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Darkened Whispers	By : Britt_601 Category: +A through F > Devil May Cry Views: 3837 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the DMC series nor is any money being made off of this.

Chapter List
- 1-Trial
- 2-Restraint
- 3-Cycle
- 4-Greed
- 5-Mirage
- 4
- 5
Mirage
Pranks are comical. Hearty. Feel-good. Laughing at someone else's misfortune held the merit to humor one down to their bones. From small children walking alone to school to twenty-somethings scared to death because a prankster in a clown suit ran after them with a chainsaw, it created an exhilarating rush like no other. For a bonus, taking away one's possessions after the joke rattled their nerves brought about plentiful benefits... to wreak havoc on others.
Elizabeth Abbot and a few friends took part in these endeavors, enjoying the spoils from those they gained their goods from. They kept the incidents isolated and only picked on those they knew couldn't defend themselves, pre-selecting a target and mapping out their daily routines to ensure the best rate of success.
As luck would go, someone piqued their interests enough to trail after him down to the minute detail.
Elizabeth and her troupe had gathered at an old, abandoned warehouse by the docks once used for boat parts, and in this location their target presented to them their greatest challenge because of his presence and aura.
One breezy, Saturday night the group met in their secret hideout, tuning into their nightly main event for the past week to watch this enigmatic dark man take on these hideous, skeletal creatures; ripping their legs off with his large hands, shooting off their arms with specialized handguns. Dancing around them with his pistols ablaze brought forth a surreal show, wishing they could be apart of the action.
To scratch the desire to have those guns.
They mapped out his usual haunts for a week. Lissy's Pastries drew him to its location in the morning, the chocolate chip cinnamon rolls a favorite to consume; on some days picking out moorkops or a strawberry strudel. He strolled down seedy boulevards in the afternoon, mingling alongside those who thought they had all the answers to life, making their own rules to follow. When nightfall blanketed the city he inhabited dance clubs, leaving with some random plaything rubbing on his crotch.
He never tired of this daily routine, presenting itself as the perfect opportunity to strike when a whore occupied his attention.
Elizabeth volunteered to get the guns. 'Sticky Fingers' became her nickname since the age of eight, still living up to the title six years later.
The night arrived. Cigarette smoke and exhaust fumes tainted the air from patrons leaving in cars with their human sex toys. Heavy rock music blared outside the club after he exited the establishment, a curvaceous Belizean woman occupying his arm, whispering sweet nothings in his ear.
She followed about thirty feet behind them, pretending to be on a cell phone. A gray and black long-sleeved shirt, dark blue skinny jeans and stylish combat boots did well to blend in to the darkening avenues, the mayor too busy living on taxpayer's riches to update the streets.
The woman led his hand underneath her teal tulip skirt, his eager hands kneading her derriere. They walked some distance after that where buildings missed any sense of aesthetic beauty, the general populace thinning out.
The woman dragged him into a dim back street, a perky cinnamon-hued breast pulled out of the zip up crop top she wore. Elizabeth walked on ahead past the alley as if she saw nothing, sending a text message to Dexter then setting the volume to 'silent.' In the next side-street, she sprinted down the piss-laden and garbage-stench lane, knowing which shadows to stick to in order to sneak on her target.
Rounding the “U” shape of the darkened aisle she ducked behind a dumpster bin, peeking from its covering to spot the woman squatting down, her head moving in purposefu,l swaying movements. The temporary lovers satiated their desires near the end of the street closer to where she waited. In the then-reflective lights the moon radiated, Elizabeth recognized two gleaming objects resting on top of lopsided crates, away from their protective holsters the man had somewhere on him.
A loud groan tore from his throat, the woman using both hands to stimulate his member, emitting wet 'plop' sound to her sloppy ministrations. Muscular thighs supported his pants from sliding to his ankles. Tawny skin stretched over chiseled abs, seeing the cut planes that delved as his imposing form. Losing himself in his own world his muscles relaxed, head rearing back and tilting to the left. Her varied tempo made it difficult for him to keep up with her mouth, too focused on the pleasure she supplied him with.
Pleasure he'd have to submit to; too distracted to keep an eye on his guns.
She shook her head, her bob-styled, butter-toned locks twirling around her face. Elizabeth needed to remember her task, caught up in the tantalizing scene, shoving the hot and heavy touches away. She'll get hers from her boyfriend later.
