He Who Controls the Flame (001 fanfic)

Chapter Twenty Nine- Ebbs and Flows of the Tide

Seven tried not to grunt as a fist came down onto his face for the umpteenth time. Pain exploded across his cheekbone and the right side of his head, jerking him to the left. He could barely breathe through the agony ricocheting through him. God, he needed to get beat up more, maybe he could build up a tolerance for it, like alcohol.

The guard grabbed him by the collar and shoved him to his feet. He grunted, spitting out a mouthful of blood to the side, then instantly regretting it. He should've spat it on the man.

"Already want a break, Ching Chong?" the man asked, laughing. His comrades barked out their own laughter and Seven felt his insides twist, his jaw clenching despite the fresh wave of pain it brought on.

"I'm fucking Korean," he said. "If you're going to be racist, at least get the race you're hating on right." That earned him a swift boot to the gut and he groaned, falling to his knees in the hallway just outside their hall.

The guards had dragged Allison and him back to their cell, or at least, a foot away from their cell before the beatings started. Sebastian had sent them a message saying they could "discipline" them however they saw fit, and this was apparently how they saw fit.

Seven didn't know how to fight back, they hadn't exactly taught martial arts or self-defense in Papa's "School for the Supernatural Bald Kids," probably due to the fact that the last thing Papa wanted was for them to revolt against him. Which made sense, but damn, Seven really could've used the knowledge of how to throw a punch in his current predicament.

He pressed his hands to the floor, breathing heavily. Juliette had gotten beaten to trigger her powers, he remembered how awful she had looked, how she had crutched around for weeks and had a myriad of bruises marring her skin for even longer. How the hell did she manage to live through that? Because Seven hoped the next hit would make him keel over so he didn't have to be conscious for the next hits.

The man above him raised his boot, aimed right for his face, and Seven squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.

"Let him go," a voice yelled, firm and loud. Confident.

"No," he wheezed, recognizing it almost instantly. He hung his head, coughing out blood.

"Aw, trying to protect your boyfriend?"

"Beat me instead, he's taken enough," Allison said. Seven opened his eyes to see her glaring up at the man who had been beating him. She was wrapped in some other guards arms, her cheeks flushed, sweat on her brow from where she had been struggling against him. But she looked beautiful. Maybe they had broken something in his brain, because he certainly should not have been thinking those thoughts in their current predicament.

"Don't do it," Seven wheezed. "Don't be an idiot."

"You're the idiot who told them not to hurt me," Allison hissed, glaring at him.

"I'm sorry, would you like to have been the one pummeled? Sorry I didn't collaborate with you on that one. My bad."

"Alright enough," the man said. He turned to look at Allison, his eyes roaming over her body. "You think you can handle me, tough girl?"

She scoffed. "Try me."

He smirked, walking towards her, cracking his knuckles. Allison jerked her chin up, waiting for the hit, her eyes flashing with confidence. He couldn't tell if it was a facade, if it was, it was a damn good one.

"Do it, you coward," she hissed. "I'm sure I'll be the first girl you've touched in a long, long time." She flashed a grin at him and he growled, drawing his clenched fist back, but then Seven was there, grabbing his hand.