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 9
by Orin Drake
Sleep came easier than she
had expected, actually. She'd just been so drained, so tired... even
the rancid chamber of Hell couldn't keep her from getting a few winks.
Especially not while she was all cuddled up with her husband and their
"guide"--even if he was understandably too paranoid to sleep with them.
It was nice merely to be close and rest.
But it was almost nicer,
in some sick way, to wake her up and get her going. John grinned
mildly at the not so happy look on the girl's face as he carefully shook
her shoulder. His internal clock judged that it had been just over
two surface hours, and he was loathe to afford much more time without at
the very least moving around.
Her shifting woke Rodger,
causing something that sounded like a weak string of curses muttered under
his breath while he stretched. It was definitely one of those times
when he'd really rather have had twelve or so hours of sleep, rather than
two... but realizing the stench around him was plenty to get him awake.
"Feeling better?" the half-demon
inquired, intending to sound innocent.
"No need to fake concern."
Kyrie joked, stretching. "Yeah. Good to go. Uh... in
a minute."
He got the gist when her
stretching abruptly ended. "I'll just... turn around. Or something."
"The two of you can have
a literal pissing contest while I finish up behind you." She shook
the last bit of sleep off with the teasing appearance of a conscious grin.
"That's not sexy at all."
Rodger commented, yawning.
Only a few mintues later,
they were off again. It felt, all of a sudden, rather sickeningly
familiar. A most vivid memory of journeying to the Deep Earth Research
Facility in search of Sephiroth hit the spouses at roughly the same time;
though, Kyrie seemed a little more affected by the whole thing, if the
glance Rodger had taken was any indication.
John was a little too busy
smelling out demons to take much of a notice. He'd raised his pistol
several times, but it seemed all he really smelled were the remains of
creatures that had come before. Not a bad sign, but not something
to allow himself to get comfortable with, either.
"Not that I don't hold you
in full trust..." the gunblader began out of the blue, "But how do you
know where you're going if everything keeps shifting around?"
"Just a feeling."
He answered easily.
Yes, she could understand
that one easily enough. A sudden curiosity as to how he worked out
his stress and frustration followed... but that was pretty well answered
already. If he wasn't in a position to "relax", he'd certainly be
able to find some demons to destroy. Must feel good on some level.
Speaking of frustration... "Damn I wish I had some coffee."
Boy boys grinned at the
sudden sentiment. Rodger leaned in a little to the other, mock-whispering,
"That's where she gets her power from."
In truth, the half-devil
symapthized. He used to be a big caffeine junkie, too, until he realized...
"I'm afraid that's why it's Hell. No coffee."
A perfect stage groan echoed
behind him. No, it wasn't as if she actually needed to rely on the
blackish liquid. But it sure didn't hurt. Especially not after
two hour naps and fighting demons. A girl needs a little something
to get her going.
Approaching the next room,
they all noticed that the scent... changed. That didn't mean it got
any better, of course, but it was distinctly different--a fact only half
resolved when they noted a small nest of what looked to be reptile eggs
against the wall on the far side. They were just a little too large
and scaly to have been a variety normally encountered, say, anyway else.
No one asked what they were because no one wanted to know. Even John
only had the most basic idea... and he didn't care for it. This did
bring up a rather philosophical and moral dillema, however...
"So now what?" Kyrie dramatically
simplfied.
"I don't know." Their
guide admitted. "I suppose we should detroy them in our defense.
Or something like that."
"Do you know what they might
hatch into?" Rodger couldn't help the question. It was that sick
curiosity, the desire to know even though he was pretty sure he'd rather
not.
"Couldn't tell you."
Came the admission after a moment's thought. "But you can bet if
it's hatched here, it'll be trouble."
Of all the people to have
spoken such a thought, hardly anyone would have believed it'd have been
her.
"Seems slightly unfair to destroy a clutch before they even have a chance
to kill us." When all eyes turned to her out of sheer and silent
surprise, she merely shrugged. "I'm just expressing myself.
