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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
- 3
- 4
- 5
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:
This is a continuation of Chpt. 3
Stats: Beta-Lohce Azcry. 14 pages hand-written/10 pages typed.
Final Word: Read on to dream on...

"Jezebel...Jezebel won't try to deny where she came from
You could see it in her pride
And the raven in her eyes
Try and show her a better way
She'll say, 'You don't know what you've been missing'
By the time she blinks, you know she won't be listening
'Reach for the top' she said 'And the sun is gonna shine'
'Every winter was a war' she said 'I want to get what's mine'"
-Jezebel by Sadè

Hiding in the Dark
Life is bitter to those with a history of struggles and fate orchestrated the symphony of hardships. What drives the single body to escape this putrid show lies within sheer will and drive.
Fate stood on stage and directed which instruments accompanied the soundtrack to one's livelihood. But she can't force an individual to stay there and listen. If her performance is interrupted, she can notify the usher to sit the interrupter down or escort them outside. Yet the heckler still has the option to linger or leave when they deem it so.
The choices lie to remain seated and taunt the orchestrator or keep quiet; to depart in a ruckus or walk out in demure steps. She may pick out what section of devices to perform but the party can make their own sounds to dramatize for those sections waiting to have their turn. The tools are always varied, she just pre-picks the time to play while one makes the most of that instrument.
Maisha's chosen apparatus to play on this dreaded Saturday night lied between her thighs. In the back of her mind fate played the instrumental version of Sadé's Jezebel; the saxophone crying out the notes while the guitar whispered in the melody. She couldn't bear to listen to the direct tune, trying to mess up the show by inserting off-key drum beats and dark-piano keys, to no avail.
Oh yes, the orchestrator wanted to make her remember the harmony loud and clear, to offer the music to go along with her physical tryst. However she clung to her decisions. She didn't have to hear the thoughts in her cerebral cavity. She can pull out of her mental chamber and soak in the present. Nevertheless it wasn't better since she escaped to her psyche to block the current existence out.
She looked down at the closed eyelids and open mouth of Nathan Crosgrove, an unwed man of two children, whose lanky body swelled between her legs. "Oh yes," he said, breath coming in shorter and shorter bursts. "Oh yes..."
Maisha ignored him, shutting her eyes to withdraw into her made-up paradise but realized she just retreated from there. Jezebel entered the last melodious part of her ballad.
She quickened her pace, sliding up and down on his slender length, supporting herself on her hands on either side of his face. Her nipples brushed against his chest, the electric touch sending him to climax. Clammy hands grabbed a solid hold over her buttocks, releasing himself into ecstasy, shuddering in violent spasms before lying still.
Her breasts slipped into her purple and red bandeau bra the instant he released her, covering her immodesty from the waist up. She swiftly moved off of him, picking up her discarded clothing and purse, making a quick dash to the bathroom.
In the small but clean space she turned on the light, setting her objects on the vanity, looking at herself in the mirror. She waited for the upsurge of emotions to feed off of her; first she felt empty, then lonelier than ever, and finally furiously angry.
The matron of the family drove her to be like this. To seek those who desired to come for her reminiscent of a little princess while she worked her 'Daddy knows best' line as reinforcement. Time and time again Maisha questioned issues about guidance, love, and relationships. When the topic got too heavy or the mother grew unsure of her answer, she resorted to that infamous phrase. Now as an adult, Maisha knew it wasn't a logical reply then, and it didn't hold up in the present.
The matriarch took the patriarch's advice in eternal recitation, always producing some good reason for doing so. Maisha wondered if this provided the mother's way of trying to avoid final responsibility for her actions. Obviously so; her inability to handle her own problems trickled down to burden onto Maisha's shoulders.
This hindrance carried on a cycle she envisioned to break away from. Proving to the mother, and to herself, that she was more than a meek doormat and follow in the matron's footsteps she would not.
The first relationship she had certified her envisioning as false. Her lover made her feel insecure and inadequate to his glib, verbal cruelty. But, that stood in the mannerisms of her teachings.
