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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
- 5
- 6
- 7
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: Continues from Chpt 4&5 interloping
Stats: Beta-Lohce Azcry. 13 ½ pages hand-written/12 pages typed.
Final Word: Get ya' readin' on!

Secrets of the Deep
Ten minutes passed in awkward silence, Dante with a stern, silent aura and Maisha focusing on thawing out. The car voyaged calm and steady en route to her house, the hunter tapping the steering wheel in focused thought.
Once cognitive reasoning returned towards a balanced function, Maisha nearly bolted out of her seat, realizing her car was left at the scene of crime. So frozen existed her logic in which she forgot all about her source of escape.
"Shit! My truck-"
"Your truck won't be bothered, Miss." Dante said in a jesting voice, but his face uncovered no moving expression. "Police are nearly dry around here. They gave up in the lower sections of the city."
She lived in the dead middle of the district, the part where magistrates deemed it the start of the "restricted area" too dangerous to venture into. Oh yes, law reinforcements would respond to emergency calls much quicker if she resided in the 'upper' midpoint of the county though.
"You sound so sure." She wished she can ask more questions about the validity of her transportation being safe from trouble, but the burning aches stinging her legs and her grating ribs prevented her from voicing her queries.
"That I am. I patrol these parts since no one has balls big enough to keep the peace over here."
Oh, well if you say so. I still wanna see your badge, mister.
"Just when I clean out my car is the time when a lady needs it─my med-kit, I mean." Lady took care of herself, as does Trish, yet he kept the box in there in case of emergencies, or he did. "Sorry about that." He pressed on the gas, quickening his voyage to her house. "Besides, I got some equipment the cops can't catch these dummies with. There's not enough of my medicine to heal those types of wounds."
Like those guns you carry on you? "Goblin-born assholes?" she asked him with a meek smile, rubbing her hands together to continue to knock the chill away. While on the subject of goblins, or psychically mental people, how come this guy knew how to handle that―thing―with such efficiency?
How did the freak still stand after her rescuer shot it multiple times? There was blood on the windshield when the monster hit him, the viscous fluid now washed by the window wipers. How bad did the injury on his arm bleed?
She peeked over to the steering wheel, seeing a smooth appendage prickled with light hairs; the red substance spotted absent on his pallid skin. How... odd. I know the blood on the window wasn't that moron's. Or was it?
"Yup. And speaking on that subject, what's with you attracting old prunes like flies?" He turned onto the main street, about five minutes away from pulling into her residential area.
It confused him regarding why the incubus didn't kill her. A game of tiger and mouse ensued when a hellion caught their prey. The human-puzzle piece on the sidewalk couldn't scurry into his home quick enough, and the satisfied defeat of the male should have converted to the woman. Why didn't the brute freeze blast the both of them?
And then there lingered the immediate exit the beast made, commanded by the elusive voice to its retreat. It seemed smart to let the gremlin flee, temporarily, than to execute the troll and have its master hide in mystery. The cashier had a target painted on her back and since he presently agreed to keep a watchful eye on her, he held a strong hunch the demon would return for round two. Now he needed to see what angle she played to make them want her.
"My father said I attracted bugs because of my hair color. He believed it reminded them of rotting intestines."
Oh. Did he bring up a harmful memory? It sounded bitter, as if some deep-rooted issues persisted between her and her family. Perhaps this explained why none of them lived near her? "Well, your hair doesn't smell like shit."
"Why, thank you."
"Naw, it smells like some expensive shampoo I would cry to spend money on."
Her chuckle exuded warmth and soothing energy, lifting away any harrowing memories he'd unknowingly dug through.
"I still got the change in the pocket."
"Oh sorry! Here..." she moved to take the jacket off her front, pining to miss the heat snuggling her but knew he would need it soon.
"Oh no, keep that on. I don't need it." He made a left onto a darkened street, the words Paradise Plaza resting on a decorative sign with trawls of gardenias embroidered around it.
While driving into the housing structure only five streetlamps lit up the entire length of the path. Duplexes inhabited either side with gates distinguishing the properties, but one might have not known that since scarce light illuminated the street. He slowed down, letting the car traverse in a cautious pace through the opaque abyss.
