WITCH ~TWITCH Sequel~ {{FINISHED}}

Chapter Eight: Deva. Red, Red, Deva

But see, when she'd gone to attack Adrianna the night before, she dropped her katana, having gone with a fist instead of her katana. A katana that had been picked up soon after she and Adrianna had been left to their appropriate rooms, and hidden in the one place she'd never suspect - in the basement alone with all the diaries. That didn't change that Deva held the few diaries that held significance. Julian didn't know how she'd done it, but she'd managed to get the diaries of the owners of the house and not of distant family, relatives or cousins of any kind. Just the immediate family.

When it came apparent to Deva that Julian really wasn't moving no matter what, she set to work with the one weapon she had that he'd unknowingly given her; the fork for her stir-fry. Knowing that picking the lock would cause some noise, Deva began to sing, song after song until she knew Julian had grown used to the sound of her voice. Then she moved on to picking the lock, still singing. She was a little breathless by then, but it didn't matter. I have to do this!

Finally, the lock undid itself, and Deva, still singing without having her voice falter, turned the knob without pushing on the door. She sang one note longer than the rest, knowing Julian wouldn't realize the small change... and slammed the door forward with all the force she could put into the blow. Julian fell onto his face, groaning, and Deva stepped over him, grabbing him by the hair and slamming his face into the wall hard enough to break his nose. "Bastard," she hissed into his ear, pulling away and letting him drop to the ground before stalking away.

She'd only gotten ten steps to the stairs when her body was knocked down by another; Julian. His virus went full out when he punched her down and then, standing up, kicked into her stomach. A hiss of pain was released from her lips, and when she looked up, she saw colors. The many different colors in Julian's eyes that she rarely saw. And, despite all the colors flashing in his eyes, they stayed cold and dull. Deva began to push her self off the ground when Julian kicked straight into her stomach. Once again, she doubled over in pain, retching, but this time it was different. This time he'd actually damaged more from within her.

Blood spurted out of her mouth as she threw up, the blood and bile making her throat raw. She released a cry, just before she threw herself at Julian, the two of them crashing to the floor. Julian can't control himself like I can, Deva reminded herself as she punched his face. What he just did was because he's lost control. That doesn't mean I'm sorry. Finally, she smashed his head down hard enough to knock out Julian for a long enough time.

Breathing hard, almost choking on her own blood and bile, Deva limped her way to and down the stairs, having to stop herself every now and then. The fork was still with her, hidden safely in the pocket of her jeans - but the moment she saw Adrianna, it'd be in her heart, and she knew it. When she reached the landing of the first floor, Deva had to stop once again to see if there was anyone around. So far, today' seven were still alive, but if she didn't kill Adrianna...

Deva went into a coughing fit then, spitting out her own blood. God damn it all, I hate internal bleeding. It hurts so much... Wiping away the blood onto her skirt, she continued forward and peered into the kitchen. Empty. Next was the second foyer; three people. The third foyer held five, but neither had Adrianna inside. The Grand Foyer it is then, she decided, leaving her fork in the kitchen and replacing it with a large knife.

Slow and careful to avoid being spotted, Deva walked along the sides of the hallway, holding her breath when she stepped around the doorway leading into the Grand Foyer and peering in.

A moment later, a fierce pain tore through her shoulder.

Armin Tanner wasn't the strongest of men anywhere he went; his appearance wasn't very attractive with dull, messy brown hair, a chubby, rounded face and an acne problem that had never ended, even after adolescence. His body was much like his face in the way that it was round and chubby, but he didn't care much of what others thought of him. After all, he had the internet.