Rage against the heavens (PJO SI as a human with the inspired Forge)

I may have laid it thicker than it needed to be. I might have sounded a bit too chuunibyou, even for my tastes, but I meant every word I just said to Beryl. Overturning fate. Changing the very fabric of reality, changing the what will be. I knew It sounded grandiose, pretentious, like the ravings of a man who had seen one too many anime, who very much needed to touch some grass. But this was the truth, I knew it was.
In a way, none of this, none of my plans or ambitions, would come to fruition if the threads weaved by the Moirai weren't cut. The future was tangled in those threads—crafted meticulously, woven by their hands to trap us in the loops of history. Fate. A seemingly unavoidable, almost insurmountable obstacle. Without severing those threads, I knew that I wouldn't win. In all likelihood, I'd lose—ignominiously, disgracefully. To fight against fate and lose was perhaps inevitable if one could not deal with the root, the anchor, the core that ensured Olympus would not fall and Zeus would keep his throne.
That was where Tristan McLean—or, to be precise, his daughter—entered the equation. It was why she mattered so much. Piper McLean. She would become a powerful demigod, a girl who inherited charmspeak from her mother—a gift that blurred the lines between mind control and bending reality, a power that was more Lesser reality warping than anything else. potent enough to sway outcomes, twist what should be untwistable. After all, she literally commanded in canon Jason—my nephew—to come back to life, and he literally did. Sure,!it could be attributed to the gates of death being open making it easier but it didn't change that charmspeak was OP as F. She turned ice to fire, commanded flames to become cold, all with her voice. I couldn't remember the details perfectly, but the gist of it was clear—it was undeniably overpowered bullshit.
More importantly, Piper was one of the Seven. One of the demigods prophesied to possibly bring about the downfall of Gaia. A linchpin in a pivotal moment woven by the fates. I wouldn't say I particularly liked her character with her kinda being a bitch to Percy and becoming the literal incarnation I'm not like the other girls in and especially knowing that she would be the reason why Jason is heartbroken. Sure, it could be said that it wasn'y her fault, that the fault was honestly the one of the gods, of Hera precisely who was the one to mind fuck Jason and her but still.
The next moment, things changed. It came, again. I could feel it—a hum beneath my skin, a vibration that resonated in places I didn't know existed, I knew would not exist in the anatomy, in the make up of another. It wasn't physical, not in the way a pulse or a breath is. It was as if the world tilted, revealing another layer beneath the mundane, a latticework of meaning that had always been there, waiting for me to see it.
The air around me seemed to shift, taking on a texture that wasn't quite describable—like silk dipped in molten gold, brushing against my consciousness. I exhaled slowly, and the breath felt heavier, like I was expelling more than air, something weightier, something old.
And then it hit me—a flood of something, something I knew that wasn't learned, but simply was. It felt like a star made of potential, something only waiting my will to be guided, to be shaped into something concrete.
It was like being high to be honest or at least high for one second before going down hard, sobering up quickly.
This was a star I knew I could also add to the already existing one of the anti-divine in my mind. A great part of me wanted to dump the star of potential in the anti divine star but the idea of doing such kinda felt like an error. Maybe I should invest in something else that would synergize almost perfectly to give me things that even a greater star of anti-divinity would not give me. I also didn't know the mechanism behind how I gained new stars. Was it by the time passing? Was it by me doing something incredible? Was it through self-discovery? I didn't know and because of that, it would kinda be better to keep the star for now at least, to not use immediately after its bloom.
Now, where was I before? Yeah, I remember. Piper. I was kinda thinking about the fact that I didn't really like her character even though none of that mattered or should matter anymore. What mattered was that she had to be on my side. She had to be a piece on my board, on the side of humanity because how else could I hope to break fate but by using one of its chosen instruments against it? Of course, she was not the only one I had in mind.
I wasn't prideful enough to think I could do it all alone.
Not even with the gifts of the Inspired Inventor. Not even with my ingenuity. I knew I wouldn't be strong enough to breeze through the entire Greek Pantheon, to take on gods who had existed for eons, who commanded powers beyond comprehension.
Even if, someday, I grew strong enough to stand above them all, alone—what would that accomplish? How would I ensure true change? True, lasting change wasn't about simply overthrowing Olympus, wasn't about another tyrant replacing the one before. The Titans, the Olympians—it was all the same story told again and again, merely with different faces. Kronos and his siblings overthrew Ouranos, only for history to repeat when Zeus did the same to Kronos. A cycle of usurpers becoming the very thing they despised.
I wasn't doing this for myself. I wasn't doing this for power's sake. I wanted humanity to rise above—to rise beyond being lesser, to rise above being subjects, playthings, to the gods. I wanted humanity to take its destiny into its own hands, to thrive, to create, to become independent and no longer parasitized. We didn't need the gods for our achievements, for our survival, for our hopes and dreams.
I didn't want all the people recorded in history, all the people who did great things to just be the ones descending or favoured by the gods. I didn't want the strongest, the smartest, the most charismatic, the most ingenious, the most beautiful, the most persevering amongst us, amongst humanity to only be because of the god directly or indirectly and if the only way to succeed in such an endeavour meant dragging humanity up—if needed, even by force—then so be it. But I wouldn't, couldn't, do it alone. I needed humanity to reach by itself the highest of all the domains governed by the gods without their help, even surpassing them.
I knew I'd find others. Others who thought like me. Who would fight, bleed, sacrifice to see the world change. Others who would stand against the tyranny of the gods, the cruel games they played with people's lives. Those who would refuse to bend, to let the dominion of the gods remain an omnipresent shadow over humanity.
My gaze fell on Beryl, standing beside me, her expression a mix of exhaustion and curiosity. I smiled, almost gently.
"Tristan McLean may not seem interesting for now, but one day, he will be." I paused, letting my words settle before continuing, "He's—or, rather, he will be—like you. The father of one of their children."
I watched her eyes widen slightly as understanding bloomed there, an unspoken truth passing between us. We both knew who I meant—who they were. The Olympians.
"How do you know that, Alex?" Her voice was quiet, cautious. "Is this related to you suddenly becoming Einstein?"
Despite the fatigue pulling at me, I couldn't help but muster a mocking smile, trying to inject a bit of false indignation. "Suddenly becoming Einstein? I've always been clever. Are you saying I was stupid before?"
She rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You've always been smart—smarter than most, even. But not that kind of smart. I'm your sister. I kno—" Her voice caught, and the smile faltered. She swallowed, her gaze falling away from mine, her voice turning brittle. "I knew you."
I felt my own smile fade, the false humor slipping away, leaving something almost bitter in its place. Indeed, Beryl. 'You did know me.'
"Yeah," I said softly, my voice carrying an edge of something unspoken. "It is... related, I think, to me suddenly becoming Einstein." It wasn't entirely a lie. The Inspired Inventor had given me power, had given me knowledge that set me apart. But it wasn't just that—it was probably because I was different, inherently different from the people here, because this reality wasn't mine. This wasn't my first life. But that was a secret I couldn't share. Not with anyone. Not with my sister. There were too many ways it could all go wrong.
