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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
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: Picks up where 6 left off
Stats: Beta (thanks Clairavance) 12 pages written/15 typed
Final Word:Snarl at Vergil :D

Passing Visits
"Do you have any guess to the reason that goon was after you?"
"Uh, no...?" she shook her head, leaning on her right arm in a half-turn to see him.
"Well, my guess is he wasn't done screaming in your face 'cause he's back with added company."
She found difficulty breathing, a swelling fear returning to smother all sense of logic. How is it possible that the fiend followed her here? Did it watch her on the rooftops as it pursued the car?
Once she heard him moving around she dove into her purse to pull out her pepper spray, coming up empty-handed, shuffling aside everything when her defense mechanism failed to be seen. She couldn't go anywhere without it, unless she felt comfortable walking with a 'kidnap me' sign plastered on her forehead.
"I think we should scram... now," he moved over to pick her up again, a rising protest forming on her lips. "You must be something popular today. You're sure you don't know what's going on?"
"I'm as lost as you are." Well, not really. Maisha understood that weird shit popped up at weird intervals in her life, but she wouldn't say anything to him about it. She was wary to query his need to make such a high concern out of it. She'll address her problems in her own way, soon enough.
Somehow I doubt that. He gauged whether he should leave her here and re-introduce himself to the brute or take the girl and flee. Granted it wasn't in his nature to retreat but the odds showed him no favor.
The woman couldn't defend herself much, his weapons were limited, and he still didn't know what powers this mystery person held, if any. But he was a gambling man, always willing to seize chances and try his good fortune to the end.
Gathering her purse, while cursing the stupidity of losing her pepper spray, she found residence in his arms, trekking out the way they came in hurried strides. The unmistakable sound of cracked glass infiltrated her hearing, followed by the distinct goat-yelling of her snow-skinned friend.
Normally one bounced around while running, especially since she hovered in his grip, but it seemed that he wafted into the space. How strange. For the briefest moment she vowed to testify Dante floated into the bathroom; like he rode the air to get there.
Without so much as a warning he semi-placed, semi-dropped her on the bathroom sink, his once carefree persona morphed into this stern aura. His hard-lined demeanor silenced her to follow his orders and refrain from any heroic deeds.
In that instant his eyes appeared milky blue in the dusky, moonlit sky, the window letting in a peculiar light to make his skin glow in an eerie radiance as though it expelled his tainted essence from within.
"Stay here," he uttered with a tone of finality, coupled with a rigid expression similar to a general issuing directions to their lieutenant. Having no choice but to nod in understanding, she stayed motionless. He left and slammed the door, the sound of violence immediate to reach her ears.
The rumble of blunt, physical force filtered through the door, her mind conjuring up images of what might've transpired if he hadn't shown up.
Spilled blood suited a dreaded assumption, envisioning the creature mangling her stomach with its sharp claws; her entrails littering the ground with the red liquid gushing out in thick pints. Or worse yet, the thing chanced to turn her into a block of ice, playing with her by freezing parts of her limbs then breaking them off.
She almost forgot about the earlier incident, too hunched over with frost bite to take in the details. Dante showed unrestrained courage when he battled the fiend, able to subdue the brute without taking damage. So being competent to combat this foe meant the other officers didn't need to involve themselves in this matter, as Dante assured her with confidence previously.
He also claimed he carried weapons the average operating lawman couldn't handle these 'demons' with. If true, then is he their 'odd jobs' man? Did he deal with tasks and disturbances that risked more than his coworkers willed to fight for? It made sense, and he bravely challenged the creep that tackled her.
Sensing a small throb behind her eyes she pushed to climb down, resolute to grip her legs so she wouldn't feel like a helpless damsel. The yellow sheen of the bathroom's night light lit the bathroom, Maisha grabbing on to her vanity to stand upright as much as her limbs withstood the weight and pain. Shaky hands used the counter for leverage, pressing each leg into the floor, rotating from foot to foot to wage how much pressure to administer.
A throbbing blaze halted her attempts to gain movement. Dark curses flew out on a whisper, eyebrows narrowing at her weak stance. The cashier's attention deviated to the scuffle escalating outside, the same strange-sounding goat yell rising in volume as bumps and crashes intensified in the hallway.