"You live here?" On the surface it looked nice. Short, dark green grass glowed with a sparkled sheen with its recent watering. The dimmed colors of maroon, beige and burnt orange splashed the residential lodgings with a vibrant and welcoming atmosphere. Fences added the illusion of a safe and secure environment, opposing to nightly creepers and peeping toms.
Unfortunately this protection didn't extend to invisible forces and Hellish creatures.
"I mean it's nice and all, but it's kinda... empty, ain't it?" Perhaps people enjoyed a night out on the town and everyone wasn't coming home until late tonight?
"Yeah, but at least I don't have to worry about nosy or noisy neighbors."
"No one living next to you?"
"Yes. Ms. Dalton, but she's gone for a couple of weeks; senior citizen trip."
A proud woman in her mid-sixties, the retired Korean-Brazilian RN nurse acted as inspiration; someone who Maisha unconsciously latched onto as an influential figure. Deep inside she saw the nurse project inner strength through tough times brought upon by finances Maisha sometimes sorted out for her.
Gathering bits and pieces from the ex-nurse's past her husband was a marine veteran. An ego, a disregard towards authorities and a violent streak wound him up in a wheelchair, bitter and verbally abusive to those surrounding him. However, Ms. Dalton refused to let his words soak in; to contaminate her mind and soul to crumble to his mistreating demands. In Maisha's book, that lady veered close to perfection.
"I kind of like the solitude sometimes, don't have to deal with other people's bullshit."
"I can relate." Well I used to; as of late, not so much.
He glanced over to her, eyes settling on her still-bleeding legs. His damned side was so eager to scratch the tempting dark itch, to bask in the hovering musk. Also not lost on his observations remained her particular aromas. With the heater blowing the air carried her scent. The smell had faded but the essence of her heat roved strong enough to let him dip into its intoxicating effect.
Coupled with the sanguine liquid flowing on her stilts a concealed core stirred within him, veering to quench a surging urgency demanding release. He resorted to breathing through his mouth to control his urges. "Agh, we gotta get you cleaned up."
"My house is here," she directed him to a burnt orange building after he almost passed it. Sometimes she drove into the wrong driveway since the housing patterns switched from the green, orange and beige colors. To remember where her humble abode resided she placed a wind chimer on her porch, the bird-shaped pendants pinging every time the breeze swayed.
Dante pulled into her parking space on the right, hopping out of the car to survey his surroundings. The duplex contained an upstairs balcony, complete with small furnishings of potted plants. On her door stoop rested a taupe patio swing, adorned with brown throw pillows with pear-toned swirls. To the left of the swaying bench sat an amber table, a mosaic vase resting on top of it.
The woman's place exuded this welcoming vibe, the one where visitors would feel a 'home away from home' ambiance. And that managed a strange feat, how she lived here alone and worked on a cashier's salary.
Picking up no irregular vibes in the air he scurried to her side, the woman having the door opened but hesitated to get out.
"Can you walk this time?"
She pondered on whether she should let him in or tell him she was strong enough to handle it from here. Even though he didn't seem like a stalker or a creeper, she invited a stranger into her home... alone at night... in the dark... where no one could save her if he tried to harm her. Yet his heroic deed that Friday evening made her give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he would have just kidnapped her then.
"I don't think I can." Maisha had calmed down from the attack, her body dissipating the adrenaline oozing through it. The rest of the injuries formulated and throbbed as they wished. She grabbed her keys out her purse, resting the item in her lap.
"Well, let's get you out of here." He hooked his right arm under her knees and cradled her back, sliding her out her seat and lifting her into his arms.
Oh my, he's so strong! There was no resistance in his lift, no hesitation to adjust to her weight. She had to curl in on herself at the swiftness with which he scooped her up. Yes, he is very muscular indeed.
Her giddiness crooned the idea out loud―in the confines of her mind. Then again, she believed he faked his strength.
Males contained the cockiness to show off their never-ending need of masculine ability to women and mildly, she wondered, if he showed off his at the moment. His tall stature and bulky frame should have made it easy to hoist her, and it did, but she carried some extra numbers on her lower half...
"Sorry if I'm a struggle," she said in a shy tone, trying her best to ignore the constant throbbing in her ribs.
