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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:
Subscripts are in the story and their definition will be in the author's notes.
Stats: Beta-Lohce Azcry. 7 ½ pages written. 6 pages typed.
Final Word: In a stuffy voice: Read on!

I Hate To Care
Yellow irises glimmered bright in the rear view mirror, Dante quick to catch the glowing reflection and holding its stare; neither sight wavered from the other. Well, he called it an "it" for human eyes were not yellow. Shades of dull green reflects off of eyes yes, or even a light brown, but not yellow. At first glance he perceived the glow as the street lights playing tricks on him. However when three separate sets of peepers held his gaze did he clear that thought.
"It would appear I have Scouts taking residence in my territory," he said in a thoughtful gesture, irritance showing on his face for more unwanted food turned up on his plate. "Oh this is just perfectly wonderful."
Human beings who wanted to live and dwell in darkness converted into Scouts; to gain a couple nifty powers to be stronger than what they deemed they weren't. To achieve this feat, they snitched for devils that couldn't step foot onto this plane. Their job description included tracking down demons who regarded their heritage as "uncool" and reporting back to their masters of their whereabouts.
These Scouts didn't harbor violence from the gossip through the grapevine. And they served no threatening purpose of the physical kind, hollowed out shells of their former selves were all that remained.
What reason did they have to follow this woman so closely? Once the delivery boy found the package, the info then traveled to their master and they sent the trouble. Uncommon for them to trail someone in a group, one person completed the task. The damned they went after, humans should hold no interest to them.
This 'Maisha' person smelled normal. He didn't pick up oddities on her save for the funky hairstyle and color she rocked. She possessed pleasant physical characteristics and he assumed they wanted to assault her but they aren't the violent type; cowardly traits increased a notch with what tiny demonic magic flowed in their blood.
Somewhere off in the distance a horn blew, Dante already knowing the woman giving her final thanks before she drove on home. It was too late and too dark for her to do anything else but that. He honked the signal twice in return, returning to the cloaked figures descending into darkness.
Murders around this part of town increased due to a "special" visitor from down under, inducing these fiends to strike out in cowardly behavior. Citizens stayed in their homes; well the smart ones did. Those who caught wind of the rumors lived sane enough to avoid going out at night, and then there were those who... swam in a sea of disbelief.
The area he resided in allowed him the scarcity of neighbors. Many of the homeless and lonesome took up residence there, holed up in whatever hovel of a home they had like little hermit crabs. They took solace in dark themes, comfort the feeling most associated with their entire existence on occasions.
New species of brutes infiltrated his neck of the woods, guarding his territory with reinforced efforts. Many calls he received for jobs left him wary about leaving his premises, especially at night. A particular recipient came under his care and his chance to eradicate vermin in the outside world slowed, passing assignments to Trish and Lady.
A time or two he thought to bug Nero to help him out, but he carried a priceless heirloom that would send certain "foreigners" into a frenzy if they sensed the dark blade's presence. Needless to say this visitant required financial services towards specific needs and the resources he obtained were running low.
If his concern wasn't so high to leave and take on these missions, he'd be more than financially sufficient to buy more items to his liking. If his lack of restraint could have held off until today then he'd go home with a pizza to aid in the assortment of his questions.
Dante paid off his Pizza One tab of the multiple pies he consumed with voracious fervor. And the owner was forever grateful to accept the payment, the whole $2000, and decided to let Dante set a tab limit of $100.
Is that even a realistic amount for him? As much as he ate the stuff daily, all he received in return was a $100 credit limit?
He wondered if the proprietor justified revenge from the lack of payments. Originally he repaid his tab at the end of the month but... it kinda got off track. Demons and whatnot destroyed his transportation methods and he needed money to cover the repairs.
Almost four months ago, a grand job of immense proportions crossed his path, and the payout of such a feat went towards his debt to Pizza One. He felt sentimental of the parlor loyalty to him, granting his requests for the satisfying flavors of tomato sauce, Parmesan and pepperoni rolling down his throat. The savory meals expanded his stomach with a relaxing heat the only way pizza knew how.
