The Ode of the Pathetic
Attack on Sherman Square
Ebony sky compressed the things below it to silhouettes in Pantheon’s sight. The firmament decor exchanged consistent black for the reds and oranges of explosions, debris found brief illumination in tune with flame. Overhead, thrashing rain settled the steam rising off him; a soothing cool helped him reign his bloodlust. The boy loved rain and any trinket of joy made it easier for him to slip through, to pull against Pantheon’s push.
Eyes closed, he let himself feel the calm. They felt it as one, if only for a brief moment. It was snapped with a beckon. Visage opened to more dancing booms and fire raiding the heavens, a boredom swept and stayed. Love for battle that he had, the collective might of the heroes was greater and more effective even than what he could do on his own. Nothing here was enough
of a challenge for him. Focus enclosed around a familiar face and voice, the Alchemyst; she came with another, the witch who--unbeknownst to Pantheon--was the origin of this ethereal storm.
Alchemyst brung him a weapon, a bat forged from her talent. It rolled near his feet and he picked it up to examine it. Spikes were a nice addition though unnecessary for his purposes. As he opened his mouth to greet his nearest acquaintance and introduce himself to her companion, the fume and light of a flare smoked at his feet. Attention drawn toward it and then its general direction, Pantheon turned. An army of Hounds, nothing new; so mundane, in fact, Pantheon initially hadn’t even made a move to confront them. Brazen though he was, the boy wasn’t going to leave Alchemyst nor her friend unguarded, he knew Alchemyst’s powers took time and were of no defense against a hail of bullets.
Lady Hex had mentioned requiring cover; unfortunately, a thick fog would not be enough to deter the marching squadron of terrorists, or so he was inclined to believe. It was not until Pantheon saw the effects of the red smog that he lifted an eyebrow, interest piqued. He would not
be getting on her bad side any time soon. She had dismantled many of the Hounds mechanisms including their guns in one fell swoop. It didn’t prevent a few of the silver bullets fired (while the ritual was occuring) to crush against Pantheon’s body and for him to stumble back, woozed by the disrupting enchantments of the projectiles.
By the time he gained his wit, Hex’s ritual had completed and its effects apparent. In those moments following his disorientation, Pantheon took himself and his handy new weapon toward the crowd of Hounds. Spikes dug into flesh and ripped skin from faces; metal banged against bone and one could hear the grinding of snapping ligaments. Loud pops from broken kneecaps and torn ACL’s. He made quick and light work of the platoon of men.
Lying before him were broken, useless, sprawled Hound bodies. A swathe of armored trucks rolled up, replacing the group of Hounds’ depleted numbers fast as he could whittle them down. Pantheon’s eyes dropped to the bat, then raised to the truck. The violence had become comical; he could not help but laugh at the absurdity of his own actions. These were peons. They did not deserve his energy; he was only here because of Charlie and the agreement he had struck with her to begin with. He tossed Charlie’s gift of destruction aside. Standing in front of the group of armored trucks, he sighed and then spoke,”I let one of you live before because the boy is courteous,
”Pantheon remarked as though the group of Hounds knew who he was referring to, ”but even he grows tired of this. Bore me further and I will assure none of you get a chance to suffer, I will kill you.”
They had forfeited their right to live long ago far as Pantheon was concerned. A dissenting voice cut across his warning from behind, she called herself Blacklight. Pantheon turned to face her, behind him the armored Hound trucks climbed out, weapons pointed. She floated slightly above him, the cold of her wings chilled him briefly before becoming a heat; he admired the strange beauty of the scattered light.”Blacklight,”
he looked her up and down, palleted iris’ chaining finally to her face, ”I am Pantheon.”
always respectful of some
mortal customs, introduction was merely coded, polite showmanship and the antithesis of humility, as was Pantheon.”And this is not a courtroom, your charge is foolish. We have done far more here today than is within the right of any of your mortal laws. Do not lecture me, child.””Instead, be useful. Let us remove these fools from our presence.”