Bite The Bullet
.01
Their orders had been simple.
They were to eliminate the White Fang.
Everything had been going smoothly. The White Fang had never seen their betrayal coming and their ambush had taken out most of the members. He and Emerald had moved in as the remaining members had scattered in a defensive formation. None of them had foreseen that Beacon would join in the fight halfway and they had been forced to deal with an extra faction.
Mercury had gone to fight Yang while Emerald had taken on the Schnee heiress. They had gotten separated at some point thereon but he had been confident that they would win. They had Cinder and Neo on their side after all.
And as the dust cleared, he had been left standing in the midst of the wreckage, cool eyes flickering about as he had surveyed the area, the blonde lying at his feet motionless. He had spotted Cinder moving in the distance and he had made his way over to her, clambering over the rubble.
She had been dominating the fight effortlessly considering her opponent was the blond boy he so very despised. But then all the blood had drained from his face when someone had sprung between the two fighters as Cinder had tried to stab Jaune with her dual swords.
There had been a spray of blood and Cinder was gone, having seen Roman in need of aid.
He could hear screaming and out of the corner of his eyes, he could see various blurry figures retreating. Mercury had looked up slowly, watching dumbly as Yang dragged Jaune away. There had been tears on the blond's face but it had taken him a moment before he had finally recognized the fallen warrior. And a chilling numbness had crept up his back.
He had never contemplated that Pyrrha was injured, least of all dying, as he had made his way slowly towards her. He had merely thought that she was resting just for a second; after all, she had been fighting against some of the most powerful fighters in Vale.
It was only when Mercury had stopped in front of the female that he had noticed the hole in her chest.
Eyes snap open and he bolts awake, sweat coating his bare chest. He drags a hand across his forehead, wiping away the perspiration and he rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands, groaning as the vivid memories floods into his head. He rips off the covers and storms out of his room, a hand running through his damp hair.
He can't take it much longer.
.02
Bloodied fists slam into the sandbag repeatedly. Blood is flowing freely from his hands, staining everything a brilliant crimson red. He doesn't feel the pain though, the adrenaline having dulled his senses. With a roar, he unleashes one last punch, putting all of his strength and weight behind the attack.
The male stumbles backwards, chest heaving and doubled over as he gasps for breath.
It's the middle of the night and he's exhausted but he can't sleep; he hasn't been able to in a long while.
He remembers everything, every single detail and it comes to him every night.
He's standing there, eyes unwavering and face unreadable as he stares down at her. There's a gaping hole in her chest and there's blood everywhere, blood on her bare skin, blood on his hands, blood pooling around her.
Red. Everything is red. And all he can see is red.
Kneeling down in front of her slowly, he takes her shaking hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. But his mind is in complete turmoil and he doesn't know what he's feeling right now. His thoughts are jumbled and he can only make out flashes of anger, disbelief, pain. The shock finally overrides his system and his defence mechanism kicks in, rendering his expression emotionless, the only sign of discomfort shown by his clenched jaw.
Mercury remains kneeling before Pyrrha in absolute silence and it is only when the light fades from her eyes, when the last breath escapes from her lips, that he straightens up, eyes darkening and mouth set in a grim line. Then, he turns around and leaves wordlessly, not sparing her another glance.
He slams into the sandbag, feeling his knee jar at the impact, and he resumes his venting.
He can't take the feeling, the madness.
Something inside him has shut down. It has for a while.
He takes missions one after the other without rest; it is the only thing keeping him from his haunting thoughts. Whenever he is too beat up to continue, he would drag his broken body back to bed because it is only then that he can get any sleep. Training and carrying out missions become a daily routine, one that he is hesitant to deviate from lest it breaks him out of his self-induced stupor.
But with the lack of missions at this point in time, he's pulled back into reality and the true gravity of his situation crashes down upon him like a tidal wave once again.
He drops to his knees, eyes closed, completely drained.
He needs to remain calm and level headed.
He needs to maintain control.
Control of the latent anger and frustration simmering in his chest.
Control of the madness swirling in his head.
He needs to maintain control over his mind.
But he can't.
It's a curse and it's his curse alone.
.03
The world continues to turn with or without her and it hits him hard.
He can't fault Cinder, or at least, he refuses to, because that would mean he'd have to question his loyalty all over again, and that only serves to remind him of the redhead. And so he places the blame on Jaune – the boy who's stolen her heart, and in his mind, her life.
It's not long before his walls come up once again, the smirks and flirtatious façade returning at full force to hide the pain he's feeling. Emerald teases him about how little he seems to care about the death of his "toy" and he swallows bitterly - the shit-eating grin still on his face - when he understands why Pyrrha never thought he had cared.
It hurt because he had cared. He really had, even though he wasn't supposed to. He was never supposed to.
He shakes his head in a futile attempt to clear his mind.
Disorganized thoughts plague his mind and run rampant in his head; he's so caught up in this feeling of madness, so tied down by his memories that he's almost bordering on a mental breakdown.
At times, it's a faint buzzing in his head like a never-ending headache; at times, it's an empty, hollow feeling in his skull, pounding and clawing and eating away at his mind, the pressure building up almost to a bursting point until he can't stand it anymore. It is then his control over his emotions slips through his grasp like sand and he lashes out at whoever or whatever is unfortunately near him.
He can't escape it.
He sees things that trigger it within him; long forgotten yet strangely familiar things that spark a distant memory for the briefest of moments before it slips away again. It's like watching pieces of himself break away, wither and die with every breath he takes, with every beat of his heart.
He's losing himself over and over again.
And he's so tired.
Mercury closes his eyes wearily.
He's on edge, fatigued, almost as if he's shouldering the weight of the entire world with no means to deal with it.
The pain crushes his chest, suffocating him but he doesn't understand it, he can't identify the feeling. It's this constant sinking feeling, something in his chest free falling to the depths of his stomach before the feeling disappears as suddenly as the drop. Then it returns out of the blue and it feels like some sort of emotional roller coaster ride, where one moment he's alright and the next he's just falling. The pressure is maddening and he's driving himself crazy thinking about it.
He's slowly driving himself insane.
.04
Mercury slams the newest White Fang recruit against the wall and unleashes a flurry of attacks on her. He doesn't give her time to recover, to catch her breath. He just pummels her, allowing the rage, the feral instinct within him to emerge.
He's hard on the newbie, his training sessions with her bordering on abuse. He knows that it's not fair for him to take it out on her but he can't stand the sight of her; with her fiery red hair, she is a constant reminder of the woman he has lost.
She's nowhere near as powerful as Pyrrha, nowhere near as intelligent.
She isn't Pyrrha.
He swallows, choking down the lump in his throat, and he throws the limp body of the female onto the ground.
She's bleeding profusely, twitching on the ground and he straddles her, fist raised. He doesn't bother holding back or practicing his kicks. He needs to feel the pain of his chafed knuckles smashing against bruised bones, feel the life bleed out of him.
He wants the punishment.
He needs it.