An ebullient laugh shifted her focus to stare at him, lightly bouncing against his chest. But it's true. She didn't enjoy being picked up by anyone because they underestimated her mass. Her weight couldn't have been at fault, a healthy 140 lbs, but it seems like she weighed a ton to them.
"You don't weigh a damn thing, Miss." The investigator chuckled bright and merrily at her words, tickled that the most important notion on her mind at the moment rested how heavy she imagined she is to him. And if he didn't have his Hell-born strength, he could lift her with no trouble; being the lightweight that she is.
After closing the door with his foot he carried her to her doorstep, Maisha handing him the right key as they entered her place.
And the inside made him even more cautious about her situation.
"You like the finer things in life." Dante stood in the doorway with Maisha, eyes soaking up the majestic décor. His night vision amplified in the darkened room, every detail in his vicinity combing through his eyesight. "It feels similar to a magazine spread."
"I kinda cheated out of one but I couldn't copy it with my finances, so there's some close knock-offs in there."
Uh huh. That must be an awesome budget to come up on this stuff.
Her attention redirected to the light-less house. How can he observe the inside if no bulbs shone brightly? "Hey, how can you see all that?"
"Eh, I can tell." He shrugged off answer question, not too keen on explaining his nature just yet, if at all.
Wooden flooring of varying dark browns and reds covered the whole living room floor. Against the left wall sat a beige-brown brick hearthstone, the mantle housing a plant and a container of Almond Rocas. A high-definition TV screen perched above the shelf, making the television the focal piece.
To the right of the fireplace stood a built-in bookcase, books, figurines and a few photo frames taking up the spaces. Now we're getting somewhere about your secrets. He'll peek over there to glue together information about her life after her assessment.
Two arm chairs, one taupe and the other in swirls of cocoa, lounged side by side; reversed-colored throw pillows resting on the opposite couch. Sitting between the two pieces of furniture lied a mahogany end table, a square-shaped lamp, another plantlet and more pictures enriching the setting. Facing the hearth rested a khaki-hued foster sofa, a mix of matching hazel-flowered and tan-swirled pads lazily lounging on the cushions.
In front of the ottoman occupied a mated coffee table, littered with cinnamon-spiced candles and other nooks and crannies. Underneath the desk housed a plethora of furnishing magazines, supporting her statement of 'stealing' décor ideas. A large black and beige Persian rug complemented the niche, coordinated by peach-gold walls.
"I know my house is a bit much but-"
"A bit much my ass!" Dante interjected, shutting the door again with his foot and advanced forward, walking three steps down to step into the main room. "Feels like I walked into a damn mansion." He placed her on her sofa. "Overbearing should be the least of your worries."
She smiled, sinking into the comfort of the couch. Dante went over to the end table, turning on the lamp to inspect her wounds. While in this section he snuck a glimpse at the photos on the bookshelf, mainly filled with two girls with the same red-orange hair. Her sister, maybe?
On others he saw a blonde-haired female with green eyes smiling in mirth at the camera. He presumed her to be the mother, though he couldn't define any features that matched the little girl in the picture; who he assumed was the broken woman he rescued. The blonde possessed a heart-shaped face, wide nostrils, and full lips. Perhaps she took after her father in the looks department? He pretended to peer out the window after his minor detour ended, scanning the area to make sure all resembled a quiet neighborhood.
"All right now, do you have any band-aid stuff around here or am I going to have to lick you clean?"
Well that shot out of his mouth before he caught it.
Internally his jaw slumped to the floor, wondering when his free 'spirit' slipped out at such an inopportune time. He didn't need to go scaring the girl off. Withal, he contained some antiseptic properties in his tongue, but using that method of first-aid might frighten her.
The smile that followed implied to convey a joking gesture after he himself recovered, a means to let her know he meant to cause her no harm, consciously. His dormant side rattled the cage confining him, seeing where the weakest point lied and battered the contraption until it gave way.
Her profile looked at him with mild confusion, the paranormal investigator not understanding her shifty eyes. He imagined to have seen a doubtful glint her brown orbs, but his rogue side interpreted the look as a romantic hunger crawling to the surface.
