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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
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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: You've read the Devil May Cry manga, right?

Stats: Beta Leslie; 11 paged written/9 pages typed

Final Word:Lady's not feeling the nonsense

Fighting Exposure

“You sorry, fat cunt of a whore!”

Venomous words dripped from Mark's mouth, hands clenching the steering wheel so hard the inside of his palms chafed. Driving at a fast speed made the other cars and pedestrians move out of his way, his mind hard-wired en route to her house.

Fierce anger throttled his conversation aloud to hear his sentiments, calling her every defaming thing in his head. How dare she mistreat him like he meant nothing to her. After all the money he gave to support her through financial struggles, she repaid him in kind by acting like he was the enemy?

He clutched his heart with his left hand, chest tightening with the dull throbbing from that white-haired fucker tossing him outside the office. Added to that brunette bitch kicking him in the nose, he needed to medicate himself before going on a vigilante mission.

“Fucking assholes will pay! All of them!” Mark snarled, leaning forward to pinch his nostrils shut to stop the bleeding, gritting his teeth with the pain piercing his nose. Something didn't sit right with this whole situation, remembering how the white-haired idiot stood on his feet after a bullet pierced his head, seeing the blood splatter into the air before staining the wooden floor.

He'd witness some strange events taking place, ranging from serial killers stalking their victims to people opening fire on peaceful protests, yet this event is hard to swallow. There is no way his eyes played a trick on him, arranging his memory to believe that freak got shot elsewhere. He couldn't have.

Mark slowed his speed, driving into a wavy tunnel with street lights illuminating the channel every thirty feet or so. No one else drove on either side, and who would at 2:18 AM? Hell, not even the hookers strolled on the small sidewalk inside the structure.

The lights flickered in the underpass, Mark thinking nothing of it save for a paltry shortage until they all shut off, leaving him in complete darkness. An extra bale of light aided his vision, his high beams opening the darkened landscape.

“Why in the hell would they turn the lights off? It's nowhere near sunlight yet.”

Coarse and thick fingers messed with the buttons on the radio to lessen the surrounding silence, taking a second to squint down at the knob. Sapphires returned to the road, eyes widening before his body locked up, instinct telling him to swerve to avoid hitting a man in the middle of his lane. Instead, the car seemed to do it for him.

The pickup leaned towards the right, driving on two wheels before it turned over. It skidded some feet until it stopped, scraping the gavel with sparks flashing onto the windshield. Mark purposely didn't wear his seat belt, landing on his head after the truck flipped.

Panicked breaths weakened his lungs, burning with strain every time he inhaled, opening the car door to crawl out. Two brown dress shoes stood before him, Mark rolling his eyes upward only to look down, a warm, crimson trail leaking into his face from the gash above his right eyebrow.

It hurt to breathe, sensing a thick pressure pulsing in the upper half of his face, breath heaving to gain oxygen to flow through his aching body.

“You know, in all my years of living and watching you humans... I don't think women go for guys like you unless you have something they want,” a calm voice echoed in the tunnel, uncaring and distant as the man talked down to the broken flesh below him.

On a rooftop of a department store, a meeting took place between three Scouts and their master, telling him of the whereabouts on the humans he told them to follow. Screeching tires and honking horns drew his attention to the streets below, watching a familiar white truck driving with erratic maneuvers around the few cars driving at night. He felt an opportunity spring forth, wanting to finally meet an acquaintance he would no longer have the need to see, in his human form, again.

“Who... who are you-” Mark coughed up blood, trying to get on his hands and knees, “-what are... y-you-”

“I mean, I know you weren't under the false impression she loved you.” The man talked in a bored tone, then added a statement as an afterthought. “Oh, I forget you humans have these things called manners.” He took to a slight bow. “My name is Kurt.”

Mark clutched a hand over his heart, laying on his side, grimacing from the agonizing pangs simmering in his chest.

“I just wanted to extend my gratitude with you caring for Maisha these last couple of years. She's grown into a healthy, beautiful woman.” Kurt opened the inside of his jacket, taking out a small, purple gemstone shaped like a star the size of his palm, looking down at the injured man. “You can rest easy now, she'll be in good hands―far away from your touch... unless, of course, if I tell you to.”

With an intense stare, avocado-hued eyes glowered at a glowing, neon blue circle in the star's center, running a thumb over the spot until flowing tendrils covered the star in the bold hue.

“However, there is one more thing I need from you,” he grabbed Mark's lower jaw, forcing it downward with an audible crack, “I require a brute to keep that half-breed busy while I'm making the preparations to accommodate my budding flower. Suppose you can help me out here?”

