Dozens, if not hundreds, of people were screaming. Some screamed in pain, others in fury. Trash cans and cars were set alight, the fires blazing bright enough to blind anyone who looked directly at it and hot enough to create a wide berth around the fires. Smoke permeated the air, choking those who weren't careful enough to avoid it. Some people carried signs, and others carried wounds that were freshly bleeding. The police were scattered throughout the opposing crowds, trying their best to keep people from reaching the other side and starting a fight. It was the collision of two opposing forces that resulted in an explosion of violence and chaos.

Vermillion stood on the roof of a building that overlooked the riots. A rush of rage and panic spread throughout his body like adrenaline, thousands of thoughts telling him to get involved and stop the butchering of his people. A handful of thoughts kept him standing on that roof. Vermillion was well aware that things would get bad for him if he got involved. He would be letting the entire world know that he was back in action, and this meant that several people he didn't want to know would find out. That thought didn't hold him back because he couldn't find it in himself to care. He would fight his own battles when they came to him. He had been postponing the inevitable long enough. He would risk his safety for that of the district he had chosen to protect all those years ago.

No, the thoughts that turned his feet into lead was the knowledge that his involvement probably wouldn't do anything. The people of Logstedshire would listen to him if he told them to go back. It was the other group from L'Manberg that wouldn't listen to Vermillion. They would continue to fight and riot, and Vermillion knew that he couldn't fight hundreds of innocent civilians. That would only put a bad light on Logstedshire, and Vermillion couldn't allow anyone to have ammunition against the victims of this hate crime. He knew the legal courts would do everything in their power to make Logstedshire the initiators of this. Vermillion couldn't be the key piece of evidence for that case.

Vermillion couldn't stand it, though. He hated looking down at his people. He hated knowing that it truly wasn't their fault, but them getting punished anyway. They were suffering for reasons beyond their control. It wasn't fair. Vermillion was no stranger to the cruelty of the world, but didn't the people of Logstedshire deserve a moment of rest from all their bad luck? How far down must they be dragged before fate decided to leave them alone, or better yet, give them a little hope and prosperity? Vermillion had watched Logstedshire suffer hate crimes for years, and it never got easier. It never felt like the inevitable. Vermillion, stupidly, still believed that one day the people of the other districts would at least tolerate Logstedshire's existence. His childish, naive hope was the weapon that drew the most blood from his heart.

Vermillion growled as he jumped down to the ground, throwing caution and reason to the winds that softened his descent. He landed in the center of the street, in between both of the groups. Vermillion raised his hand, and a spinning wall of wind surrounded the people of Logstedshire. Even though it blurred their features, Vermillion could see the happiness in their eyes and smiles on their faces. Vermillion looked back at the rioters from L'Manberg. They stared at him with a confused expression. Most of them did look like they hated them, but it was more like the natural hate of the unknown. He was a variable they hadn't expected. He looked like a hero and used his powers as easily as one did. They didn't recognize him, and they certainly didn't understand why he took Logstedshire's side. Even the police seemed a little confused. They whispered to each through their walkie talkies, trying to figure out Vermillion's name.

"People of L'Manberg, I understand your frustration, but violence is not the fucking answer here. What happened today was not the hybrid's fault. I am working on fixing the issue, so let's all calm down and go home," Vermillion yelled out to the people. Vermillion was good at saving lives, defeating bad guys, and cleaning up. He was terrible at rousing speeches and talking to people in a dignified manner. He could keep his cursing to a minimum, but he always accidently slipped one in when he was trying not to say one.

Someone threw a glass bottle at Vermillion. It smelled like alcohol and smoke, and Vermillion understood that the intention was to burn him alive. Vermillion lifted his other hand. He caught the bottle with a strong wind. The winds wrapped around the bottle, keeping oxygen from feeding the fire. With the fire out, Vermillion let it fall onto the ground, the alcohol splashing out and dripping all over the glass shards. Using his powers was starting to strain his body, but he needed to make a point. He needed to show L'Manberg that he wasn't playing around. He needed them to know that he was powerful in his own right. He wasn't making threats, and he wasn't fighting anyone. He was subconsciously planting the idea that he shouldn't be messed with. He would continue to deliver this message until they stopped for two seconds to listen to his words.

"I understand that you're upset, but hurting innocent people isn't going to fix anything. If you keep this up, sooner or later, everyone is going to be fucking bleeding on the ground because you have decided that hybrids are so shitty that it's okay to start a fucking war," Vermillion yelled at them, trying to keep his voice neutral. He couldn't let his anger get the better of him, but if he let a little seep into his voice, he could prove that he cared about the situation and wasn't an apathetic robot.