I turned to her, the weariness in my eyes replaced with something else, something determined. "I don't want you to stop acting, Beryl. I don't want you to abandon your dream."
She looked at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Shouldn't it be the right thing to do? Stop? I've bailed, messed up so many times. Had scandal after scandal because of my stupidity, because I focused on him and only him. Even if I'm still an A-list star, it'll be harder than ever to get acting gigs and do I even have the right to keep chasing my dream when my children are still missing? When it's my fault that they're gone, or maybe even worse?" Her voice cracked at the end, and I could see her struggling to hold herself together.
I knew what she was asking—what she truly wanted to know. 'Did she deserve to be happy? Did she have the right to dream, after everything?'
"Beryl," I said, my voice steady, serious. "I swear to you, no matter how long it takes, we will bring Thalia and Jason home. You've made mistakes—just like every other human. It is in our nature, in our human nature, to be flawed, to be imperfect. What matters most is that you don't let those mistakes hold you back. That you don't let regret and bitterness wrap chains around your heart, let them poison you until you're a shadow of who you were. To make mistakes is human. But it's even more human to learn from them and become better."
I smiled at her, a genuine smile this time, even if it was faint. "Show me, show your children, show the world—and show Lance—that you're better. Show him you never needed a god to reach the top. Everything I'm planning, everything I'm trying to do, needs people to understand, to internalize that they don't need the gods to make miracles happen. That humanity doesn't need their intervention. What happened to you, what's happened to so many others in myth, what's happening right now—it doesn't have to be like this. It shouldn't be. They aren't better than us. Their cruelty, their dominion—it has no reason to exist."
I took a deep breath, my gaze locking with hers—blue meeting blue, a reflection of the same stubborn spirit. "But it all starts with you, Beryl. If you, my own older sister falter... What's the point? how could I want, hope to succeed?"
"Do you understand?" I asked her softly.
"I understand Alex. I won't give up, for them, for you. I promise," she answered her eyes almost blazing.
"I believe in you, Beryl." Even with the words I said to her. Even though I smiled at her. I could not help but feel distrust.
scene
The tools were splayed across my table like offerings to some unknowable deity: wires, quartz casings, electrodes, and every random piece of machinery I could scavenge or purchase in the dead hours of the morning. The air smelled faintly metallic, a mix of heated metal and the acrid tang of oil, with the occasional sharpness of ozone from exposed circuits. My hands hovered over the chaos, fingers twitching with both exhaustion and focus.
I honestly thought I would have stopped after the earrings and the chains like I was really surprised that I was capable of doing more would probably regret it later but at least like that, I would be able to finish with all the basest things I needed to build.
Beryl had gone take after making me endure her pestering me for a very very long time about trying to rest.
In the end, she only left me alone after forcing me to eat pancakes and a coffee she made in my kitchen.
I honestly had wanted to refuse but something had told me that she would have not let me breathe if I hadn't in her words do the bare minimum to seem human.
I took a breath and leaned over the table, grabbing the quartz casing first. Enough time wasted. It was time to build. The quartz casing was smooth and cold in my hands, a scavenged remnant of an old lamp that I had gutted for parts. Quartz was perfect—heat-resistant, stable, and just crystalline enough to serve as the ionization chamber for the thing I wanted to make.
With the quartz casing in my hand, its cool surface pressed against my palm, I couldn't help but marvel at its perfection for the task. The star in my mind made sure that I knew that Quartz wasn't just any material—it was the backbone of this entire creation. Heat-resistant to a degree that could withstand the temperatures of molten steel, its crystalline structure provided a stability that felt almost ironically divine in its precision. Crystals, after all, were nature's own engineers, shaping themselves into forms that balanced stress and energy perfectly. Here, in this casing scavenged from an old lamp, was the foundation of my plasma chamber. It was both the fortress and the lens, a material that could shield the chaos of plasma while letting me observe its destructive beauty or in other words, let me dangerous stuff in a non dangerous way.
The tungsten electrodes were next, their dull gleam catching the lamplight as I laid them on the table. Tungsten—metal that didn't, that would not melt under the inferno of a star—felt like the right choice. This wasn't just about strength; it was about endurance, about a metal that could channel unimaginable energy without breaking under the strain. I secured each electrode carefully, the gap between them precisely measured. Too close, and the arc would sputter out before it could do anything significant. Too far, and the current would never leap. That tiny space between the electrodes wasn't just a gap—it was a bridge that could kinda be said if you wanted to be more dramatic than needed to be between possibility and failure, a place where energy could transform gas into plasma, into raw, destructive potential.
Once the electrodes were in place, the real magic—or science, depending on how you looked at it—began. The chamber would function by generating an electric arc across the electrodes, a feat that required pinpoint precision. When the voltage surged, electrons would rip free from the atoms in the gas inside the chamber, creating plasma—a state of matter more than volatile, more than energetic. The sun wasn't made of fire but plasma. Lightning too. Plasma was in itself ridiculous when you thought a little more about it. Still, the good thing was that plasma wasn't chaos. It followed rules, strict ones, and getting those rules to work for me meant adjusting the electrodes with a surgeon's precision. The slightest misstep could lead to the arc destabilizing, the plasma dispersing before it had a chance to become the blade I envisioned.
Building this chamber wasn't just engineering; it was like crafting a work of art. Every adjustment, every connection, every layer was critical. The quartz would hold the plasma, the tungsten would shape it, and my calculations would give it life
I knew I would not have been able to do the 1/100th of any of this if it wasn't for the burning star nesting in my mind.
Even if someone had the perfect equipment, the perfect expertise, without the star in my mind, they would not be as fast, as precise as I was even though I was doing this in my living room and not in a laboratory.
As I uncoiled the superconductive wire, it gleamed faintly under the light, its surface smooth but deceptively sturdy. This was no ordinary material—every inch of it was built to carry immense energy without succumbing to heat or resistance. It was I knew the backbone of this creation, the only thing standing between control and things going really really wrong. Still, I could feel the weight of its potential in my hands. It was thin and fragile yet capable of holding together a weapon of extraordinary power. The wire wasn't just functional—it was vital, and getting this part wrong wasn't an option.
Wrapping the wire around the quartz chamber was a painstaking process. Each loop had to hug the casing tightly, evenly spaced, without a single flaw. The coils would generate the magnetic field necessary to contain the plasma, keeping it from spiraling out into a deadly, uncontrolled blaze. If they were too loose, the field would falter; too tight, and the plasma would collapse on itself before it could even stabilize. My hands moved carefully, almost instinctively, though my nerves buzzed with the knowledge that one misstep could compromise everything at best. The wire seemed to resist slightly as I worked, its delicate nature at odds with the immense energy it was meant to channel.
The soldering was no less precise. Each connection had to be perfect—clean, secure, and aligned exactly to the schematics in my head. The soldering iron hissed as it touched metal, the acrid scent of flux sharp in the air. The sound felt louder than it should have. I muttered softly as I worked, something that felt foreign to my own brain. In that moment, u barely aware of my own voice, alternating between cursing my shaking hands and urging them to steady. These coils weren't just components; they were guardians. Without them, the plasma wouldn't be a blade.