Mark howled in miserable pain, his lower jowl broken with this psychotic man applying pressure with his fingertips, holding his mouth open. The glowing star lowered until it leveled with his lips, then the man shoved the object into his wet cavity.

“That mongrel killed my Barafu, and now I need a loyal minion to take his place,” Kurt stood up, wiping any excess stains off on his pants. “It'll be a minute to get used to your new body, so don't be afraid to test drive it when it's finished.”

Mark convulsed with violent spasms, eyes rolling backwards into his sockets, his mouth hanging ajar, feeling a burning liquid rest on his tongue then spread down his throat. His whole body morphed into a bale of molten fire, unable to shout, move, or even blink, helpless to do nothing but watch in terror with his physique submitting to the foreign mass forced inside him.

A hard gasp caught in his gullet when a blunt chill abruptly tore through him.

“Well, don't be a stranger now, go on and stretch your legs,” Kurt stood to his full height, smoothing out his clothes after he heard the final transformation beginning to take place, “You'll know where to find me after you've had a little fun. Nice to make your acquaintance, and goodbye.”

Electricity crackled on and off again, seeming to align itself with the pitches in Mark's wailing. Long legs walked in the opposite direction of where the car traveled, hearing the eccentric cacophony of tormented screams and bones breaking, humming to the fervent cries the longer it bounced off the concrete walls.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Intense, hetero-chromatic eyes looked down on the silent woman, pushing her to sit down after the woman's soul... seemed to have left her body. While Dante busied himself throwing that human garbage outside, she thought to gain some alone time with the girl, to see what her story presented. Halfway up the stairs, the mystery woman spazzed out or something, like her brain moved to auto-pilot and her personality deserted her.

Presuming the woman bowed under shock, Lady hurried to get her to the bed, wanting her to focus so she didn't lose herself to the surreal events that just occurred. Instead, the woman stared at nothing in front of her, eyes unblinking in a harsh, unwavering gaze.

On average, when one succumbed to their overwhelming, surging emotions their breaths are erratic and forced, trying to compose their excitement before they settled into shock. Focusing on her face and hands, her skin temperature stayed normal, Lady seeing no bluish-tint or blotches around her mouth. She wanted to bend her forward to have the blood rush to her head to calm her, but Lady's conscious told her not to. There was no blood on her, as far as she could tell, so she didn't need the medical kit.

“Hey,” Lady snapped her fingers in front of the girl, “What's wrong?”

Long exhales flowed from her lips, followed by a short inhale. Is this her way of calming down from a blunt surprise? Well, to be fair, few will understand how a seemingly human male can take a head shot and still function like nothing happened.

On a personal side note, she'd have to resort to her old ways to get Dante focused again.

Soft, padding feet stole her attention, trying to make out the mumbled words on the main floor. Silence returned downstairs then a door closed shortly after, indicating that vile creature went back into his pit of loneliness and despair.

Why would you do this, Dante? Knowing what he did with my father, what he did to you.

Lady's teeth gritted, breathing in and out of her nose after a wave of angered emotions surged inside her, her mind searching for a plausible explanation why he hid something so potent from her. Surely it wasn't to repair the bridge that once reigned as their fragile relationship. What they had in the past should stay there; too much betrayal and secrets drove a permanent wedge between them.

Seeing how she gained no insight from the woman, Lady moved towards the door, taking one final glance at her before descending the stairs.

Dante sat in his chair, elbows propped on the desk with his head sitting in his hands. His eyebrows narrowed, staring in front of him at nothing.

“Is that the new trend? Just zone out when you have to face reality?” Lady stood in front of the desk, seeing her guns lying there with empty clips, her own forehead wrinkling in distaste.

A slow breath eased through his lips, his thumbs circling the temple of his brow in what she took as his method of collecting his thoughts.

“You know, I let a lot of shit slide with you, Dante. You skipping out on repaying your debts, refusing to take on jobs, but this,” a manicured finger pointed to the room upstairs, “I can't let you get away with.” She uttered the words in a quick manner, clenching her palm to keep her sentiments in check. One of them needed the logical mindset in this.

“I know you're remembering the day you lost him,” she started, remembering the battles they fought in that demonic tower, physically and internally, to overcome the demons that once remained their family members. “You're not the only one who lost something,” she mumbled, a bitter edge straining her voice, wishing to drive away the sordid images of her past.

Dante still said nothing, continuing to stare ahead and rub his temples.

“So what are you going to do about him?” she slammed her hands on the desk, leaning with a heavy glare settled on her face.

Powder blue eyes rolled upwards, face without expression when he looked at the brunette, who flinched slightly from his intense gaze.