"You know you... are overly ugly!" she heard Dante holler somewhere down the hall, his voice laced with sarcasm as a loud thump banged against the wall. The beast hissed, vocal cords crying out in strain. Maisha guessed it very odd how her rescuer joked and jested with a savage of this caliber.
The average person would ooze fright deep within their pores upon seeing such an adversary. It was as if he humored himself by fighting against this evil foe. But why would someone do that, unless if he was a bit... mad himself?
Gritting her teeth, sore feet veered closer to the door, intent on asking whether she should call the police or if he moved along just fine... whatever 'fine' defined as in his book.
"Dante, are you all right?"
A violent slam against the wooden opening made her shout in alarm, the racket syncing her knees to buckle in jarring pain, sending her crash-landing on her bottom.
"Shit!" he muttered. His ice-friend screeched in a deep howl, surely to wake several neighbors―the ones closest anyway. "Why sure I am." His speech strained a little as he locked a grip on the defiant monster. "The question is are you okay?"
"I'm... fine." Just sittin' on my fat ass.
"Don't hurt yourself now-" A bone cracked, followed by a series of loud yelps. Maisha wondered who her concern should go to: Dante for having to fight the beast again or it's current fate. He continued, "-you can't really move on those calf legs yet."
"Oh ha-ha," she muttered in a low tone, focus set to cast aside the aches in her lower appendages. She was a wanted woman, but... by the damned? Why did they resurface after all these years? When she willed them to leave in her younger days they faded into silent memories, using childhood remedies she made up to make them go away.
Her hands gripped the vanity, stabbing throbs of agony biting the muscles in her legs, patronizing her for using the tendons without proper rest. Her bottom sat on the counter, employing the tip of her toes to push off the ground. Fingernails bit into the palm of her hand, a tightness forming in her chest as her injuries prevented her from doing something as simple as walking.
"Remember to stay still now," Dante yelled off to her her somewhere in the distance.
"I'm not a dog," she responded in a sing-song-like voice, rolling her eyes and chewing the inside of her lip. With her frustration growing she was reminded of the beast outside and its ability to follow her here.
What if Dante left and it came here to finish her? Or what if she allowed him to take her to the hospital and it watched her until she went home? A slow shiver crawled through her system, seeing images of her lying frozen on the ground without the tremendous aid of Dante by her side. And just how was he able to fight this thing so well?
Another bone-crunching noise captured her awareness, silence filling an opening void. She waited ten seconds, eyes stretched wide since she couldn't hear her rescuer's words or movements.
She opened her mouth to yell to him but only frightened exhales escaped. Should she call the cops and risk the twenty minutes waiting on them to come to her or would the monster attack sooner than that?
Light taps echoed through the bathroom, heated jolts pushing her nerves into frightful overdrive, searching for a gadget to defend herself with. Frantic breaths accompanied her movements, looking around the small space to find a weapon effective enough to hit that ice-maker. Her towel rack combed through her vision, but she wasn't confident in its protection abilities, what with it made out of a cheap, bendy metal.
The scratching persisted in a steady rhythm, Maisha clenched and unclenched her fingers to splay out her panicky nature. Next to the counter rested the toilet, a toilet scrubber and a plunger sitting peaceful and a little dusty from idle movement. No, no. Those won't do at all.
Another jangle hitched her breath, seeing the handle shake. Shit! Her vocal cords bunched together, thickened to where she couldn't speak. Brown-sugared orbs shifted in rapid twitches, landing on a cherry-cinnamon odor spray can. That'll have to do.
Reeling in her shaky form she reached over and grabbed the canister, inhaling to slow her shaking before the creature attacked. She balled her hands into fists, placing her fear in front of her as a frail shield. Maisha moved off the ledge to the doorway, the knob rattling with enthused vigor.
The aches proved absent in her legs yet she acknowledged the cause. Hysterical adrenaline temporarily overpowered the pain. When she calmed down the vulgar sensations would spring forth to bite her.
Armed at the ready she aimed the tin case at the entrance, finger twitching at the nozzle the instant the door widened. "But isn't that thing low on the ground?" she whispered. Oh yeah, it crouched and leapt around like a deranged cat. She redirected her aim more than half way down, eyeballs shifting between the handle rotating and her knuckle above the spray can's spout. Her heart pounded loud notes in her ears like a drum pounding in an increased tempo.