She was told that a woman is supposed to cater to a man; to cook, clean, pamper his mind and body and to tend to his children. In return his appreciation would show through romance. Yet... something seemed wrong about this equation. Where did the man being an ungrateful, domineering, adulterous tyrant in response to those tedious efforts come in at?
If that dwelled in the prospect of love then why did the matron read large volumes of escapist, romantic literature to ignore his vindictive ways? Why did she appear inconspicuous and demure when out in public with him? Why did she not stand up to the patriarch when his bullying actions saddened her? Only someone agreeing to appease the oppressive dogmatics willed this lifestyle to continue.
Luckily Maisha held fast to her courage and strength, at sixteen, to leave her boyfriend before he took control of her soul. However, after this one life-experiencing meeting, subsequent to the things the matriarch said to her about courtships, after seeing the way the father treated the mother, this is what love is? Full of heartache and hurt because your significant other handled you as a commodity rather than a human? If so, then the romantically inept can hold on to these immoral values while she sought other, believable means of a relationship.
Withal, she wouldn't resent being the modern housewife, taking care of the home while the hubby left his mark in the workplace. As long as the husband treated her as his equal; to have a rational, loving and trusting relationship of each other's virtues and faults.
Why couldn't the matron look past those harmful acts of the patriarch and see herself deserving so much better? Before she found the chance to search for Prince Realistic, she had to keep chugging on in life. Or return to the setting she presently attended and make the most of it.
Blinking out her reverie she dug into her purse and pulled out a feminine toilette packet, utilizing the wet napkin to clean her lower extremities, yanking out the sticky female condom in reminded disgust. She finished dressing herself, the thigh-high purple, one-shouldered dress fitting tight over her form. Her hands flowed through her tresses, untwisting the barely sweaty locks from their entanglement.
A quick spritz of passion fruit and burnt orange citrus refreshed the original scent she carried. The woman looked in the mirror to nod at herself prior to closing the night. She wrapped the used supplies in toilet tissue and stuffed it in her purse, leaving the bathroom to find Mr. Crosgrove... still lying in the same position on the bed.
This was a mistake. She met him about a month ago sitting on a bar stool at Pheasantry Bar 'N' Grille. There, he went on and on about how his father was an antiques dealer and his lackluster childhood; discussing his worries about how he felt trapped in an unhappy relationship and how having children ruined his life. He expressed his boring job as a lab technician and his even more irritating co-workers.
Nearly two hours later she realized that Nathan wasn't a brooding and sensitive man, but a crashing bore. In spite of talking she skipped her sob story and headed straight to the point. She voiced her need to gain financial stability to not move back with those "adults" she called her parents. And like any sex-less sap who feigned interest for her reasons, he accepted her offer in eager haste. Though having empathy to her plight.
Maisha didn't want to think of herself as a tart. Sleeping with men because they didn't value their relationships or for her pleasure; not for one-night stands or to be a home wrecker. She did this strictly for survival. Making $9.25/hr. wasn't keeping her afloat in the finances department, and she supported her determination to make a living for herself separate from what the mother envisioned. And she insisted on achieving this lifestyle by any means necessary.
Perhaps by romanticizing her actions, she kept herself from resorting to self-inflicting means to escape the life she'd been forced to lead. And to refrain from labeling herself the "P" word because that's what her deeds spoke, regardless of the way she looked at it.
The arrangement they mutually agreed upon existed as a half-now-and-later scenario. First half of monetary sustenance fell into her hands before the physical "connection" and when the deal completed in full, she gained the rest of her payment.
The sooner he gathered himself to, the quicker she could abandon this scene in the cobwebs of forgotten stories. Treating this deplorable situation as an anonymous event enabled her to cope with the after effects, like... straying away from any mixed feelings the other party might develop.
"Can't go to sleep yet, cowboy." Maisha crooned the words in a firm voice, letting him know his end of the bargain needed to be upheld.
