Chapter 1: DanMachi | A demigod among adventurers | Prologue
Chapter Text
I don't own Percy Jackson, nor Dungeon nor Deai or Motomeru no wa Machigatteiru Darō ka, they belong to Rick Riordan and Fujino Ōmori respectively
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"Characters speaking"
"Characters thinking"
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Even before he woke up, Percy Jackson was already having a bad day.
However, a sound flooded the entire place that surprisingly helped him relax as a sense of freedom ran through his entire body and it makes perfect sense considering that Percy was swimming inside the lake of the half-breed camp with his eyes closed while lying on the bottom of the lake. Although he was still wearing the orange shirt from the half-blood camp and on his neck the necklace was found with some beads.
But Percy was trying to focus his mind on a certain concern while his head was full of thoughts "What do I do?, what would be good to give her?" with those questions running through his mind over and over again, in addition to the fact that those thoughts were indicators that his mind was not clear despite being at the bottom of the lake, which helped him to be closer and more connected to his father's domains and essence.
Suddenly Percy heard a voice calling to him from the small pier on the shores of the lake.
"Percy!" The voice said from the surface next to the lake, somewhat muffled by water, "Come back, Chiron wants to see you"
Percy tried to ignore the call and focus on his thoughts, but was again interrupted
"Percy! Come back friend... please!" That person shouted this time, but he was not alone
"Get out of the lake, Jackson!" Someone else added in a more determined voice, "Get your damn fish ass out of the water right now and come talk to Chiron!"
"Percy!" Come back friend please!" that person shouted this time
"Come on Jackson!" Someone else added in a more determined voice, "get your damn fish ass out of the water right now and come talk to Chiron."
For some reason at that moment those people were ringing with needles in Percy's head, who rushed out of the bottom of the lake
"What's going on Clarisse, G-man?" Percy asked, his head above water, "I told them to leave me alone just for a moment!"
"Come on friend!" Grover said, raising his hands in peace. "Don't get like that, it's just that Chiron wants to see you... by the way, do you already know what you are going to give Annabeth?"
"Grover!" Percy replied with a blushing face in sorrow
"Their first month anniversary, right..." Clarisse added apathetically while rolling her eyes. "A great problem."
Even if she said it in mockery and that Percy wanted to respond with a comment that included a certain son of Hermes, Clarisse wasn't wrong. Although Jackson had yet to accept that he was in trouble, it was the first time he had celebrated an anniversary with a girl, in fact... that girl was the first girlfriend Percy had in a long time, or rather in his entire life and she was none other than Annabeth Chase, Athena's daughter, the smartest person in the entire half-blood camp.
"Have you thought of anything yet?" Grover asked before an argument could occur
"No... it's quite difficult, I say... What can I give to the architect in charge of Olympus, daughter of Athena and who has a collection of scrolls and manuscripts so large that I don't have the slightest idea where she keeps it?" Jackson said, having ruled out giving Annabeth a book on architecture.
"Well, if you put it that way..." Grover said tacitly admitting that it was a good point, but he kept quiet to think of ideas for his friend
"Thank you, friend," Percy interrupted his thoughts gently "but I want to solve it by myself, it's too important to me"
Grover's face softened, and just for a moment, Percy thought Clarisse's did too, or perhaps it was his imagination
"Ok" Grover replied, "but if you need help, don't hesitate to ask."
"Sure..." Percy said, "so... have you talked to her?, You know something?, What does she think?"
"Where was Jackson's courage and audacity?" Clarisse asked, a little disappointed and mocking. “We won't tell you anything.”
