the perfect opportunity. And he really wanted
to know. Especially considering all of the stuff he'd already been
privy to. "What did happen to her?"

        Rodger continued looking
at the wall for a moment, then took a steady breath. "Well, let's
see. She saw her dad fall to his death, his body crushed between
gears in a giant machine. The aftermath of her father tortured to
death--then later saw them both tortured from the eyes of the bastard who
did it..." And still sometimes she woke up with those images, panting,
shivering, clutching at the sheets, insisting she was okay...

        John swallowed; the other
boy's voice was getting heavier with his anger, fist clenching little by
little into a white-knuckled mass. Still, he didn't interrupt.
He'd asked, dammit. This kind of energy traveled a long way in Hell...
but it really only helped to hide them.

        The brunette continued,
unaware of the concern being thrown his direction. "The same bastard
who probably would have raped her had she not been so damn good at aggravating
him. About four years later, after everything had settled, Sephiroth
came back. He took over her mind. He and Jenova... they almost
destroyed her..."

        The silver-tressed boy tilted
his head to the side, not recognizing either name from his dealings with
monsters and demons. He'd damn well commit them to memory, though.
He might need to know them some day.

        His jaw suddenly wrought
with pain from gritting his teeth, Rodger finally realized how incredibly
tense he'd gotten. Casting a glance in John's direction, he also
noted how much worry shone through on the other boy's face. It was
understandable--he closed his eyes and tried desperately to relax a little
bit. When he spoke again, it was in a normal, conversational tone.
Flat, but normal. "I'm not even sure that I know everything.
She's still pretty good at hiding certain things."

        "You were with her all this
time?" John attempted quietly.

        "Yeah." He sighed,
stretching out his aching muscles and trying to be as nonchalant about
the details as possible. "I found Seifer's body. I was there
when Squall died. So was Vincent, and Cloud." Rubbing his eyes
gently, he successfully held the anger at bay. "We were all there
when Sephiroth and Jenova were trying to destroy her mind, too. That
was... really hard to take. At least we could help fight before,
but... there was nothing we could do for her when it was all in her head.
She did it, though. And I asked her to marry me. Vincent had
been bugging us about living in sin for years."

        Now that was surprising.
"Vincent?" he blurted, unable to picture the same man being... conservative,
to put it lightly.

        The question actually made
Rodger feel a little more at ease. He smiled and took in John's puzzled
expression. "Well, it had been a joke. But I got the feeling
he was trying to give me an excuse, if I needed it." He looked back
to that disgusting, pulsating wall. "She's... unique."

        That statement actually
caused a full chuckle on the half-devil's part. "I've been made aware
of that."

        At least the brunette could
fully admit that he was feeling better. The fact remained, though...
"Is there a Heaven, do you think?"

        "No guarantees." John
responded flatly. He hoped there was, if only so his father's soul
could rest somewhere without... disappearing. That thought, more
than any other, was just too frightening. Didn't devils deserve rest,
too? "She'll be okay."

        "You believe that?"

        "Yeah." He paused
a moment, running his fingers over the hilt of his father's sword.
"I don't even think the King of Hell would get her to take shit from him."

        Rodger laughed quietly,
a low and almost deviously playful tone to the sound. "Good point."

        Like the lapping of water
against the shore, there was a sobbing all around her. Not consciousness,
not awareness--just dark, sad. All was nothing, and nothing filled
all dimension.

        There was nothing familiar
about it--and yet it was familiar, with a twist. There was
warmth; but there was also cold. A freezing that bit deeply into
flesh that didn't feel like it really existed. No memory, and no
other measurements by which to interpret the experience. All was
that darkness, that somber nothing.

        Until...

        "Wake."

        "Wake."

        "Wake"

        Like a pulse, the word beat.

        "Wake." It
echoed steadily.

        "Wake." And
every time it echoed, she felt a little more of her body.

        "Wake." It
was formless, voiceless, but there just the same.

        "Wake." Spoken
to her specifically.

        "Wake." She
jerked, feeling something give way though she had no idea what it might
have been.

