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[color=lightyellow][b][h3][sup][sub]The Dawn After the LHU Massacre[/sub][/sup][/h3][/b][/color]
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As the sun rose, Pantheon sat atop the edge of a skyscraper, he swung his legs to and fro as they hung off the roof's edge. Glint across the horizon was a brush of deep orange. Clouds parted way for their burning master as the ever-dying star asserted itself against the heavens. On his caramel face the sun rested, warm glee manifested a smile along the warrior's countenance. Hassan hadn't slept, Pantheon didn't need to. It was a strange thing having twin consciousness' coiled. Thankfully, it was Pantheon's body within which both were trapped; whatever Hassan's human body once needed, Pantheon did not. Such a predicament helped on occasions when Hassan wasn't adjusting to his new role as a hero and desired to see a simple thing as a sunrise. 

Hassan couldn't help but recall yesterday's events. Never had he seen such death, hatred, and loathe for one's fellow human beings. And never had he been one to cause the deaths of men until that wretched day. Detached moral implications aside, he was, in his own eyes, no better than the Hounds themselves. The louder Hassan became, the harder Pantheon fought back,

[color=yellow]"I know what you are thinking. You and I know those men were no better than animals."[/color]
"But they were just like us! They were human, too!" Hassan retorted,
[color=yellow]"Be that as it may, they would have had no issue killing you if I had not aided."[/color]
"That still doesn't make us right, man! We can't just... you know? We can't just, like, kill people 'cause. . ."
[color=yellow]"Because?[/color] Pantheon raised his right brow,
"'Cause we got the power! Hey, don't interrupt me, you mother--"
[color=yellow]"Does not your [i]oom[/i] warn you of that foul language?[/color]
"Yeah, well, fuck you! How 'bout that!"
[color=yellow]"I do believe I will be telling her of your infraction when we return home."[/color]
"We came here to watch the sunrise, stupid! 'Sides, I don't want to go home yet!"
[color=yellow]"Then you must mind yourself."[/color]

Hassan groaned, it was audible through Pantheon's lips and rumbled from his diaphragm. When on equal grounds, their two conscious' kept one another level. Pantheon's ferocity was considerably dulled when Hassan could manage to wrestle himself forward; conversely, Hassan's apprehension and timid nature in the face of conflict was muffled beneath Pantheon's rage. From what Hassan read of past iterations of 'Pantheon', the Amim who was joined to the titan had to wrest total control of both minds, and quickly. The longer one waited, the deeper Pantheon's hold on the user became until the Amim himself was supplanted. Hassan had to make inquiries if for no other reason than his own safety.

"You told that girl with the ugly sweater you had been around for millennia, how though?" Hassan began,
[color=yellow]"You will find out soon en--"[/color]
"Don't give me that mysterious bullshit. Give me some answers!" payback, no matter how incremental, was sweet.
[color=yellow]"Everything your lineage has studied, mystical or physical, I am the sum."[/color]
"...What?"
[color=yellow]"Deaf are we? ...Although your great, great grandmother was deaf, so I suppose a lack of hearing makes sense."[/color]
"Don't talk about my great, great grandmother!" Hassan stamped,
[color=yellow]"She was a kind soul. She often had to change your grandfather's soiled diapers with her hands until I came along."[/color]
"T-TMI, dude. TMI." The imagery made Hassan shutter, "look, man, I need some answers here. What. The. Hell. Are. You? Do you, like. . . why pick [i]my[/i] family to terrorize? What's the deal? Where did you get all these powers from?!"

Pantheon heard a soft sob; it was their mother. While Pantheon himself did not possess all-around supernatural senses like many of his ilk, any distress from an Amim he could hear a world away. There was a tear in the wind from the supersonic burst as Pantheon raced through the skies to get home, which took him but a few minutes.

--

Bibi Amim had been re-watching the news coverage on the LHU attack since it aired the previous day. So many children slain, and she was unsure if her only son was among them. If her son was dead, she would sue them all! The high school, the police department, the university, everyone! All 47 years of her life and she had never seen such violence! What was wrong with people these days? When she was growing up, people were different; more kind, more loving, more compassionate. The world and its inhabitants had gone to the dumps far as she was concerned. In her rose red slippers and matching bathrobe she sat; it was her fifth glass of wine in nearing twenty hours without respite. Tissues cluttered her dusty rug as she curled into the tan leather sofa; her mind latched desperate on the hope that someone, anyone who even [i]resembled[/i] her schnookums would ring that doorbell. Bibi would spring up at the slightest knock!

Upstairs, Hassan's younger cousin, Shati, was just waking. She was a freshman in high school, an attendant of LHU, in fact. An acne survivor, she was sported features similar to that of Hassan; soft jaws, rounder nose, full lips. She had large, oval eyes and honey colored iris' to accompany. Her father, Bibi's brother, James (who preferred to use his Americanized name instead of his given, Billah) was serving a life sentence for the murder of the man who attempted to kidnap his daughter. Shati's mother, an addict and the girlfriend of this very same man, had not shown face since the trial. How deep were the pangs of addiction that Shati's own mother would use her as collateral for a fix. Shati herself suffered from night terrors of her own, similar to those Hassan used to have in regards to Pantheon, but hers were not magical. Doctors all believed she was borderline schizophrenic with the kinds of visions she saw. Rahna Amim, the family's most experienced Homo Magi (of this generation) suspected her cousin was also attuned to the mystic.