I didn't say, 'No please let's not kill the hellspawn'."
"Oh, good." Her husband
teased. "Then we'd have to kill you and leave the eggs alone."
She flashed him a middle
finger and stepped closer to the nest, inspecting. "I don't suppose
they could be used for food." Not a question. Frankly the very
thought made her a little woozy.
"Probably best not to try."
John stared at the scaled shells, suppressing a shiver. "And I bet
they won't taste a damn thing like chicken. Or eggs."
Ah well. Luckily she
didn't think she'd be hungry enough to try something that exotic for a
long while. "Guess we better be quick about this and fry the fuckers."
The dazzling blue eyes became
astoundingly wide for the a faction of a second. "So your family
line ends with you, huh?"
"That's right." She
confirmed.
"And that's not just because
we can't stand kids." Rodger put his two cents in.
John threw back a grin,
nodding. "I understand that one."
The brunette elbowed his
wife gently. "Are you sure you can use Materia this soon?"
"Yeah." She assured
nonchalantly. "I feel better now. And a little use will help
it build up faster next time."
There was only a moment's
pause in his eyes before he looked away agreeably. He knew she took
on too much far too easily at times. But she seemed alright.
None of them could risk her weakening... especially when he hadn't bothered
to do much to master the Ultima materia himself. Only she could handle
that one.
Nodding, she spread a hand
above the nest and let the energy build. It wasn't hardly as large
an amount as the previous attempts, giving just enough blaze and force
to turn the nest into char with a quick glimmer of orange. Yeah they
were bloodthirsty demons that would have ripped them apart at first meeting...
but there was no reason not to make it quick.
John watched the display
with his arms folded, taking in the details. Damn that was easy.
Much more so than having to shoot and step on those godawful spiders that
crawled around every so often. That was really quite revolting.
In a weird jolt of surprise,
the smell of their surroundings improved for a split second--with the scent
of frying eggs. It would have been funny had the reak of Hell not
closed in immediately after to taunt them further. Oh well.
Hunger come and hunger gone, just like that.
Another few chambers seemed
to pass them by quickly in silence before the next conversation flared
up, almost unintensionally. Rodger had been wondering out loud, a
process which seemed only natural in the quiet. "I'd bet money that
Quistis wouldn't even flinch if you placed her right in the middle of Hell
right now."
A grin touched Kyrie's lips
as she agreed with a chuckle. "Because of the booze or her personality?"
"Both." He admitted.
John had said it before
and he was certain he'd say it again. "You have an interesting family."
"You don't know the half
of it." She joked, holding back the bittersweet edge that suddenly
clasped her chest. Somehow the general environment made even the
good memories of her parents seem tainted.
It was like a silently shared
thought between the three of them--not something that was any longer considered
either amazing or out of the ordinary. "I do miss them." She
admitted quietly, clearly trying to dismiss the very idea itself.
There was no need to allow that fact to be negative, wandering through
Hell or not.
There was no need to have
explained that he'd been told about the very basics--it was an understanding
that flared up in the half-devil's eyes. "Are we all the product
of crushed homes or what?"
At least that had been damn
funny. "Not entirely." Rodger admitted, glad to laugh.
"I just had your typical. Pa was a drunk, Ma was only doting toward
him for so long. And... that's it, pretty much."
"'Ma'?" Kyrie teased.
"I need to start calling her 'Ma'."
"She'd love it." He
admitted.
"Your 'Pa' has come a long
way, though." She offered.
"That's true. He's
doing pretty well, now. We talk once or twice a month and meet for
dinner every once in a while." It wasn't the same as it was in his
youth, but... nothing could be, he supposed. "We should all go to
a theme park sometime."
Kyrie laughed darkly at
that. "There's a good plan." Her pause was less to look around
a new chamber carefully than it was to suppress the possibility of an outpouring
of emotion. "I remember when my parents took me to a theme park,
once." She stopped to laugh cynically, remembering way too much.
"It was hell for Squall. But Seifer had a better time than I did.