When I finally tightened the last loop and secured the final connection, I let out a long breath, my shoulders sagging as the tension began to ease. I set the soldering iron down and flexed my stiff fingers, trying to shake off the ache that had settled in my joints. For a moment, I stood back and studied the work—the quartz casing now wrapped in a lattice of perfectly wound wire. It wasn't finished,
Next came I turned my attention to the power source—the heartbeat of the weapon. For this, I relied on the car battery I'd salvaged, a robust, high-energy cell meant to power a far larger machine. Its purpose should have been been mundane, should have been starting engines and keeping headlights glowing, but it would in my end, serve to something completely, fuel something entirely different. The weight of it felt reassuring. I placed it on the workbench, tools spread out around me, and set to work.
Opening the casing was delicate but necessary. As I pried it apart, a sharp, acrid scent hit me—the unmistakable tang of battery fluid. Sulfuric acid, the star whispered in my mind. Dangerous if handled poorly, but nothing I couldn't manage, nothing it would not let me manage. Inside lay the neatly packed plates and electrolyte solution that formed the heart of its energy storage. The fusion cell, in particular, was compact but brimming with potential, potential that only wanted me to harness it, a marvel of engineering designed to store energy efficiently and release it on demand.
The next step was connecting the battery to the capacitors. Capacitors, I'd learned through my Inspired Inventor insight, act like temporary energy reservoirs. They store and release energy quickly, smoothing out the flow and preventing sudden surges that could fry delicate components—or in this case, destabilize the plasma core. With a steady hand, I stripped the wires, their copper gleaming under the light, and soldered them to the battery terminals. The faint hiss of the soldering iron meeting metal filled the air, punctuated by the occasional crackle of a connection taking hold. Sparks danced briefly at the tips of the wires, tiny fireworks signaling that the current was flowing.
As I secured the capacitors into place. Without the capacitors, the raw energy from the battery would pour into the system like an uncontrolled flood, overwhelming the magnetic containment coils and turning the plasma core into a ticking time bomb but with the capacitors regulating the flow, the energy would arrive in precise, manageable pulses—enough to sustain the plasma blade without risking a catastrophic failure. I double-checked every connection, ensuring the circuit was clean and secure, before stepping back to survey the work. This wasn't just a power source anymore. I had made It something else. It would be the lifeline of the weapon, the element that would bring the plasma core to life.
The next piece of the puzzle was the gas supply—a crucial component for the plasma core to function. Argon, I reminded myself, was my gas of choice. Stable, inert, and noble in both name and behavior, it wasn't just a safe option; it was the perfect medium for generating plasma. Unlike other gases, argon wouldn't react chemically with the components of the blade, meaning no nasty surprises or unintended chain reactions. That reliability made it indispensable, especially for a project like this where even a minor misstep could end in me ending just like an artist who saw explosions, finite things as art.
The canister sat beside the table, its dull metallic sheen catching the light. It was frankly heavier than I'd expected, its weight kinda makes me think of a very light gym dumb-bell. I crouched down to secure it, fingers working quickly to connect the valve assembly I'd scavenged. The valve would allow me to control the gas flow with exacting precision, a necessity when creating a stable plasma field.
With the valve in place, I threaded the gas line carefully into the quartz casing. This step required the utmost concentration even more than all the other times. The line needed to form a perfect seal, free of leaks, to ensure that the argon would flow steadily into the chamber without escaping or contaminating the environment. A steady hand guided the connection, each turn of the fitting tightening the bond between the components. When I was satisfied, I gave the line a light tug to test its security. It held firm. Good.
Finally, I opened the valve just a crack, letting the argon seep into the chamber. A faint hiss filled the room, soft and steady, as the gas began to fill the quartz casing. Argon, being colorless and odorless, was invisible to the naked eye, but its presence was unmistakable if you knew the signs. The hiss was accompanied by a subtle cooling sensation as the gas flowed through the line, blending into the symphony of mechanical odors already lingering in the space. I took a moment to breathe, knowing this was another step closer to bringing the weapon to life. The stage was set, the components were in place, and the plasma would soon follow.
The bloodline lock was the final safeguard, the feature that would ensure the plasma weapons could never be turned against us. It wasn't just about security—it was about pettiness. I couldn't let anyone, especially not the gods or their lackeys, lay hands on something this dangerous. The thought of Zeus or one of his goons wielding my creations made me want to run a chainsaw through my head. There was no way in hell something that I built would be used by one of those family and animal fuckers. No, this blade had to be uniquely ours, tied to us by something that couldn't be faked: our DNA. After all, wasn't it said in the books that Gods didn't have DNA the same way that humans did? Now that I thought about that, doesn't that mean that in a way, demigods are genetically wise at least clones of their human parent like if Thalia or Jason did a DNA test, would it result in it saying that Thalia and Jason were identical and not Beryl's children, genetically my siblings and not my niece and nephew? A thought to be examined later.
The little problem was that I already was kinda pushing a little bit too sideways the anti divine star in my mind. Making weapons to affect gods and godly affiliated things? Barely an inconvenience?
Using it to build a DNA sequencer? That was more than exaggerating. I'm sure I could build something that would make the things I build unable to be touched by any trace of the divine but it kinda would make it impossible for Jason or Thalia or children if they decided to have them in the future to use what I built.
More than that, it would not stop a human servant of the Olympian. Oh, can't directly touch it? Why not order one of my worshipers to use and do things in my name?
I needed to do things differently. The little problem was that I wasn't that smart to build without the inspired inventor at the beginning of the 90s to add a D.N.A. sequencer.
I really didn't want to avoid this step. At the back of my mind, I felt the untouched star thrum almost as if saying you know what to do.
On one side Using it just to build a DNA sequencer felt more than stupid. On the other side, not doing such kinda heightened the risk of my creations being used without my consent by others who could abuse them or use them in totally opposite to my morals.
Maybe, I shouldn't use it just to build a DNA sequencer. Maybe I should wish it to become something that would allow me to build a DNA sequencer but that would not be limited to that and that would kinda synergize with the anti-divine star in my mind.
The words came into my mind almost as if whispered by a muse. Adaptive Material Synthesis I commanded the star to become and become such it did.
The moment I invested the charge into Adaptive Material Synthesis, it felt as though I'd uncorked the bottle of some ancient, slumbering. Ideas unraveled in my mind, not as threads but as bolts of lightning, illuminating everything they touched. It was like awakening a language I'd always known, buried deep in the marrow of my being, but had never spoken aloud.
The knowledge bloomed in my mind, sprawling outwards in intricate, overlapping patterns. Adaptive material synthesis felt like a whispered promise, one of reshaping the very foundations of reality, bending materials and matter to align with my will. It was alchemy without pretence, engineering without limitation. In other words, it's as if I gained access to something akin to a philosophical stone.
Adaptive Material was more than just an ability to create. Adaptive Material Synthesis allowed materials to evolve, to adapt to the conditions they were needed for. Metal that could become harder under stress. Polymers that could reform themselves when damaged. Structures that didn't just resist external forces but learned from them, grew stronger for the next strike. It wasn't fabrication; it was creation imbued with intelligence.