He spoke, words coming out in a slow drawl. “This is why I didn't tell you, I knew you'd flip out-”

“Flip out!” Lady hollered, her profile pulling inwards into a deep scowl. “It's not like he fucked your girlfriend or stole your credit card or crashed your bike. He tried to open a portal to the demon world to let them wreak havoc on all the innocent humans-”

“Not all of them are,” he nearly whispered, still holding a blank facial canvas, only half-listening to her rant because he thought of the same things.

It was impossible not to remember their less-than-bonding meetings. Before their fateful reunion in the demonic tower, they met one year before that.

Enzo, his overweight liaison at the time, had given him a job he tricked him into taking: rescuing a missing kid. If he didn't take the trade, the fat bastard threatened to repossess his new office. Back then, Dante's tolerance for 'lost and found' cases tested his nerves thin, preferring to have missions involving the supernatural. Who had the patience to gather information and search, or walk around for clues?

Alice was the name of the missing child, leading him to an abandoned mansion where this demonic asshole parading as Alice's toy bunny propositioned him to buy his amulet. That's the story, minus said girl trading in her virtue to morph into something “other” than an adolescent. Enzo let this idiot fool him into believing that the girl was worth four million dollars, ultimately the ass-hat only wanted to see what a son of Sparda grew up to be like; to have his necklace.

Annoyed upon leaving the place, a man walked past him, Dante unable to recognize the passerby at first thanks to unwillingly participating in that bootleg 'Alice in Wonderland' bullshit; too focused on recovering his strength from fighting demons. When his collective conscious returned he froze, registering a strong chill crawl up his spine. An aura like his own burned into his senses, a powerful spike in energy mirroring is own sauntered right by him, and he didn't realize it until it was too late.

Hours later when he caught up to his once-thought-dead brother, their reunion escalated into a quick brawl. One would consider that streaming tears, sappy kisses, and elated hugs would strengthen their bond, but a harrowing isolation prevented them to connect on common ground.

Vergil had changed.

He sensed it in his stance. In his eyes. In his soul. Life hardened him beyond civility. That eager yet reserved brother of his was nowhere to be seen, a hard-bitten and hateful man stood in front of him instead, ready to kill anything that blocked his goals.

Both of them knew little of innocence, having it stripped away from them on account of their father's legacy. But what their mother had shown them in terms of her bravery, love and care, kept Dante from falling into a complete descent of rage-filled madness.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Lady's voice revealed her skepticism, body tight with tension after his words sunk in, needing Dante to focus on his next course of action instead of veering off topic, or trying to.

“What are you going to do about him?”

“I don't know,” Dante mumbled with a heavy tone, irritation coating his words, “You'll be the first to hear from-”

“Bullshit! If you kept this from me, what makes you think I can trust you to tell me anything else?”

His deepest recollections resurfaced, reminding him of what Vergil had done. It was a scar on his soul, forever a reminder of what he had lost and the chasm created inside of him; the chasm now wanting to close after he regained an annihilated bond but he couldn't allow it. Vergil let his hate consume him, clouding his better judgment on his quest to compensate what he lacked, creating hurt feelings when he didn't need to.

He contained no clue on how to proceed forward in this situation. When news first spread about him being the only son of Sparda still breathing after Vergil's descent into Hell, demons came after him in droves, eager to permanently rid of the traitorous bloodline. With him back on this plane, it risked calling some of the big shots out to hunt them down, creating more trouble than what he can handle with Vergil alive. Not to mention his usually reserved twin dropping a bombshell on him, leaving him to speculate the validity of his words; not that his brother kept things hidden, mostly. If he did something, and he wanted you to know about it, then you'll know.

However, it was the things Vergil purposely left out that worried him more.

“He told me-” he started slow, needing to divert her attention away from murdering his twin, “-that someone is using him as leverage to take Mundus' throne.”

A slight wrinkle marred her forehead, telling him she temporarily stopped her interrogation to listen. He understood her concern, knowing how she trusted no demon with their cunning and crafty ways. He could tell that memories from her younger days bombarded her brain, about the betrayal her father crossed her and the twins with. Dante didn't know how Vergil felt about Arkham's backstabbing, but it served the jerk right for blindly trusting assholes who had more knowledge about their father's legacy without getting to know them first.

She chewed the inside of her left cheek, wanting to press the issue over that evil pile of shit upstairs but recognized how important this was, if he told the truth. “Who's using him?”

“Beats me.”

… Well, that's a relief. “Then how do you know if he's not lying? He could-”

“I know,” he stood from his chair, walking around his desk to stand in front of her, “I'll get more out of him. Which is why I need you to let me-”

“Fuck. That.”

