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The Chosen One Unknown	By : Britt_601 Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 3033 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the DMC series nor is any money being made off of this.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
The Story: This little piece of fiction has an OC in it as well as Vergil...and Dante...and small appearances from the other cast of the DMC series. And other OC's as well. So please, if you are the type to hate every OC in the existence of writing, use the back button to find another story. Thank you.

Story Tidbits: Revealed secrets abound! Get the popcorn!

Stats: Beta-Leslie. 15 pages written; 11 pages typed.

Final Word: Where is my Sparda game, Capcom?

Exposing Darkness

A high tech phone illuminated the pickup's dark interior, dialing a phone number then hanging up after the first ring.

Stubby and cracked fingers held up the mobile to hardened irises the color of deep sapphires, pinched expression wondering why that elusive woman avoided his calls. It was Saturday, the one day he knew she would answer him.

Her distant and reserved personality has escalated for three months now, spending scant time in his bed, more or less talking to him. If his memory served him right he did nothing wrong to warrant her distance, so what is the reason for her mood swings?

Her friend at her job prickled his skin, filling Maisha's head with a bunch of non-sensical, pro-woman ideals she started to apply to herself; that she didn't have to take mess from anyone, Maisha growing bolder in the way she talked to him. What a catty, influential bitch that Halima tramp was. With her new, unjustified attitude is she planning on cutting ties with him, slowly but surely pushing him out of her life?

Going on the third week Mark wondered why she avoided him, leaving his calls and texts unanswered. He thought himself a patient man, giving her space because he knew women go through those out-of-habit emotions but his patience ran out.

She couldn't leave him, she owed him for all the times he provided her with essentials she wouldn't be able to return. For two years he has been there, providing her with his financial stability, building up her livelihood to her desires. She could never make enough to pay him back if she aimed to cut him loose.

Without him, she's just another whore, sleeping around to make ends meet, disconnecting herself from her parents because they found fault with her disabilities. Her independent streak led to her dependency on him and he'll be damned if she threw him away because he outlived his usefulness to her.

A small grid-styled map appeared on his phone, zooming in on the red circle flashing on a specific location. An area he wasn't familiar with combed through his sight, locating her truck parked on 66 Slum Avenue.

How fitting she would be at such a place named 'Slum Avenue', slumming around men who fell for her harlot mouth then using them for their wealth because she tired of him. What other reason could she have to act how she is?

“Greedy slut,” he snarled under his breath, igniting the truck's engine pulling away from the curb.

He wasn't disposable, she was. Dumb skanks often found themselves in a compromising position of relying on a man to care for them. Well no matter, he can always find another girl to cater to his needs, appreciating his time and efforts spent on her.

But first he had to collect his payment before he rid of her. Whether it came out of her pockets or her ass, or both, she wasn't leaving him behind until she gave back what she owed him

The vehicle sped off into the distance, racing towards the location where his woman shouldn't be.

His breath hovered in his throat, fingers twitching in wild gestures, channeling his nervous energy through them to keep from seeping into shock. Soft periwinkles stared hard in unrelenting scrutiny, mind unable to process anything productive to do or say.

Images resurfaced to that fateful day nearly two weeks ago, when he found Vergil fighting―or rather fleeing―for his life, to reclaim freedom so determined to elude his grasp.

Dante shoved those memories away with extreme prejudice, steering his mind to focus on his still-supposed-to-be-dead brother. Hell, even now it was hard to believe this bastard was alive. All those years pining over how it could have been with his other half wound itself into the bundle of broken flesh peering back at him, presenting an (unwanted?) opportunity to say the things he hadn't a chance to.

Then again, was it worth having a meaningful conversation with him, given his prideful disposition?

All though, having no choice but to let anyone see him at his lowest and weakest point should open him up some.

With slow effort trembling lips parted to speak, taking the proverbial step of faith to gauge where he stood with his silent brother when his voice caught in his throat, listening in to a rumbling sound. A thundering roar of a two-wheeled engine pierced his ears some miles away, elevated by the stilled quiet of the room.

Ah shit!

Without another acknowledged gesture he slammed the door shut, his once startled yet calm nerves jostled into overdrive, knowing he'll have to deceptively talk his way into making the owner of the thunderous motorcycle leave.

Damn that nosy woman!

She was the last person he wanted to tell about Vergil, knowing she wouldn't bother listening to anything he had to say. Their last meeting wasn't on friendly terms, neither was his, but she'd rather end him in permanent justice than to see him breathing.