Make no mistake he would not mind licking her but now presented an awkward time to flirt. Besides, he still didn't discover if he inhabited close quarters with the enemy. Then again her glossy eyes could be due to the loss of blood...
"If I have to lick you, you're going to smell like hot breath and-" Dante held his hand up to his mouth and blew into it, recoiling from the odor shooting into his nose, "-three hours-old cookies."
Whatever trance she fell under dissipated when his rancid breath forewarning reached her ears, making a face and blinking her eyes back into reality. "There's... a little bucket of supplies I keep under my bathroom sink. Let me go-"
"Yeahhh right," he drawled, crossing his arms in disbelief of her statement. "There's no way you'll be able to walk with those newborn calf legs." He assumed her bedroom was upstairs, and he had a mind to think she wanted to prove herself as a capable individual, despite her handicap.
"Did you want to go to your room, to make it easier on you?"
"I guess that'll be better, yeah."
He bent down to scoop her up, turning his head to look for the stairway.
"The stairs are in the kitchen," she said in a light tone, taking in the temporary relaxation that she weighed nothing to him. In the secrecy of her thoughts she liked the touch of him carrying her; it made her feel comparable to a queen. Maisha wanted to kick her feet out to display her giddiness, yet the muscles in her leg sent a sharp spike of searing pulses through them, halting such actions.
"Kitchen, huh? How fancy is this house lil' lady?"
"Don't let the looks fool you. I got a good eye for a bargain."
"What, in Martha Stewart's backyard?"
She giggled lightly. "You'd be surprised how many catalogs have great deals."
"I thought those were a bunch of gimmicks; you order something and an ass-load of charges come your way?"
"Uh... well I haven't been swindled by anyone I've ordered from."
"Hmm. So it's a 'get it now, pay later or in monthly installments' type of thing?"
"Yup."
So her residence blossomed with admirable pieces from lay-a-way books huh? Okay then, that seemed plausible, yet he wondered if she received multiple payment bills or if the company clumped them in one big lump sum. Even so it looked odd that she could afford all this working at a grocery store. Weren't the wages of a cashier nine dollars an hour?
Walking in the other direction of the entrance he trudged into a dining room sitting on top of dark brown wood. Bar-styled banquet chairs divided their place on either side of a gray-cream dinette table, accented with an assorted bowl of fruit in the middle. Large paintings of forest scenery gave the area a homey vibe, giving the hungry guests something to gaze at other than each other.
Stepping through an arc in the wall showed him the matching kitchen. Gray-cream cabinets and drawers populated the front and left section of the niche, decorated with open-glassed containers; pottery and figurines gracing the shelves. An island rested in the center of the space with a sink full of dishes toppling the left basin.
His eyes focused to his right, where the chromatic stove, double oven and side by side refrigerator stood shiny and proud. And while on that fixation, Dante stopped his voyage to the stairs and looked at her fridge in admiration, fantasizing about having an appliance this grand in his own kitchenette.
"I may have to grab a book from you if there's a chance of me owning one of these babies!" Tempted proved the word on his intellect to describe the itchy feeling in his fingers. His urges pegged him to open her cooling equipment and snoop around in there just to tease. "Can't believe this came out of a catalog."
Ugh, not exactly. She didn't expect him to be this interested in her residence; the whereabouts of her home goods should have curbed his curiosity. Instead he showed heavy intrigue towards her decorative display. And while many things she bought from the interior design books, certain objects... she didn't want to remember what she had to do to get them.
When she returned from her self-induced brooding she realized they were at the top of her steps, her savior walking down the hall to try one of the doors to her bedroom. That's weird. He didn't ask where any of the lights are. And even weirder, she didn't stop him to turn on the lamps. Maybe she considered it too much of a hassle turning them on, then right back off again?
"Uh, it's that one at the end of the hall on the left."
"What's these doors on the right?"
"Guest bedroom and bathroom."
"Only two? As big as this house is I thought it would be a four bedroom."
"It would be if I rented out the loft besides mine."
"And how much would that be in total with the rent?"
"A thousand a month, combined."
"Bullshit!" He stopped again to look at her in disbelief.
