Capítulo 11: Can't Hear You
Below, the basement was cold, damp, and a complete opposite from the grandeur above.
The walls were made of crumbling bricks, and broken stones littered above the uneven floor. There were a total of seven cells, and their iron bars were rusted enough that might shatter with a single touch.
Three on the left. Three on the right. One at the far end center.
Seven covered his nose. The air smelled like rot.
"...Not here either."
He glanced right and left of the cells as he passed, only to see the faint outlines of skeletal remains. Bones. Skulls. There was no survivor on each side.
"Found him."
There was only one prisoner, and that was at the far end cell, locked against an old chair. The dim light barely illuminated the sharp angles of the prisoner's jaw, and the bruises on his exposed skin.
He gripped the rusted iron bars. Surprisingly, it didn't crumble.
"Yo, Oh Son-ji. How are you?"
The prisoner didn't move. He didn't reply either—he can't. A filthy gag was tied around his mouth. The flickering torchlight caught the faint rise and fall of his chest.
"Cruel…"
Oh Son-ji's body seemed like the embodiment of suffering.
Blood pooled beneath the bed like rivers, with fingernails floating like plastics and garbage. Bruises painted his skin in yellow and purple.
His wrists were scabbed from the iron restraints as it carved itself into his flesh. All of his fingers were crooked. Burn marks marred his torso.
Hatred radiated from his eyes, and locked his gaze onto Seven.
"Wmmpp…"
The prisoner, Oh Son-ji, squirmed. But Seven ignored him and just leaned against the cold iron bars.
He didn't know the existence of the basement, if not for the fact that the Archduke didn't mention anything about the assassination on his life. So he concluded that there might be a prison or a place for them.
He was sure that Oh Oh Son-ji was still alive. After all, the last words he spoke before Eden cut his neck were his boasts about his gift.
"Immortality, huh…?"
He shifted his gaze back to Oh Son-ji's body.
"Guess you weren't lying."
Ding!
[Name: Lythian Ace (Oh Son-ji)]
[Main Talent: Assassination]
[Characteristics: Fourth Reader]
[Gift: Immortality]
Seven's gaze shifted towards Oh Son-ji's hands. One finger twitched weakly. A small, faint trail of blood dripped to the floor.
He locked his gaze at Oh Son-ji's eyes.
"Do you want to be free?"
Tilting his head, Seven smiled. It wasn't a smile because he was offering his fellow reader a chance, but because he felt superior.
"Do you want to live not as a reader, but a character?"
"Wmmpp…"
Oh Son-ji's words couldn't get through the filthy gag on his mouth.
Seven sighed as he ran his hand through his hair. He then pulled the iron bars apart wide-open, though the key of the cell was inside his pocket. He didn't consider coming in through the door in the first place.
That wouldn't be as cool as this one.
His steps echoed against the silent basement. Without hesitation, he grabbed a fistful of Son-ji's matted hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to look up. Their gazes met.
"Do you want to live?"
"Whmmp…"
The gag muffled Son-ji's reply. Seven's free hand moved and tugged the filthy cloth down from his cracked and bleeding lips.
"Just kill me, you fucke—"
The words barely left Son-ji's mouth before Seven drove his head forward and slammed it against his knee.
"I didn't hear you. You want to live, right?"
"Kill—"
Seven slammed Oh Son-ji's head against his knee again. This time the chair creaked from the force, and blood splattered onto the stone floor.
"Did I damage my ears? I can't hear anything."
He smiled.
"You want to live, right?"
But before Son-ji could even attempt to respond, Seven drove his knee upward once more.
Again.
And again.
Blood streamed freely from Son-ji's nose and mouth. Seven laughed. But then he stopped, his grip still tight in Son-ji's hair as he stared at the blood-stained floor.
'I'm loving this…? No. Fuck. Do I have a split personality disorder?'
The thought lingered, but he shoved it aside. This wasn't a time for a self-reflection.
With a grim smile, he tightened his hold on Son-ji's hair and pulled his head back again. Blood dripped from Son-ji's face, staining the collar of his torn clothes.