"Those aren't people!" Someone in the crowd yelled. Vermillion wasn't able to see who had spoken, but he could see the ripple effect the noise created. The people started shouting the same things but with different words. Vermillion felt a headache starting to throb in his head. How come the crowds were paying attention to some random guy instead of the hero who could literally control the winds?

"Who are you to fucking decided who are or aren't people? They think, look, talk, and act just like the rest of you. What makes them any different other than a couple of genes that might give them an extra physical quality? That doesn't change who they are. They are just like you," Vermillion said. He was loud enough to be heard, but he had to resist the urge to scream at them all for being stupid. Hybrids spoke the same language and felt the same emotions as regular humans. He didn't know what upset humans so much, especially not when some of them had unnatural powers that allowed them to bend reality. He knew of several heroes whose powers gave them unique appearances as if they were a hybrid. There just wasn't an animal or Mob that corresponds with the traits. He might have been a human like all the people in front of him, but he often felt like he was an entirely different species.

Beau's words swam in his head at this inopportune moment. Moments before he had left to stop the riot, Beau had asked him if he had decided to side with his own kind. Vermillion felt disgust rise in his chest at being compared to the people in front of him. He knew that some humans were good, but he was being faced with an overwhelming amount of horrible ones. Still, he was a human. No matter how many times he wished otherwise, he wasn't a hybrid. He could never be one. He could protect them all he liked, but there would always be that thick barrier between them. Vermillion could witness the cruelty towards hybrids, but he had never truly been on the receiving end. No human would look at him and decide that he deserved to die for being a hybrid merely because he wasn't one.

"Why are you defending those freaks?" Another person cried out in a tone that was very clearly frustration. Vermillion scoffed beneath his mask. Why did they sound frustrated? Vermillion was the one who was fed up with all of this. He wanted to go home. He needed to take a nap before he had work. He needed to sleep before he had to deal with the sickeningly sweet kindness of Sam, the mysteries of Nook, the humorous oddities of MD, and Mamacita's overwhelming belief in the Red Angel. He had run himself ragged physically and emotionally that night, but these people had the audacity to sound like he was holding up their night? They all came out to riot against hybrids at nearly four in the morning. That wasn't Vermillion's fault. He didn't make them give up their sleep just to fight defenseless people.

"I am defending them because they aren't freaks, and you all are brutalizing innocent people who have done nothing to you, your friends, or your family. All hybrids have to do is exist, and you decide that's a sin worthy of death for no other reason than your own cowardice," Vermillion shouted, finally letting an ounce of his anger pour out of his voice. He was done playing nice with people who wouldn't listen no matter what he said. He could feel his powers waning, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to hold up the wall of wind for much longer. He couldn't let the humans see his moment of weakness. They would walk all over him if he did, and he needed to be untouchable in the human's eyes if he wanted to protect the hybrids.

A moment of silence rushed through the crowd. Vermillion would have liked to think it was his words that forced the humans into submission, but he was able to see the real reason slowly descending towards the ground.

Despite his name, the Crowfather was not a crow. The wings sprouting from his back were made of a translucent black gemstone, not real feathers. The crow mask on his face was just that- a mask. He did not have talons, just hands and feet. He was a human with a superpower that made him seem like a hybrid, but if his popularity was anything to go by, he was treated as the pinnacle of human power. He was one of the most powerful heroes, and even though he had retired to join the Syndicate, he was not any less terrifying to villains and inspiring to humans. The Crowfather was one of Vermillion's inspirations, at least. 'Was' being the key word because now all Vermillion felt was dread as he watched the avian hero hover above the ground.

In a commanding and soothing voice, the Crowfather called out to the humans. "Please, everyone return to your homes. I will deal with the situation personally."

He said two sentences, but the humans decided that was all they needed to hear. If Vermillion wasn't bone-tired and looking for an escape from the Crowfather, he would have cried out at the injustice of it all. He turned towards the wind that was still protecting the hybrids. He let it drop down, exhaling in relief as he stopped straining his powers. The people looked at him like their god had just appeared before them. Considering the nickname they gave him, he supposed that he was just that for them. Vermillion shook his head to get rid of those religious and heretical thoughts. "You heard the Crowfather. Return to your homes. Sleep until you have to wake up for your job or school. I swear to you all that I will solve this situation. Be extra careful when you go out. Use the buddy system, and make sure to avoid dark alleyways. There's something going around that I don't want any of you getting."

Just as the humans listened to the Crowfather, the hybrids listened to Vermillion. He watched them go, friends grabbing hands and parents holding their children tightly as they went back to the safest place they knew. Vermillion wished he could convince them all that everything was going to be fine. He didn't have the words or the hope in that fact.

Especially not when he felt eyes on his back and a quiet voice saying his name like he was a prodigal son returning home.