"Just one thing," Grover added as his voice and body language changed, "Look for the grandson, the heir to one of the big three"
"What the Hades does that mean?" "What the Hades does that mean?" Percy wondered if 'the heir to one of the big three' was some kind of new book or some kind of important architectural plan he'd never heard of about some temple of the three god-kings, Zeus, Hades or his father "Is that the gift Annabeth wants?" Jackson asked very confused
"Look for the grandson, the heir to one of the big three," said this time Grover and Clarisse in unison, but their faces and skin turned pale and their eyes became strangely white
Suddenly, a thick fog surrounded Percy, completely absorbing the bodies of his friends. But finally Percy reacted when he realized that something strange was happening, so he placed his hand in his pocket and with a quick gesture he was able to draw his Anaklusmos sword, holding it tightly with his right hand and jumping out of the water, but strangely he did not come out dry as usual
"Grover, Clarisse!" Percy shouted, calling his friends through the fog that did not allow him to see anything beyond half a meter.
But suddenly, from the bottom of the fog, Grover tackled him before grabbing Percy's legs, and from behind, Clarisse did the same, knocking him down when he tried to get up and free himself from Grover before holding his arms.
"But what the fuck is wrong with you guys?!" Jackson asked before letting out a cry of pain, "AAHHH!" Because a sharp pain arose when something went through his left shoulder and when he turned his head Percy could see that the tip of an arrow was going through him completely
"PERCY JACKSON," a third voice sounded above Percy's head at the same time that a pair of hands gripped his skull tightly crushing it to the ground
"What the fuck?" Percy didn't understand anything, why his friends were suddenly holding him that way, or whose hand was holding him against the ground while covering his eyes "HELP!" He cried out desperately over and over again
But then he blinked, and the next thing he knew, he was looking at Annabeth's face right in front of him, staring at him, but with white eyes just like Grover's and Clarisse's.
"WAKE UP!" were the last words Percy heard...
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"AHH!" His first conscious thought is that he was feeling uncomfortable, quite uncomfortable and a sharp pain coming from his left shoulder prevented him from getting up quickly or even sitting down. And Percy couldn't understand what had happened, but when he tried to open his eyes, but something was covering his face, "What is this?" he wondered mentally
The black-haired teen could hear the rapid movement of water near him, or could it be... somewhere far away? In addition to that his ears identified many more sounds, the sound of small drops running down the walls and finally the slight sound of these falling on a small pool of water repeatedly, as well as the rumble of a strong current of water violently crashing against the rocks stunned Jackson's mind.
"A waterfall?...Where the Hades am I?" he asked himself again.
Hadn't he been to the camp?, in the Hephaestus' forge, , On Olympus?, Or in what was once the apartment of Gabe's idiot before his mother sold it?
Jackson didn't think so, well, not the latter, all the other options were highly likely, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn't remember where he was or how he got there.
Jackson didn't think so, well, not the latter, all the other options were highly probable, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he couldn't remember where he was or how he got there, while his head was spinning giving him a great feeling of dizziness, in addition to the growing pain.
The last thing Percy remembered was being on a date with Annabeth Chase, you know, his cute girlfriend, when Nico suddenly appeared, most likely he had used his ability to travel in the shadows, but the warnings and a confusing explanation from Nico were about something strange had happened in the Underworld, something that had Hades worried and that perhaps it would affect Olympus and the mortal world. But every time Jackson tried to think better about it, the memory became more blurred.
Did the dead escape from the Punishment Camps? Had the most dangerous creatures escaped from Tartarus? Or was it that a Polish dwarf had been reborn? but after those thoughts... his memories were simply blank, a huge void.
Percy's head spinned, his mind was not able to process such a number of questions that he asked himself so he decided to put it aside for the moment so as not to bear that suffering in his mind, but he had to get up despite the pain and dizziness he felt.
But as time passed little by little, the sounds became clearer and clearer, the roar of a nearby waterfall echoed in the air, and Percy was lying on the banks of a wild river where he could feel the current of the river over almost the entire lower half of his body. Only that while that half of his body was submerged in the crystal clear, but icy water, the constant flow ran through his legs, making him feel a cramp in his muscles, as if the current was trying to take him with it.
He tried to open his eyes, but something wouldn't allow him to see. Some kind of thick veil seemed to cover her view, a strange shadow clinging to her face.
"But what the fuck is this?" Percy said to himself in a low, tired, aching voice, rubbing his eyes with one hand to push away whatever was in them despite the pain in his body as he moved his arm.