“Still believe me now or am I crazy?” Maisha whispered to no one, pressing her nails into her palm with clouded eyes held downcast.

Dammit, what am I gonna do about her?

While he mentioned new enemies sniffing around the neighborhood to Lady, he mentioned nothing about them chasing after a girl. Lady had no problem getting into one's face to see if they checked out or not, and he was already wary of the woman now.

“Maybe I should go to the police station,” she muttered, her body temperature increasing, feeling along her neck. “At least no one would choke me then hold a sword to my throat.”

The hell? When did he have time to do that?

“Nah, that's just his way of saying hello.”

Maisha's mouth dropped open, unable to tell if Dante jested or not. “Gee, I wonder what he does when he says goodbye.”

“That's... something I hope you never get to see.”

Oh she's getting out of here now.

Dante walked over to her, sensing her distress and urgency to flee. He did not yet know who or what chased after her and it would be mighty foolish to let her leave. That ice-troll was very dead and it left the matter of the Messengers. They held an interest in her yesterday, so he'll need to track them down and pay them a visit.

“Did you find anything out? Is my house okay? What about my truck?”

“No, it's fine and it's here.”

Dante strode to the middle of the floor, rubbing gloveless fingers through his locks in thought. Nothing made sense on Vergil's ability to come down those steps. He created secret wards to prevent Vergil from going into the basement or the attic where magical artifacts and weapons rested.

Was it something on the stand he used in his room? Is it possible he found a vital gem or another source of healing abilities? Did he overlook something and Vergil had access to it; because where in the world did he get that sword? It couldn't have been the armaments behind his desk on the wall, they were securely mounted.

A bright light shone from a distance outside the window, illuminating the once-darkened street. Shadows drawing disfigured images on the building reached out towards his shop, fading into stillness after the shine passed.

Double damn that nosy woman!

“Well... can I have the keys to my car?”

Sluggish feet shuffled to the glass pane, thinking to send the motorist on her way when he glanced at the nervous-bitten woman, rolling his lips inwards with silver eyebrows rising into his hair.

His lips made a popping sound before he spoke. “Nope.”

Her eyebrows pulled together. “Why not?”

“Well, I don't know who or what and why so-and-so is after you, and it'll be be better to stay here.”

She bristled. “I'm not risking my life! He'll―”

“Be no trouble to you,” he finished her sentence, taking a glance to his bedroom door. “He's a harmless... tiger. You just startled him is all,” he sighed, hearing the engine nearing his shop. He needed to let the ward down, and if she saw what he had to do she'll really try to leave.

“Hey, I'm sure it's been a long night for you. Why don't you get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning.”

Why did he expect her to stay here still? Her life is in danger from the maniac on the outside and the psycho she occupied the building with. She believed she could live in a motel somewhere and hide it out while Dante brought her unknown stalker to justice.

“Dante... I'm sure you'll find him but... I-I can't stay knowing he'll sneak up on me. I'm sorry for disobeying your orders and frightening him but I don't want to be attacked again.”

She hugged her knees to her chest, feeling the scabs tear open, hissing a sharp yelp. A scowl marked her face, breathing through her nose to stop her biting nerves. A pressing weight crept towards her heart, remembering why she hated having hands placed upon her driven by violent intent. The way her attacker harmed her brought to mind of her father's abrasive discipline and harrowing temper.

Visions of the damned told by Maisha saw her sobbing for hours on end in her closet, heart tight with hatred after a belt strapped her legs, an open palm spanked her bottom, a fist bruised her arms. A child burdened with seeing demonic faces sought no guidance and support from those who should have loved her without fault.

Instead beatings, prescription pills by an ignorant doctor, and disdainful looks supplied the reaction to her 'condition.'

Dante, seeing and sensing her despairing anger, walked over to her to explain her dire situation.

“Look, something supernatural and cunning is after you, you still don't know why?”

She shook her head no.

“So, do you think it's a good idea to let you leave by yourself knowing another one of those things can freeze you to death? And let's not forget about those three guys that followed you out of the store.” He left little room for argument, his voice clear and strong relaying how silly her words sounded.

“You'll be out-manned, out-numbered and you can't fight.” Her stubborn visage fell, letting his words sink in to poison her leaving attempt. “If you still want to leave, then go. Just remember I'll probably be too late to rescue you again.”