Pulling out a knitted cap from her thin black jacket she willed her body to move from the rotting garbage, sticking to the shadows, mindful of the oil-slicked stains and loose gravel, using the darkened crevices to inch closer to the prize.
His hands rose to palm his eyes, thrusting his hips forward to sink himself down her throat. From the little Elizabeth saw he had a sizeable length, the woman having trouble taking it all in, but kept her services going.
From her new position the guns sat in front of her, sinking behind the closest garbage bin to wait for the opportune moment. A strong gust of wind blew westward, swinging the acrid aromas of rotting waste, piss and green apple by her. The air carried the dark man's voice with it, falling into the throes of wanton lust, his growls communicating to the world of his satisfaction.
Hands covered in black gloves reached up, ghosting close to the crates until she secured one in her hand. With a sudden jerk he whipped his head to the right, Elizabeth stilling her actions, holding her breath to wait on his next move.
The ground held the weight of his abuse, a black boot stomping the asphalt when her mouth left his cock and suckled his scrotum, tugging his shaft all the while. When his head rotated to the left again she quickly grasped the twin pistol, accidentally hitting the crate's edge with the butt of the gun.
A hard jolt ran through her, her brain sending mixed messages all at once: screaming at her to run, demanding her to stay still, telling her to shoot them. Yes, she should shoot at them, cementing herself as a dangerous, becoming street lord, wearing the reputation belonging to someone who would do anything to get what she wanted. They are standing right there; it stood to take no effort on her part...
With slow exertion she moved away, her front facing them to see their movements; the couple oblivious to or ignoring the sound. Deep, silent inhales filled her person, caught between looking behind her and the lovers, watching herself and her surrounding environment. Skilled luck sided with her making it out of the black street, clutching the guns to her chest. Once she reached the main road she gathered strength in her legs, pushing them forward with speed, adrenaline running from her chest to her limbs.
About a mile from the alley her meeting place blended into the shadows of the night, busted windows and weeds adding to its abandoned splendor. Grey-green eyes looked around in caution, scanning to see if anything followed her before entering through a passage guarded by white wildflowers.
Her slender build moved with swift ease down rickety stairs, hearing dust particles crunch beneath her boots. A single, low-hanging lamp swung in a long hallway, the dim yellow bulb creating extended shadows throughout the hall's length. Muffled laughter erupted behind a beaten-down green door, a white skull motif painted on as their designated meeting spot.
Elizabeth opened the door to regard her friends sitting in red bean-bag chairs. Marlon, Sidney, Jason and Dexter gazed upon her with lazy eyes, bodies lax and open with the help of a strong herbal essence hovering thick in the air.
Dexter, their leader, gathered his lethargic muscles together and stood, his 6'2 stature towering over her 5'4 frame, leaning over to kiss her hard on her lips. Her older brother and Dexter had been friends since the third grade, but their differences in goals created a wedge between them; Chris going to college and Dexter keeping his partying ways alive. Elizabeth reigned as his second-in-command to lessen that wedge, backing up his decisions.
“You got something for me?” his light, raspy voice crooned, hands coming to wrap around her waist. “I'd have to give you a spanking if you didn't.”
“That depends,” Elizabeth shot back, craning her neck upwards to stare into his amber eyes. “Have you been good today?”
“Always and forever,” he smiled, his cream skin and short blond curls appearing much darker in the barely-lit room.
“Well, in that case,” she stepped away from him, holding the two guns out in front of her, a smile splitting her face with an elated sensation filling her insides.
A grin mimicking hers planted itself on his face, grabbing the pistols, gesturing with his head for her to follow. They stepped into another room at the end of the hall, once used as a private office for the supervisor, turning on a standalone lamp. He placed the guns on a gray, metal-chipped desk, taking a moment to appreciate their beautiful design.
“How'd you get them?”
Elizabeth leaned against the door frame, proud of her feat. “That guy was getting blown off by some skank. He set them down on a crate and I snuck in to swipe them.”
“Sweet,” he nodded in appreciation, his lanky form giving his full attention to the guns.
Two M19's with heavy customization commanded his respect, one black and the other silver with wooden handgrips. Neatly inscribed on the side of each gun contained the words 'Dark and Light', quite fitting given the shade of the pistols. One of the handgrips rested a picture if a pale woman in elegant Victorian attire, one sporting white-blonde hair under a hat and the other mimicking her twin, though her locks donned a glossy-raven hue. However, their eyes told of an unnatural aura lying within them, a window inside their hateful soul with those red irises staring back at him.