In practical terms, it meant never having to compromise. I could take the rusted husks of salvaged metal, the cracked remains of discarded glass, and reforge them into materials that defied conventional understanding. Heat-resistant alloys, self-repairing composites, biocompatible surfaces—it wasn't just about making something work; it was about making it perfect.
Adaptive Material Synthesis didn't ask for precision tools or ideal circumstances. It took what was available, what I would feed it, scrap, ruin, waste—and would force brilliance from it.
I could now even if it would be with difficulty and time create celestial bronze, imperial gold, stygian iron. I could turn anything with a touch into a weapon. Even weaponless, I would not be helpless anymore and this was with a single charge. I didn't even talk about how well it synergized with the anti-divine weapon in my mind. Already, ideas that would make Kronos shudder were blooming in my mind.
I reached out, letting my fingers brush against a twisted piece of scrap metal on the workbench. It was unremarkable.
Closing my eyes, I let the charge of Adaptive Material Synthesis flow through me. The sensation was indescribable, a blend of heat and pressure, like molten iron coursing through my veins. I could feel the potential within the metal, the structure of its atoms trembling on the edge of transformation.
"Change," I whispered, my voice steady despite the chaotic swirl of ideas in my mind and it did.
The metal in my hand shifted, its surface shimmering like liquid mercury. Parts of it flaked. When the process was done, it was to reveal a gleaming core of material that hadn't existed moments before.
It was stronger, lighter, its surface imbued with a faint iridescent glow. I flexed my fingers, feeling the strength of it, the balance. It looked more like a piece of art than anything else, more a beautiful painting given life than a real existing thing.
There were so many ways to abuse the fuck out of this. I would focus on that later because I still hadn't finished.
"Let's get to work," I muttered, rolling my shoulders, cracking my neck. The fatigue hung on my limbs like chains, a weighty residue from countless sleepless nights. But beneath that exhaustion, the faint hum of the Inspired inventor danced through my thoughts.
With the charge of Adaptive Material Synthesis and my anti-divine specialty, I could take these scraps—this disjointed pile of forgotten potential—and turn them into something formidable.
Firstly, I needed to build the framework. The beginning was, should always be about structure—a foundation as steady as possible. The contrary would be akin to a foundation built on sand. The foundation of the DNA sequencer needed stability, as each misaligned millimetre was a whisper of failure. I picked up the aluminum sheets, their surfaces scarred and dull. It was hard to see their potential at first glance. But as I ran my hands over the metal, I knew that with the right touch, they could become something so much more, that with the stars whispering in my mind, it could be more than better.
The rotary tool in my hand buzzed to life, sparks flying like stars being born and dying in the darkness of my workspace. Steel rods salvaged from an old refrigerator served as the skeleton of the sequencer.
The Adaptive Material Synthesis kicked in, and I watched as the dull aluminum seemed to shimmer with understanding, as if it was alive and knew its destiny had shifted. The metal became denser, its edges smoothing, brightening—transformed into something sturdier and better aligned than any factory line could make it. Even the steel rods took on a new luster, their resistance to corrosion something otherworldly, alloys from the future crafted by necessity in the present.
It mattered, it was important because A DNA sequencer demanded perfection; a single vibration could alter its readings, rendering probably hours of work worthless.
Secondly came the thermal cooling system. PCR, it was the very heartbeat of DNA amplification. The act of heating and cooling, of tearing apart and sewing back together. Thermistors from an old thermostat became the guardians of precision.
Without the Adaptive Material Synthesis, this part would have been a grotesque patchwork of mismatched components, a Frankenstein's monster barely held together by hope and more than likely a future episode of 1000 ways to die where I would be laughed at because of my stupidity but with the charge, the fragments took on a new harmony, synthesizing into a compact thermal cycling chamber that regulated heat with an elegance that went beyond engineering—it was beautiful, it was art. The old parts worked together, reshaping themselves at my command, almost as though they'd been waiting for this moment, for this second chance.
"Heat up, cool down, repeat," I whispered, my fingers moving deftly as I wired the system to an old microcontroller. Programming it felt like setting the rhythm for a heartbeat—95°C for denaturing, 55°C for annealing, 72°C for extending the DNA strands. Everything connected as though the universe itself conspired to align these fragments, the adaptive charge whispering into my fingertips, guiding each wire to its rightful place.
Temperature control wasn't just important—it was vital. If the cycles were off by even a few degrees, the DNA wouldn't amplify correctly, leaving me with a useless tangle of broken strands. The adaptive charge made the entire system sing, regulating the heat like a furnace at the heart of a star, powerful, bright, precise and efficient.
Thirdly came the Optical Detection System. Fluorescence could be said to be the magic of seeing what's invisible to the naked eye. I needed lasers to make the invisible glow. My gaze fell on an old CD player, its case yellowed by age, its function long obsolete. It was one of the only things I had remaining from our parents, one of their last gifts, my inheritance it could be said even. I guess it would do. Better it serves to something worth than rot and rusts worthlessly. I began disassembling it, prying loose the laser diode and its focusing lens, careful with each component.
The lens was scratched, its surface marred by time, but as I applied Adaptive Material Synthesis, it transformed. The glass sharpened, refined itself, the imperfections vanishing like old scars, leaving only clarity. It became a prism for the invisible, a portal through which light and knowledge could pass unhindered. The adaptive charge worked as an unseen sculptor, reshaping the old into something new and perfectly able to be used.
The photodiode came next—a remnant from a disposable camera, one that I intended to make become my detector. I could feel the change as I worked, the adaptive energy enhancing the sensor, turning something meant for mundane snapshots into a tool capable of seeing the smallest shifts in light, tracing the whispers of fluorescence down to their core. The microcontroller, now augmented by the adaptive charge, linked the system into a singular entity, guiding it to interpret signals no mortal eye should ever be able to perceive.
The thing was that normal optics couldn't do the job. The adaptive charge didn't just improve these components; it made them more than what they were—refined and ready to detect light so faint it bordered on the supernatural. What I had now wasn't some makeshift contraption; it was an optical system capable of rivaling the best labs and I had made it in my living room by myself with my bare hands. The inspired inventor was really a cheat.
The fourth step in the D.N.A sequencer was the Fluid Handling System. The DNA samples needed to move—guided through chambers, exposed to reagents. Each step needed to meticulously controlled. Precision like always was the name of the game, precision in handling liquids was essential. My fingers brushed over an old inkjet printer, the micro-pumps humming quietly as I pulled them free. Fragile, outdated technology bent to my will. Aquarium tubing served as the path, thin and vulnerable.
Once I applied Adaptive Material Synthesis, everything changed. The tubing seemed to thicken, strengthening itself against contamination, taking on anti-microbial properties as if it knew the dangers it needed to ward off. The pumps that had once fed ink became adept at managing biological fluids, their tiny valves perfecting themselves to prevent clogs and maintain control over even the smallest of volumes.
