Blood spurted from the chest of my father and seeped into his violet vest. He dropped the blade and his hand flew to his chest. He gripped his flesh to hard his knuckles turned white and I wondered how bad it hurt. I hoped it hurt horribly. I hoped all the pain that these initiates suffered combined and tossed themselves back on him. I hope karma bitch-slapped him.

I buried my face in Colin's chest to stop a scream, and he held me in his embrace, unable to complain. I can't believe I allowed Tris to shoot my father. I understand why I did it, but now I regret it.

Vincent lay face-up on the floor, his teeth gritted and his face twisted into pain. Tris's body remained still as her arm fell. Her eyes glassed and she looked at me. I didn't cry. I wasn't happy or sad or angry...I was nothing. I was only starting to feel my stomach again and my facial muscles went slack.

"I…" Tris started.

"Don't," I interrupted her, "I gave you the gun."

Colin looked down at me, his eyes full of concern, "Eris, I never would have thought…"

"Just-" I put my hand up, "We'll talk later."

We all stood over my father, stern looks on our faces. We watched him bleed, be in pain. We watched his black shirt darken even more, which I didn't even believe was possible. But I am sure that his heart is darker than that...his soul.

"Not so fun now," the nurse said, raising her eyebrows, "Is it?"

Vincent glowered up at her, his startling eyes holding more evil than any wizard or witch could ever master. His next breath hitched in his throat.

"Oh," he said, "I assure you, blood is my rock."

I felt a nudge on my arm, and looked up to find Tris standing next to me, closer than usual. Her eyes darted down for a split second, and mine followed after. They landed on the pistol, which was nestled in her hand. She was holding the gun out to me. I looked back up at her, and she nodded. I knew she wanted me to shoot him, and I couldn't blame her. I wanted to shoot him now, too.

I hesitantly took the gun, wondering why I don't just use magic instead but whatever.

"Well if blood is your rock," I said darkly, kneeling down by my father, "then have fun in hell...where you should have been in that 'car crash'."

I held the gun up to his head, regretting nothing. I cocked it.

"I'll see you there," he replied calmly.

"Wait what?" Tris demanded, "What do you mean, 'earlier'?"

I looked up at my new friend, "I'll explain later."

"Ah yes," Vincent grinned, despite his incessant bleeding, "Mike and Scott...dumbasses."

"They are not dumbasses," I replied between gritted teeth, bumping the gun against his head to show that I'm armed, just in case the fact that I'm holding a gun to his head went in one ear and came out the fricken other, "They helped you raise me."

"And now they're dead," Vincent replied, "So grieve all you desire, but nothing can change that."

"You killed them," I growled, "You wrote that fake-ass note and caused me hell all this afternoon. You kidnapped me when I was young and raised me into this? I can't believe I was tricked into caring about you! I now assure you, Satan has reserved a special place in hell for you."

It's as if he doesn't fear death, doesn't fear Satan himself. He should have known this would get him killed someday...I should have known. But this is my father for you. He's a cruel, cold-blooded bastard and I pray to God and all the saints that I don't turn out like him. But I'm sure I won't, because my mother was pure. She could be angel. Luckily, I inherited her kindness, but certainly not purity.

I will always be dark, depressed, and vicious. I will always have murder in my blood and I'll always have a thirst for gore (which is why I watch it). That's just who I am. I'll always have purple hair, poison eyes and a stern expression, because that's what I look like. And I'm proud. But, I also have my mother's loyalty, strength, and beauty. I have her selflessness and charity. I have hope. Though I never knew my mother well, I love her and I thank her.

She's the only reason I'm not evil.

I choked back a sob and knew there was no turning back now, not with all these people watching me, studying me. I swallowed, and with one flick of my finger, I pulled the trigger. An ear-splitting pop caused me to jump back and drop the gun. It clanked beside Vincent's lifeless neck after his eyes rolled up in his head. They glassed. I witnessed the light from his eyes leave and the heat in his body slowly fade away. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. Vincent has killed too many innocent people, and its about time karma came back to claw at his goddamn esophagus.

Vincent is dead.