The weight on his eyelids made him feel as if something invisible was trying to drag him deeper into the darkness, so he strained his eyes, but the only thing he perceived was a strange diffuse and blurry glow, a kind of fog that covered his field of vision. But a shiver of pain ran down his spine and, with effort, he tried to move while his muscles slowly responded again, numbed by the cold, pain and exhaustion, while his hands could barely hold on to the earth around him, to the slippery rocks.
The attempt to move his body drew a gasp from him when he tried to drag himself out of the river, a pain so sharp that it ran through his entire side and paralyzed him for a moment. The pain originated in his left shoulder, and as he tried to move his arm, but the sensation of pain increased, more intense, as if something was tearing his muscles and bones from within.
So Percy stopped immediately, unable to do more than grit his teeth as he endured the pain, but at the same time something in his mind told him that for more than one reason it should not be possible for him to be injured, which he could not remember at the time. But after a moment he tried to take a deep breath, but the pain attacked him in waves, getting stronger and stronger.
He had to use his right hand, which he barely raised again towards his face, trying to understand what was happening and what was it that he still had in his face. At first he thought it was just wet earth, but when his hand touched his face again and he focused on what he felt in his fingers, the texture seemed strange, sticky. It was something slimy and thick covering his face that he couldn't immediately recognize, but something about it gave Jackson a bad feeling.
Because of that feeling some fear along with desperation arose in him, so he rubbed his palm against his face wanting to take it off while ignoring the pain in his body and when he could see what was left in his fingers he froze... It was almost dried blood that covered his entire face, covering both his skin, as well as his face, eyes and eyelashes.
"What... what is this?" He whispered in a choked voice, as he tried to clear his vision, but blood and dirt seemed to be clinging to his face, as if they had stuck together tightly while he was lying there, with half of his body covered by water, and who knows how long he was there. But once again he tried once again to open his eyes, which this time proved successful.
Once Percy managed to sit up, his heart racing he looked away at his left shoulder. The pain was still stabbing, but now he understood that it was much more than just a nuisance... his shoulder was completely shattered, the skin looking awful, torn, with chunks of flesh torn off in what appeared to have been a brutal blow.
It wasn't just a scratch, the wound was deep and exposed, while the blood, dark and thick, had mixed with the mud, dirt and water.
Percy tried to move his arm, but the effort alone was enough for the pain to make him scream silently as an excruciating burning spread from his shoulder to his wrist, as if every nerve was being burned. As he looked closer, he could see that his collarbone had been displaced, and his shoulder was out of place, twisted in an unnatural way.
Not only was the wound painful, but it seemed like it was slowly bleeding and fear began to take hold of him as his insides told him that it shouldn't be possible, but if he didn't do something soon, , if he just stayed there, he could lose more than just a portion of his shoulder.
So the possibility that it would all end there, in that unknown river and surrounded by fog, was real.
"This can't be happening," he murmured, as if talking to himself to find some comfort in the anguish. But there was no consolation... only pain and despair.
His face drenched in cold sweat, Percy tried to focus his mind. He had to act, despite the nausea and exhaustion, despite the fact that his left arm was unresponsive, he knew he had to get up.
The water of the river continued to flow around him, indifferent as he felt again within himself that it should not be this way. But he couldn't stay there, paralyzed by fear or pain and with a titanic effort, he used his right hand to push away some mud, as well as wipe his face and little else, but as he did so, some of the pain in his shoulder came back with force, causing him to fall backwards again, onto the wet rocks and ground. And the image of his shattered shoulder would stick in his mind, like a constant threat.
"I don't think I've ever been so close to dying," Percy said aloud as his head spun and hurt again "Not even when that volcano made me fly through the skies, huh?" Confused by what he had just said, Percy turned his head, looking around. "... What was I saying?"
Despite the anguish, Percy managed to strain his eyes and look around. The landscape around him was such a strange contrast that he could hardly believe his eyes.