        "Wake up!" echoed off of
more than her mind. It echoed off of the walls. That last one
had been a real voice. Real and loud enough to have startled her
completely awake--and with waking came falling. Whatever had been
holding her up had suddenly let go, sending her plummeting six or so feet
to a floor. Luckily (though disturbingly), the floor happened to
be the usual soft, fleshy building blocks of Hell. She didn't exactly
land without a bruise, but she didn't break anything, either.

        Taking a deep breath, she
began coughing. The far too familiar and gut churning scent of the
place was thick in the air. That part, sadly, had not been a dream.
Stumbling and trying to catch her breath without choking, she steadied
herself enough to look around. This room... was surprisingly even
more grotesque than she'd already encountered. It was like those
utterly horrific "virtual journey into the body" trips to the natural history
museum in grade school. Only this was much, much worse. While
her memory held that the previous rooms had been "fleshy", for lack of
a better word, this one was... composed of membranes. Very thin,
skin-like sheets hung around her, blocking little light from the pulsating
walls themselves. Add to that, the walls each had what looked like
thick, stout tentacles flailing along them in slow motion. Hell was
either a great big aquarium, or a huge colon. Neither of those thoughts
were as funny as they were supposed to be.

        She shivered violently,
wanting a shower a hell of a lot more than she possibly ever had.
Memory came back in waves, and her hand instinctually went to her shoulder
to assess the damage. Good thing: she hadn't been unconscious long--the
shredded wounds were barely healed over at the skin level. Bad thing:
she had no other information at all. About anything. Goddammit.

        Looking up, she tried to
judge what she'd fallen from. It was too dark to make out all that
many details, but she clearly saw something squirming above her
head. Making a decidedly intelligent decision, she immediately moved
out of reach. The cluster of things directly above her were of similar
nature to the sort that covered the walls and most of the ceiling--only
the tentacles right above were longer, thinner, and covered in spines.

        A realization dawned as
she slowly got used to the disgusting air, trying to keep far enough away
from all reaching "limbs". That place of nothingness where she'd
awoken from, of darkness... was it an illusion? Taking a quick glimpse
at her arms, she saw what looked to be tiny pinpricks, some of which seemed
to be seeping out something clear. Suddenly the idea that the spines
may have injected some form of drug into her system rose in her head, giving
her another shiver. Maybe it was that, maybe it was a combination
of things she didn't understand--she knew she needed out of there and fast.

        That voice, though... there
was clearly not another soul in the room. So to speak. Or that
she could identify, anyway. While she was partially relieved to know
that hadn't been Sephiroth's voice... she was more than unnerved to understand
that it had been a voice she hadn't recognized. It sounded very much
like John's, actually--but the inflection was different. Maybe it
was accented, or... well, or something. Thinking it through here
and now didn't seem the smartest option, though.

        "Fuck this." She commented
to herself, pulling Eleison. Maybe she didn't have a hell of a lot
of bullets, but the blade would get her by just fine. She could slice
the walls open for as long as she had to. The trick was not getting
into anymore trouble before she could find someone familiar.

        In a matter of moments, John
noted that the scent he had been following had changed. What that
meant, he had no idea. It's not as if the scent disappeared or mutated
entirely; it just changed. Though, seeing as how they were
battling their way through the third room full of gory dog-like creatures
since they'd started off again, it was no time to analyze "minor" details.

        The boys stood firmly back
to back, each one leaning back as the other fired to absorb the recoil,
allowing Rodger to shoot more quickly. Every six shots, they switched--John
used his charmed touch to reload them with his father's spell, handing
a full gun back.

        Even then, with the defenses
and the attacks... the sons of bitches weren't falling fast enough.
Sure each one only took one bullet (a couple of the others took two, but
never more), but there were so damn many of them. They came
in like a flood, the tide ebbing closer little by little regardless of
the demon blood that splattered those still moving.

        Making matters worse, Rodger's
right arm was painfully tired. He braced with the left, but even
that was starting to go downhill. Pain had started to shoot through
his wrists with every squeeze of the trigger.

        We can do this.
John thought frantically to himself, even as another wave of the disgruntled
creatures seemed to emerge from nowhere. He knew these beats had
some sick way of "procreating" when excited if you didn't kill them fast
enough--only their idea of "procreation" was rather like an ameba separating.
Not pleasant to watch, let alone think about.

