The Trick to Falling in Style

Panic

For all his battle prowess, for all his power, for all his stubbornness, Vermillion's instinctual response to fear was not to fight. It was to flee. He was a runner. When things got difficult, he tried to get as far away from whatever was causing his pain as possible. More times than he could count, he would run from emotional situations rather than physical fights. He could handle a brawl. He could not handle the guilt of his own actions. Emotions were his worst enemy because they were the one opponent that could effortlessly break through his defenses, slipping through the cracks of his armor. He could handle being thrown around like a ragdoll, but the scars he wore from awful words and horrible decisions hurt him still to this day.

Vermillion collapsed onto his knees, tumbling out of the sky like a bird being shot by a hunter. He rolled across a random building's roof, not stopping until his body slammed into a parapet. He breathed out heavily as his body accepted defeat. His limbs were too heavy and his lungs weren't working properly. He couldn't move even if he wanted to, and he didn't have the mental capacity to think about anything other than Unfound's crumpled body.

He couldn't think about anything other than Banshee's lifeless body.

Vermillion threw one arm over his mask, covering his eyes. He could see the splattering of stars across the back of his eyelids until they faded into darkness. His other arm snaked around his waist, gripping his side with a viselike grip. His stomach churned uncomfortably, and the lack of air wasn't helping his body do anything productive. His mind was preoccupied with panic to worry about the body it was meant to be guiding. Everything was falling apart around him and within him. For several seconds at a time, he couldn't tell who or what or where he was.

His innate survival instinct is probably the only reason why he calmed down. With his panic, his lungs weren't working, and oxygen was vital for his survival. His instincts demanded that his lungs start inhaling and exhaling. Once that was taken care of, everything else fell into place. His emotional pain didn't dissipate, but it retreated enough that he could process. He wasn't calm, exactly, but he was much closer to that than sheer mania. He would take what he could get, even if it meant acknowledging that Apex had left him with one singular good thing.

Everything else was ruining his life.

He could still feel it... the power. It was more like a separate entity to him, festering inside of him like a prowling beast waiting at the edges of the subconscious darkness. Instead of following his orders, it did what it presumed was good for him. It rose up when he felt like he was being threatened, even if he wasn't. Banshee and Unfound had not been trying to hurt him. They wanted answers, plain and simply, and it was Vermillion who took it the wrong way. He opened the door for the beast to strike, and no matter how much he held it back, his arms were too weak.

Vermillion pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning back against the parapet. He brought his folded legs to his chest, burying his face in his knees and wrapping his arms around his calves. He continued breathing in and out. He hoped that the darkness could hide him, but the sun still had some time before it would set. He knew that he couldn't hide forever, especially if he wanted to continue pursuing the Apex hierarchy. The others must have seen Unfound by now.

Vermillion felt tears start to warm his eyes. His only consolation was that he didn't touch Unfound for nearly as long as he touched Banshee. If Banshee could come back with some modified powers and a new hero identity, surely Unfound would be fine. Well, he wouldn't be fine, but he would be... Vermillion didn't know what he was hoping for. It seemed too pessimistic to only wish that Unfound was conscious, but that was exactly where Vermillion's staked his hopes. He just needed Unfound to be alive. He didn't even care if Unfound never forgave him- if the others didn't. He wasn't here for their love or trust anymore. He just needed them to be as okay as they could be.