How could she forget about those men? What if there was a connection with the strangers and that goat-screeching freak? Even worse, the incident happened in front of her job. Are they going to wait on her again after work or is it a one-time thing; did they mean to rob or rape her?

The fight left her form, shoulders sagging forward to release her stubborn defenses. Escape would be for naught, painting a target on her back in case another of those humanoid gremlins attacked her. But what of the man upstairs? Can she trust Dante to keep him away from her and her neck?

Idly she wondered if she should tell Dante about her throat, about the green light spilling into that weirdo's arm and his 'healing' claim. She didn't know what had happened, still thinking she saw the glowing luminescence from her lacking air. And what of her dream? That witchy woman revived a cadaver using a similar liquid, Maisha wondering if the incident veiled a message.

Then again, it was probably nothing more than a nightmare.

She let out a startled breath when Dante set her down on her borrowed bed, never realizing he brought her back up the stairs, too consumed in her thoughts. He moved away to the bottom drawer, cradling a med kit to hold out to her.

“Something tells me those scabs of yours tore open and you can use this to stop the bleeding. Or do you want me to do it again?”

Maisha shook her head, taking the rectangular box with timid fingers.

“Just stay here a little longer,” he sighed, dragging his feet over to the door, “It'll be safer if you do. I'll make sure he... you spooked him is all, it won't happen again.”

She wished she could believe that. A niggling feeling in the back of her mind said he'll be back again to ask more senseless questions.

“I'm going to check again with my lieutenants and secure the area. I'll be right outside.”

In the darkened room his eyes enraptured her, fixated on its eerie color with the lacking light. They haunted her, Dante seemingly possessing this otherworldly quality that wasn't human. A brief idea tickled her, thinking he was a demon in disguise. How else was he able to dispatch that weirdo so quickly? But she let the image simmer away.

After all, wouldn't he don horns on his head or have soulless, obsidian eyes?

She nodded, not wanting him to go but she needed a minute to breathe. The question lingered in her head still about mentioning her birthmarks, playing through her mind about his (she assumed) dismissive reaction. It seemed likely the creep upstairs mentioned nothing, yet will it be safer if she told Dante that little detail?

She opened the box, looking at the contents to show Dante she meant to medicate herself. Nodding with a solemn look he left, heavy boots thumping down the steps, hearing the door open and close at the bottom of the stairs. Maisha stood and closed the door to her bedroom, wincing from the squeezing throb in her legs.

A thick sigh filled the room, reaching a hand up to her birthmarks to feel the draining sensation from earlier... when nothing happened. Her palm fully covered the imprints, scrunched eyebrows focused to sense the heated pressure where that jerk grasped her; nothing odd occurred.

“The hell?” Her fingers slid over the spot in continuous strokes, touching the lightly bumpy surface in bewildered confusion. “Was I... I must've been woozy, I don't see any green light... so I was blacking out.”

It made sense. Her neck had always been a sensitive spot, believing a bundle of taut nerves made the area tender to touch when others felt her there. When that guy choked her, she saw green spots darkening her vision. Yeah, that's it. Whatever 'healing' mumbo-jumbo that jerk talked about didn't concern her; no wonder he was kept from the public.

A high chime stole her attention, grabbing her phone to open a text from the last person she cared to hear from. Her former “friend” had sent messages filled with disparaging remarks, with concerned dialogue like “where are you” into a descent of “uppity bitch.”

She wondered if it was fate, attracting assholes to enact their vile personalities upon her. Did she project this vulnerable aura about her, to let others pounce on what they considered a demure, self-conscious weakness?

Perhaps she did.

On her independent freedom from her parents, her naïve judgments exposed her to the challenging ways of the world. Housing, bills, debt, and the general basis of struggling took its toll on her, skimming over the idea to move back in with those estranged caregivers.

Maybe Mark had picked up on her distress two years ago, weaving through carefully selected words to calm her worrisome ways. And just like a hypnotist swaying a person to yield to their control she had fallen under his spell, finding the courage to gradually resist his power a year and a half so later.

In defiance to his authority, he pushed towards another method to claim her submission, using her past to keep her as his.

'They'll lock you up in a mental ward. I'm the only one who understands you.'

'Demons belong in your make-believe world, and your dad was right to take you to a doctor... I'd hate to follow in his lead and convince you to go back, it might be better for you overall.'

'Who's going to accept you with a past like that? You're already labeled with a psychiatric history.'