A few deep breaths exhaled from his person, opening hazel eyes to sparkle in lustful hunger in the sheen of moonlight. The bed in which he lied in almost swamped the lithe man, making his tanned skin appear pale in the black bedding.
Nathan rested as naked as the day he entered this world, exposed in full for her sight to gaze at, which wasn't that impressive to view. But beggars can't be choosers so he can go outside in his birthday suit for all she gave a damn.
In light of giving him another stern warning, that limp impersonation hardened the longer he looked at her, intending for round two to be well underway.
Might want to make an appointment with your right hand buddy!
She wanted to avoid this, only doing what she needed to do and then move on past this. Unknown as to whether he coupled with his significant other, but she would not replace her in that department even if he promised to pay all her bills.
Her hand lifted to the birthmarks on her neck, veering towards repulsion when his tongue sampled her there. An indescribable tingling rushed throughout her structure when he did so, slowly awakening her senses to tune into her surroundings. It reacted as if something shot into her body and dumped a day's worth of energy into her, invigorating her like she woke up from the best sleep in her life.
Yet... she can't feel this refreshed from being with this man. It never occurred before, so what purpose did it hold now? Nathan continued gazing at her, his lackluster length engorged to continue receiving her pleasuring gifts.
Maisha choked on an uncomfortable swallow.
"That was an interesting adventure-" she started, trying to let him down easy but eager to leave. "-but I gotta get going; early day tomorrow." When she saw his idle movement, she took it upon herself to make the point clear by slipping on her strappy black heels.
Shortly after, she heard the springs on the bed moving, hearing clothes rustle and mumbled sighs of disappointment. Feelings of attachment she wouldn't allow him to initiate, emotional complications overshadowed logical thought.
"Do you really need to go?" his forlorn tone stretched to sway her, hoping to continue their fun but she was beyond the point of entertaining. "I mean, we-we won't be bothered by anyone-" he came to her with $150 in his hands, basketball shorts sagging loose on his hips. "-or... or I could come to your place."
The nerve of this loser! "I know, but I have a busy day and I can't afford to be late." Maisha voiced her words in a sweet yet firm tone, taking the money after she put on her black, leather jacket.
"Well how-how e-early do you have to be where-"
"Six. In the morning." Maisha pocketed the bills in her purse, seeing the warning signs of an unsatisfied, needy man pushing to want more than what she offered. The agreement settled in full, and a new one will not be "verbally" written until much later, if at all.
"Well, I should get going."
In her mind she started to give him a hug or a kiss, in spite of wanting him to realize a sensitive relationship would not form out of this. Hell, she didn't know if they might ever meet again, not that she wanted to. But she didn't want any connected strings linking them together.
With a final nod and a sweet smile shadowing her tormented feelings, she headed out of his townhouse, intending on heading home and washing away the remnants of this meaningless transaction. Her brain urged her to sulk in a hot tub until she felt better about herself. Sometimes falling into a void took her judgment off of everything. And depending on what happened or what she went through, it helped.
"But hey, is there like... a number I could call you with?"
Aw, shit, here we go. "I do, but it's something not many people have."
"Why? Are you hiding from an ex or any stalkers?"
Yup, this was a mistake. Should've sweet-talked Mark a little more before ridding of him too.
"No." She clacked her heels across the walkway leading to the outside gate, wanting to tell Nathan to fuck off because it wasn't anything to concern himself with. After all, she didn't ask why he felt bitter towards his baby mama or his disgust with his children. He poured that information out on his own.
"I just have to know you really well to see you as a friend."
The only contacts in her phone contained the names of Halima Raymond, Mark McJensen, Pizza One, Matthew Greene, and her landlord, Derrick Grylls. Nathan's number rested on a piece of paper in her purse where it inclined to stay until she threw it away in the trash. First sign of someone pining for more intimacy she shut them off. A partnership she didn't want right now and definitely not with him.
"So what do I need to do to gain your number and be your friend?" They made it to the gate, exiting out the iron-casted door to the sidewalk where her truck parked some yards down the street. The leather hugged her torso, the frigid, cloudy temperature snapping the warmth away from her being.