The doorknob turned, Maisha watching the scene unfold in slow motion. Darkness seeped into the bathroom, its hollow fingers allowing the force to open the door to come in.
Breaking through her trance like a rock disturbing the calm of a quiet lake she half-lunged forward to press the spout full pressure, showering the unwanted visitor with scented goodness.
Surprised that the freak wasn't screeching in vain from soiled-out eyeballs she backed away, keeping the air freshener leveled where she sprayed. Nothing happened... Maisha wondering if she killed the brute or if it had sense to dodge the mistful fog. "Dammit I hope not!" she murmured in harsh words, her heartbeat thrumming in vengeance.
The door opened wide, revealing an outline of a dark figure standing in front her. Is it possible that it was truly Dante or did that ogre stand on its feet? But didn't he say the monster brought back-up? What if the added help snuck in here and defeated Dante? Oh no!
Readying to attack again the darkened palm reached out and grasped her wrist, Maisha hammering the nozzle and angling it to hit this cryptic person. The form advanced into the bathroom, white hair glimmering in radiance from the light outside the window.
A calming elation flooded through her taut nerves, releasing her tension because Dante stood unharmed in front of her, albeit with a strange look on his face.
His eyes widened in alarm, his left eyebrow climbing into his locks while his visage sat frozen. The cashier wondered if he was traumatized by the creature's capabilities or if guilt ate at him of its death. But that seemed unlikely seeing he expressed ridicule at the brute's existence. So why did he have the features of someone who saw a ghost?
With a fixed facial expression he moved his hand until it grabbed the can, slowly taking the object and setting it on the counter, enlarged iceberg blues never leaving her confused brown ones.
"Hell be damned if you ever pick up a gun, girl."
A narrowed forehead and pursed lips responded to his words. She defended herself with the most effective weapon she found, given her lack of mobility.
"I... only sprayed because I thought something..." In the midst of shaking her head a light bulb went off in her mind, connecting the dots to the cause of his confusion. She looked down his right leg, taking in the sight of a large white foamy circle, robust cherry-cinnamon swirling strong from its place of impact.
"Ooh! Oh I'm sorry!" she covered her hand over her mouth, caught between wiping the bubbles off him and laughing at her mistake. Her mind believed that the ice-creature defeated him and she considered her options to survive. Come to find out that her protector stood intact and sweet-smelling in front of her.
"As long as you are in my eyesight, you will never wield a gun."
"At... least I know when to pull the trigger," she gave an impish shrug, lips pulling to reveal her amusement-filled apology.
"I'll say," he returned the smile. His eyes traveled over her shape, stopping his humored nature when her scraped legs came into view, reminding him of their harrowing situation. "How 'bout we scramble outta here. We got one more dude to dodge―well, you do."
"Is that thing still―"
"I'm going to say no."
He led her out of the bathroom, watching the way her calves wobbled and shook with every slow step. He respected her resolve to show some guts in her frail state, but she was a vulnerable target. If the jester outside controlled that demon, then how many more qualified to do the creep's bidding?
And he had this hunch she left a small detail out on purpose; indirectly for a direct reason, he assumed. Like she believed in other-worldly forces but she indirectly knew why they tagged her. That's fine though, he'll devise creative questions to make her tell her tale. He gained a natural talent "asking" people to gut out information.
"You're saying no?" The cashier squinted behind her but the lights were off in the hall.
"Yup."
"How'd ya figure? Did it just run away―" He caught her by the waist, her brittle legs deciding to stop working to make her lean over to fall on her face.
Using her forward momentum he swept her up in his arms, forging a swift exit out of the hallway. She peeked over his shoulder and glanced near the bathroom, ice crystals trailing underneath the knob. "Was that you scratching on the door?"
"Yeah, the bastard froze me out."
"And... it didn't take much to pick it off?"
"Mm... nope."
Considering how powerful the beast's ice powers were and the thickened crystals on the knob, he chipped it as a result? Did he carry a knife and plucked the frost that way?
She clung tight to him descending the stairs without the aid of light. Honestly, did his eyeballs work double time as night vision goggles? Even with the dim glimmer pouring through the curtains it was too dark to make out what object was what.