'No one wants a crazy, pill-popping whore. Look what you had to do with me to be where you are now.'

'Loose women never get married. Wholesome girls are the rage now, you think you fit that category?'

Incensed with becoming anger she threw the phone into her purse, gritted teeth recalling his potent words to keep her changing demeanor obedient. He became possessive. When they used to meet for lunch or dinner, he'd embarrass her by announcing how much weight she'll gain or negatively commented on her looks.

Maisha remembered how she shrank into herself, willing to stop his hurtful words by displaying a seemingly demure appearance, and the way he glowed when she did; like a game only he could play because the rules were his own. Did he possess an amoral desire to see her break, to mold and form her to accept his contemptuous behavior similar to what she witnessed growing up?

Did he think she owed him anything? Is he under any entitlement that she had to pay him back, as was the bitter topic he loved to elaborate on? What stingy money he helped out with went towards the purchase of the truck. If that was the only thing tying them together, then he can have that and leave her the hell alone.

“Fucking asshole, said he'll never hurt me then treats me like a dog―”

Her ears picked up a sudden, eerie sound coming downstairs, distorted and overlapping voices rising then the noise of breaking glass followed. It frightened her, moving over to the bed, heart thudding in her chest. Is Dante in a confrontation with his cousin?

The bell above the front door chimed, signaling Dante leaving but what was that sound? Did he argue with his lieutenants? Is he scolding them for not checking up on her?

A pressing bladder demanded release, urging her to find a bathroom despite the lunatic in the other room and Dante's warning. There were no other doors in here, leaving her no choice but to quickly leave, do her business, then return.

Unless she wanted to look like an ass and pee on herself.

Swallowing her mounting dread, she took the med kit with her, treading down the stairs with pained legs but without incident. Opening the door revealed a Dante-less office, Maisha seeing another door just shy of under the main stairway. A medium-sized bathroom greeted her eyes, walking over to the small chestnut vanity to set the white rectangular box down.

She held her surprise with how clean the bathroom was, given her experience with males and the habit they had to live in their own filth. Maisha didn't peg Dante as the cleaning type, wondering if a woman or a maid kept this place up. Oh well, if push comes to shove and she had to stay here a few days, at least she'll have fun being pelted under the large shower head.

Some of the medicinal contents clattered to the floor with her clumsy movements, muscles freezing over how loud it clanged on the tile. Her heart thudded again, growing with paranoia in case that guy upstairs wanted to investigate the noise. It's too bad the knob didn't have a lock on it, otherwise she'd feel safer without the creep walking in on her on the toilet.

Ow... ow-ow-ow!

The polyester fabric clung to her scabs when pulling her pants down, briefly assessing what she had to address before those ointments burned her wounds.

As she peed, her ears fixed on a distant but loud voice, reverberating through the door, a gruff tone yelling out obscenities into the night. She listened to the angered words pouring out in heated contempt, face pulling inwards over the tone's familiarity.

A dry gasp escaped her throat, a heavy constricted feeling shortening her breathing upon recognizing that voice. But... it couldn't be. How is it possible for him to be here if she didn't answer her phone? It isn't even a plausible idea he followed her here; she refused to think he would stoop so low.

“Mark... what are you doing here?”

“Well, well, well, how nice of you to up your security measures,” Lady drawled, leaning against her motorcycle, sporting a broad smile after she pulled up to the curb.

Dante's eyes roamed around his neighborhood, face tight after his lieutenants failed to guard against intruders... of any kind. He shoved his hands in his pockets, lips scrunched to one side standing on his porch, peering down at Lady.

“How... how'd you get over here?”

She mocked a gasp. “Don't tell me all that alcohol poisoned your brain. Can't you see I'm sitting on my bike?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh, well I guess your bodyguards let me on through. They stopped me of course, but after I told them I needed to talk to you they gave me a pass, then went back to asking each other what the word 'bar' meant,” she swung the other leg over her bike, walking a little away from the office into the street. “I see no oogie-boogies, you sure that wasn't a bad dream you had?”

Those assholes are doing what! “I said around my territory, not in it.”

“Uh-huh. Are they coming here because of this truck in front of your place?”

You don't miss a thing!

“Whose is it?” She walked over to the Lexus, peeking inside the driver's window, eyes settling on the bejeweled heart dangling on the front mirror.

Dante stood motionless, letting a bevy of random emotions whirl within him, confused on how he should proceed. It was one thing to tell her about the woman, but his other kept secret needed to stay in the dark.

