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Eighth Circle	By : Rodders Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 8022 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry or any of these characters, and make no money from this work.

Chapter List
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Lady awoke, and found herself blind.
Though not truly. She could feel her eyes, stirring in their sockets. She tried to move, but she was bound. Her hands and feet had been tied together with something that must have been rope, but felt nothing like it. It was coarse and leathery, like snakeskin, and it seemed to be…moving? It was probably just her imagination, but it unsettled her all the same. Her hearing was uninhibited, however, and as far as she could tell she was alone. That crazy bitch from the shop was nowhere to be found. Lucky for her, Lady thought. If she ever saw that woman again…
A strange ringing sound then began to emanate from the other side of the room, like someone had opened a door made of windchimes. She could not see, but she knew the woman was in there with her.
“Let me go,” Lady said, simply, without a hint of fear in her voice. She was terrified, of course, but she decided it was best that her captor did not know that.
For a moment there was silence, and then came the reply “Why on earth would I do that?” She felt a finger trace along the outline of her jaw, and she shook her head violently, eliciting a laugh from her captor. “You gain nothing from resistance, child. It would be best if you just give yourself up to me.”
“Go to Hell!” Lady growled. This earned another laugh. “I’m glad you think this is so funny, because when I get out of here I’m going to lodge my boot so far up your-” a shrill, piercing scream cut her off, and it was not until she felt blood gout of the wounds on her back that she realized the scream was her own.
“I like some degree of playfulness in my pets, darling,” as her captor spoke these words, Lady felt the gashes sew themselves up and the blood evaporate. It was not an unpleasant sensation; it was like somebody rubbing at her with a giant eraser. Still, with what it represented, Lady could not help but squirm. “But I will not tolerate genuine insolence. Please me, and you have nothing to fear.”
Lady hesitated for a moment. This woman is definitely not fucking around, she thought. She will very probably kill me if I don’t…’please’ her. What exactly that word entailed Lady did not know, but she had a few thoroughly unpleasant ideas. Any escape plan that involved her being bound and blindfolded would likely not be a successful one, so for now, Lady decided to pursue the only avenue available to her.
She smirked, and said “You know what? Okay. It’s not really like I have a choice, but I’ll do what you want.” At least until I find away to put a bullet between your eyes.
A moment of silence, and then…giddy laughter? Something that sounded vaguely like clapping. This was certainly a side of her captor that she hadn’t seen before. A whip was cracked or fingers were snapped or something that sounded very like it, and Lady found she had regained the use of her limbs. Using her hands to steady herself, she staggered to her feet and peeled off her blindfold and for the first time in a while, Lady saw.
There was not much to see. The room she was in consisted of little more than four dark, rusty metal walls, some sort of trough, shackles, and a doorway, which was guarded by two astoundingly tall women in purple robes, armed with spears. Lady did not know how to use a spear, but she had a rocket launcher with a ridiculously oversized bayonet. She assumed the principle was essentially the same. And, for the second time, she saw the woman who she had just pledged her loyalty to. She was taller even than before, still barefoot, and her hair now trailed behind her on the floor. Her skin had shed all pretense of normality, and was now a pale, sickly blue. The feathery black dress remained, but it had lost its top, and hair served as the only barrier between her breasts and Lady’s eyes. Only, now it seemed less like a feathery black dress and more like a writhing mass of purple-tinged shadows. She was a demon. Wonderful. What Lady found most unusual was her host’s changed demeanor. Though she did not know her especially well, all this laughing and smiling seemed dreadfully out of character.
“My name is Nevan,” the demon told her. “Over the course of the next few days, you and I are going to get to know each other very well.”
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Eighth Circle