And when he was having fun, it was fuck all to everyone else and whatever
they might have thought." And that... was nice. There weren't
too many full days that she recalled when the guilt melted entirely away.
Even with a smile, she knew the other two were already in the careful process
of picking their way through her memories so as not to "cause her grief".
But fuck that. Subject change. "And what about your family,
John?"
He hadn't quite expected
to be drawn in so quickly. It wasn't as if he had anything to hide,
though. "Well, my dad wasn't exactly... the type for bonding."
He admitted. "But I think he made an effort, at least. I know
he never really got to know his father, so..." He paused for thought,
taking another look around to make sure they were alone for the time being.
"He wasn't the sort of guy that settled down. I was sort of an...
'unplanned miscalculation'."
"Sweet guy, your father."
She joked quietly.
He laughed it off pleasantly.
"At least he was honest about it. And he waited until I started asking
questions. He didn't just come in one day and tell me I was a horrible
accident."
"He waited 'til you asked
to tell you that, huh?" Rodger threw in, chuckling.
"Like any good parent, I
think." The other boy threw back, grinning. "After Mom died,
though... He wasn't quite the same after that. I know now it
was sort of a demon 'fuck you', but... I don't know. He wouldn't
tell me anything back then. I'm sure he was trying to protect me."
Uncertain of exactly what
ground she was walking on, Kyrie made a very gauged attempt at digging.
"What happened?"
The grin remained, but the
emotion underneath it turned perfectly hollow. "I came home from
school one day. Dad was waiting outside. He told me it was
time to leave." His voice dropped slowly, turning into a growling
whisper, the fake expression seeping out with it. He walked ahead
as he talked, unwilling to make eye contact as the memories played in front
of his vision. "I was mad, I guess. He wouldn't let me see
Mom, so I pushed him and ran into the house. It was... just a mess.
Demon guts and yellow blood... and red blood. Can't really remember
the rest of that day, though."
Swallows, and silence.
Rodger gave a shiver, but Kyrie was too practiced at this kind of restraint.
She took it as a grain of salt, pretending it didn't reach any deeper.
"Guess that makes you the charmed one." She joked lowly toward her
husband.
Assuring though it seemed,
the brunette couldn't help but notice how his wife's hand trembled as she
patted his arm in jest. Yeah, those two had a little more in common
than he'd initially gave them credit for.
Funny how time erases.
Not completely, and not really, but the illusion is so perfect...
Only a few chambers later, everyone seemed in good spirits again.
And really, why wouldn't they be? Sloshing around through the dark
and previously only imagined intricacies of Hell, having just recovered
from a moment of emotional exposure.
How could it ever be otherwise,
though? It was a sense of humor and fast recovery that kept them
all alive, not to mention comparitively sane. That, too, had been
shared in a most intimate and nonverbal way. Not bad in a day's work,
perhaps.
Regardless of their own
triumphs and tribulations, the fact remained that hey were getting closer
to their destination; and that meant that they were tripping alarms all
over the place. They were being watched from eyes that could not
be sensed, in the shadows of the walls themselves. And when those
eyes looked very closely into the heart of the Sparda bloodline... they
saw one image that felt more frightening than the rest. Something
deep, secret, and scared...
"This is just getting weird."
John admitted, regardless of knowing better.
Rodger winced as his sore
arm automatically moved for the borrowed pistol. Instead of picking
it up, he decided conversation would probably hurt far less. "What
is?"
"This silence..." the half-devil
answered, his pace not slowing; but his eyes were searching every last
bit that he could find for motion. "We're getting too damn close
to a particular warp doorway for nothing to have tried to kill us yet."
"There were those... godawful
dog things." Kyrie suggested. And let's not forget I'd most certainly
be dead by now if I didn't heal quickly...
"True." He agreed
with a glance. "But they don't exactly stop at that..." The
devil hunter took a deep breath, tasting the air. Only the sourness
that was the telltale scent of Hell responded. Hm. Seemed a
little cold in th--
SNAP--the
doorway they'd come through closed with a fully unnatural sound.
