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  — TWs for fighting, graphic violence, abusive imagery, gore*

  IT WAS WITH HEAVY hands and aching limbs that Seven finally dragged herself screaming to the world of the waking. The hands around her throat vanished as she struggled to sit up but her pain remained; multiplying tenfold.

  Her chest heaved, sucking in great gasping breaths. Suddenly starving for oxygen, as if she'd never tasted air before. Suffocating. Eyes wide and flying about the room, scanning to see if he had followed her out of the nightmare. She held her breath, letting the searing agony in her lungs ground her to this new reality.

But the room was empty. She was alone — and for once she found herself glad of it.

  In her dreams she'd been thrashing, flailing, fighting for her life against faceless men, their hungry hands pressing in on her from every angle. She'd tried to scream, but the horrid sound caught in her throat, her own cries turning on her as she began to suffocate. Blood wept from her wounds, slicking her skin and making her lose her grip.
One of the faceless men's fists found her throat, clamping down on the bruises that were already there from the hands of the boy she thought would protect her.

And then, all of a sudden, the figure before her had a face. A face so devastatingly beautiful it pressed her pain into an unbearable agony, one that curled her toes and made her bite her tongue until she choked on her own blood.

Draco's face.
— He was killing her.

The moment that she awoke was the moment that they locked eyes. Cold. Grey. Haunting.
— He hated her.

Seven tore from the bed. Even the sheets felt like him — smelled like him, wrapping around her like strong arms just as his had once. Only she found no comfort in his embrace now.

Attached to the room was a small en-suite, so she showered for what felt like hours, scrubbing her skin raw, but still she could feel where their hands had been — still she felt his fist at her throat.
She dressed quickly, shoving her feral hair up and practically running from the room, unable to bear another second inside.

The stone halls of Navy's compound were narrow yet eerily barren. As she wandered Seven found no company other than the uneven stone walls and the flickering yellow lights. Until somewhere far off, she heard a sound.

At first she was uncertain whether she had even heard anything at all, following the memory of it until finally it became clearer. It was the sound of people shouting, chanting, jeering, and the closer she came the louder got, reaching an almost deafening point.

At last the narrow hall opened up into a huge cave of a room, with ceilings that so high Seven wondered how they didn't scrape the surface of the upper earth. How far down were they?

A crowd gathered around what from a distance looked to be a crudely built boxing ring. Seven shoved her way through the thick mesh of sweaty bodies, right as a man was sent flying by his opponent to smash against the wire surrounding the ring, rebounding off to sprawl across the floor.

His skin appeared to come alive with scarlet, his arms, back and shoulders, everywhere he'd brushed against the wire suddenly erupting with a gut-wrenching amount of blood.

It was as Seven came to the front of the crowd that she realised what had happened. It was not just any string that surrounded the ring — but barbed wire. A few small scraps of the man's flesh still hanging from it.

The man did not get up again from the floor. He laid there motionless until two of Navy's men ducked into the ring and dragged him out, followed shortly after by the victor, who practically fell out the ring as he tried to duck beneath the barbed wire, his entire body a bloodied mess.

"Draco. Step forwards." The smooth sound of Navy's voice tore Seven's attention to the other side of the ring.

— Cold. A merciless shade of grey. He wasn't looking at her, not having yet noticed her, and for that she was glad.
  She could feel the intensity of his gaze from afar, like a pressing weight on her chest. To feel it's entirety, would be suffocating.

"You may choose your opponent."

His stare didn't shift from Navy, and a horrid feeling crept over Seven's skin, "Avery."

The crowd erupted in whispers, one of Navy's top men, a scandalous choice no doubt.
  Avery stepped from the crowd, a grim look on his gnarled face as both men stepped into the barbed arena.

"What are we fighting for then, lover boy?" Avery jeered, rolling his shoulders, "What's the prize."

  "You name it." Draco seemed unamused — austere, as the two men slowly began to circle, sizing each other up. The crowd was deathly quiet, unlike the previous match, each person straining to hear the next word. The cavern was so quiet Seven could hear the thundering of her heart in her chest. She wondered if the woman next to her could hear it too.

  Avery's gaze scanned his surroundings, as if searching for inspiration. He didn't need to look far. He'd already known his target long before he'd spoken. Still he mused, pawing at his chin with crooked fingers, leisurely dragging his eyes over the sea of faces staring up at him.
And then at last his hungry eyes looked back at Draco, and a cruel smirk caught his lip, " — Her."