Bibi could sob no more, and she shut off the television; no longer could she stand to hear those words on repeat,

"Dozens dead, more injured and missing in horrendous terrorist attack."

As Bibi rose to prepare breakfast for the house, today it would be [i]shakshuka[/i] and toast. Bibi was rummaging through the refrigerator when she heard her niece descending the stairs. Shati had her hind-length hair wrapped in her headscarf, she hadn't yet tied the Hijab. It was, in Shati's mind, too early for that. Plus, she would end up taking it off later in the day anyway, she couldn't stand the strange looks from all the other teens when she wore it to school. Bibi, however, was not particular about her niece's subtle defiance, and much as she coached Bibi about their heritage and customs, Shati was a modern woman who saw the Hijab as a symbol of oppression. Bibi turned on the burners of the stove and found her two favorite cast iron skillets: one given to her by her grandmother when she was 16, the other she bought at a garage sale for $3. A thrifter, Bibi was. As she was pouring her oil into the skillets, Bibi lifted a salutative smile toward her niece. The creases of her face deepend aongside her mouth as she did,

"Morning, Titi! Breakfast?" with dazed expression, Shati brushed the sleep from her engulfing eyes and returned,
"[i]Shakshuka? Again?[/i]" Bibi frowned, in the lines of her frown she crushed Shati's disrespect,
"If you don't [i]like it[/i] Shati, you can cook for yourself!" the rest was lathered in Arabic. Shati put up little resistance, for she was the absolute worst cook in the family, though with time she figured she may get better. If not, well... fast food existed for a reason. It was around this time that Bibi usually asked Shati about what she did at school the previous day. Today was not fitting for such questioning, but Bibi--ever the soldier of the family--mustered strength,

"So..." an inhale, Bibi continued, "how was sch--" the doorbell rang. Shati's head whipped toward the wooden door and Bibi's gaze trailed alongside her niece's. Outside Pantheon stood.

"You think they're gonna know it's me?"
[color=yellow]"I doubt it; and given your mother and her affinity for that cast iron skillet, I would say brace yourself."[/color]
"Ain't you invulnerable or something?"
[color=yellow]"It still hurts. It always hurts, even after several millennia."[/color] Pantheon winced at the thought of all the brunt damage he had taken over his incarnations.

The door swung open, Pantheon's gargantuan frame and black garment filled the hole of the doorway like a black hole; Bibi screamed and shut the door. From inside, Hassan could hear her shout,

"TITI, GO GET THE SHOTGUN!" and a patter of feet up the stairs. Some minutes passed before the door swung open and Bibi had the shotgun cocked and readied in both hands while Shati marshaled both of the cast iron frying pans.

"Who. The. Hell. Are. You?!" Bibi demanded. Boyish as ever, Hassan pleaded,
"Mama, it's me! It's Hassan!" Bibi's face sunk. Then it filled with rage. She pulled the trier and let the buckshot off right into Pantheon's chest--when the ammunition merely clanged off his chest and atop the concrete porch, Rahna took a swing with the cast iron skillet. When the head of the skillet made contact and subsequently snapped in two, Bibi briefly turned her rage on her niece,

"You broke my damn skillet! Go in the house!"
"But I'm alr--" Bibi gave Shati [i]the look.[/i] Shati's lips fell air tight and she retreated into her room upstairs. Bibi turned her vision on the man who claimed to be her son. A lie, she thought. How could this abomination be her son? He was too tall, too muscular, too modelesque to be her boy. Bibi squinted. She had always heard of the stories about magic and her family, but she was the black sheep who didn't believe the fairy tale. Now, even when confronted with the truth, she would not be assuaged. And she would not be afraid.
"If you're [i]my[/i] son, what was the first birthday present I ever got you?"
"Uh. . . uh. . ." Bibi tapped her foot,
"[color=yellow]A lime green bicycle with training wheels."[/color] Pantheon recounted for Hassan,

Bibi squinted again. In a panic, she shut the door once more. What if this man was an impostor? How does he know these things? Is he a stalker?! Then Bibi remembered the stories her grandmother used to tell her of a magical warrior who seemingly appeared within every generation of the Amim line; a being forged of the deepest practices of the mythical: Pantyhose. Panther? Pant--something or other, she never payed much attention. Her eldest daughter had told her of something similar, but age nor time had softened her to what she believed were just tales spun to make her family feel more important than they were. But, what if they were right? There was one person she knew would know something about this panthwhatever, Rahna. She phoned her daughter no sooner than the idea came to her and Rahna answered.

"Rahna, this is oom. You been dating some guy named Panteock?"
"Who?" Rahna said, amused,
"Pant--one second..." she opened the door again where Pantheon stood, "what did you say your name was?"
"Hass-[color=yellow]Pantheon[/color]" Bibi slammed the door shut once more,
"Pantheon!" she began again,
"No, why would I--Oh. Oh, no! Oh, [b]shit.[/b] Don't move, mama! I'm on my way!" the screech of tires was evident, the line went dead.

Shati sat on her bed upstairs cursing her mother under her breath as she usually did when they fought.

Bibi held her shotgun barrel to the window, her curtains sprung wide open and aimed at the man on her front porch to let him [i]know[/i] she would be having none of his bullshit today.

Hassan rocked back and forth on his toes, nervously grinning at the woman who birthed him and was now pointing a gun to his head. What a fine 'welcome home' celebration this was.