With a quick turn toward the hole they were heading toward, that path was
found to be sealed as well. To make the situation worse, the smell
of taint began to boil...
"Fuck." John
cursed even as he pulled his father's sword from his back.
The demon taint was suddenly
so strong in the air that breathing became close to impossible for a few
seconds--but the other two recovered under the sheer power of adrenaline.
It was as if the chamber was coated with a wretched energy, something that
was out not only to kill but to enjoy the slow death it would bring.
Not a good sign. They stood in a triangle, backs and shoulders meeting,
no need for a verbal signal.
The oddly glowing walls
suddenly dimmed, seeping from them... shadows. They were moving,
flowing, liquid and viscous as they poured from the walls and puddled in
a ring around the chosen victims on the floor.
John found his jaw set--because
it had to be. If he hadn't clamped his teeth together, they'd be
chattering. Somehow he knew what this was... and he didn't
care to think about it. The dread feeling surrounding him was completely
unique, and not in the best of ways.
Easy as she found it to
suppress most of her reaction on the feild of battle, Kyrie could not help
the eye widening that the shadows caused. It wasn't the shadows themselves,
no--it was the fact that they were rising from the floor in some semi-solid
form. At first, it was only a series of thin sticks that jutted up
from the oil-like pool; quickly those sticks came to resemble hands.
As the fingers formed, the arms pulled themselves up by pairs, pulling
from nothing a thin and costumed body topped with the most terrifying clown
head...
Rodger's stomach no longer
seemed a part of him. It felt more that he was walking on it, or
trying to stand on it to get away from the monstrocities pulling themselves
from the living shadow. As the terrors appeared to give themselves
legs, it all came together; he felt himself pressing hard against the other
two, unconsciously trying to back away. And as if the mere vision
of these creatures wasn't disturbing enough, they had blades.
Big, sharp, shining blades.
Marionettes.
John realized, his mind hardly able to make a connection, let alone a move.
They're...
fucking Marionettes.
As if given a telepathic
signal, the giant living dolls' eyes glowed with all things dark and horrible--and
they began to move in together. Each step carried with it the subtle
creak of wood and the jingle of bells and metal, only accentuating the
already demonic appearence. All childhood nightmares had begun to
move around them...
"John!"
He turned, pushing forward
and away from the other two on instinct, startled to hear his name so clearly--though
there was no time for that much to register. Turning and bracing
himself with a wide stance, he was damn glad the sudden noise had made
his body tense. Had his arms not been so ridgid, the blade that met
his own might well have driven itself, and his, through his body.
That sharp "Clang!" erraticated the formless voice from before,
making him hiss with the sharp lines of pain springing up and down his
arms.
Those cold, dead eyes grinning
into his... the thought registered only as he was pulling back for another
blow--it was a real, fucking, Marionette; the kind of which his own father
had had nightmares about. In the flesh, so to speak. Staring
him down. Making him want to shiver with just the thought of the
abomination, let alone by the actual sight of the thing, face to face.
Didn't matter now.
Had to fight. He used most of his weight to push the bastard away,
then went straight for the legs, snapping like match sticks under the force
of the blade. The creature shrieked as if it were able to feel, falling,
flailing--but not dying. The grin remained, the eyes glowing an even
more wicked brightness--then began to crawl closer.
"Take cover!" he heard from
behind him; Kyrie's voice. She had manged to evade a swing for her
sternum, Rodger behind her and ready to duck.
Without hesitation, John
tucked the blade in and rolled away with as much force as he could manage,
feeling a sudden wall of heat errupt behind him. He was damn glad
to have taken her advice, that was for sure.
The Marionette he'd been
fighting exploded into bits of tattered fabric, splinters and flame.
Luckily, so did three others in her vacinty. Unfortunately, it seemed
the others were a little bit... "smarter". Uh-oh.