She jumped a little at his incredulous outburst, straining her eyes to see him in the darkness. "No I'm not kidding! The landlord is so desperate to rent out places over here since people don't seem to stay long."
Though the neighborhood was an unlit cavern at night, she couldn't get a deal better than this. Maisha stood in suspicion at the low cost, the manager not once hearing complaints from her about what should be upgraded so she kept to herself. "You know the whole town is plagued by 'monsters from Hell' living more towards this way, right? Or did you already know?"
"Oh yeah, believe me. I've seen and heard my fair share of stories."
He made it inside her bedroom, placing her down on her large bed. This room wasn't missing out on the interior adornments with burgundy bedding and sensuous drapes. Silver accents blended the soothing lodge in valorous harmony.
His sleeping dominion held a familiar landscape, a place where he reigned as the king of his castle. The main office area didn't give him the absolute control he wanted, despite its appearance. That luxury belonged to Lady and Trish: calling, asking, telling, and demanding him to complete jobs, finish their leftovers, and pay their expenses... of replacing their clothes damaged in their battles. When their auras graced his domain, they were in charge.
"Alright then, it's in here right?" he asked again, envisioning himself diving into the deceptively, comfy-looking pillow top. When she nodded he trailed to the door beside her bed, entering a dainty little bathroom with sage and ivory décor.
Ignoring the sneaky nature rising to snoop through her stuff he ducked under her vanity and grabbed a green basket; band-aids, ointments, cotton balls and the like set inside the square. Behind him was a built-in wall unit with hygiene products, beauty utensils, washcloths and towels. He seized four white cloths and two jade towels, wetting two of the small rectangles to wipe the blood and grime off her.
"Okay now, let's clean you up," he said, balancing the items and placing them on the floor.
"I hope it's not all that bad," she gritted in a low tone, reaching over to turn on her lamp but realized it was on her desk. 'Daniel' must have caught her movement as he did the honors, the cabin being bathed in a soft sheen of snowy luminescence. In the instance of a second however, did she wish that the switch remained off.
Pupils enlarge in dark or low levels of light, yet the eye's color remains visible. When Daniel met her sight, those powder blues were nowhere to be seen. The white sclera supported the enlarged black dots, appearing as if her rescuer lived under the influence of narcotics of a cartoonish nature.
His eyelids blinked, adjusting to the increased brightness livening up the room. Maisha expressed alarm as to whether the light played tricks on her or if his eyes expanded to that size. Just how else did he enable himself to navigate through her house in absence of a lamp?
In the same manner that beast almost changed you into a popsicle; he's not born of this world.
He couldn't be anything other than human, what was she thinking? Sure he made his way inside her home without one thing turned on, mostly, but enough of the moon's radiance peeked through the windows for him to see.
Yeah, the blood loss messed with her head; whereas she presumed that he was a monster.
The woman slouched forward to release the pressure on her torso, trying to keep a straight face to lead him against her needing medical treatment beyond her limbs. If it so happened that her ribs were bruised, then there's nothing peaceful rest and a hot bath can't fix. Maybe wrap her up in gauze if the problem pushed past her comfort zone?
He knelt down beside her, the cashier searching to see those ice blue peepers... going back to penetrating into her own. Okay, it was the trick of the light. There must have been some sun spots in her eyes or he stood at an odd angle. Withal, she noticed he breathed out of his nose more than usual, the heat of his breath traveling to hit her bleeding scars.
Hey, he lied! Is he breathing hard because I'm heavy? Well that did wonders for her confidence, as unpractical of its importance given the situation. He picked her up and carried her as if she weighed nothing at all. She should have known him to put up a front, they always seem to. Damn bluffers!
Dammit I have to get this off of her! The hunter's conscious chided the words on repeat to keep his focus, the blood so close to his senses making him slightly dizzy. His head shook once to clear his intuition, inhaling in strong and deep. He regretted the inhale in immediate scolding, his mind progressing into a hazy fog. He breathed in quick spurts to bring him back to equilibrium.
She noticed his strange attitude, wondering if she should urge him to calm down from carrying her up those steps. "Do you need to take a break? I know dragging me up those stairs wasn't easy."
Dante scrunched his eyes closed, pinching them to not laugh at her 'sorry I'm fat' speech. Jeez, someone did a number on her self-esteem in her earlier years.