He was at the end of a gigantic waterfall on the banks of the river that may have swept him away and originated from the giant waterfall which was actually a series of waterfalls falling from dizzying heights, creating a deafening roar, but the waterfalls seemed endless, with water falling from above, falling in layers from a great height, only to crash into the rocks below, blanketing the air in a damp, thick mist. And the crystal clear waters of the river mixed with the reflection of the light, creating bright flashes that Percy could barely make out in the mist.
"Where the fuck am I?... Did I fall from the top of those waterfalls?" Percy wondered over and over again in total confusion about where he was and what was going on without being able to decipher it
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If you liked it, comment and vote in favor, criticism helps to improve.
I don't own the images, credits to whom it belongs
Chapter 2: Zelretch's Victi... Zelretch's Workers | Ch 1 rewrite
Chapter Text
I don't own Fate or Percy Jackson, Fate belongs to the Type-Moon company, Takuya Satō and Kinoko Nasu. Percy Jackson belongs to Rick Riordan, as well as any other elements of any other work that appears, credits to whom it corresponds.
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"Character speaking"
"{Character speaking another language}"
"Character thinking"
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The Old Man of Jewels.
The master of the Second True Magic.
The third or fourth of the The Twenty-seven Dead Apostle Ancestors.
The Wizard Marshal.
Or simply Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, it was a name that alone attracted a mixture of respect, admiration, fear, paranoia, dread, madness, and bewilderment in every corner of the World of Magi.
A man who has accumulated titles so absurdly high that any other magus would cower in his shadow. An individual whose deceptive appearance is that of a mature man approaching 60 years of age, but with great vigor... when in reality he's thousands of years old.
An old man who, in a past so distant it seemed like a myth, defeated a being that even the gods would have feared or hesitated to face individually. He who, without trembling, rejected the power of the moon itself, but who today... was bored.
But those simple words were more than enough to send a chill down the spine of anyone capable of manipulating or harnessing mana, no matter where in the world they were. Because it was a situation that any magus would not want to witness, much less live as a victim of it... of a bored Zelretch.
Because when Zelretch's bored, even the most powerful prefer to pretend they're dead.
For this reason, no one, absolutely no one, wanted to be around the former wielder of one of the five True Magics when they had nothing better to do. Their boredom wasn't merely annoying… it was dangerous, unpredictable, and frequently involved explosions, sanity and mind-breaking, or some new and incomprehensible pocket-sized abomination.
So on that day, the Clock Tower, the beating heart of the magical community, the bastion of arcane knowledge, and the center of the world for magus was completely empty.
Or to be more precise, almost empty because in one of the large, elitist and conservative-looking rooms, a single being remained seated. That old man with bright eyes and a sly smile, wearing an old-fashioned tuxedo and carrying a cane he didn't need to walk, but used because it gave him style... Zelretch himself.
Which at that moment was watching multiple realities as if they were television channels, switching lazily, sometimes laughing, other times frowning, but mostly sighing with resignation, boredom, disappointment or exasperation.
“Another Holy Grail War that ends in a nuclear-level explosion? Tsk. What a lack of creativity…” he muttered to himself as he waved a hand, and one of the projections showing a burning version of Fuyuki City that a moment later disappeared in a burst of corrupted energy from the grail itself, vanished like smoke with subtle multi-colored flashes.
It was no wonder, after all, Kischur had access to the past, the present, and even the power to see the possible futures of countless worlds. His mastery over the Second Magic allowed him not only to see, but also to travel, modify, and even, if he so desired, interact with these universes like a person flipping through a book.
But that wasn't all, he also had the ability to draw energy from infinite versions of himself, transport any conscious being between divergent worlds, be able to rewrite possibilities as if they were notes on a score or perhaps the best interpretation of the latter was being able to cause the creation of a new timeline, and despite all that...
"I'mmmm boreeeed" The old man complained, his head falling back with exaggerated drama, his voice echoing thanks to the fact that he was the only organic being present in the clock tower.
Then he moved his staff, and it clinked softly against the floor as he tried to think of something to entertain him. It was a delicate sound, but in that empty room, it sounded like thunder… and would undoubtedly strike fear into the hearts of any magus, were they there.