Aligning the pumps with the thermal cycler and the optical detector was delicate, every connection demanding perfect synchronization. The adaptive charge once again provided more than enhancement; it provided cohesion. The system became more than the sum of its parts—fluid, responsive, and elegantly efficient.
Good. Because any possible leak, any possible contamination would ruin the sequencing. This fluid system was the quiet heart of the machine, each pump a beat, each tube a vessel. Adaptive Material Synthesis ensured every flow was faultless, sterile, and in perfect rhythm with the rest.

Fifthly came the Power Supply and Insulation part. Power. Enough energy to bring this monstrosity to life. A high-performance car battery, a few salvaged capacitors—materials that should have been crude overkill for such a delicate system. But this wasn't about finesse; at least not anymore this was about wielding raw power and refining it, channeling it where it needed to go.
I forged custom heat sinks from scrap aluminum, their edges taking on a shimmering brightness as I worked. The adaptive charge almost seemed to breathe into them a purpose. It was almost as if the second star that had bloomed in my mind was whispering to them to dissipate the heat with a precision that I knew went beyond basic physics, like magic in a way. Insulating sprays from past projects added an extra layer of security, almost like a barrier between failure and success.
The capacitors held energy in waiting, releasing it in controlled bursts. The adaptive charge refined their capacity, making them more efficient, more responsive. Each wire connected to the microcontroller, each circuit completing a network that pulsed with energy, ready to power the sequencer to life.
One thing to note was that These weren't just components; they were the in some way the literal lifeblood of the machine. Adaptive Material Synthesis didn't just make the power supply manageable—it made it seamless, eliminating risk and making something that should have been volatile feel stable and secure.
Finally came the last step.Data Processing and Integration The last step was making it all talk—binding the disparate components into a cohesive whole. The microcontroller served or would more accurately serve as the brain, its algorithms open-source but modified beyond recognition, each line of code tailored to this Frankensteinian miracle. It was the orchestrator, the maestro, the conductor guiding the ensemble of heat, light, and movement.
Wires connected, and once again, Adaptive Material Synthesis worked its magic. The impossible turned possible. The connections aligned themselves, reducing interference until the entire system functioned as though built in some high-tech lab, not a repurposed living room. Even the readout—displayed on an old digital watch face—had a clarity that belied, that shouldn't have been with its origins.
This process was necessary. It wasn't enough for each part to be flawless. The unity of the whole mattered more—the seamless interaction that turned individual excellence into something greater in a way than the sum of all its parts. Adaptive Material Synthesis bound these pieces together, giving life to the machine.
It was time to inspect the final product. I stepped back, wiping the sweat I felt on my brow, and looked at the sequencer before me. It gleamed under the harsh light of my workspace, no longer a mismatched pile of salvaged parts. It was compact, almost elegant in its design, with none of the clunky, haphazard look I'd expected. It kinda looked like a strange fusion of salvage and brilliance, almost cyberpunk-like in a way but not in an ugly or trash way if it made sense.
I took a breath, steadying myself, and prepared the first test.
"Beryl?!" I called my sister.
She turned to look at me "Finally finished and ready to rest a little Alex?"
"Unfortunately no." the words she had said were like the most seducing whisper. I just wanted to close my eyes but I knew that if I did, I would more than likely immediately fall asleep and sure I could do all this later but it's how it began.
You allow yourself a grace once, say you can do it later and in the end, it only creates problems. It kinda was a bit about discipline too.
More than that, it's not as if the guys I was plotting to make fall were not literal gods who didn't unlike me need to sleep.
There was also maybe the fact that knowing that the gods existed meant that I now knew that each time I closed my eyes, I was helpless, totally at the mercy of deities, of gods like Hypnos or the Oneiros who could do whatever they wish to me and I would be able to do nothing.
This reality was lowkey a nightmare ish grimderp word hidden behind pretty facades when you thought about it.
"Just wanted one strand of your hair," I told her before she would more than likely begrudge me about my sleep or to be more precise my lack of it.
"Sure," she spoke. Without batting an eye, she took a scissor not laying too far from her and cut the end of a blonde curl. She didn't even ask me why.
"Here," she said before giving it to me.
"Hope you don't answer the same way with everyone asking for a piece of your hair. Don't you fear I will do weird shit to you kinda like some voodoo or other stuff kinda like that?" I asked her as I inspected the blonde curl.
On the corner of my eye, I watched her sit back on the couch "Maybe I would if they gave me at least 3 million dollars for it."
With the TV command in the hand, she turned to look at me "More than that. It's you, my little brother. You would never hurt me even if deserve it." She turned her focus back on the TV, some kind of comedy movie was playing.
The rest of her words were quieter, almost impossible to hear, almost like spoken thoughts reserved only for herself. Still I heard them "If anything, it's me who would be Cain."
I should have probably something. I didn't, turning my gaze on her hair. A single hair from Beryl—her DNA, a thread connecting us to something both fragile and powerful, in a way, our entire genetic story. I placed it into the chamber, my heart almost pounding in my ears as I flicked the switch.
The thermal cycler hummed to life, the heating elements responding smoothly, the optical detector casting faint beams across the chamber. The room filled with the quiet, methodical noises of machinery in motion—sounds that were, in their own way, comforting. And then, the sequence appeared on the screen.
Clear. Accurate. Perfect.
For a moment, I just stood there, staring at the glowing readout, feeling the tension in my body melt into something else—something that almost felt like awe. I was really busted in a way, wasn't I?
Maybe, I should try building a company, not for the money, didn't need with my investments but to make lives better.
The gods were supposed to be the master of the world at least in this reality and it was very clear if they were literally the Western world and its achievements, both right and wrong, both direct and indirect that things needed to change.
More than that, it would even if it was not the main reason make it easier to recruit people like who would you side with? The uncaring psychopathic immortals or the helpful and life-changing man who bled red just like you?
I picked up the sequencer, feeling its weight in my hands. It honestly felt kinda heavier than I thought it would be, not gonna lie.
Anyway, now, it was time to go back to the weapons. One of the thing I needed to do was adapting the DNA sequencer I'd built earlier. The DNA sequencer probably wasn't perfect, but it didn't need to be. It just needed to be good enough. I just needed it to recognize a few key markers in our genetic code—something unique to our bloodline.
DNA is, in essence is a biological barcode, carrying billions of nucleotides in sequences that differ slightly from person to person. Those differences were, should my key or my lock depending on the way you saw it. Using my earlier contraption, I extracted a small blood sample from myself, placing a drop in the vial connected to the thermal cycler. The heating element hummed softly as it processed the sample, raising and lowering the temperature to amplify the DNA. The result? Enough genetic material to work with.
Once I had a readable sequence, I began isolating specific markers—unique sequences of nucleotides that acted as identifiers. These weren't just random patterns; they were the genetic equivalent of fingerprints. Using the salvaged light sensor from the disposable camera, I programmed the sequencer to in a sense metaphorically read these markers whenever a sample was introduced. If the markers didn't match mine—or Beryl's, or Thalia's or Jason's—the weapon wouldn't power up. Simple as that.