The manager, Clayton, never looked so happy when he gained the bountiful payment. But in return for his gracious deed, his loan... extended... to only $100? A large pizza ran about eleven bucks a pop. Given his morbid consumption of the delicatessen, he only secured nine pizzas before he had to pay.
That... stung. It crushed his heart, like someone ripped it out and stuck it in a pizza-molded Iron Maiden. "After all the orders and calls I've placed, this is my reward?" Dante remembered that conversation so vividly it hurt.
When the news first reached his ears of his lessened "freebies" it didn't sink into his mind. But when Clayton held the same "I'm sorry" expression did Dante realize the severity of the situation.
"Business is slow and the bills are racking up." A half-lie. Demands came in from other places and Clayton would, regrettably, tell his customers they were out of their desired toppings since they went to Dante's specifications. He had to cut back on Dante's requests, and money, until his inventory balanced out. Surely he couldn't explain the real reason to the white-haired enigma; the look on his face was downright murderous.
When Dante turned to leave, Clayton wanted to give him his sincerest apologies, but he stood in fear when his customer's fist connected on top of a random sedan. The force of the hit dented the hood; the windows on the passenger side cracked into lines throughout the two windows. When he moved to walk away there was about a five-second layover until all the glass shattered, the car now expressing its loud, beeping alarm to alert the world of its injury.
Andy the delivery boy had boasted about the free hours he gained instead of waiting to deliver pizza to him. Dante chuckled in bitter annoyance; iceberg blues boring into the man's brown ones, lips stretching to produce a crazed shit-eating grin. After that incident Andy never said anything smart-mouthed again.
However a $100 credit limit would be of no benefit to him; the nine pizzas were consumed within an average of four days. He should be grateful all the while, Clayton reserved the divine right to refuse his services and be bothered by Dante no more. Not that that could ever happen; he was Pizza One's best customer... if not their only.
"My appreciation always finds a way to blow back up in my face." The words came out in a mumbled sneer, tongue sticking hard into his cheek, angered at the lack of self-control to use his tab sparingly. And critical of those morons who didn't buy more pizza from the pizzeria.
The rain cascaded down in thick, slanted sheets, pounding his windshield in a relentless shower of bullet-like pellets. A final glance stole his thoughts in the rear view mirror, darkness consuming his vision as the night blanketed the township into a silent stillness. Lightning cracked the dark clouds, high-lighting the area in his vicinity to show a soulless landscape.
Dante narrowed his eyes in speculation, knowing the motives of these visitors aimed to unfold to expand their intentions to the highest level. A battle of critical importance would ensue; Dante wanting to avoid the collateral damage dealt to him after the ordeal finished in its entirety. But the inevitable he combated before, and similar to so many other events he picked himself up and kept going forward in life after the turmoil ended.
But what about now? These guests only wanted to accompany the individual back to their residential dwelling. Could it be so bad to let them take their visitant "home" with them, and spare the man of an unwanted regret?
This might be so much better with a hot pizza to aid in his thinking; frozen pizza from the store didn't do him justice.
Fifteen minutes later he stopped in front of his garage, hopping out the car to open it. In his absence he put up a blood ward to prevent anything from intruding in his place. It forced him to up his protective measures prior to deciding what to do with his guest.
Concentrating a sliver of his demonic energy into his left hand lengthened his fingernails. The black nails on his fingers grew before using his forefinger to slice his right wrist, a small pool of blood leaking out.
"Dispenso adque cado,"[1] he muttered the Latin words in the dingy night. Dante smeared his red liquid across the magically invisible ward, hearing damned voices rise and cease immediately after the shield came down. He lifted his nose in the air to make sure Hell's creatures weren't around to sneak an attack.
Such a pain it was to do this, even more so that the car port didn't have an automatic handling. It would have made entering and leaving much more easier, instead of losing time to manually unlock the damn thing.
Sensing the area safe he got back in his ride and entered the parking space, closing the door soon after. The slit closed up before closing the garage, forcing him to re-cut the wound to enable the seal to erect.