“Where’s the chaos? The excitement? The good old madness?” Zelretch said almost in a wailing tone, looking off at a random empty corner, as if waiting for someone to appear and answer him.
Of course no one did, because even the familiars of all the magicians residing in that place had learned to stay away when he used that tone of voice.
However, he returned his attention to the projections, opening new ones, closing others, until several minutes later he focused on the portal he was drawn to, which showed an alternate world where the Holy Grail itself had somehow become an artificial intelligence… and had won the war itself…
"Too depressing... or too absurd and dull?" he said, raising an eyebrow at this particular universe before making another gesture to change projections.
Being able to observe infinite realities from the comfort of his own living room was nothing more than a trivial pastime for him. Basically, a child's game, something as routine as breathing, although sometimes, like now, the worlds he observed didn't entertain him enough.
"Oh, that looks fun..." he muttered a few moments later in a nonchalant and slightly interested tone as he leaned toward one of the floating projections showing the various alternate realities. "Jeanne d'Arc... and her alter counterpart. Interesting... Now... let's see what I can do to make this even better..."
His eyes, reflecting a subtle glow of condensed mana, briefly flashed with a gleam of almost youthful amusement.
“Ah, ha! Class cards,” he exclaimed after a moment, as if he had just remembered an old joke when the thought popped into his mind.
But the moment the words left his lips, another small portal materialized in front of him, spinning like a silent vortex and from which a dozen rectangular objects, with arcane designs as well as the silhouettes of people were etched on the surface.
They were clearly class cards from some alternate world, which were instantly sucked into the portal that showed two counterparts of the heroine from France. Then, it closed as abruptly as it had appeared, leaving behind a light, subtle burst of ethereal wind.
"Hmm…" The former magic practitioner thought for a moment, deciding what to do next with this world. "... I'll come back in a month to see how it turns out… more or less…" and Schweinorg muttered like someone who leaves something in the oven and goes to get some tea, only to complain again later. "But I'm still bored..."
Then a moment later, he scratched his cheek as his face grew thoughtful, his gaze once again lost among the dozens or hundreds of worlds projected in front of him.
"I wonder if there's any Emiya available out there..." he said, more to himself than anyone else. "I could just throw him into a random world, like old times..."
It was a recurring thought for the old wizard... and not exactly a kind one, since his usual 'victim' was usually some young man with red hair... or with white hair, depending on the world, timeline, universe or version of Earth he was observing.
But all the Emiya who caught his attention shared a common fate... being thrust into realities, worlds, ages, or timelines ranging from vaguely similar to the ones they were born in to completely unknown, without explanation or preparation. An entertainment Zelretch had cultivated for years, both to satisfy his curiosity and to mitigate his boredom for a time.
But Schweinorg had been doing that ever since he discovered several worlds more than two decades ago, and new ones kept appearing. Entire multiverses with infinite ramifications where logic, magic, and science obeyed different or somewhat similar rules, worlds where divinity still walked among men or had been completely forgotten.
Worlds that he studied with care and worlds that he used as game boards or stages for his interdimensional 'experiments'.
Worlds with unknown sources of power.
Worlds where humans, or entirely different races, discovered their own ways to manipulate those forces.
Worlds where humanity had managed to prosper until it achieved a utopia… or had been extinguished by its arrogance or pride.
Some were set in truly primitive eras, where fire was just beginning to be used by humans; while others were set in futures so advanced that the human soul itself had been digitized.
While in some others, the known heroes didn't exist, in others they were simply normal humans without magic, divinity, or any other source of power; and in others they were unrecognizable distortions of their counterparts.
An endless number of realities... an endless ocean of possibilities that the ancient magus used to entertain himself and fight his greatest enemy... his boredom. Being at that moment his best option to get what he want
"So many worlds, so many stories..." he said in a low voice, almost with a hint of affection or perhaps expectation as more projections of those worlds, more different from the one he inhabits, were shown, and a moment later he smiled, not out of malice...
Well, it depended on who you asked because it was the smile of someone who simply couldn't help but play with the structure of the universe or multiverse... because he could and because no one could stop him.