Wait, I can't even mention the girl!

He forgot to tell Maisha to keep her brief attack and attacker on the hush, knowing Lady would read Maisha in thorough scrutiny. And by the looks of things, she wasn't leaving until she figured out what was going on.

“I asked you a question, Dante.”

“It's a rental.”

“... Dante do you take me for a fool?”

“Pfft, fine then. I just thought we'd go on a small vacation. Is it so bad to want to get away?”

A blank face offered a silent response, one ocean blue eye and the other a soft red glared back at him without amusement, deciding to play along to his obvious lie. “Well, it doesn't look all that bad, but... you couldn't find a rental from this year? Where'd you rent it from?”

Donning her work garb, she finished her inspection of the vehicle, walking towards the office to go inside, Dante unable to answer her question even by shouting out some random name.

His tall frame stood in the middle of the porch, seeing the potent determination swimming in her eyes. He already knew what she would say next, using his past antics as a stepping stone to her accusations. “You know there's a beach loft that's pretty secluded-”

“Where is she Dante?”

“-with sneaky demons hanging about.”

She ignored his words, almost reaching the door handle when a firm hand captured her elbow, pulling her to face him. A narrowed forehead revealed a conflicting mindset, white-blue eyes troubled to say what settled heavy on his thoughts.

“I-”

A set of glowing lights shined when they turned on his street, speeding towards the office in haste, engine loud and growling into the calm night.

“Another 'oogie-boogie' keeping you in your home?” she drawled, taking her arm back before hunching Kalina Ann's holster onto her shoulder.

What the hell were those two assholes doing to let another 'guest' come within fifty feet of his home? He told them to set up post and guard the territory. Are they really reading the names of bars and dives around this area instead of doing what he told them to do?

A shiny, white pickup stopped in front of the parked Lexus, the driver's door kicked open and out stepped a stubby leg donning a black, rattlesnake tattoo near the ankle.

The door slammed shut, a 5'7 man with a light tan and a receding hairline walked around his truck, narrowed dark blue eyes looking over the two occupants standing outside.

Phlegm spiked in his throat before spitting the bundled saliva in their direction, Lady's pinched expression disapproving of the stranger's bold behavior.

Dante kept his mouth closed, giving nothing away under his blank profile. The stranger was no demonic threat from his natural aging human scent, and from what he could tell this guy was no Messenger. By the way his pointed gaze glared at Maisha's car, he might be a friend of hers or a jealous boyfriend. Did she know him? Is it possible she asked him to come here?

And should Dante ask him if he knew the red-orange hair maiden without Lady shooting him for keeping her a secret? It'll be a miracle if she does.

“Why is Maisha's car here?” His gruff and raspy voice echoed in the night, accusing tone belying the anger punctuating his breath.

“Maisha...?” Lady repeated the name, slightly shifting her bi-colored eyes to Dante who had thinned his lips, refusing to acknowledge her question. Hmm, so that's where he got this supposed 'rental' from. It was no wonder he couldn't think of a name of the car company, perhaps its quality diminished after Dante finished using it and the name didn't matter?

“I guess Maisha draws the oogie-boogies into your front yard.” Lady said with a flat tone, eyes rolling skyward at his pathetic attempt to avoid his responsibilities before his insatiable needs quieted. Honestly, this moron couldn't have a quickie to lessen his horny nature then get to work?

“Well, now that you're done with your rental, give it back.”

Lady moved to go inside the office when his grip captured her arm again, his hold a little tighter than normal. She stopped and looked at him, eyebrows narrowing with his odd behavior. It was obvious he had a girl in there but why is he so secretive now?

“What do you want with her?” Dante said, voice even and questioning.

“Hmph, so the WHORE IS HERE!” Mark placed his hands on the sides of his mouth, increasing the pitch of his tone to let Maisha hear his presence.

A jealous ex-boyfriend perhaps? An abuser? Is Dante protecting her from her John?

“What kind of WHORE HOUSE is this! I guess this is where you belong. Just fuck me and forget all I've done for you, is that it!” His voice vibrated throughout the darkened street, mouth releasing sprays of frothy spit, eyes wild with anger.

Instead of her answering her phone and telling him what she was doing she got caught. He had heard about this area, full of sleazy strip clubs and scummy taverns drawing the sad and desolate in like shit attracting flies. What is the reason for her to be over here―unless she started turning tricks?