Nathan may have severe frostbite when he went back in his home. Speaking of which, why wasn't he there already? Then again, she remembered that thought about him going outside naked and not caring...
"Hey, how 'bout I treat you to lunch tomorrow? We could meet up after you're done with your day. You sure you don't want me to call you?"
He jumped in front of her, shirtless and fervent to try anything to be with her. He hadn't a care about his responsibility to his family, and where his duties ended with them, it wasn't going to be picked up by her.
Dammit, can't he take the hint! "Um, I'll have to see," she maneuvered around him to continue on her route, looking behind once to throw him a fake wink, "I will be busy so―ooh it's cold!"
A harsh gust of wind blew at her, whipping against her legs with biting ferocity. She stopped until the chill lessened enough to walk again. The woman turned to tell him to head on inside... and choked on a breath.
Standing behind her Nathan stood covered in complete ice, his right arm outstretched to her, his eyeballs bulging in horror. Icicles hung from his body, little drops of snowflakes adorning the tiny crevices visible on his form.
She retreated two steps, eyes wide in fright; the man she just committed relations with represented the contour of a human ice sculpture. Oh, why he didn't go home! Her mind forced out the thought but her heart spoke in a different manner; one that said Mr. Crosgrove will never live to see the things he took for granted again.
A high-pitched, primal scream let out deep within the confines of her throat, hands covering her mouth after a light breeze tilted Nathan's statue backwards, breaking into a thousand pieces of small red chunks when it hit the ground.
The scene reminded her of that Terminator 2 movie when the bad cop fell into a geyser of liquid nitrogen and shattered when plowed by a bullet. Only Nathan wasn't pierced by the Terminator but by the monstrosity creeping out of the shadows.
Peeking through the cracks between the clouds the Lunar crescent high-lighted a fiendish creature to her left, large obsidian eyes glittering in ominous hatred. It crouched low to the ground, a pair of webbed hands and feet supporting its weight. Its spine protruded to stretch against its hide; clearly showing the spinal cord and able to count its vertebrae. Sharp, jagged teeth faded away into darkness; the hazy air seeming to veil the monster in its complete silhouette.
Slivers of moonlight revealed and shaded the beast coming towards her, stringy blue hair sticking out against cloud-white skin. Subtle the skin tone may be, it complemented the dark blues and gray hues of the night, blending in with the dimness until ready to expose itself.
Saliva pooled out the corner of its mouth, crystallizing into an icicle when it contacted the cement. Its claws formed a 'tinking' sound when it connected on the terrain, leaving small particles of ice in its wake.
Faster than her mind told her what to do, she turned and started sprinting in her heels, grabbing the keys out her purse to chirp the alarm. Halfway to her car she ran out into the middle of the street, hoping to see someone driving her way to help her. Somewhere along the throes of her panicked thinking, something sharp and frigid grabbed a hold of her left ankle. Weightlessness consumed her prior to rolling in hard tumbles on the ground.
Stabbing volts of spasms pierced her legs and arms, warning her physique to stay still until the throbs decreased but she chose not to listen. The fear fueling her insides kept her moving, in pitiful jerks, across the ground before she resumed her escape plan. A cold, tight grasp enclosed around her foot, scraping her patellas and limbs until it flipped her onto her back.
In full view of the monster she noticed large nostrils scrunching and twitching to inhale in strength, eyes briefly turning white before flashing to those soulless, raven-colored orbs. It snorted out icicles from its nose, capturing both of her hands as it got on top of her, thighs pressing into her stomach.
"Oh no... no, no, no!" Maisha let out blood-curdling screams, squirming onto her side to push against the force holding her captive. "HELP ME!" she shrieked the cries louder and louder, stamina growing weaker with the monster pressing its knees harder into her mid-section.
To drown out her pleas the beast screamed at her, echoes bouncing out like a goat being branded with a casting iron. With tight eyes closed and wet streams pooling out her tear ducts she sobbed, expecting those claws to shred into her flesh at any moment.