"Percipio adque surgo," [2]he said the words in a strong voice, sweeping his bleeding wrist along a white, wall-like blockade appearing before him, encoded with varying demonic symbols. Hellish voices rose at his command, the barrier encasing the room in a brief burst of chalky light before the space returned to its normal setting.
Dante let the remnants of his devil power recoil deep within his body, shaking the last of it off while going to get the bag of groceries. How did it come to this he will never know, but his life took an abrupt turn, currently, for the worst.
He shouldn't have to use a heavy seal to protect his territory, the mere sight of him sent the weaker fodder running. He shouldn't have to put his duties on hold to care for one that didn't care to return the favor. He shouldn't be limiting his daily needs to tend to the necessities of another. Why, oh why did the unexpected drop on him at the most inconvenient of openings?
He reached into the backseat for the groceries, closing the door with his foot before entering the doorway to his living room. The smell of rain and wet wood invaded his nostrils, wrapping around his being like a snug sweater. Eyes adjusted to the darkness, walking straight towards the kitchen to set the sack on the counter. A switch over the sink illuminated the space in a deep pale yellow, revealing a spotless area devoid of dirt, grime and stale pizza boxes.
Dishes, the few he maintained, shone spiffy and clean on the dish rack. The trashcan contained a lemon-scented trash bag, free of unwanted debris spilling over and surrounding the can's base. The white stove shown the whitest its ever been since its purchase, grease stains and crumbs well wiped away to some forgotten end of a dumpster. He never thought his palms would touch another mop again; other than proposing to one when massively drunk or to take a hit, but for tidying purposes... from his own hands?
Dante grabbed the fruit bowl to place the purchased fruit in there. Below the counter, he grabbed a pot and placed it under the faucet, preparing for the nightly regime he accustomed to going on two weeks. This adjustment wouldn't even be sought after if a certain detrimental spectator didn't plop down into his life unexpectedly.
A couple of unknown habits frequented his daily routine, ranging from fixing light meals to cleaning. Cleaning as in taking a rag with unstaining agents and wiping off dust and soot in his loft. Normally he would gripe and procrastinate to tidy up because it was boring. Now he occupied himself with distractions to stall himself from facing a hard truth.
A truth that took many rejected emotions to fight through to confront a grim reality. And in lieu of fighting through this reality, it doubled back to spit him right in his face; to taunt his efforts to move on ahead with his future.
Fate can be a cruel bitch.
The front burner lit up on the left side of the stove, placing the pot of water on the fire. He leaned against the counter, thinking about the turn of events in the past couple of weeks.
Why is it, he mused, that the dead could never stay that way? Was there some magic they used or his lack of efforts enabled the ill-beings to wander around after their expiration date?
Surely Lady and Trish handled the spawns of Hell but did they let a few escape? If his services were employed the demons would, without a doubt, fall under his devastating blade.
Since he fell under lock down and needed to tend to certain matters before he resumed his hunting, first things first.
He reached up to the cabinet and pulled out a white mug, pouring the nearly boiling liquid into it. The box of tea he bought freed from its confinement, singling out a bag of the calming brew before dropping it in the cup. The last two packages of doughnut cakes in the cupboard opened and rested on a small black plate.
He walked outside the kitchenette where it housed the Brazilian walnut-furnished bar, filled with various liquors and wines of different tastes. They sat there to age in silent grace, calm and undisturbed from the mouths eager to complement a celebration. Once in a while he snuck a drink a few times but the pure awesomeness of beer won his love.
Under the bar housed a few whiskeys and water bottles, Dante keeping the alcohol here to skip his indulges when harrowing problems arose. Beer he consumed and its effects couldn't pollute his mind until much later. But whiskey, whew, a few rounds from that and he'd be seeing stars.
As silly as it sounded the bourbon's disappearance worked. He'd truly forgotten about its existence and he rarely ventured into one of his drunken stupors because of his forgetfulness. Too bad his drunk-free days would clock back down to zero upon re-discovering his hidden stash. He kept small quantities of water under the cabinet, just to add flavor to the whiskey should he need it.