“Call that bitch out here now!” He pointed a stern finger at Dante, lips curled in distaste towards Lady.

“Cool it with the colorful names,” Lady stated, hands falling to her hips, glancing over the rim of her rose-tinted glasses. A black shirt displaying a werewolf howling at the moon covered his pudgy torso, creating chubby-looking legs where the gray khaki shorts stopped under his knees.

“Go finish making yourself useless on that pole, you slut,” Mark's face tensed, crooked nose scrunching to complement his nasty visage leering at her outfit. “You must make your father proud.”

“Mark?”

The front door opened, Maisha gritting her teeth with insult. If she didn't come out here and see him for herself she would have mistook him as a stranger, but the white pickup blocking her parked truck let her know it was really him. And with the confirmation crashed a wave of invasive anger. A pitted, agitated feeling swirled over her heart, digging inside the muscle with hot pins to deflate her need to defend herself.

“How did you get here?” she didn't leave out the skepticism in her voice, telling herself to calm her thudding heart. “Why are you here?”

“Why?” he crooked his head to the side, forehead creased in surprise with her stupid question. “The fuck do you mean? You're not answering my calls or my text, I come by your house and you don't answer. The hell am I supposed to think? And now I catch you at some slutty strip club-”

“This is not a strip club or a club at all―what are you talking about,” she shook her hands by her head as if she wanted to pull out her hair, flushed cheeks darkening to display her ire. “How did you find me? Did you follow me here?”

He ignored her question.

“Why are you dressed in that skanky get-up? What are you supposed to be, some fat instructor and she your slutty business client!”

“Excuse me,” Lady cut in, tearing her eyes from the mystery woman to this moronic jerk, “I'd park that mouth elsewhere-”

“The both of you get inside.” Dante's flat voice stopped everyone from talking, looking at neither woman with his cool gaze focused on the man.

The brunette narrowed her lids at his direct tone, needing no one to save her from anyone or anything. Quite frankly, someone hadn't schooled this loudmouth jerk in manners and she knew just the tricks to teach him with. However, something about this odd-haired human piqued her curiosity, wanting to hear her story and why Dante kept her here. If he wanted to frolic around with the girl then fine, but if it started to affect his work...

Lady held out her hand, gesturing for the other woman to head inside, even walking to the door to open it for her.

Maisha chewed on her inner left cheek, keeping her shock and biting shame in check, torn between telling Mark off and going with this bold woman... carrying a damn rocket launcher on her back. She didn't know what new breed of officers came out these days, but they sure upgraded their arsenal.

Arms swathed in red velvet hugged her frame, soft Cappuccino hues slitted to send a warning to her verbal attacker. “I don't want to see you again Mark, just stay away from me.”

He scoffed. “Oh yes you will, when you're ass up on your knees. That's how you make your living!” Mark shouted to her retreating build, body hot with rage after her intentions to break up with him came into the light, staring into the tall man's frosty gaze.

A sharp huff left Mark's mouth, rubbing a hand on his head pacing back and forth, lips twisting downwards in wrath. “Fucking bitch wants to get rid of me, after everything I gave her!”

Dante narrowed his lids, seeing the man stop his tirade and turn towards him. He saw the grounds of situations like these before, where a relationship came to an end and the other person couldn't handle the break-up, physical revenge coming to their mind's forefront. “Go home. Do yourself a favor and never turn in this-”

BANG!

Lily-white locks whirled around his face, almost snapping his neck after he heard the gunshot inside the office. In half a second he was inside, vision taking in Maisha's cowered form, hearing her thudding heart beat. Lady's pistol-wielding hand readied to squeeze the trigger again, body tight with tension upon seeing Vergil's appearance coming out of the kitchen, crimson-tinted trails dripping onto the wooden floor from his torso.

Silence hung over their heads like a heavy blanket, no one daring to breathe or speak unless they chose to slice through the palpable hostility. A subtle jerk from Lady's arm broke through the choking stillness, her trigger finger allowing the bullet to eject from her glock; its trajectory aimed in alignment with Vergil's head.

A/N: I think I have a problem making characters go through things. Poor Maisha, she can't escape through her troubling times, can she? And Dante is going to become the janitor for everyone's messes... or will he?

In the words of the singer SZA: 'Seeing your pain brings me such joy.'

Red isn't such an awful color Vergil, didn't you see the article where scientist claim that many women are drawn to the color red? Dante got it right!
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The Chosen One Unknown