"You are not fat." He said, dragging his words in a bored drawl. "It's just that smell is bothering me." He pointed his finger straight out, eyes opening to squint at her with a smirk, though faltering when he saw pink pooling into her cheeks.
Raising a questioning eyebrow at her peculiar expression he wondered if she spiraled into the beginning stages a fever. His fingers started to touch her forehead when he looked down and marked where his digit aimed... directly in line with her crotch.
Ah, not again! "The blood on your legs-" he shifted his knuckle, pointing it at her bloody kneecap, "-it's getting thicker and scabbing... the fumes are growing stronger." He added a smile after the statement, pulling his lips to the middle to make an image of shock himself. Sometimes he said something and the meanings twisted like a pretzel to the listener.
A damp cloth rested in his right hand, grabbing her left leg and holding it out, noticing the way she kept her thighs closed. A womanly gesture, but it didn't hide the fragrance of eau de sex from his olfactory networks, however faint it permeated now.
Her night must have slipped some 'fun' in somewhere, but where did she indulge in this gratification to attract that ice beast? Did that frozen human-riddle take part in this pleasure with her?
Refraining from laying on the questions too quick he cleaned her contusions in gentle but firm strokes, apologizing to her that the warm water he suds the cloth in had turned cold.
"This cold I'm fine with, so it's no worries."
"But not that of your white friend?" He ran the towel up and down her leg, moving to another spot to clean when she jerked or let out a small whimper.
"I don't know what that was," she bit into her lip, mind flooding to the image of Nathan all mangled into little pieces on the sidewalk. It happened so fast she didn't grasp the time to process it, or rather she didn't want to.
The odd beast made her reminisce about her youth, about a different version that didn't attempt to kill her. Those in her yester years appeared more like a departed existence.
"Do you have any idea where it came from, Daniel?"
"Dante. Oh, I have a good theory or two, Michelle."
"Maisha. Does this theory deal with psychiatric wards?"
"Uh yeah. Way from down under though."
"Down un-ouch!" she jerked her other leg in misery when he started to clean it, noticing the crimson stains overpowering the white of the cloth. He gave a sympathetic look but continued his task, determined to get as much information on her past, without her bringing back the painful memories, if possible. "You mean from Australia?"
Was she really that naïve? Did she decide the abnormal being existed as a crazy person whom escaped the mental institution? Dante knew people are hard-wired to believe that anything of a paranormal substance didn't subsist in this world. Yet when the physical evidence snarled at them in their faces, they weren't capable of concluding that a spectral is real?
It might be possible to feign innocence out of fear; to deny the aspect of far-fetched rumors as something concrete. Denial is a strong pill to swallow once the remedy of truth worked its magic. Humans recognized how ugly honesty can be, negating the accuracy of the known to avoid responsibility.
Now which one of these ideals did she fall under?
"Not exactly."
"Well, what else is it?"
Dante took a moment to study her legs, appearing as if a dozen or so kittens, and one angry mountain lion, attacked her. Long lines of ripped skin marred her from her knees down to her lower calves; the kneecaps taking the brunt of the damage. If she believed to be in agony before, she would really squirm and gripe now.
While prepping the cotton ball with hydrogen peroxide, though he preferred rubbing alcohol, he pondered on how best to answer her question. Although he felt like giving her a small smirk to let her figure it out on her own...
"Do you want me to give it to you straight or use a bunch of pretty metaphors for what you already figured out?" He gripped her leg a little tighter after her twitches inflated, foot trying to swivel and kick out of his hold. To relieve some pressure he opted to grasp her ankle instead, allowing her to channel the pain out through her foot by lighting tapping him on his side.
"What I... already know?"
The devil hunter swabbed and cleaned away at the cuts, pearly bubbles foaming and pouring out of the wound. Maisha thumped her foot against his waist on the deeper slices.
Also pounding in his immediate hearing―her increased heartbeat. Now this is getting interesting. Is she frightened of what she may know or is she concerned of what he said? Just how much further did he need to probe to make her spill her beliefs?
"Your mind is telling you it was some psycho, but what's your heart saying? You think people go around turning others into ice cubes for fun?"