"Is that thing in my hallway?"
"Uh... eh―it... yeah."
"That didn't... sound very convincing."
"I don't think you'd want to see the bastard after it died is all. Might ruin your stomach for a day or two."
How did you kill it? She left the question in the confines of her memory, noting his different essence pushing out the jovial mood, leaning towards a more cool-headed disposition. Speaking thus on her dilemma, where did the other opponent go?
The duo reached the entrance, Dante balancing her on his left leg, using the right hand to open it. He set her on the ground, locking and closing the front door as he withdrew Ebony. The paranormal investigator gazed across the street, surveying a cloaked individual fading in and out of the veiled clouds, standing unperturbed even as a gun pointed in its direction.
Zoning in on the stranger he presumed it was some model of a human male, dressed in dark slacks and a matching trench coat. A gray fedora concealed half of his face, revealing thin lips and a broad-tipped nose, pallid features hiding well in the shelters of the nightfall. His jawline acted on a square formation,with a medium build appearing much slimmer in the mysterious clothing. Dante took the first two steps down the porch, inhaling the barest hint of brimstone and an odd scent of metal coming from the strange man's path.
"Is there a reason you sent your errand boy to deliver a message to the lil' lady?" Dante jested in a sneering tone, motioning to the girl to stick close to him.
Holding onto the railing she descended her three stairs, lightly cursing thanks to the cramps rolling up and down her battered limbs. The woman squinted surveying her surroundings, mind trying to decipher what she saw, or didn't. Her rescuer seemed to shout at the shadows, but every couple of blinks she thought to have seen a dark silhouette.
"Stay with me," he said, voice laced with tight concern.
Aching feet walked in timid strides behind Dante, traveling the short distance to his car. Without breaking contact with the darkness he opened the door to the driver's side, urging her to scramble on in.
What in the deuces of Hell do they want with you, lady?
Leaping head-first into this incident made him yearn to bathe in the blood of his enemies. For too long did he have to sit out and hear the howls of his assailants prowl the evenings. Granted they trekked closer to his place of residence but they ventured nowhere near enough to feel confident to ditch his immediate territory longer than twenty minutes.
To say the lack of bloodshed left him angsty to get out and do something to some thing was an understatement. His uninvited priority interfered with his devil hunting duties. Like now, he so wanted to engage in a heated confrontation with this could-be demon, but the inattention to his vulnerable nest nagged at his conscious.
"Sorry buddy, but the person you are trying to reach is unavailable at the moment. Leave a message after the beeps!" Two shots rang out from Ebony, blasting straight to the elusive mass standing there idly.
His suspicions came true when he saw the man dodge the bullets, jumping into the black sheet dwelling as the unlit hours. Dante stood noiseless, the light trace of the damned scents fading from his olfactory networks, giving him a second to calm down from the impending fight he craved to taste. However many plot-holes developed out of this episode, he would fill each hole with cement so that it wouldn't trip him when he walked over the mounting problems.
Nodding in confirmation he drifted to his ride when nothing hitched his senses in the area, seeing Maisha stare at him in fright on account of drawing his weapons. Once seated he started the ignition in a gracious roar, revving the gas a little before flashing a big smile to his rescuee, looking as if she wanted to run tail as soon as possible.
"I have to take you somewhere safe until I get your car and file a report on your home." He pulled out of the driveway, scorching rubber speeding down the street, pale blues scanning the region through the mirrors.
The cashier focused out the mirrors instead of her trigger-happy bodyguard, observing a few lights turning on in her neighborhood. By the time they spied out their windows, the person making the noises would be long gone.
A bright glimmer reflected in the passenger's mirror, stealing her attention to hone in on the spectacle. Those illuminated avocado green dots shone like emerald gems in the nocturnal atmosphere, piercing her to the core because the remnants of her mental disease oogled back at her.
No. It's...it's not true. That's impossible! Oh, what is going on tonight? First the hail-breathing creep tried to freeze her then it came to attack her. And now she fancied her mind's affliction glancing at her in the mirror?
The blood pooled out of her too quickly she thought, rubbing her eyes once to clear her vision. She must have been tired as darkness greeted her the next time she stole a peek in the glass. Maybe she overlooked things. It might be a garden ornament or a... bicyclist's reflectors?