Next, I had to integrate the sequencer into the weapon itself. This part was tricky. The plasma blade was already packed with components, from the quartz ionization chamber to the magnetic containment coils. There wasn't much room left for anything else, but I found a spot near the hilt where the sequencer could fit snugly. I soldered the connections carefully, linking the sequencer directly to the power circuit. If someone attempted to activate the blade without a matching genetic signature, the circuit would remain closed, and the weapon would stay dormant. No power, no plasma, no danger. I should probably add other things later to make sure it could be not hack/crack the weapon.
Finally, I added a small sampling port to the hilt—a tiny needle, barely noticeable, designed to draw a minuscule amount of blood when the weapon was gripped. It wasn't enough to hurt, just a slight prick. The blood would be analyzed instantly by the sequencer, and if the DNA didn't match, the weapon would lock down.
The final step was assembling the blade itself. For the plasma sword, I used a titanium alloy frame—lightweight but strong enough to withstand the immense heat of the plasma. The knife followed a similar design, scaled down for versatility. I installed the plasma core into each hilt, securing them with screws and epoxy to ensure stability. The edges of the blades were lined with a thin layer of heat-resistant ceramic, designed to guide the plasma field without disrupting its flow.
It was time To test it. I gripped the hilt tightly, feeling the faintest pinprick against my palm When I finally flipped the switch, the room was bathed in an eerie glow. The plasma ignited with a crackling hiss, casting shifting shadows across the walls. The air around the blades shimmered with heat, the edges of the plasma field almost too bright to look at directly. I reached out cautiously, letting my fingers hover near the blade, feeling the warmth radiating from it without actually touching it.
I knew one or two more millimeters and I would be at serious thing of let's say a more than uncomfortable accident happening.
Still, I could not help but smile. It worked. The sword and knife both hummed with power, their edges glowing a brilliant, almost hypnotic blue. They were beautiful in their own terrifying way.
I stared at them for a long moment, the weight of what I had created settling over me like a physical presence. These weapons weren't just tools—they were a promise in a way, that I could defend myself, that I was not totally helpless, that even if it was infinitely small, there were a chance of me fighting back and winning, that I wouldn't have to just roll over and accept whatever fate the Fates, the Olympians, the monster of this world deemed fit for me, for my family, for Beryl, Jason and Thalia.
I picked up the plasma knife, testing its weight in my hand. It was light, almost too light for something so powerful. With a flick of my wrist, the blade cut through a steel rod like it was butter, the metal hissing and melting under the heat.
"Perfect," I muttered, a tired smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
"With the way you look right now, maybe I should have called you Anakin instead of Einstein," Beryl's voice brought out of my thought.
"You've finished?" she asked me. "You kinda at been tinkering non stop since morning. It's noon."
I looked at the clock on the wall. It indeed read 12:33 a.m. I wonder if I was in the whatever equivalent of a tinker fugue.
"Almost," I told you. "Just need to build two little things." The plasma blade and knife were cool as fuck but it didn't change the fact that I am a squishy human.
I'm not a monster or a demigod or an immortal or a freak of nature with herculean strength. Being in close range in a fight was the last thing I desired.
Still, better be at a great disadvantage that have no chance at all. More than that, the blades were kinda last resort.
I had forgotten the exact quote but if from what I remembered, probably in other words, it said that men were not created equal but the gun changed that.
Kinda was doing and seeing it this way. Sure, you can be that big scary monster that could probably reduce me in red mist but it's not going to matter if I can blast you with something faster and stronger than you are. Perfect logic right?
"Do you want to try them?" I asked her. "Kinda made sure that only people closely related to me like you or Jason or Thalia or maybe if they have children in the future would be able to use it."
Something I wasn't able to decipher completely, something that reminded me of melancholia or maybe wanting or maybe sadness or maybe a mix of all those things
"Nah, I think it would be better at least for now for me to stay far away from any kind of weapon."
She cracked a smile that could not be more false "I probably got more chance of accidentally turning myself into Darth Vader."
"Anyways," she continued. "You said there are two little things you've not done yet. Something tells me it's probably going to take hours just like the other things so what you will do will be eating the lunch I made for the both of us. You're not going to stop whatever you're doing. Do it at least on a full stomach instead of an empty one."
"You made lunch? Sure, I was focused and all on what I was building but I would have noticed if you had gone outside." It was already a miracle that she had been able to make pancakes this morning.
My fridge most of the time was kinda empty, not even having what could be considered the bare minimum. The only time it wasn't was when I stuffed some of the takeout I didn't eat or the food that the oldest daughter of the neighbour liked to make for me.
"Yes, I did and did not go outside. Your fridge may have looked like the inside of an abandoned mental institute with too much white but you would be surprised what you can do. I made a meal worthy of an Italian chef with almost nothing!"
In other words, "You made pasta, didn't you?"
"People would literally kill to eat my cuisine. You should feel honoured Alex," she false. boasted
"You mean your deranged and delusional fans."
"Same thing. Anyway, I intended to tell you the food was ready until you went full Sith an tried to tempt me to the dark side."
"Dark side?" I asked her. "Shouldn't it be the contrary?"
"You want to literally go against them. If it was a movie, you would be the villain or at least the one everyone loves it makes you feel better."
"How did we go from Blades to Star Wars to Pasta to Star Wars again?" I asked myself more than anything.
"Accidents, there are not," she said clearly trying to emulate Yoda and worse than failing, she was succeeding at it.
I could not stop a smile from blooming on my face. I really had missed that. I really had missed my sister.
"It's clear you're not going to let me work in peace without eating your…italian chef-worthy dish. You win," I told her.
The meal was waiting in another room. Normally, we should have eaten in the living room but with me having turned into a pseudo construction site/workshop, eating in another room was probably the best decision.
I sat at the table she had installed. As I had expected, her 'Italian chef-worthy dish' was pasta.
I could see Thin slices of garlic, some cooked to perfection, golden brown and aromatic, most not looking a little bit too burnt. Golden strands of pasta were lightly coated in what was probably the last remnants of the olive oil I had in my pantry.
I could feel the weight of her gaze. I took the fork with my left hand, stabbed it into the meal before beginning to roll it so that they could wind up around it and eat the pasta.
Most would rightfully say that it wasn't perfect. I had tasted so much better in my past and in my current life. I could have probably made it better yet paradoxically.
"How does it taste?" my sister asked me.
"Perfect," I honestly told her. It was not the best-tasting meal yet I can not lie and say that it didn't taste like perfection, like home.
"It tastes perfect like it always did." The only sound that would be heard again except the sound of forks against plates would be the one of drops of water falling like rain.
scene
The living room could honestly only be called a battlefield with the way it actually looked.not made me glad that I had accepted even though I had doubts a cleaning lady some of my neighbours recommended to me. I would have to keep in mind to maybe give a big bonus on her normal pay. The Scattered remnants of components—scraps of aluminum, twisted copper wires, scorched steel rods—were laying around me like the aftermath of a war fought in an absolute vacuum, one no one would have noticed until it was too late…, okay, maybe, I really needed some sleep. My hands trembled slightly as I worked from what I knew was clearly sheer exhaustion.