Avery knew full well that Draco was unaware of Seven's presence. He knew he'd deliberately not told her about the fights because he didn't want her there — didn't want the distraction.

  " — No." Draco's reaction was instant, the syllable forcing its way free without a moments notice. But this only made Avery's sick smile grow wider, knowing he'd struck the nerve he was hoping for, "I'm afraid you have no other choice... If I win," He shot his opponent a wicked wink, "She's mine."

  Draco's jaw ticked, "And if I win?"

  Avery shrugged, feigning apathy. "Then you lose nothing."

" — Stop talking!" Navy ordered. " — You may begin!"

The last letter hadn't even fallen from her tongue when Avery lunged forwards.
Draco was ready, moving so fast that Seven couldn't even tell what he had done, but whatever it was it caused Avery to stumble, gasping for breath and clutching at his throat.

It didn't take long for him to recover, righting himself, but even as he did Seven could tell that whatever Draco had done had shaken him. His breaths were still even and ragged as he darted right, narrowly avoiding a heavy-handed strike from Draco.

Seven couldn't help but think that Navy must be sick. For who else would enjoy watching such a vicious display. Her eyes lingered on the small scraps of flesh still hanging from the barbed wire and she wondered just how many men had met a similar fate... would this be Draco's fate too?

They did not need their wands to fight. Any man could use magic, any man could kill another without a second's breath. That was not what made a man. This. This was raw. This was primal. This was how monsters were made.

Avery jolted. He was fast but his opponent was faster still. Draco ducked out the way just in time as the fist slammed into the air where his face had been.

Then there was a breathless moment between them both, eyes locking as if nothing else in the room existed. As if there were no crowd. No barbed wire. No Pride. Nothing. Just two men and their innate need to survive.

And then it happened. Seven let out a rattling breath through the silence. Draco couldn't help but focus in on the sound, knowing full well who it belonged to.

His eyes were locked on her; unabashed, making no effort to look away. He couldn't. A flicker of emotion danced just behind the mask, something that appeared somewhat akin to pleading. Don't be here. Don't watch. Go.

It had only been a moment, probably less than that. But it had been a fraction of a second too long.

Avery was on him. A torrent of pain and well-placed strikes. Draco fell back. Seven felt sick.
  She watched it happen. Unable to stop it. His eyes still locked with hers.

He fell. The world slowed. Arms outspread. Instinctively grappling the air for purchase as he fell backwards, and into the barbed wire.

" — Draco!" Seven screamed, running forwards only for what felt like a thousand hands to hold her back.

He did not cry out. He couldn't. The shock still echoed on his face, his eyes still locked on the girl he knew shouldn't be there — couldn't be there.

Avery loomed over him, like a storm cloud threatening thunder. An unholy smile on his lips. He knew he'd already won. Seven had been his weapon, and like a dagger he'd forced her through his chest, into the place where no one else dared to venture. She — and and she alone could kill him, and so she had.

Draco struggled to his feet. And the second scream forced itself from her lips as Avery kicked him as hard as he could square in the chest.

This time Draco didn't just fall against the wire, he slid down it. Leaving sinew and skin behind.

  Seven felt sick.
  She was going to be sick.
  This was sick.
  They were all sick.

  Everything was red. Blood soaked his skin, thick and red and beautiful, in some sick way. Scarlet crawled. Creeping like hands. Outstretched. Reaching out. Reaching for Seven.

  She fought against those that held her, thrashing in ways that reopened all her wounds from the previous day and made her head dizzy with the blinding pain that coursed through her veins. She didn't care. She needed to make it stop. She needed to make them stop.

  Everything was red. Everything. His back. His arms. His hands. All torn apart. An agonising mess. A beautiful dissonant mess.

They were hurting him, and killing her.

  Everything hurt. It was all red. Seven became blind to all but him. He still hadn't looked away. His lips moved, struggling, fumbling to form letters as Avery leered closer.

  There could only be one winner. This was it.

  "Seven... Close your eyes..." His voice made her sick. She wanted to cry. She was already crying. She'd already ran out of tears, bled dry. She had nothing left. Nothing. He forced out his final words. "...Don't look — ,"

  ***
I'm sorry if some of you found this chapter too heavy. Just know it was necessary. Thank you as always, I love you. Stay safe.