To be honest, he shared dark sentiments with the women in his own right.
His little band of pranksters and thieves preyed upon others, humored and thrilled to take from those who flaunted their good gains. A void filled his insides with a warming glow after each successful attempt, driving out the hate forced onto him by society who waved their wealth around with oblivious ease. Bratty, upper-crust teens and adults on their new gadgets and wearing sporty clothes suited his purposes better, letting the victims see how it felt to not have when they lost their treasured valuables.
The enigmatic gunslinger fit into the category too, coming in the abandoned warehouse to show off his cocky gun skills to creatures falling quick to bullets. It amazed Dexter how the dark man shot his way through the monsters of the night, unable to waver from his focused drive to eliminate them. In all, the gun-toting madman seemed... monotonous in his routine. From his daily errands to his 'finisher' at night, he had no particular purpose other than to repeat what he did today tomorrow. What kind of life is that to lead, stuck in a cycle of servitude to a standard habit?
“He didn't follow you here, did he?” Dexter picked the guns up, copying the physical stances he watched the gunslinger do.
“Nope. Getting head from that slut occupied his attention.”
“Good,” Dexter mumbled, engrossed with the heavy feel of them in his hands, glancing down to look at his waist. “Oh shit, it's almost time for those things to come.”
Elizabeth's face pulled inwards, eyebrows narrowing when his words hit her. “You're not really thinking to-”
“Of course I'm going to. Those things are so easy to kill,” he chuckled, Elizabeth seeing a dangerous gleam sparkle in his eyes.
“Well... for him because he's always in here fighting them,” she started slow, knowing how temperamental Dexter could be when someone offered opposition towards him, of any sort.
“And what's that's supposed to mean? Because I'm not him means I can't do the same things?” his voice rose, anger punctuating his sentiments.
“I didn't say that! I just don't want you hurt. Those freaks are scary.”
“Nothing will happen,” he moved past her out the door, heading to the main lobby area where workers once assembled the decks to the ships. “They turn to sand as soon as you shoot them.”
Around fifty of these fiends appeared every night, carrying these ominous scythes in which they never had the chance to swing around; their wretched lives ended before they attempted to move thanks to that man.
“What if you run out of bullets?” she followed, hoping she could deter him from his goal. “We've never seen him reload.”
“There's more guns in the storage space in the other office downstairs. We can use those if they stop working.”
Her pace slowed, hearing his heavy-footed gait echoing up the stairs to the main office area, almost ready to sprint to try out these new toys before he stopped, not sensing her footsteps behind him.
“What are you doing? Come on, hurry.”
“I-I didn't want t-to fight those things,” she said above a whisper, hugging herself to stop the cold shivers running through her.
“Oh come on Beth, it's not like you're fighting them, I am. You're going to hand me some guns if these run out of bullets, now hurry.”
Timid fingers reached the railing, her brain unwilling to command her muscles to move, searching for an excuse to be somewhere out of harm's way instead of near the action.
Those freaks are haunting to be around, ghoulish faces staring at nothing with their empty eyes, emitting hollow groans full of despair and death.
“Hurry!” he bellowed, seeing her jump at his strained voice, watching her come up the stairs with shaking muscles. “We've been talking about fighting these things for two days, and now you want to chicken out?”
“Jason and Sidney wanted to fight them with you, I offered to get the guns.”
“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, going on ahead through the door to the main area.
Echoes clamored in the distance somewhere behind her, Elizabeth letting out a squeal when she saw two dark figures coming up the stairs, calming her jostled nerves upon recognizing the stocky outline of Sidney and Jason's waifish frame.
“Did it start yet? Is he already fighting them?” Sidney's gruff voice said when he reached her, a wild hunger blazing in his azure blue eyes, half-jogging past her to catch up to their leader.
“No, he just went through the door,” she muttered, finding herself in Jason's grip, following behind him after he pulled her through the door.
The moon's rays shone in through the dirtied and cracked windows, leaving half the warehouse covered in a thick layer of darkness. Old ship decks lay coated with dirt, never to see the outside world, discovering its use as a graveyard for those sickly-looking monsters―the demons.