A pressing weight fell over her, crooning her to slouch in the conforming leather seat. All this weary excitement drowned her in a sea of doubt. Sooner or later questions will arise of her knowledge of why this happened to her, and she would probably feign ignorance to protect herself.
Maisha was resolute in her beliefs, adamant to avoid antagonizing queries Dante was sure to develop. She refused to be bullied again with people treating her as an eccentric for believing in ghosts. Denying the phenomenon of the paranormal was the only way to stay sane.
Dante peered over to her side, seeing how her eyes drooped with dreary circles beginning their temporary residence.
"You okay?"
"I'm just tired is all. Too much fun for one night," Maisha held both hands up to her face, rubbing her eyelids to appear more alert. "Thank you for everything Dante, really. I don't ...ugh I don't even want to know."
"I don't blame you, and don't sweat it. I run into parties like this often. Well somewhat, usually there isn't a lady attached to it."
And how often is this? That proved something of an odd revelation. Earlier she considered his jesting actions at the absurdity of demons' existence to joke around. He seemed serious now.
If so, did that mean he responded to calls about the damned? That he hunted them on his patrol through the city? So it equated to his belief in them, right?
Internally her groan was loud enough to wake the dead. The questions she asked herself remained unanswered, her stomach roiling in a sea of nausea. Before she closed her eyes to have a break to herself, she managed another 'thank you.'
"If there's anything I can do to repay you, let me know," she moaned in a drained yawn.
Hellooo. Did she make a proposal he thought she offered? Hm, he wouldn't mind if he took her word, if that's what she truly intended, but he assumed it best to reward himself later... should the award loiter.
"What you can do is stay in the place I'm taking you. You'll be away from prying eyes since I'm bulking up the security."
"You got it."
He saw her curling up in the seat, wrapping his jacket around her, resting her eyelids. This uprising in demonic activity couldn't lie in wait, attaching on random attacks that may or may not have any connections to one another.
It seemed unusual these two incidents concerning his brother and the woman escalated, overlapping with each other prior to deciphering which problem belonged to which person. There was a lot riding on his plate and depending on what he devoured first, he might bear trouble swallowing the rest.
Low whistles roused her out of slumber, body awakening from the thick cushion she slept against. Eyelids parted to shaded curtains, forcing her straining sight to distinguish her new location.
The firm structure she lied on wasn't in the car but in a bed, soft and luxurious as it molded to her skin. She stretched out her arms in a languid reach, feeling re-energized after that nap worked wonders on her aching form.
Where the hell am I? A saturated blue layer met her vision looking out a window with bright silver sparkles glistening high in the sky. Shoeless feet moved from under a black comforter, touching cold carpet to soak in the bedroom.
Surveying her surroundings she realized almost every inch of the room was a gloomy landscape full of black and red hues. A fuzzy lamp donned a peach shade, breaking up the swarthy ambiance.
"Someone isn't a fan of the sun," she mused, shifting closer towards a dresser to view the objects lying on it. She kept his leather jacket, developing concern if her rescuer planned on going somewhere and she held him up by having his coat.
On the desk sat her handbag sharing space with some red sweat pants, a small emblem of a black skull with a rose in its teeth posted on the right thigh. "Did he go in my purse?" Browsing in her mobile locker she found the knickknacks in the same place as she left it, detecting idle movement from where she placed everything.
I still wonder if he went in there or not. The other items turned out to be a jogging suit, complete with a white spaghetti strap shirt and matching socks. He... didn't have to do this for me. Speaking of her savior, where did he trot off to?
A piece of paper sat under the lamp, drawing her to lean over the table and read its contents in the dimmed light. She noted it's rather large but neat writing style. She presumed him to have sloppy handwriting with his big hands.
Hey sleepy head. As I said before I'm out trying to see who threw all these shitty get-togethers and tried to pass them off as parties so I'll be out for a minute. There's some clothes on the dresser I hope you can fit. My colleague doesn't wear them since they aren't name-brand or some stupid shit like that. I mean they all look the same to me! I can't tell what designer designed what clothes! It's not like...
The next few words were crossed out, the writer imagining it unnecessary to talk about women's habit of shopping given her situation.