Oh Nathan, I'm so sorry. Guilt crept into her conscious and planted its seed, contaminating her head with images of days since past. From a young age it was the fault of a spiritual presence that she drew to her.
But she knew what it was, what she's seen and heard when no one else shared her discoveries. In her life, denial was a coping mechanism to avoid the revelation, what so many people swore to be nothing more than her figment running wild.
Maisha Afya could see demons.
Her and her twin laid eyes upon evil apparitions, and her verbal protests demoted her sanity to that of a mentally-ill child. Her twin witnessed the same thing yet she stayed quiet, offering a smile when her vision set sight on one. Masozi's method of dismissal involved the silent treatment of the surrounding environment.
But how should she follow when the dead appeared before her? Her vehement rejections elevated, all the way until she stopped seeing them at fifteen. It rode near the time Masozi disappeared and she spent life wondering if her sister's departure correlated to those monsters going away.
Often she wondered if something seemed awry in the atmosphere in the house she lived in. If some bacterial or viral infection made her hallucinate these images, however Dante alluded that he noticed their reality.
But she couldn't tell him that, what would he think of her then? Moreover, she didn't know what kind of secret officer he prevailed to be or why he was in the area.
No more interactions were shared between the two; Dante patching her up and Maisha clawing on her thoughts. Her mind switched between divulging him of her beliefs about the supernatural, and revealing how super-naturally easy she felt like crying.
He cleared the wounds with smooth wipes, but every time he added the cleaning ointment she wanted to kick him; damn near ready to scalp him when he fixed up her knees.
"Do you... believe in ghosts and goblins and junk?" she gnashed her teeth when she asked.
"Only when they bother me."
"What do they-ah! Do they knock on your door and ask you to come out and play?" She couldn't help but jibe at his answer, refraining from lacing her words with too much sarcasm to not hurt his feelings―in accepting the world of demons. The ones she encountered left little for a fictitious imagination. Then again, she didn't know if he cracked jokes or attempted to alleviate the mood.
Lips twitched into a half smile, finishing the repairs on her legs before standing up and collecting the used items. "Now how did you know that?"
"Just... sayin'." Wait, is he serious? Her attention turned to her stilts, the feeling within them moving towards a dull throb. Her kneecaps had large sores on them, cat-like scratches and torn-skin populating the space all the way to her ankles. She supposed Dante didn't want to stick a thousand band-aids on her. It would become a hassle to clean the wounds with bandages on them.
Dante crossed her window from placing the bloodied items in the bathroom trash can, intent on asking her further questions when a familiar hitch in the atmosphere made him stop. This "hitch" functioned as a sixth sense of sorts; a method used to weed out devilish enemies before they attacked him.
He imagined that a simple breeze passed by him, except all her windows were closed. Parting her curtain slightly he surveyed his surroundings, looking down to see a figure cloaked in a dark trench coat across the street; face shadowed by the dusky clouds swimming overhead.
"Are you the master of that wimpy butler," he whispered in a low tone, sneaking a quick glance at Maisha, struggling in vain to stand up. Turning back to the mysterious figure he saw a familiar shadow creep along the side of it, crouching on all fours as its skin appeared to glow in silvery light. Clouds veiled the brightness of the lunar planet, uncovering yet shadowing the pair in the opposite shades as hazy pillows roamed the sky.
His assumption proved to be in the right. He let the bullied child run home and bring something bigger to help in retaliation. It's just that this "bigger" thing didn't seem all that threatening. But if the faux Smeagol brought its master, in reprisal of Dante's mistreatment or to harm the girl, how exactly would this man, if it was one, fare out?
The rush of excitement from a confrontation loomed in the future but he couldn't risk taking pleasure in the fight if they aimed to capture the strawberry shortcake. How odd of an event did this present. A demon in need of this particular woman, and why did it command an appetite to consume her?
How long did this plan on panning out? He owed his time to one other duty waiting for him back home. Then again, this current 'duty' showed every sign of showing much more amusement.

A/N: And the secrets are slowly pouring out of her little by little. But what more is she hiding and how fast will she let him know about her past?
And Vergil's coming. He likes to keep you guys waiting.
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The Chosen One Unknown