Lip firmly between his teeth,
Rodger was able to stifle most of the sound when he took the recoil with
two very sore arms. At least he'd blasted the head off of one of
the fuckers.
Kyrie was finding it just
a little hard to do battle with anything that much taller than she
was. Discovering that the legs fell like matchsticks was a great
little feature, but the fuckers still crawled. That was an unfortunate
finding after she was inches away from having her achilese tendon severed.
Too close but not close enough--one slash with a bullet in the middle took
care of him.
Even as John's sword easily
slashed through another, the sound of the cry that Rodger could not stifle
made him cringe. It took the slightest glance to judge the damage--one
of the Marionette's blades had caught a good chunk of his outter thigh.
A really good chunk. An already very bloody chunk.
The crimson eyes of the
gunblader became the very eyes of death as her husband crumbled to the
ground, grasping at a gaping wound. She had to force herself to give
into the faith that he'd be able to catch himself--and fuck all else.
Something untested began to happen without her conscious knowledge.
The Ultima she had summoned filled the blade, the mental image she gave
the Materia loading the bullet, glimmering on the edge--she released, spinning
the weapon around her in a full-circle arc, firing a shot into the heart
of the Marionette that seemed to stand out above the rest. In the
summoning mindset, it was as if she could see the glow of the leader, shining
darkly even more than the others; in an almost philosophical moment, she
almost understood it to be because she was summoning the Materia from her
heart. Something about Hell detested the heart...
Boom. That
was the only description. John felt himself flung away from the center,
having the sense about him to curl and roll quickly to a stop. There
was a blinding green from the blast, causing him a moment of absolute thoughtlessness
at the sheer brilliance of... of whatever that was... It took a good
moment to shake the glammer of the Materia from his head before he was
able to comprehend his surroundings. Bits of charred and melted--holy
fuck--dead puppet lay everywhere. Rodger was doubled over on
the ground, his hands wrapped tightly around his dripping thigh.
Kyrie was kneeling next to him, her eyes closed; she was trying to make
her vision stop swimming. While she had not only managed to discover
a little something new with Ultima, resulting in a slight advancement in
the Materia's powers, she'd also managed to use an awful lot of energy
to bring that little display about. At least the Materia occasionally
reciprocated by offering a little extra energy back... in small doses.
The half-devil darted over
to the less than perfectly able pair, taking a look at the damage.
First thing was first. "Rodger? Ya there?" When a pained
moan met his question, he assumed it was in the affirmative. Luckily
it seemed Kyrie's display didn't erradicate the most important feature
of Hell's little toys. "The green orbs. There are a few around
here, from the Marionettes. They'll heal you." He wasn't able
to gather the orbs himself, or he'd accidentally absorb them. He
would, however, give a hand if he needed--
But the brunette surprised
him. He reached out with one hand, his fingers brushing one of the
glowing spheres that floated a couple of inches above some demon remains.
The feel of the orb itself was cold--but the warmth as the energy travelled
up his arm and directly to his wounded thigh would have been unbearable
had the relief not been so instant. It wasn't completely healed,
but it was better. He waited a moment to catch his breath before
he lifted himself on his hands and knees, crawling carefully toward another
orb.
Well. That much was
getting taken care of. Next up, the girl next to him that seemed
on the verge of falling from her knees, onto her ass. He gently pressed
a palm against her cheek, bringing her eyes into focus on him. "Alright?"
She nodded slowly, as if
in a dream. "Materia... recharging... it'll be a moment..."
She knew what to expect when any Materia leveled up. First came the
weakness. Then, if she could just stay conscious for long enough,
came the--her body shimmered for a split second with a deep jewel green.
She sighed quietly, feeling herself recharged as the Materia took time
out to "sleep" until it was charged again. Once more totally aware,
she gave John a reassuring nod, then turned to watch her husband grasp
another orb. The blood had stopped flowing as the pain ebbed away,
allowing him to more or less stumble toward the third and final orb that
he needed for complete recovery.
"Hey." He called,
at last relieved and healed. "These things are cool."