Broken exhales of fright escaped her mouth, shuddering shakily, feeling the beast's cool breath on her face. She squeezed into the paved road, bones groaning in protest from their already abused state.
The snarls it emitted pitched a high echo in her ears, drowning out any sounds her hearing authorized to sense. Alas she still picked up vibrations beneath her, nerves tuning in to the pulsing reverberations aside from the physical weight pushing on top of her.
Was the ground cracking underneath her? Did this monstrosity intend to take her back to its dwelling deep underground, or even way down there due to its Hellish nature? Or perhaps this guy escaped a mental ward; might explain his eccentric appearance.
She resumed her futile struggling, muscles aching since the thing almost evaporated her strength to the point of unconsciousness, rendering her to lie motionless after her little outburst of energy. The trembling gravel continued to shake her, growing in volume and intensity as her hearing returned to her.
Vaguely it sounded like a motor approaching, headed straight in her direction. Oh, she had to be saved, anyone with vision can witness that something was amiss right in the middle of the street.
"AAAHEEE!" The indigo-haired fiend inhumanely shrieked in agony from tiny little pellets piercing into its flesh, Maisha screaming after the whizzing projectiles scuttled too close to her face.
Screeching tires and missing lights belonging to a rumbling engine appeared, uncovering the nightfall blanketing the area in dark blue saturation. She no longer felt the heavy weight holding her captive, free to move her limbs away from that Hellish menace. Her frame moved too quick, absconds of pangs ebbing in her stilts, her busted kneecaps prevented her from mobility.
The ringing dissipated from within her ears, a voice calling out to her above the indescribable sound of the foe's warped cry. Her elbows lifted to support her upper mass, yelping out in discomfort a moment later because of her frost bitten hands. She shifted her attention to her palms that were harder than a block of ice, turquoise-tipped at the fingertips and swollen.
The beast must have somehow made her forget her physical pain; too engrossed with its frightening appearance to sense her injuries.
It felt like a thousand tiny needles pricked and prodded her palms, intensifying in sync with the plasma flowing into her iced fingertips. Her shoulders ached from the volatile tumble and their once imprisoned captivity, knowing that ugly bruises would show up to mar her skin.
Her heart pumped in furious pace to keep up with her panicked state, nearly imploding when a fresh batch of adrenaline sunk into her bloodstream; the result of the white-skinned fiend attempting another grab at her.
More bullets passed by her, accompanied by feet running up to help her. A hand grabbed her left arm and threw it over a broad shoulder, intending on lifting her. The thought relaxed her mind that a policeman arrived, but the pain she exerted when moved from her planked position gave way to the adrenaline weakening.
Before she could tell her savior his rescuing methods prevailed a welcomed but bad idea, he hoisted her to stand, Maisha shouting out in torment. Her legs collapsed; the straightening of her stems measuring like dead weight and the bending of her bloody knees snapping from suffering hurt. Her ribs grated against her protector, irritating the abrasions forming there. Her battered arms helped out none; her aching, rimed hands stinging in magnitude with the frost eating away any movement within them.
That monster had done a bang-up job of immobilizing her.
"Hey, are you all right?" The man half-held her as she sagged back to the ground, searing-hot aches gaining in strength. The cold tore through her skin. "Can you walk?" his voice sounded urgent, fingers dragging in light touches around points of injury, seeing how to grab her without hurting her too much.
There goes that familiarity again.
Maisha looked up at her rescuer, electric blue eyes staring down at her with needy concern. A patch of dark clouds parted to reveal luminescent light; the sheen shining on white hair to bathe it in a silver gloss. So familiar he seemed yet unknown to the place where she'd seen him from.
Just beyond him she saw a car with a metal grille, red paint boldly showing in the...
Hey... it's... that guy... he, he... Dan-Dan...
"Dan-Daniel?" Wasn't that it? Isn't his name Daniel; the man who rested some quarters short at the grocery store on Friday?