The kitchen's downstairs so help yourself. Uh... don't go into the other room upstairs and don't go outside. Hmm... my lieutenants, I think, are out patrolling the area, so you're safe until I come back. Um... stay alive, will ya?
P.S. I got some pizza in the fridge if you're really hungry.
"So I'm here alone, but where exactly is here?" Hands moved to peel out of her dress, easing her progress slower when a couple of aches bothered her shoulders. And just how long did she remain in slumber from the time of his written note until now?
Her arms worked in speed to throw on the comfy yet ill-fitting clothes; the t-shirt and jacket a little baggy while the pants were a little too tight. Though the trousers dragged on the floor it appeared obvious that his colleague was taller than her.
Maisha peered into blackness when she opened the door, feeling a sense of alarm spread throughout her being. Some feet away down wooden steps rested another doorway, seeps of cracked light infiltrating through the narrow spaces. Her mind beckoned her with an opportunity to escape the black box she slept in.
She descended the stairs one at a time, her backside pressed against the wall to manage her way forward. The polyester texture of the bottoms clung to her exposed cuts, attaching to her legs as she shook the fabric off; the material feeling to rip the wounds open.
Zipping the jacket halfway up she rapped soft knocks on the door, calling out to Dante then opening it. Cappuccino hues widened in the dimmed light, soaking up the vast office and its aesthetic display.
In front of her stood a wooden desk, populated with an old rotary phone and a bloodied glove to her left. A small stack of papers relaxed in the middle, and a photo frame of a pretty blonde woman perched on her far right. A decorative timber chair parked behind the furniture, complemented by a large oriental rug underneath.
A simple yet conventional bar sat back in a corner by a door, which she inferred to as the garage. Neon yellows, reds and pinks illuminated the dark nook, the words Devil May Cry plastered above the tavern. Next to the liquor stand positioned a red leather couch, well-worn and faded from heavy usage.
"Wow, this is... interesting," she mumbled, striding past the table, a nice-sized television and a few more pieces of paper on there. Turning towards the presumed garage door, stalled breaths overtook any notion of questions, tongue caught in mid-air in viewing the frightening piece of décor set against the wall.
A sword punctured three disfigured puppet-like fixtures, a multitude of rainbow-colored body parts seemingly filled with good stuffing of a cottony material. At least she thought it was a stuffed marionette until they twitched.
Her vision blinked, coming closer to the adornments to detect if her mind went fuzzy. Alarmed by a sudden jump she receded two steps, bothered by its realistic jerks.
"What... what are those t-things?" she stared in heavy concern at the lack of humor the "decoration" presented. Then again she could've thought the objects moved, she was not up to her normal ways yet.
Maisha's eyes wanted to stay rooted to the embellishments, turning her body to focus on more of the interior pieces. An extensive collection of swords, knives and assault weapons sat by the door she came out of. To the right of the same door lied an instrumental set, an old-fashioned jukebox, a pool table, another couch, and the stairs leading to the room she wasn't permitted to go in.
The sections of entertainment probably kept the protected witnesses occupied, filling their weary days of solitude while he went out and brought the culprits to justice.
Stomach rumbling stopped her tour of the safe house, diverting her attention to a separate door by the first sofa when a distinct noise halted her footsteps.
Guttural choking coughs erupted from behind the prohibited entry, rooting her to the spot in uncertainty. She didn't know if that was Dante sleeping or an added victim he defended. But wouldn't he warn me on the note if someone else was here?
Worry crept onto her face with the incessant coughing, straining as time wore on. Should she break his rule and alarm his subordinates outside that somebody struggled to breathe?
"Dante, is that you?"
The mystery voice lessened its vocal assault; the person inside the room quieting their hacking fit at her call. Maybe that wasn't Dante since he would have answered her. She pulled herself into an uncertain position, wondering if she should trail up there to scope who nested in dire need of help or to just mind her business.
The fault would stay with her if something happened to the stranger because of her indecisive actions. Silence settled throughout the house, liberating her from the questionable obligation to give assistance.
"Oh I hope they got some water," her tone showed concern, advancing into the kitchen to appease her own needs.
Five minutes later brought about a similar scenario, leaving her no choice but follow her gut.