Grabbing two waters he went to the kitchen, taking a never-used baking sheet and placing the mug and doughnut cakes on there. Putting the bottles under his arm he trudged up the stairs, steeling his nerves solid to face the dilemma plaguing his nights from a positive completion.
The knob opened to a dark room, brightened by a dim candle licking its last flames of light. In the middle lied a four poster bed; midnight blue satin sheets viewed black to the naked eye. Plush bedding accessories in the same hue and cream colors wove together to lure the invited straight in, trapping them in their soothing and warm embrace. Dark oak carved out embellished designs, tiny swirls adorning the wooden length surrounding the comfy cushions. Matching dressers mounted on either side, a sliver handle in the shape of an eagle's wing reflecting the yellow glow of the small torch.
Situated against the white wall stood a stand with various trinkets Dante kept under watch. These little items held a particular, sinister corrupt magic to them. If fallen into the wrong hands, things... could get a bit unsettling for him, which may have been enjoyable if he wasn't under unofficial house arrest.
He ventured further in, placing the baking sheet on the dresser to the right along with the two bottles. The soft beige carpet quieted his footfalls. Upon the stand he grabbed a taper, white blossom showing on the label before he lit it with a lighter.
The candle led to where the other one faded out of life, seeming to slow the burning wick to persevere against its imminent fate. However fate won by Dante blowing a calm breath over the flame. The new blazing taper took its place, illuminating the niche with enough brilliance to rival a torch; truly so since a sliver of brightness from the outside world couldn't penetrate inside.
"Maybe that light is too bright," he mumbled to himself, debating on whether to dim it. "Or I should... man, just fuck it." he grumbled, seeing no need to make a fuss over trivial matters.
With the darkness of the clouds veiling the moon's luster and the blinds closed it resembled a cave. A cave in which he remained invisibly shackled on a short leash, under the jurisdiction of the mysterious creature wanting to stay hidden and Dante hated it.
This evasive cretin resurfaced frustrated feelings having lain to rest some years previous; when courage and determination overrode the misery of reality. Emotions waged a war, clashing with his carefree demeanor and threatening to take away his persona, replacing his character with someone carrying a deep-seated grudge.
It took him a while to reign in the bouts with self-pity and blame, digging himself out of that chasm intimidating to keep him imprisoned on two separate occasions. Each occurrence ripped a hole through his chest, piercing disheartened pins into his vascular organ, leaving him bitter and somber after the ordeal was over. Now this third event risked to do the same, back like a disease intent to reclaim the body and rot it beyond comprehension.
Dante turned to leave out the lodgings, glaring dismally at his inviting bed wishing to dive right in. He should have jumped in and rested his exhausted little noggin yet that luxury belonged to another, or rather, the cryptic creature lying in his spot.
The very object of his pain and suffering, loneliness and despair, hate and rage popped up in his heart, cold fingertips pushed to constrict the muscle. Damn it all if he would give in to a conforming pressure without his will, following in the lead of his pre-determined actions decided by someone else.
But he had to. He had to let those frozen fingers frost his heart to handle an inevitable situation. A cold heart was a temporary coping mechanism from facing the unknown truth when it showed itself.
Reason sprouted that having a frosted heart was better than diving into one from the result of pessimistic ways and means. In another saying, having feelings allowed the infliction of emotional wounds to run deep instead of having it blocked from receiving any.
Dante looked upon the form lying in his sheets, taking his black beanie off before running a hand through his hair. A grimace graced his mug as memories of a forgotten past resurfaced and poured into his mind. It overflowed with a grim fact that no matter what he did or why, he could never escape the elusive flesh known as his other half.
His twin brother. Vergil.

A/N: [1]Latin for "dispense and fall"
[2]Latin for "gain and rise"
Chapter 3, when put together, would have been 22 pages long, or at least that's how much I wrote (0_0), so I had to chop it. But I got the whole thing chopped into two so...
I'm sorry my Vergil fanatics! He wasn't exactly ready to come out (all the way) yet ya know; had to rehearse his lines and had to have his make-up perfect XD! But he will soon!
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The Chosen One Unknown