Pahn would gaze down upon Anora, another slight look of sympathy singeing his noble features. He would not interrupt her, rather, he would observe. He was comparable to a teacher looking down on a young student during an expression of their partially misguided dreams. By end of Anora's speech, his face once more held that distant half-smile it typically does. Perhaps he always finds himself thinking of the pleasant things this world reminds him of.
"Alright." Is Pahn's only verbal response. His relaxed demeanor silently carries him behind Anora upon whatever path she chooses to take. For him, this is a time to say his own goodbye to a way of life he's lived far longer than most mortals might imagine.
Pahn's eyes first linger on the buildings which surround him. His brow grows tense just above sinking eyes. His jaw tightens whilst his lips relax. He looks as an old man prepared to say story after story about the lands he's visited whilst he lay on his death bed, awaiting the pull of his creator.
Pahn's eyes would secondly seek those surrounding him, the pedestrians of this place. With each passing person his eyes sink deeper into mourning. The emotions of his plight are pushed outward as his lips frown in slight, a contained sadness swallowing his expression. Said sorrow may not appear to be overwhelming him, but distress such as this has rarely been witnessed.
Pahn would soon rectify himself upon reaching Anora's apartment, his face shifting towards familiar shapes. Nobility clasps him in it's fullest frame. Shoulders square themselves, his back straightens, and his legs maintain an unearthly balance. His hands sink into either pocket as his head leans slightly backwards. He shows resemblance to nobility gazing softly down upon his servants, hiding either hand as if there was never a labor meant for them.
"I assume you're ready, then." He would gently say upon Anora finishing her note-writing. She would be given ample time to complete whatever 'goodbye's' she might deem necessary, our celestial awaiting her preparation with outstanding patience. Something profound occurs after this last statement. Pahn slowly blinks, his eyes visibly luminescent upon opening. His body's musculature gains further definition, supernatural strength now blatantly dwells beneath overly tightened skin. His aura bleeds further into open space, an authority over natural reality preceding all thought pertaining to him. Small specks of luminous blueish-silver populate the air near his head for several seconds as the curls of his ivory hair slowly unwind as if they'd been emerged in liquid. His long hair now flows elegantly in all directions, pushed by an unseen wind.
After Pahn metamorphosis's from muscular hobo to god, the world itself also undergoes alteration. The air grows thick, feeling like a humidity not based in moisture or other natural law has reared it's head. The sky outside Anora's window changes, the colors of our atmosphere deepening into dark shades of navy blue. Even so, daylight illuminates everything just as brightly as it had before. Alongside this, slight rumbling can be heard in the distance intermixed with several sporadic shouts from the street below.
"This, Anora, is the power I had sealed. My presence is the fuel of ancient myths. Though, I suppose it's inevitable my legacy should resurface before it's end.." Pahn's words echo far into the deepest corners of Anora's mind, being carried both audibly and telepathically towards her in simultaneous motion. His voice is now heavy, a tone of true composure populating said utterance. His sculpted features shimmer reflectively beneath flowing hair and the glowing eyes of a predator king.
As off-setting as these events may be, all of it will feel eerily familiar to Anora. She could likely swear she'd been in a place like this for quite a measurable time when she was young, or, that she had visited a land like our current Earth during the summers of school. Pahn's voice is oddly comforting, as if he carried the body of someone even her parents had shown admiration for.
Should Anora peer outdoors during all of this, she'd witness something surreal. Just below her apartment building were three average caucasian males wearing typical modern clothes walking down the center of the street. Their pale body's were carried by clumsy composure, each labored step nearly causing them to collapse. Cars had halted and veered to the sidewalks in attempting to avoid this seemingly distressed trio.
The three would walk towards the wall of vehicles and honking horns for several seconds before performing something miraculous. Once having come near a vehicle, the man in the center would slowly reach forward to touch the car before him. Upon contacting metallic surface, his hand would glow a silvery-white and *poof*, just like that, the car and all of it's inhabitants were soundlessly converted from metal and flesh into crystalline dust. This dust dissolves in the light breeze and floats away as an ambiguous cloud of mist. *Poof-Poof* Several other cars are similarly afflicted before people begin to panic. They slowly continue on for time, turning cars into to dust until all that stands in their way is no more.
Screams and sirens can be heard as an ambiance roughly thirty-seconds later, small tendrils of mist now rising from streets both near and far. *SCREE!!* A jet black mustang rushes into the now open path created by our three pale, shambling men. This transport runs one of them into the ground, stopping just beyond the other two. From it's left door steps a suited woman with red hair, her thin form standing in the open for a brief set of motions. From her left jacket pocket is drawn one small revolver. *Bang-Bang-Bang!* Each bullet is accompanied by a green flash, all of them meeting their marks between the eyes of a pale-shambler. Even the now run-over man had been shot, all of them suddenly freezing in place. Their skin changes from flesh to stone, their clothes and body's being fully petrified within seconds of being shot. With this, the red-headed woman slips back into her car and jets down the road likely in search of further threats.
During this initial immersion into madness, Pahn had closed his eyes. He looked to be acclimating, taking deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth whilst strands of his hair flowed as water about him. Something about this told Anora not to disturb him, a deep instinct reminding her of a scolding she feels she'd rather not remember.
"We should be off to the gorgon capital.-" Pahn would say whilst opening his eyes, the echo of his voice likely feeling as an odd adjustment. "-Are there any questions or further tasks you must complete before we depart?" Though he now exudes a more commanding presence, this in no way means he feels hostile or in opposition of others. Even so, he may appear intimidating to those whom aren't acclimated to his natural form.