"Looks like you got nothing to drink," she moped, standing outside the forbidden door. When she first walked in the kitchen the whooping cough resumed. It proved too dim to go outdoors and she didn't know how close his allies lingered. So with an unsure resolution she finalized to break Dante's rule.
"He-hello..." she breached the opening without knocking, a cup of cold water clutched firmly in her hand. A few candles lit the room in scare lighting, burning to the quick from its extended duration.
In the bed settled a figure hunched over on his side, hair long, silver and matted, coating his twitchy face. The low pitch of the hacking gave away the gender, lest it's a woman with too much testosterone in her person?
A violent stifle made her dash to his side as a glob of inky liquid sputtered out of his mouth, like a rapid spitball. The man in the comforter lied drenched in a thin sheet of sweat, his torso shivering with frigid quakes. Wispy locks covered his visage, akin to peeking through white blinds in the dark.
"Here's some water," she said, knuckles cautious to wave against his bony shoulder to alert him to her presence. His anatomy was altogether muscular once, lean and carefully sculpted like a swimmer, previous to the owner losing weight to his unknown illness. His frame convulsed, Maisha seeing a delicate line of stitches about four inches long alongside his slightly protruding ribs. Faster than her mind withdrew her fingers the sick male reacted to her touch. Violently.
The physique she once assumed to be a fragile shell shot out a pale arm, wrapping with a tight hold around her larynx, similar to a snake ensnaring a vice grip over its prey. Her initial howl of panic didn't seem to faze him, the majority of his clawed, slender fingers digging into her neck right over the symbols on her column.
Blue ice-chipped irises came through the window of matted hair, emblazoned with a cold fury clenching her heart in sporadic thumps. His mouth moved into a vicious snarl, lips twitching in anger of her invasive presence.
For the briefest moment she speculated that it was Dante pissed at her in trying to help but his eyes exuded nothing but warmth. This person's leer seared her with hollow hatred, penetrating all the way to her core, or more importantly, her throat.
His bony fingers pressed into the birthmarks on her windpipe, igniting a queer response within them, sparking her to fight before he accidentally, or purposefully, killed her. What the fuck is his problem?! I offered him water!
Perhaps this provided the reason Dante forewarned her about, there resided a homicidal maniac living in the room.
Her prolonged struggle raised the temperature around her jugular. Bearing resemblance to a log transforming in a ball of molten fire, ripping away its wooden flesh until it dissipated into embers. Her nails scratched and pulled in defense, brown retinas flooding with liquid with her air supply just about dying.
Was this how it felt to lose consciousness, to sense her nerves freezing up as the essence of energy escaped her? To stop the flow of vital plasma from supplying her body with its necessities? To spy a green luminosity glowing right in front of her vision? Wait, what is that?
It is common to hear stories of a white light flashing ahead of one's apparent death, but in her case it flashed a spiffy jade. It was strange―her life force poured out of her, but somehow she saw the light originating from the forearm suffocating her. The ray wasn't reminiscent of a bright flash, but more of a shine coming from inside his appendage, as if someone inserted a sparkling river of emerald fluid into his enlarged veins.
That strange stream of colored nectar must have been the cause of the sage hue, but how can someone's bare arm resonate so radiant of a green if it's humanly impossible to do, unless her oxygen-deprived nature imprisoned her basic motor functions and she hallucinated?
"Please... stop." Scared to breathe around this person she exhaled her remaining screams, pulling away from the abusive limb with the wilting strength she held onto.
Her right fist rained blows upon his small stature, her left hand leaving bloody scratches to loosen the vice-like clasp so adamant to clutch onto her. Surely he should have noticed her unintentional threat by now?
A hoarse grunt erupted from the confines of the man's gullet, the abrupt loosening grip sent her clashing on her side and him to cradling his injured, private jewels.
The spilled cup, cold blaze, vicious hold and emerald glare thrusted into the recesses of her mind. Her hasty exit made the spasms upsurge into her lower muscles, hauling ass to the room she woke up in. The slamming of the door received a swift push, Maisha sliding down its wooden structure, heart ready to burst through her rib cage from escaping death.

Days came and went as the influx of souls waged on, creating entities anew and disposing of the brittle. The concept of time flew past as boisterous falls settled into quiet winters, fleeting from one seasonal transition to another.