His eyebrows rose a little, replacing his surprised visage with a stern face. He scanned the area, eyes setting on the thing that originally pinned her. "Close enough," he muttered more to himself, stooping down to hook an arm under her knees and rib cage. "Sorry darling, but you gotta move."
In one swift motion he carried her in his arms, avoiding her groan-induced holler at the misery he caused by moving her without warning. He rushed her over to the driver's side of his car, gently dropping her in the driver's seat.
Blood splattered across the windshield, her protector shielding his arm from her attacker, closing the door with his free hand before rearing back and punching the fiend away from him. Her fists equaled to that of a block of ice, digits chilled from their regular intervals of movement.
Violent shudders wracked through her frame, hugging herself to insert warmth back into her body. She wanted to turn on the heater in his ride but hesitated; not knowing which button to push or if he even felt comfortable with people touching his stuff. Especially when she almost flavored his car in pepper spray earlier.
Maisha glanced upon the window, waves of cold water crept into her veins and froze them a moment later. From what she could see the two enigmas tore at each other, slugs from a firearm aiming and shooting at the sly-moving creature.
So he carried a weapon. She felt safe after that notion, but where did he come from? Did he happen to be in the neighborhood and heard her screams, rushing to the scene of action? And what gall did this "Daniel" have to just bravely attack this escaped mental patient? Yet she lived to be no fool.
Humans don't crawl around on all fours nor do they have black, sharpened fingernails. Humans are not genetically that white of a skin tone, with eyes as dark and endless as a bottomless pit. They don't turn people to ice on a whisper of a breath and they don't talk with the voice of an animal.
What else commanded this abomination of a specimen to be, her mind pondered as the chill appeared to worsen, hunching over to retain warmth. Words from her customer flooded back to her memory; of how he dealt with fiends of the 'unholy' sort and of his prevention of murdered women.
But there was no such thing as supernatural occurrences and even if there came close to one, it always suggested a rigged or manipulated segment for others to believe. That was what the elders said, that's what her doctors said, and that's what the general populace held true... according to their judgments, or lack thereof.
In her experience she imagined she saw demonic faces and ghostly apparitions before her. She assumed that they tried talking to her in the darkness of her room. She fancied the figures of desolate souls trying to reach out to her, in a desperate plea to escape from whatever torment they underwent.
Unfortunately for Maisha, her imagination was an actual reality.
Images of the damned appeared in front of her, ingrained forever into her mind as a youth. And now it seemed that certain hauntings of a long forgotten past returned to show her she cannot run from her memories, no matter how hard she wishes it away or ignores it with mind-altering pills. If she made and effort to manipulate her thoughts towards denial then physical evidence, that she could not ignore, turned up in her presence.
She harkened to yell to her rescuer to retreat, to cut the brave act and to call for backup, if he was an officer. He didn't have to get himself killed for her, it wasn't worth it. One blow from the monster's breath and his existence would stop. She wanted nothing to happen to him, not after the death Nathan just endured.
Nathan, I'm so sorry.
Her heart curled in on itself, sorrow filling up the vascular organ, her suitor met his end at the hands of a monster pursuing her. How was this going to be explained to the police; to his family? Bile rose up in her throat, threatening to splatter over her legs at the mere mention of what played out earlier.
She knew that tough times were ahead, recollections of dark secrets wanting to be forgotten would resurface; adamant to reinforce her beliefs of what she wanted to stay false and coming into light as the truth. She had to relocate from the town she lived previously to will away the bad reminders left marred into her soul.
Maisha reasoned with herself that by starting life anew insisted on erasing her past, yet the damned part of it followed her as a constant reminder of who she is and what she came from. A life reeking from misery and loneliness.
Oh Masozi, why did you leave me in such a desperate time...

A/N: And the secrets just keep tumbling out on you my poor Maisha. Aw, your life will sort out...so much later in the story. :0
A quick shout out to my beta for looking over some things for me since my brain wants to focus on my cold rather than my thoughts.
P.S. In case you want to know what the “P” word is, it means prostitute 0_0
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The Chosen One Unknown