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[hr][b][sup][color=#fadadd]｢ Geneva, Switzerland | January, 23 | Midnight ｣[/color][/sup][/b]
Her miracle has made her attuned to people's emotions, and it was with this prescience that Seven first realized they were not alone. This man's immense presence, and the cold fury beneath, almost knocked the wind out of her, even physically stopped her in her tracks. Seven reached for her brother's hand instinctively, only to find him standing face to face with the masked man himself. He was even bigger and more menacing up close, even more so as he approached them as though to strike. She didn't realize what he was doing until it was too late. Before the scream could reach her lips, the masked man caught hold of Ten, grabbing him by the head like he was nothing more than a rag doll. 

At a loss, Seven defaulted to what she did when her siblings were engaged in a fight: make herself scarce and move to the sideline. She was by no means intended for the front line, and she wouldn't dare test the limits of her combat prowess now, not when her brother's life was at stake. Instead, she gave way to the phantasmal hands springing forth from the ground, ceiling, and wall, willing them to give the aid Ten desperately needed.

Seven watched as they wrenched and pulled and clawed, all for naught. The masked man was unperturbed, swatting away the hands as though they were mere flies. She froze when he directed his attention to her—ironic, she'd think later, that she would feel the same sort of fear she imparted just minutes ago—but she felt no malice in his gaze toward her. His words only confirmed what she intuited.

[color=#fadadd]"I'll teach Ten to be good, too,"[/color] Seven appealed. Perhaps, he'd spare Ten if she can convince him that he will no longer disobey orders. She'll user her miracle on him when he's being stubborn, even though she hated using it on her siblings. She'll do anything if it meant saving them. [color=#fadadd]"I can, I promise!"[/color]

Her desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. In the seconds it took for her to beg, the masked man had carried out his sentence; judge, jury, and executioner in one fell swoop. 

Blood splattered her face, her hair, her pretty pink dress. Seven wiped where she felt it rolling down her cheek and stared at her hands, uncomprehending. Blood was good. Delicious. Her second favorite thing to consume, after the heart. But this… She stared at her hand with rising panic. This repelled her, made her wretch, made her sick to her stomach. This was Ten's?

Her eyes hesitantly drop to where Ten's body laid, convulsing and grotesque, blood still gushing from the hole where his head used to be. His head! Seven frantically searched the carnage but found no remnants of Ten. No haughty smirk, no confident gaze; everything that made him Ten reduced to shattered bones and a mess of brain matter. If he'd remained in tact, there was hope, however small a sliver, that he could be saved. But what now? 

Wordlessly, Seven walked past the masked man to pick up her beloved brother's body, and carried him outside. There, she found a corner to sit and wait as she was ordered, cradling what's left of Ten in her bloodstained arms. She held his hand and wept violently. It had been so long since she'd seen her brother, and they didn't even get to talk. Now there was no mouth for him to speak with, nothing left for her to call brother.

In her grief, her light became volatile, 'turning on' without her say-so to envelop her protectively. The light she radiated was not as wide and encompassing as it normally would to entice people further away, but brighter and more intense, almost blindingly so. It called for one person in particular—her Emm; he'll make things better, she just knows it.

Anyone still alive would undoubtedly feel its pull as well, but all the better. Seven will make sure they experience exactly what Ten went through. Twofold.