Sidney opened the door downstairs, rummaging through the armory they had stolen from various patrons walking the night. He chuckled when he exited the room, having found a toy to his liking. “Hey Dex, think this revolver will do the trick?” His gruff tone echoed, bouncing off the walls to travel through the warehouse.
“Maybe, but it's so small, like it's meant for a girl,” Jason teased, going into the room to find a firearm to use against these things.
“It's all about the power, shit-head,” Sidney shot back, eyes looking about to see if any of those mutants showed themselves, “I don't need some big gun with puny firepower.”
“Oh? Well nothing can be better than this.”
Jason strolled out the room carrying a police-issued shotgun, stealing it out of an unattended cop car while the officer investigated a report on a shooting (thanks to the dark man). Yet when he checked out the warehouse nothing was there, same goes for his gun when he returned to his vehicle.
“Do you even know how to use that, Jason?” Dexter mentioned, walking along the moon-lit windows, ears alert to hear the distinct gravel-sounding wail.
“Sure, you just point and shoot. Seen it lots of times in the movies.”
Dexter's languid eyes rolled upwards to the top of the steps. “Why aren't you down here?”
His raspy voice called out to Elizabeth, his brown eyes morphing into black little pools of concealed annoyance aided by the shadows.
Her eyes slid over to the decks, remembering how the monsters dissolved on the spot from the gunslinger's showcase. She had shot nothing before, putting on a show to make her boyfriend believe she took shooting lessons from her father; trying to impress him with a made-up resume other than her sticky fingers routine.
From her position on the upstairs walkway she stayed out of harm's way, plus she had a better vantage point to see the creatures blending with the darkness.
“I'll come down with Marlon,” she said, doing a poor job in keeping the tremor out of her voice, “Where is he?”
“Said he had to take a piss,” Sidney grumbled with absent focus, “probably took a dump too.”
Something screeched a deafening howl on the main floor, everyone startled to the noise, Dexter moving closer to his companions. Enlarged gray-green eyes scanned the area, searching for the skeletal creatures and their large scythes.
“D... Dext-”
“Hurry and go see what's taking Marlon so long and get back here!”
Her legs had a mind of their own when a broken, haunting groan filled the warehouse, her heart thudding with dread because those monsters made it in here. When the dark man fought them they appeared in a bale of dust, but she saw nothing of the sort this time.
“Marlon,” she shouted the name going down the stairs, trying to keep a leveled head before panic consumed her thoughts. “Marlon, they're here! We need you to he-”
Elizabeth skidded along the hallway until her balance gave way, falling to the ground with a slick mass staining her clothes. When she gained her bearings her breath left her, staring down at small hands painted a deep crimson. The striped shirt she wore soaked up the thick liquid, a lime-copper smell infiltrating her nostrils.
“Marlon?” A timid voice called out, uncontrollable shaking keeping her from moving, her heart pounding hard inside its rib cage.
With the low-hanging lamp swinging the light extended her shadow, growing in length until it spanned the full hallway, Elizabeth unable to turn her eyes away. A deep, echoing growl bounced off the walls in the hall, as if the shadows itself came closer to her.
Wait... the light isn't making my shadow longer!
Tendrils in the shape of veins crawled along the walls until clawed fingers morphed on either side reaching for her, startling her to run back towards the others. Her feet tripped over each other on the stairs, scrambling on her hands and knees the rest of the way, leaving bloodied hand prints on the steps.
“Dexter!” she burst through the door, breath heavy and short looking over the railing. A choking sound caught in her throat, seeing glistening body parts hacked into thick chunks, their guns covered in their own blood. An eerie silence settled inside the building, leaving her alone save for the company of her broken exhales. An internal hole opened itself above her heart, expanding downwards to seep throughout her physique.
Those fucking idiots. They couldn't fend for themselves, unable to fire any of their firearms; she heard no bullets ring out. Whatever these demons had done left her alone―without friends, without a life, without her lover; left to her own devices to care for herself. Returning to those selfish bastards she cared less to call parents wasn't an option, refusing to accept her love for Dexter; leaving their house away from their hateful judgments.
“You know, taking possessions not belonging to you for shits and giggles will come back and bite you in the ass.”
Elizabeth froze, holding the scream threatening to let out of her chest. Sitting on the railing overlooking the main office area the dark gunslinger spoke, his black gun resting in his left hand.