"Let me make this simple. If you want to die, I'll leave you here. Let them keep breaking you, over and over, until there's nothing left but a screaming mind trapped in an unkillable body."
He leaned down, their faces now inches apart.
"Or… you can live. Not for yourself. Not for me. But because I might just need you."
Son-ji's breathing was ragged, each inhale a struggle as he spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor.
"...Fuck… you…"
Seven's smile widened.
"That's the spirit. Now we're getting somewhere."
Without warning, he slammed Son-ji's head against his knee one more time, harder than before. Blood sprayed, and this time, Son-ji's body went slack in the chair as his consciousness teetered on the edge.
Seven let go of his hair, letting his head loll forward.
"Think about it."
He straightened his posture and stepped back.
"You've got all the time in the world."
As he turned to leave, he wiped the blood off his knee with a handkerchief, Seven paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
"Immortality's a curse if you're useless. But it's a weapon if you're mine."
Seven walked away. The cold, damp air of the basement still clung to his skin as he ascended the narrow staircase.
"Hah…"
He exhaled sharply and ran his hand through his disheveled brown hair as he stopped in the empty corridor.
"That… was tiring…"
He leaned against the stone wall. His reflection in a nearby glass window caught his eye.
"But I had to do it. Fear is the only currency that works here. He won't survive otherwise… and I won't either if I look weak."
He pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the throne hall.
Step.
When he entered the throne hall, the Archduke was still seated on his golden-quartz throne. There was no other person apart from him.
Step.
He stopped at a respectful distance and bowed his head slightly.
"Father."
The Archduke didn't reply. He just stared at Seven.
"I have come to claim the sole prisoner in the basement."
"The assassin who dared to infiltrate this household and assassinate you?"
"Yes. I have a use for him."
Silence filled the hall as the Archduke studied him as he eyed him for any sign of hesitation. But he held his ground. There wasn't any sign.
"Very well. He is yours to claim."
"I understand."
Seven sighed. Then, after a brief pause, he raised his head.
"However, I have a favor to ask, Father."
"You dare to ask a favor?"
"I do."
Seven met the Archduke's eyes.
"I want the torture on Oh Son-ji to be intensified before I take him. Break him completely. Make him understand there is no escape. Not even death."
"And why should I grant you this? There is already no escape from the basement."
"Because fear is a weapon."
Seven smiled.
"If I am to wield him, he must first know what it means to be utterly powerless. Only then will he be useful to this household and to me."
The Archduke stared at him for a long moment before giving a slight nod.
"It will be done."
"Thank you, Father."
Without another word, he stepped out of the throne hall, the heavy doors groaned shut behind him.
As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with two figures blocking his path—his identical older brothers, the twins, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with their usual smugness.
"Well, well, if it isn't our dear little Sev."
The first twin, Zachary, smirked as he scratched his neck with his sharp nails. The way his silver hair fell slightly over his left eye gave him an air of careless arrogance.
"You've been coming in and out of Father's hall quite a bit lately. Are—"
"Zach, stop it. We'll be late. Father will nag us."
The second twin, Zachi, interrupted as he lightly tugged his brother's sleeve. Unlike his twin, Zachi's hair was neatly combed back, and his posture was more composed. But he had that tired expression.
Zachary scratched his neck again.
"Late? Oh, come on, Zachi. You know Father won't—"
"Move."
Seven interrupted his words, as he took a step forward, attempting to walk past them. But Zachary chuckled and stepped forward just enough to block Seven's path entirely.
"What's the rush, Sev? No time to catch up with your older brothers?"
"I said move."
Brown hair versus silver. Gray-blue eyes versus blue eyes. They were siblings, but there were differences.
Zachi's eyes flicked between the two, and he sighed softly as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Zach, let's go. Just leave him alone already."
"This is quality family bonding time, Zachi. Isn't that what Father's always harping—"
Step.
Seven walked away without a word.
REFLEXIONES DE LOS CREADORES 
ciae_re
ciae_re haii!! happy 77 collections ;P andddd happy "bloody" holidays —from seven hart
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