It was Every second stretched thin, as if time itself had decided to join the struggle and for a brief moment, I thought I might give out entirely. There was nothing more at that moment my soul craved more than sleep. On the good side, eating the meal Beryl made it clear to me that If I had felt weaker, if I hadn't eaten anything, my body would have shut down whether I wished for it or not.
It was as if using the knowledge the stars made bloom in my mind came kinda with a price because I shouldn't have been that exhausted.
Still, this exhaustion would not stop me, I would not allow it. The railguns needed to be perfect. Nothing less would do.
In the books, the protagonists and antagonists fought using ancient weapons instead of modern ones which honestly didn't make any sense.
You're telling me you're going to a battle with monsters older than the USA and the only thing you have to defend yourself is a blade? Not a gun, in the USA? We weren't the UK.
Guns were what made us America god damn it!
The reason the author gave in the books for why children were fighting monsters and immortals in close quarters with blades instead of with guns far away was that mortal alloys, non magic one at least would not work against monsters and immortals, only on demigods and humans.
Once, I debated about it on an online forum and the arguments they advanced for this stupidity, to justify it was that if celestial bronze or imperial gold were melted to make bullets, it would be bad in the long term in the sense that those were literally divine precious metals that may not be as easy to replace like it is done with common bullets made of lead, copper and steal.
I would have agreed with that if children of Hephaestus like Leo, the guys capable of building flying giant dragons or children of Athena who logically with them being presented again and again as the smartest even though ironically not the wisest in the verse being apparently all the smart figures in histories who did shit should have been able to find a solution or even children of Hekate like Alabaster or Lou Ellen who could probably with how their magic was broken as F make some kind of spell or enchantment that would make the bullets come back as Riptide did with Percy.
Anyways, the important was that weapons to work on gods and monsters needed to be special, important in some way, the same importance that in canon made Riptide unable to harm Rachel at first before she became the oracle or in other words when she was not that important.
The little star that whispered ideas to me about anti-divine weapons was the one who had indicated to me that it wasn't at least for the kind of gods and monsters that I was targeting that normal things didn't work. They worked, just not enough.
In nasuverse terms, it was as if gods and monsters all had at least resistance against everything that could affect them without their consent at C rank.
Let's say you took a 9-millimetre. You shoot at the Minotaur for example. Unfortunately, because your weapon is E rank, it does jackshit but let's say you were some kind of Shirou Emiya and you were able to reinforce things, to make them stronger.
Let's say you use reinforcement on the gun, on each of the bullets to the point where they become we could say the equivalent of broken phantasms.
All of a sudden, your weapon isn't E-ranked anymore. Now, it's in the C rank. Barely in it but in it.
Now, when you shoot the god or the monster, it's like they were kinda human and shot by bullets. Of course with their supernatural resilience, maybe you just went from a speck of dust to a lone bee but at least, you can hurt them now.
There are of course many other factors to take into account like sure, let's say your bullet is now able to affect the Nemean lion. Being able doesn't mean that it is what will happen because he is still the Nemean lion and if Hercules needed to strangle it because it was unable to make it bleed, good luck even with your reinforced weapon.
There were probably a lot of things I was wrong on or missing with the equivalent of the knowledge of an amateur in anti-divine weapons and stuff.
Still, all of this was why I was building two last things, things that would make a red-blooded American proud.
Guns. Railguns in the form of berretas to be more precise than should look exactly like ebony and ivory if I didn't fuck it up. I was trying to go against the gods. Why not do it in style?
I began with the rail system, the bones of the weapon in a sense. The aluminum sheets sat before me, cool and unyielding. I ran a hand over one of the strips, my fingers catching on its rough edges. No good. It had to be flawless, smooth as glass, or the projectile wouldn't travel true. The rotary tool hummed in my hand, a soothing monotone that cut through the silence. Sparks leapt as I worked, carving hopefully precision into imperfection.
The science was deceptively simple—a pair of conductive rails, spaced precisely, would guide a projectile with the help of a powerful electromagnetic force. But in practice, it was an unforgiving art. Too close, and the current would short-circuit, turning the entire contraption into an oversized firecracker. Too far apart, and the projectile would lose contact, rendering it useless. I worked meticulously, my mind running over calculations like a mantra: millimeters mattered, down to the last decimal.
Once the rails were cut, polished, and aligned, I sandwiched them between ceramic insulators—literally lifesavers in this design. Without them, the electricity would jump wildly, arcing where it shouldn't, likely frying me in the process. Ceramic for once was the quiet hero here, because it was capable of withstanding the heat and voltage that would course through the rails. I tightened each connection, my grip steady despite the fatigue threatening to drown me. One misstep, and I'd have to start over. Starting over wasn't an option I wanted to even imagine.
With the rails secure, I turned to the power source. It sat heavy on the table—a high-performance car battery, its sturdy form a quiet almost gleaming, almost as if impatient of what it would become. I pried it open, the smell of acid biting at my nose, and extracted the heart of it: the cells that would feed the railgun's voracious appetite. Capacitors lined up like tiny soldiers in a row, waiting to be connected. Each one had to store immense energy and discharge it in a precise burst, like the snap of a whip.
As I soldered the connections, the wires sparked faintly, tiny flashes of defiance that made my eyes squint. The capacitors hummed softly when tested, a sound I found strangely comforting. Still, the stars in my mind made sure I knew the danger well enough. Overcharge them, and they'd explode like miniature bombs, shattering and destroying all the efforts I'd spent building this. I insulated every wire, every joint, sealing them with heat-resistant epoxy to ensure stability. No room for error. No room for complacency.
Next came the projectile design. I reached for the steel rods, their cold weight akin to something left outside in winter for too long. y hands began the more than delicate process of shaping them. The rotary tool whined again, cutting through the metal with what was probably surgical precision. Each slug had to be aerodynamic, its weight perfectly distributed to ensure it would fly true. I shaped them into pointed cylinders, their sharp tips gleaming under a ray of sunlight.
Steel alone wouldn't do. It needed conductivity, a way to carry the current between the rails. I dipped each slug into a thin layer of conductive epoxy, watching as the viscous material clung to the surface. It hardened quickly, leaving a polished finish that caught the light like liquid mercury. Satisfied, I set the slugs aside, lined up like sentinels waiting for the battle to begin.
The magnetic coils came next. I needed to be patient here and not hurry up if I didn't want to fuck up everything. The superconductive wire was delicate, almost gossamer in its fragility, but I know it held potential beyond measure. I unraveled it carefully, threading it around the rails in tight, even loops. Each turn had to be exact, the tension consistent, or the magnetic field would falter. My fingers ached as I worked, the repetitive motion digging into muscles that had long since passed the point of protest.
I whispered curses under my breath, though whether they were directed at the wire or myself, I couldn't say. Sweat dripped from my forehead, smudging the faint pencil marks I'd drawn as guides. But finally, the coils were in place, their silvery strands gleaming like veins of light. Insulation was critical here—any short in the system could melt the coils, undoing what even if I hadn't check the clock hours of work in an instant. I sprayed them liberally with heat-resistant coating, watching as the liquid settled into a protective sheen.