Jean-clad legs backed up slowly, keeping her eyes glued on him, unable to move or speak on instinct.
“I knew all of you watched me take out those demons, and you probably should have continued to do so,” he drawled, absently looking over his pistol.
“You... you killed them,” a broken sob left her, hands clenching to keep her frightened nerves under control.
“No I didn't. See, if you brats just stood up here and gawked like the dumb little shits you are, you would've witnessed the quarry changing.”
“I don't... what?” Little by little her feet shuffled back towards the stairs, wanting to leave but she couldn't, knowing he would shoot her if he so inclined, especially after stealing his weapons. “What do you mean by changed?”
Long legs swung over the railing, leaning his weight to the right leg, both guns in his hands. “Well, look behind you.”
A heavy line of dread sprawled down her spine, chilling her straight to the bones, nearly ready to give in to her pounding heart. Her skin prickled when a cold breeze billowed behind her, unable to turn to see what appeared to her back. In her peripheral vision a silver blade came at her from an arc, her gut telling her to run forward.
Something sharp ripped through the back of her jacket, sending her to the floor on her hands and knees to crawl to safety. Glowing red eyes stared at her, a skeletal frame draped in a long white shawl held a menacing scythe. Frantic eyeballs no longer saw the gunslinger, thinking he must have hopped over the railing.
Adrenaline spiked in her body, running with all her might to get away from the warehouse. The surrounding air smelled thick with an ashy, gasoline odor when she reached the outside, pulling out her cell phone with nervous fingers.
Blackness consumed her vision without warning, a towering wall suddenly appeared before her, coupled with gleaming fangs peeking in through a crude smile.
“Ah, ah, ah. That's not fair. You took something from me, so I get to have my turn.”
A clawed hand formed out of a shadow reached out and snatched her cell phone, leaving thin, long scars on her pale wrist.
“You'd better hurry doll, that demon isn't done playing cat and mouse with you,” the dark voice taunted, the wall that scratched her soon evaporating into nothingness.
On cue a hard swipe landed on her left shoulder, a thin line of blood leaking through the cut fabric, stinging like nothing else she's felt before. The white-cloaked demon lightly squatted, shuffling its stance, an unnatural and distorted groan piercing the night.
Her feet carried her to the main street, seeing no one who could help her, panting from weakened exertion and the panic threatening to consume her. Where did that wall come from, hiding freakish arms able to snatch her cell phone away, leaving a burning scar in its wake? Something like that isn't possible, a practice belonging in someone's nightmares or in a horror film.
No, this is no dream. Demons visited the warehouse every night, exposing her to the supernatural only thought to exist to eccentric people and conspiracy theorists. Dexter and the others exclaimed their fascination when this revelation came into their light, wanting to witness firsthand how the damned existence fared. In their quest, they found out this information with their lives―and death hadn't finished collecting payment for knowing this truth.
Knots formed in her stomach, running in the street, hoping someone could see her. Short on breath, she gathered her vocal cords, releasing a shrill cry into the night. Hardly anyone ventured into this deserted part of the harbor; run-down apartment buildings, two surviving factories and a decent nightclub the only things drawing people near.
Black, laced up combat boots costing more than her entire outfit skidded along the gravelly pavement, the same-shadow wall appearing before her, blocking her direction.
The two warehouses stood in good condition sitting a few yards from the abandoned structure. Workers had left for home at five o' clock daily, leaving her without no one to notice her distress. Civilization lingered at the nightclub, except she would have to run about a mile and a half back to reach it.
Quickly turning around she sprinted down another street, gasping in fright when the white-cloaked demon appeared right by her, passing the freak without a thought. Frightened cries howled into the night, searching for any living thing to come to her aid.
She bumped into something hard and cold, assuming someone came to save her. Gray-green eyes rolled upwards to express her gratitude when her blood froze, staring into the dark man's face. Firm hands grabbed her shoulders and turned her around, keeping her in place, letting her see the scythe-wielding creature teleport closer to them.
“It's amazing what you mere humans can accomplish when you stand up to your fears-”
What the hell? Isn't he a human? “I never wanted to fight them!” she wailed, unable to twist her way out of his grip, her body shaking in potent fear upon seeing the demon walk closer to her.
“Oh, but you did,” he wrapped both arms around her shoulders in the impression to give her a comforting hug. “You're the one who took my guns, my dear girl. The moment your DNA touched my stuff, you become part of the problem.”