        "Too close." The brunette
panted quietly, trying hard to ignore the bolt of agony that had begun
to spike up his entire arm with every recoil. He just wasn't strong
enough for that kind of pistol, the dogs were getting closer to him by
the minute...

        The half-devil kept himself
quiet; otherwise, he'd have agreed. He'd just about gotten his foot
chewed off only seconds before, and that wouldn't have been a lot of fun
to reattach in Hell. Even as he swapped hands for an instant to wipe
the sweat from his palm, he knew they were in trouble. These little
puppies had been sent to tear them to shreds.

        The supposed fact that she
had been going in one solid direction became questionable. She thought
she had been, and she'd certainly planned it that way, but... out
of curiosity, she'd taken a peek over her shoulder, back to one of the
walls she'd sliced through. It wasn't that she'd elected to cut through
a wall rather than to use an already open doorway just a few feet from
it that was so odd--it was that the slice she'd previously made seemed
to have shifted a little. She couldn't prove it, no...

        At least, not at first.
Overcome with curiosity, she walked in the straightest line possible to
the other side of the next chamber, then looked back. Perfect alignment
by her eye, considering the room was more or less a dome. She turned,
cut, steeped through and looked back.

        With a swallow, she began
doubting the consistency of the place. The slice that had been right
across from her... had shifted, two yards to the right of where it had
been when last she looked.

        "Definitely more of a giant
colon." She murmured to herself, pulling Eleison back to rip open
another wall--then paused. Some definite instinct overpowered her
decision, somehow completely convincing her in that very second that the
hole she was about to cut would be detrimental. Normally, this sort
of decision would be reflected upon, analyzed... though, given the circumstances,
it appeared then was not the time to do such things. A clear sense
of urgency cut through even the instinctual knowledge of what not
to do.

        A flash, like a thought
picked out of air from someone else. She took three quick sidesteps,
then slashed the wall with a quick ferocity that would have left enough
room for four people to dart through. And Hyne was she glad she'd
done so. The loving hellos would have to wait--the boys were in a
little bit of trouble, by the look of things.

        No need to think, really.
Instinct had been her friend for as long as she could remember, and even
in Hell she let it reign over her. Radiating Fire through her blade,
she held on, powered up for as long as her muscles could stand the heat--then
dashed into the fray with a leap and a spinning slash, releasing the built
up energy from the materia in a wide scythe-like pattern.

        Even at their distance,
Rodger and John felt the added heat in the room. Instinct drove him--the
brunette pulled them both down to the floor just in time to avoid the wave
of destruction.

        Almost all of the little
self-replicating shits were dead--almost. Kyrie checked to see if
she had it in her, then understood that she didn't really give a damn.
Hand out, palm up, she summoned a good-sized jolt of Ultima. A shockwave
of energy surged out, leaving her unharmed. The demons were not so
lucky. Those closest to the surge simply exploded; the others quite
frankly fried to death.

        She turned slowly, making
absolutely certain that there were no more creatures in the room.
Panting, legs wobbling, covered in exploded bits of something that was
too thick and too green to be simply blood, she announced as calmly as
if she were stating a dinner special in a restaurant, "That is not
natural."

        Strong arms grasped her
from behind--in a fierce, all-encompassing hug. Rodger was so far
beyond words that he didn't even try to express how glad he was to see
her vocally. The hug was enough. Holding her was everything.
He wasn't certain he'd ever see her again... but damn did she make an entrance.
Didn't keep him waiting, and made sure he knew she was there. That
was his girl.

        John smiled, approaching
from the side, also completely beyond words. He knew what could have
happened to her, what she may have already been through... but apparently
that much didn't matter. His eyes were so bright, looking as though
he wanted to join in on the warm fuzzies, himself.

        Kyrie put an arm across
Rodgers', returning his hug as best she could while being faced away from
him. The other, though, she extended to the "new recruit", pulling
him in. Hey, what the hell. Group hug! Squishy touchy
feely free for all! Literally--she cringed with the audible squish
of demon-dog guts as three bodes met. Just... ewe. Glad to
be there, but... ewe.

        "That's really disgusting."
Rodger commented, trying to keep his voice level.

        "The Hugged" grinned, using
the arm that had been crossed over her husbands' to pull him in closer,
instead. Hey, there was room. My boys. She let
her mind loose for a moment. Damned if she was going to let a little
hellspawn get her down. "And how is everyone?"