So it was also a smile that would make those unfortunate magus who saw it cry in fear or despair while praying to all the superior beings they had read, heard or researched about, begging not to be Zelretch's future victims.
So Kischur spent a good while observing these most disparate, diverse worlds until he found one that attracted his attention and interest enough.
"Oh… what is this?..." he said with renewed interest "A world where the age of the gods continues… and coexists with the modern world?... Mmm… interesting"
One of the projections before him, which until a second ago had depicted a reality collapsing beneath the arrogance of its inhabitants, abruptly changed, now revealing a vibrant, different universe. In it, divinity had not disappeared into the annals of the past; the gods remained active, present, walking among mortals just as in ancient myths.
The anciente wizard tilted his head, intrigued, and began scrolling back through that world's timeline with a gesture of his staff. Like someone flipping through a new book, reviewing its history from creation to the present.
"Let's see what happens if no one interferes and alters history..." he murmured distractedly in an almost academic tone.
He observed the natural development of the world. Events, conflicts, the birth of heroes, the fall of empires… and finally, the emergence of a new 'savior'
A hero.
One more.
But Zelretch clicked his tongue in obvious annoyance “Just another ‘hero who saves the day.’ Too boring,” he said, letting out a snort.
He'd seen this story too many times: charismatic individuals saving the world through little more than pure luck, fate... or the capricious intervention of some higher entity pulling the strings from the shadows.
A pattern. One so repeated it was almost nauseating, and yet... there were exceptions... few but memorable.
Heroes who earned his respect, and in that moment one of them came easily to mind: a young man with brown hair, a thin build, and a tired but steady gaze. A teen boy or man who climbs walls and threw webs, but who in addition to his powers had to rely on his wit, knowledge, and cunning... however, what stood out most were not his powers, but his spirit.
No matter how many times he fell, how many losses he suffered, how many truths broke his soul… he always got up… always fought, always protected.
"That boy... he was really interesting," he murmured with a slight tone of nostalgia, like someone remembering an old student or an old acquaintance.
Zelretch had contemplated and debated throwing one of his counterparts into other worlds, and on several occasions, but he never did it. Not for lack of desire, but because of the respect that human had earned.
Besides, in many of those realities, his absence would cause many of the other heroes to commit even more stupid acts than Kischur had already seen while observing those worlds. Or they would be overwhelmed by the number of supervillains and other unusual criminals he faced almost daily, but which the rest didn't take seriously because the vast majority considered him to be just a street-level hero or believed the lies and slanders told about him.
So those worlds needed someone like that to avoid going to hell, just like what happened in one of those worlds where one of the constant enemies of that super human, which used modern technology and other advancements to manipulate the perceptions of others by creating scientific and technological illusions; trapping another of the heroes in one and causing him to kill a large number of the other heroes.
And for better or worse, that young man and his counterparts had earned a 'truce' so that Schweinorg would not cast them into other worlds.
But the world before him now, this new universe where gods and humans coexisted in the 21st century, even though most of humanity was ignorant of it, didn't show events for the hero he now saw to earn that privilege.
"Hmm... Maybe a parallel world?" he said aloud, talking to the air like he usually did when something really caught his attention.
So the projections floating in front of him began to react as some analysis magic circles opened around the main image and the staff vibrated slightly to the rhythm of the magical fluctuation.
Then a subtle pulse of magic emerged from those magic circles, and more variations of that world began to appear in all those portals. Echoes of the same world, but displaying changes ranging from subtle to incredibly drastic, both benevolent and detrimental.
As in one of the projections, a version of that world was shown, where the gods were revered as benevolent guardians. In another, they were cruel tyrants ruling from the top of Olympus, while in a third, humans had learned to steal some of their power without them realizing it by failing to properly care for their divine domains or do their duty.
Only many of those possibilities delighted Zelretch who narrowed his eyes, but with a smile "Now yes... this is starting to get interesting"
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If you liked it, comment and vote in favor, criticism helps to improve.
I don't own the images, credits to whom it belongs