A strong gust flew by her, bringing the sickly-sweet, decaying scent from the approaching demon. It stopped to bend its knees, extending its neck to release a guttural growl into the air, vanishing away from her sight.
Her throat expelled a powerful scream, knowing it would come to claim her, to cut her into pieces like it did her friends.
Cold cement smacked her hard on her face, unable to recover from the dizzying haze. Blood pooled into her mouth, a thin open line inside her cheek filled her tongue with a coppery taste, spitting out the build up. The cloaked demon brought its scythe in continual arcs on the gunslinger with him leaning back or tilting his head to narrowly avoid the blade.
Seeing the distraction she stood up on weak legs, holding her bleeding arm while half-shuffling, half-running to the end of the avenue where a small bridge led to the docks. Perhaps there she can hide among all the boats situated in a cramped garage, hoping the demon will forget about her.
The gunslinger hadn't pulled out his pistols yet, sparing a glance over her shoulder, viewing him dodge with skilled maneuvers. Should he pull the trigger the fiend will dissolve into nothing but scattered dust, blown adrift in the steady wind blowing. Obviously he's toying with the monster, playing with it as some cheap form of entertainment; amusing himself with how easy the sport came to him.
Elizabeth stopped at the bridge, well-worn yet sturdy from the heavy freights towing in ship parts and loaded boats. Whom ever built this thing forwent a railing, having large rocks acting as guardrails. Beyond the overpass the road curved before the first garage appeared, knowing she'll have to break a window with a pebble to get inside.
Rushing water flowed underneath its concrete footing, drowning out the creature's noises, trying her best to ignore the stinging pain blazing in her shoulder.
You're almost there. Go faster! Leave this place!
An acid, wet decay smell hit her nostrils full force when the demon appeared in front of her, unable to stop herself from colliding into the fiend.
Her mind couldn't decide on an action, letting her body respond as it wished. Booted feet called to back away, legs pushed to side-step it, hands wanted to shove it from her. Together, the movements jerked her frame to the right, falling headfirst towards the side of the bridge, smashing her temple hard into the boulder.
Dark looked on from the start of the bridge, placing his fingertips on his hips. The demon hadn't quelled itself of her scent, thin and rotten skeletal fingers gripped her hair, pulling her blood-covered profile towards its rotting face. Dark recovered the tech-savvy cell phone, crushing it in his bare hand before tossing it into the rushing water.
Seeing enough of the pathetic display he withdrew his ebony gun and fired, watching the bullet plow through the demon's skull, disintegrating into sand. Her physique slumped momentarily on a rock before it slid off, leaving a dark stain upon the large stone, falling into the river with a loud splash.
“Silly little girl,” the shadow demon mumbled, holstering his weapons, breathing in the salty, smog-like air. “You thought stealing from others was the ultimate gag reel among you and your friends, but the joke fell on you. Your life got stolen away, but I saw none of you laughing.”
Several demons in tattered clothing encircled him, shaking and twitching their bodies upon smelling fresh blood in their vicinity. A small blot of red spotted his palm from where he held her, absently licking away the last remnants of the little thief before withdrawing both of his pistols.
“See there, now I don't have an audience to cheer me on from the shadows anymore.”
“The citizens of Bricksburg are in an upheaval tonight after an officer shot an unarmed teenager-”
Click.
“-today marks the seventh victim sexually assaulted by Senator Davis-”
Click.
“-saw everythin' wit my two eyes, dem hoodlums broke into my shed an' stole my tools! One of dem looked like a queer-o-sexual with dem girly pants-”
Click.
“-going to win this competition even if it kills me. If I go home without my breast implants, I will be pissed!”
Click.
“-three students armed with homemade grenades, assault rifles and shotguns murdered twenty-six students and eleven faculty staff this morning. Police said the standoff lasted four hours-”
Click.
“The socialite claims his now ex-girlfriend, Miranda Foxx, leaked the sex tape as revenge for sleeping with gay adult film star Lee Hung-”
Click.
Dark sat on the aged, burgundy leather couch, flicking through stations on the TV portraying a chaotic view of today's world. Dante sat at his desk with a deep scowl on his face, looking over the expenses gained on a job. It required him to dispatch a nest of large demonic crows ravenous to peck away at human flesh. With their high nesting grounds, chunks of the building collapsed with his trigger-happy tendencies, leaving him with a collapsing paycheck.