        "Better." Her husband
whispered, meaning it.

        "Hungry." John responded.
One look at the walls sort of erased that thought, though...

        The three of them were sure
to transfer to a new room, first. They were just a touch silently
uneasy about staying in a chamber with a bunch of slimy bodies slowly disappearing.
"Certified safe" (John had said as much) in the chamber that Kyrie had
entered through, they paused for a little rest. And, better, to figure
out what the hell was going on. Not a pun in sight.

        They sat wordlessly for
several moments, formed in a close triangle. It was Rodger that at
last broke the silence, eager to know. "So. What happened?"

        She shook her head, unsure
exactly. "I was attacked by... a..."

        "A shadow minion."
The half-devil finished very quietly.

        "Hm." She commented.
The term sounded appropriate, from what she remembered. "I'm not
sure what happened. There was a lot of pain, then I lost consciousness.
Sound familiar?" she tried to have the best sense of humor about it that
she could.

        So much so, that the brunette
made an effort to smile--ignoring the sudden but quickly dissipating urge
to vomit. "Then?"

        Her gaze shifted to a point
of nothingness near the floor as she thought it over. "Then... I
fell." She paused, the words not entirely making sense to her, either.
"I was... held somewhere... a really disturbing somewhere... then I woke
up and fell..." Her gaze transferred to John, hoping he could help
her out a little.

        He looked back with a bit
of sincere surprise. "I-it sounds like the Sleep Chamber."
He offered, only when he realized they were both waiting for him to fill
them in. "That's what my father called it. Where some of the
physical bodies are kept in Hell. But... they're always in a deep
sleep. He tried to wake some of them up, but they didn't respond."

        Interesting, to say the
least. "Well... someone told me to wake up." It sounded stupid
even as she said it, but... it was true.

        A long pause came from the
silver tressed boy. "Someone told you... to wake up?"

        She couldn't help but grin
at his absolute seriousness. "Yes. Distinctly. Maybe
telepathically at first, but... I know that last time echoed off
the walls."

        Rodger's eyes narrowed,
their color darkening dramatically. "Was it..?"

        "No." She responded
dully, certain. "Don't get me wrong, it's been a while, but... I
sure as hell remember what Sephiroth sounded like."

        "The demon?" John spoke
up, making sure.

        "Yeah." She assured.
"More or less, anyway."

        "Close enough." The
brunette added, almost under his breath.

        The subject change was an
easy one for her. "But... John, are you telepathic?"

        "Not... that I know of."
He admitted carefully, trying to establish any previous telepathic experiences.
He'd never had any. At least, not to his knowledge. In fact,
his complete lack of foresight into the mind of anyone had rather put him
in difficult situations regularly. "Why?"

        She shook her head, dismissing
her own concerns for the moment. "The voice just... sort of sounded
like yours. But I wasn't entirely 'aware' at the time, so maybe I'm
just imagining things now." The shaking of her head, however, was
making her dizzy. The loss of energy from healing, general stress
and of course using Materia was seriously catching up with her.

        And that had become all
too apparent to the other two. The girl seriously needed some natural
sleep. John chided himself for not even bothering to see if the demon
dogs had left behind any of their energy crystals. He wasn't sure
about humans, but he knew he could use them to restore his own power.
If they had been dropped, they were certainly reabsorbed into the walls
by then.

        "Tired, Ky?" Rodger prodded,
knowing the answer but trying to get her to admit it. It was just
easier that way, rather than trying to convince her she should sleep.

        Regardless, she gave him
a mild glare. She knew better, though. "I'm afraid I am."

        John got the gist.
"You two can afford a couple of hours, easy."

        "What about you?" she tossed
the subject back in his direction.

        The half-devil shrugged.
"I can do with a nap every once in a while. But I'm good for now."

        She sighed at the seeming
unfairness of the situation... but truth be told, she was getting too tired
to care. It had gained momentum, moving from purely mental to physical
as well. Damn. She really shouldn't have given so much to that
Ultima blast. "Alright." She agreed. "But you're taking
that nap later. If we have to wear you out first."

        Oh how glad he was that
they were traveling together again.
- 7
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- 9
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Descendants of the Mundane