Dante stopped talking, his mouth opened in the shape of an 'O', startled at the ferocity of her words. He refused to deny her sentiments, hell, he's still reeling over the mixed feeling Vergil's very much alive presence brought forth. Be it so, Lady's not laying a finger, or bullet, on his shit-head of a twin.

“You don't even know what I'm about to say!”

“Knowing you, you're going to try and make me let you figure this out-”

“I was going to ask you to trust me,” Dante stepped closer to her, staring down into her indignant and mistrusting gaze. In their line of work, trust meant everything, something he, Lady, and Trish had cultivated over the many years they worked together. There lied an unspoken boundary they knew not to cross with each other, leaving certain problems needed to be handled solo, alone.

Between the devil hunters, their word held heavy significance.

Her bi-colored eyes twitched, her head slow to shake when his words settled. “No,” she shook with a firm gesture, “No. I'm not letting you shut me out-”

“Wasn't going to.” Dante hunched his shoulders, then placed his fingertips inside his jean pockets, rocking back on his heels. “I just... need a minute to see what's going on with him. And the only way to do that is to speak with him... alive.”

Lady glowered at him hard, taking in his sheepish stance and unsure movements. Having Vergil back waged unrest within him, trying to shadow his sentiments by avoiding the problem, hoping it'll resolve itself with little involvement from him. Which is why she wanted to end that pathetic jerk so they wouldn't have to relive the negative memoirs from years past. In wondering essence, nothing really stopped her from going up there and planting a bullet in his head, but Dante mentioning a devil using Vergil for leverage may have postponed his inevitable death... by her hands.

Swallowing her desire to use the rest of her guns and blast Dante away, she took her turn to sit down, sliding onto Dante's desk. “You know better than to keep something like this from me,” she fought against raising her voice, pushing down her betraying sentiments, “Why did you do it?”

An internal sigh expanded his chest, avoiding her gaze by looking at the wall behind her. “I didn't want you involved. At least not so soon.” Powder blues glanced to her eyes. “I didn't forget his cutesy little stunt, and I hoped you wouldn't react like this when you found out-”

“Don't get off-topic!” she pointed her finger at him.

“I'm not!” Large palms held themselves up in surrender, wanting to abate her brewing temper.

Well... since his secret is exposed, he couldn't avoid the issues headed straight for him, knowing there was a bumpy road to ravel ahead of him. Can he perhaps come up with a way to use this situation to his advantage? Is there a way to ask her to... shit he didn't know, question their contacts about any weird, special demonic activity frequenting the area? At least he wouldn't have to immediately worry of her intentions to kill Vergil, plus seeing if his statement held any truth to it.

“How soon are you going to talk to him?”

“Tomorrow,” Dante sighed, reasoning a new day would give him time to gather the things he needed to say, to steel himself against any usurped emotions sneaking in through his memories.

The female hunter's narrowed eyes and tightly pressed lips conveyed her disapproval, ready to voice aloud her disagreements.

“If you want to, you can spend the night-”

“No.”

He expected the answer. Even better, he didn't have to worry about her being sneaky...

“Hey, how's the girl? You didn't chew her up, did you?”

“She didn't give me a chance to,” she muttered with an accusing tone, “I guess she was too in shock to say anything.” Lady crossed her arms, giving him that look. “Who is she?”

If he told her the truth, Lady would revisit her recent offense about him withholding information, again. And if he lied, she'd probably find out the truth anyway.

“Remember those 'Scouts' that have been popping up? I saw them trailing after her. They didn't get to do anything to her because I intervened.”

“Them? Was it more than just one?” Lady leaned forward, listening to his every word.

Oh shit.

“Three actually.”

A perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted. “Why was there three of them?”

“My guess? They wanted to do something to her other than follow her around.”

“Right, and you had her come here because...?”

“Hey, don't be like that,” he brushed her nosy intentions aside, “You know they're the concubines of some wannabe badass and they're keeping track of things up here. I brought her here to see why they want her.”

Lady had trouble deciding the accuracy of his words, reflecting over him telling another lie to cover for something. He lied about that bastard and the girl, so why should she regard what he had to say now? She exposed him sure, yet he shied away from a heavy matter sitting on his conscious.

“You are a piece of work, you know that?” A mumbled huff flowed from her lips, leaning with a hunched posture, feeling the bearings of a headache pulse behind her eyes. It seemed he didn't realize the severity of the situation, wasting time he should take to talk to that skinflint dickhead.