He hadn't moved in over twenty minutes, ignoring everything around him except that paper. Dark purposely turned up the volume whenever a fatal crime came on, watching Dante for any facial twitches or his muscles tensing.
He remained oblivious.
“So many families are torn apart because of entitlement and superiority issues from those of a higher authority. Justice is a foolish concept only to serve those with cash lining their pockets, wouldn't you agree?”
Dante bothered with no response.
“Humans are so eager to tear down each other over petty ignorance. Too many fear change, resorting to extreme measures to maintain the status quo. How irksome.”
Dante continued unperturbed, though Dark heard the pen marks scratch harder onto the paper.
“No wonder it's easy for demons to divide and conquer. There's so much disharmony among humans it becomes easy pickings for them.”
That got his attention.
He stopped his scribbles, pointedly staring at the pessimistic shadow. “The mission is done. I don't need you anymore.”
“Was it something I said,” Dark drawled, flicking through the stations once more.
“You can stop with the sly comments. Either zip it with your commentary or get back into the basement.”
“Are we to just die of boredom then?” the shadow demon griped, flipping through the channel until he stopped on a news story, his face settling into a blank canvas.
“Police have ended their search for Elizabeth Abbot after police found her body in the Capulet River. Authorities said they discovered her a little after five this morning. According to spectators many deep scratches marred her upper arms and back, leading some to believe that an animal had attacked her. Police-”
Crimson irises tuned out the rest of the report, watching Dante out his peripheral vision grip the pen so tight it remained a wonder it didn't break. His eyes gave a hard focus to nothing at all, frozen in his movements listening in to the broadcast.
“Turn that off,” he muttered, voice laced with strain.
Dark lifted an eyebrow in question, noting the slayer's lax demeanor stiffen, tapping his foot in a nervous rhythm.
“What for?” Dark scrunched his face, seeing no reason to kill the switch. Dante didn't bother to say anything else on the other broadcasts. “I need to-”
BANG!
A bullet pierced the TV, exiting from the front screen to rest inside the couch's headrest. A tense look crossed the hybrid's face, chewing the inside of his bottom lip, unnerved after the news report came on. Without another word he stood with Ebony still in his hand, heavy and deliberate steps going into the garage, wide eyes and a solemn profile punctuating his sentiments.
The shadow demon eyed him until he left, a broad smile spreading over the lower half of his face, chuckling to himself.
He remembered Elizabeth Abbot, a young and defiant teenager who thought it a clever and comical idea to run up on him two nights ago, stealing his version of Dante's Ebony and Ivory handguns and running off with them in the midst of one of the best blow jobs he ever had.
With Dark damn near bored with his routine with Dante using him for crap missions he stretched his legs, playing a game of cat and mouse. Regardless of the shadow feline playing with his food, he hadn't anticipated on the mouse tripping over her feet and clunking her head, then falling into the river and presumably drowning.
Oh well.
Yet he had humored himself with the frantic decisions she chose, his enjoyment rising from the hunt and he thought to share it with the half-breed―by making him watch the episode inside his dream.
Dark had returned to merge with Dante's shadow, controlling the red hunter's sleep-induced actions by switching their places, making the mongrel think he chased the girl; it proved a better experience that way.
Judging his attitude, Dante seemed mortified by the news report, having a potent dislike towards the event, yet Dark couldn't figure out why.
Day in and day out murders populated the news station, filling hearts with dread and sorrow, and maybe the human interest story to lessen their grief with Dante caring less to bat an eye. When a piece correlating to a demonic attack popped up, then he's all ears.
Okay, so Dark assumed everything before her death should have humored the half-breed with her skittering about like a flailing idiot―hell he even included the part with the amazing head that chick gave―but he seemed troubled.
Double oh well.
That's on him if he thinks he killed her. Since he neglects his damned nature he should chalk it up to nothing but an odd coincidence; maybe recall seeing or hearing her name somewhere a few days back and super-imposing her name into his dreams.
If not, he can always enjoy the hybrid stressing over his presumed involvement in the matter.
A/N: How ...telling it was of Dark to let Dante think he was the one who messed with that girl. I don't think Dante's going to be feeling all that great for the next couple of days. 0_0
I'm going to let you guys figure out which demon in the series it was that wanted to show Lizzy its blade skills. :D
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Darkened Whispers