The Panic

Umbra shut the bathroom door, sliding weakly onto the tile. His breath was ragged, sweat gathering on the back of his neck.

His thoughts were racing. He wasn't ready for another mission. He couldn't do it, no, not after last time.

Umbra had his hands over his face, deep in the throws of pure panic. Shamefully, he felt himself crying, and he couldn't stop himself.

Umbra had tried to push away the inevitable: they were going to have to continue their mercenary work. Even pondering it had made Umbra feel sick. But now there was no avoiding it.

What was he supposed to do? Tell Matthew he didn't want to go on another mission? As if! Umbra was the one that urged him to become a mercenary in the first place.

Umbra didn't want to alter the status quo anymore than it already was. Opting out of mercenary work would cause too much concern within the family.

I've got to get over this, Umbra thought, struggling to regulate his breathing. He shook his head, attempting to clear his senses. I can't lead anyone when I'm falling apart at the seams. He was sick of being so weak.

Umbra stood with difficulty, slapping his hands on the counter for support. He flicked his eye upward, gut twisting as he recognized his reflection.

He looked exhausted. Dark, purplish bags hung under his eyes, and his skin lacked its usual luster. Umbra could tell he had lost weight, as his cheek bones had become more pronounced. A single bloodshot, tearstained eye stared back at him in the mirror.

“Deep breaths,” Umbra muttered, reciting his usual protocol when Victor had an anxiety attack. He sucked in a long, shuddering breath, slowly releasing it. He repeated the process until his heart stopped racing so frantically. Running a hand down his face, Umbra finally found himself presentable.

He made his way out of the bathroom, stepping back into the kitchen. At the table, Esper, Victor, and Seraph sat, still bleary with sleep. Matthew was makinhg another round of pancakes and Aunora was reclined on the couch.

Umbra rested his hands on Victor and Seraph’s shoulders, trying to be friendly.

“I guess you two finally decided to wake up, huh?” Umbra murmured through a fake smile, planting a kiss on top of his youngest sons’ heads.

Esper touched his arm, giving him a thoughtful expression. Umbra almost shuddered. Esper’s eyeless face seemed to be cutting through his facade. “Good morning, Dad.”

An erratic knock on the door interuppred the breakfast setting.

“I'll get it,” Umbra said quickly, wishing to escape Esper’s piercing glower. He pulled open the door, his mouth set in a hard frown.

A teenage boy stood at the door, clutching a colorful flier. He bore the familiar features of the Serpentine: hooked nose, brown skin, and, most startling of all, four eyes. Curly pink hair bounced around his shoulders as he rocked on his heels.

“Hiya!” the boy squeaked, “Is this is home of Umbra Mortis?”

“This is he,” Umbra said, towering over the teenager, who seemed to radiated the exact kind of excitement that infuriated Umbra.

The boy paused, looking Umbra over. “Wow, really? Uh...You look horrible.”

“So do you,” Umbra snarled, slamming the door.

Author's Note- and it begins