Demons and their hatred for Sparda and his bloodline wove together like shoelaces, remaining partially untied by Vergil's supposed death. Add that to him saying Scouts are following the broken woman upstairs woven into the mix... yeah, she needed to get away for a moment before she ended up doing something she might regret.

“Does Trish know about any of this?” Lady asked, now taking her turn to rub her temples.

“Uh, no... I haven't had a chance yet. She's on her road trip or whatever.”

Oh, so he kept this from the both of us? “I... ugh,” she groaned, standing up and placing her guns back where they belong, “This is bullshit.” Battle-scarred legs walked with a strong gait to the door, yanking her left arm away from Dante's grip when he tried to grab her.

“Lady-”

“I don't want to hear anymore,” she cut him off, throwing open the front door, not stopping to spare him a look until she straddled her bike, “Go figure out what you're going to do with him before I decide for you.”

“Come on, Lady! I just need-”

The loud thunder of a bike roared to life, effectively cutting off his words, leaving him to run a hand through his hair in frustration. Luck didn't leave him with any winning streaks on this night, incurring another loss with Lady's foul disposition. He had a hunch this might happen, taking on everyone's issues before he had a chance to sort them out.

Her bike rotated a full 360 degrees, revving up the engine several times before she sped off, driving at a high speed to get away from here; from the dismal images currently plaguing her thoughts.

Withal, he couldn't blame her.

Sure, they have grown past the tower incident all those years ago, but the wounds will always stay; a scar that healed over, but the imprint left a mark. He should have told her from the beginning instead of hiding in secrecy, and now he selfishly dragged her into this mess.

Dante, in a sense, betrayed her trust, keeping this problem to himself in hopes she would never discover his secret. It wasn't his intention to treat her like she didn't deserve to know or like a child, but perhaps holding an unintentional, protective shield over her did more harm than good; thinking he lost the one person who can lend him in a hand in this.

Soulless, shining green orbs invaded her psyche. Her vision. Her soul. Unwillingly enraptured by the hallucination polluting her eyesight. In the same habitual fashion, the mystery man thrusted his pelvis forward, inferring to have sex with someone, snapping his hips at a faster pace. However, something in his eyes changed since she last had this demented daydream.

A hardened look stared down at her. His once smug, condescending profile contorted into great displeasure, face twisted into pinched rage with thinly pressed lips. Maisha never saw this expression on him before, not knowing what to speculate of it.

Somewhere off in the distance, she heard a distorted voice, unable to locate and decipher the tone. She assumed she felt someone touch her, powerless to do anything except follow this man and his harmful glare. Large hands suddenly shot downwards, seeming to wrap around her neck, but it wasn't so; he choked whomever he had sex with... and Maisha watched from that person's point of view.

The mystery voice echoed louder, an urgent holler pressing to get her attention. Out her peripheral vision, her sight darkened away from her hallucination, seeing the enigmatic man's eyebrows furrow, as if he sensed her... leaving him? No, there was no doubt now, he faded from her view, a deep and frustrated frown planting on his face.

“Maisha? Hey, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Wakey, wakey, wakey-”

A violent scream ripped from her lungs, her illusion crumbling before a white light flashed across her eyes. Vaguely she saw the outline of a man with lily-white locks, pale blues widened in doubt before a dark veil covered her eyesight.

Dante froze, arms outstretched in a show to grab her, but she fell back onto the bed unconscious. Clueless sentiments occupied his logic for a full minute, not knowing if he scared her to death or not, what with her seeing him get shot and he appeared as alive as ever. He assumed she bowed under shock, unable to calm herself from the incident downstairs. Maybe he should have held off on getting her attention like he did.

Ah, double dammit!

With careful fingers, he shifted her body to lay on her side, covering her up with the thick, warm blanket. He himself sat on the bed beside her, wondering if he unintentionally caused her harm. Going on what he knew about traumatized victims, she personified no seizure-like symptoms; she just... sat still and breathed awkward breaths... until he shook her to get her attention.

“Looks like we both got in over our heads today, huh?” Dante muttered on a heavy breath, placing his head in his hands over the issues that dropped onto his shoulders. It left him with no ideas or clues on how to proceed, leaving him alone to sort through this mess; carrying the consequences of whatever decisions surely to come his way.

A/N: Poor Dante. How these problems keep toppling on you I'll never understand (grins evilly). Looks like you'll just have to face some folks head on.

P.S. Reuben Langdon and Johnny Yong Bosch released a picture of them in mocap suits, so is it safe to assume that a Devil May Cry 5 is on the way? 0_0. Also, you guys have seen the Dante vs Deadpool and Dante vs Bayonetta battles on youtube right?
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The Chosen One Unknown