A son of Sparda once ranked in a timeless existence, not knowing the mornings from nights, minutes from hours, months from years. The breath of life passed in front of his eyes, dwindling in a rapid blur as lives met ghastly ends. For too long did he witness bodies torn apart, skin ripped from flesh, and bones broken from their natural structure. And he experienced the same treatments, devices of torture used with malicious exuberance to defile his being.
Intuition honed upon with careful tact disturbed his peaceful slumber, alarming him to a suspicious trespasser coming into the room. He dominated this space, one visitor continually gracing their presence in here.
On account of cautious rationale, not a soul should have stepped foot in here other than the familiar essence that blossomed as strong as his own once. At present his spirit hung by a thin piece of thread, unraveling at the seams as his pride shattered into pieces. It now implied his unfamiliar company had the idea to expose his vulnerability in its fragility.
Pale blue crescents fell away from the exit the mystery female ran through, taking deep inhales to recover from to the wild strike to his lower extremities. The arm which held her captive tingled with a lively energy, the exhausted outline once a battered shell awakening to indulge in his surroundings.
The unique supplement of a foreign stamina kick-started his tired physique, senses broadening to expand throughout the environment. Yes, awareness of sensory faculties sharpened back into their rightful placements subsequent to being bludgeoned to uselessness, forced to rely on delusions of grandeur about as useful as the concept itself.
The intricate sustenance swimming through withered veins sent a psyche shriveled and torn down into contemplation. Two weeks in this cube offered complete sanctuary from Hellish scum certain to cleave at a broken soul, tormented with tragedies overflowing with unbridled passion. It would appear his secret hideout allowed a trespasser to saunter on through, and perhaps, wielding a curious asset that energized a debilitated body.
However, how did this woman possess a skill capable of revitalization without the proverbial attack to destroy his life? Maybe a thwart to her plans made her reconsider her strategy of action, retreating to her groveling safety to reclaim victory.
Thin legs not accustomed to basic movement from inactivity moved from under a warm blanket, shifting like dead weight until solid ground touched his feet. A torso littered with deep wounds, purple bruises, and a scar of sewed string arched forward in stinging, withered pain, condemning its commander of mobility.
The revived cadaver craved slumber in desperate need to properly deteriorate enemies taking pleasure in defiling a fallen warrior. No, there was no rest for the wicked. The fangs of vengeance reared back, ready to bite and tear at anyone and anything in the way.
In due time a search followed to locate specific targets, devouring their souls until a fading memory remained. The current question now called to order of this mystery woman. Would she be the first to succumb to a brewing wrath or did she serve another purpose?
Standing upright the dark twin glanced at the once glittering limb, a bright green sheen traveling the course of bulging veins eager to accept the fulfilling offer. The solitary tendrils of flame smothered his digits in tingles, spreading through the length of his forearm as it pumped a vitalizing substance very nostalgic of the properties of a vital gem he sampled long ago.
Only such a treatment was received via a simple touch from a neck?
A mouth oozing black liquid trailed down a pronounced chin, wiped away with the back of the palm of the lively arm. The titillating sensation he felt left a probing urgency to investigate its source, adamant to contain such an asset to his advantage, or perhaps take it from such an undeserving quim.
Just how did a mere human (he theorized) possess such an odd trait she had no business carrying? How heavy of a threat did she pose and what other basis did she have to be here?
Glacial eyes closed in deep rumination, inhaling the aroma of a lightly fragrant flower wafting in the room, overriding the smell of a glazed citrus zest dissipating from its hasty exit. The scent―so warm and inviting―could have been exercised to mask the odor of a more nefarious creature; to fool even the more trained senses to seek out the intended target. The fragrance blended in to the common world unnoticed by the ill-informed.
Those cold irises opened to darken to a resolution, lengthening his legs to his full height, body not yet accustomed to the ying-yang effect of gravity. Willing the thinned structure to balance itself to equilibrium, it faced in the direction of the door, intensely focused to decipher exactly what this woman, this supposed human, hid.
With his nerves steeled in silent resolve, Vergil moved.

A/N: Do I have Vergil okay? Does it seem like something he would do given his isolation? Stay tuned for information will tumble out of our stars!
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The Chosen One Unknown