The casing was the final step, the skin that would hold everything together. I reached for the titanium plates. The cool thing with Titanium was that it was strong, light, and heat-resistant, the perfect material for a weapon that would push itself to its limits with every shot, that would want, that should to fall apart each time it would be used. I shaped the plates carefully, bending and cutting them to fit around the rail system like armor.
The design consisted more of remembering how Dante's weapon had looked, how to make sure that every curve and angle echoed the ornate elegance of Ebony and Ivory. I etched patterns into the casing with a rotary tool, the intricate lines, hopefully the same ones than the original Ebony and Ivory. They were almost hypnotic as they spiralled across the surface. Obsidian fragments, scavenged from an earlier project, were inlaid along the edges, their sharp, dark beauty adding a touch of menace. Now the only thing left was to dye my hair platinum, only eat Pizza, have a fratricide yet weirdly caring relationship with my siblings and scream jackpot as I tore through demons.
With the casing secured, I wrapped the grips in black leather, the soft material molding perfectly to my hands. The weight felt right—substantial but not cumbersome. Good These guns were made to be wielded, not simply held or to be looked at.
Testing was the moment of truth. I set up a makeshift firing range in the apartment, using aluminum sheets as targets. I was very glad that Beryl was in other rooms and that my walls were insulated. My hands steadied as I loaded the first slug, the mechanism clicking into place with a satisfying finality. The capacitors hummed as they charged, a low, resonant sound that vibrated through the weapon.
I took aim, my breath steady, and pulled the trigger.
The railgun roared to life, a blinding arc of energy flashing between the rails as the slug tore through the air. The impact was instantaneous, the aluminum sheet shuddering as the projectile punched through it, leaving a clean, jagged hole. I fired again, the recoil sharp but manageable.
When the last shot echoed into silence, I set the railgun down. Something was wrong, was lacking in a sense.
I stared at the railguns, their sleek forms gleaming under the dim light of the room. They looked alive, like coiled serpents waiting to strike. For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of residual energy dissipating from the capacitors. My body screamed for rest, every muscle aching from the hours of meticulous labor, but my mind was still racing. Could it not wait? Could I not check everything wrong with it after a very deserved nap?
Still, my body moved on its own. I reached for the second railgun, its twin to the first, and ran my fingers over the obsidian inlays. The intricate engravings shimmered faintly, patterns of jagged lightning and spiraling storms etched into the titanium casing. It wasn't just something just for aesthetics but if it had been the case, it would have overperformed I think.
It was that moment that a third star bloomed in my mind almost as if it was an apple of knowledge falling from the sephiroth tree. This Apple of knowledge, this star made of potential seemed to be demanding everything and yet nothing. It would stay such until I moulded it.
It would be cool and I probably would have appreciated it more if I didn't felt this bone tired. I wanted to sleep. A look at the table made it clear to me, reminded me that the work wasn't finished.
There was still the matter of fine-tuning. Testing a prototype was one thing, but making it battle-ready was another. I grabbed a set of tools from the mess of parts scattered across the table and began dismantling one of the guns. My fingers worked on autopilot, unscrewing panels and detaching components with the practiced ease of someone who had done this a hundred times in another life—or maybe this one. Time blurred when you were this exhausted.
The first issue I noticed was the rail alignment. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the spacing wasn't as consistent as it should have been. Even a fraction of a millimeter off could compromise accuracy. I adjusted the rails using a micro-caliper, tightening the ceramic insulators and polishing the contact points with a fine abrasive cloth. The process was slow, tedious, but necessary. Precision mattered more than anything else when you were dealing with something this volatile.
The second railgun presented a different problem. The superconductive coils had been wound too tightly in one section, creating a bottleneck for the magnetic field. It should been wayb faster and way more destructive. I sighed, pulling the coils apart with painstaking care and rewinding them evenly. It was a delicate balance. Too loose, and the field would weaken. Too tight, and the heat buildup could fry the entire system. My hands moved, almost with the precision of a surgeon, guided by the inspired knowledge that still hummed faintly at the edge of my consciousness.
Once the coils were corrected, I reassembled the weapon, ensuring every connection was secure, every component aligned perfectly. I tested the trigger mechanism, feeling the smooth click of the capacitors charging. The hum was steady, a low, resonant sound that sent a shiver of excitement up my spine.
Satisfied with the adjustments, I turned my attention to the ammunition. The steel slugs I had crafted earlier were functional, but they could be better. I retrieved a small vial of conductive epoxy and began coating the projectiles with a thin, even layer. The epoxy would enhance their conductivity, ensuring a more efficient energy transfer along the rails. It was a small improvement, but in a fight, small improvements could mean the difference between life and death.
As the epoxy dried, I decided to add another layer of defense. I took a fragment of moonstone from the pile of leftover materials and carefully ground it into a fine powder. Mixing it with a bit of adhesive, I applied it to the tips of the slugs. Moonstone was said to have mystical properties—whether it was true or not didn't matter. What mattered was the symbolism, the fact that it could by itself be used as Wards against the divine. As a weapon, it should be more effective.
Finally, it was time for the final test. I loaded both railguns, the slugs sliding smoothly into the magazines. The weight of the weapons felt right in my hands—solid, balanced, like extensions of myself. I set up another target, this time a reinforced steel plate propped up against the far wall of the room. If the guns could punch through that, they could punch through anything.
The capacitors hummed as I powered up the first gun. The hum of the capacitors was a low, steady growl, like a predator crouched in the shadows, waiting for the kill.My finger hovered over the trigger for a moment, my mind racing with thoughts of what could go wrong even with the stars of knowledge in my mind reassuring me that it would need happen, that I just needed to believe in my work. A misfire, a malfunction, an explosion, they were all possibilities, possibilities that would not come the star seemed to pulse in my mind. I took a slow breath, the cool air filling my lungs. I steadied my hand. I tightened my grip and pulled the trigger.
This time, what happened was much more dramatic than the first time. The moment the mechanism engaged, the world erupted.
A deafening crack split the air, sharp and immediate, like the sky tearing itself apart. It wasn't just sound—it was pressure, a force that slammed into my chest and rattled through my bones.
The railgun bucked in my hand, a violent recoil that sent a jolt up my arm and into my shoulder. If not for the stabilizing modifications I had implemented, it might have ripped itself free of my grip entirely. It moved too fast leaving behind nothing but a wake of displaced air and raw energy.
The slug screamed forward, a blur of motion too fast for the eye to follow, streaking across the space in a blur of motion, striking the steel plate with a resounding clang. The room itself seemed to recoil from the force of the shot.
Tools clattered to the floor, and the air was thick with the acrid tang of ozone and burnt metal.
The shockwave hit next, a ripple of compressed air that expanded outward in all directions. It rattled the windows, sent loose debris skittering across the floor, and stirred the dust in the corners into a chaotic swirl.
The steel plate stood no chance. The projectile struck with a force so immense it seemed almost surgical.
The impact left a jagged hole in the metal, the edges warped and glowing faintly from the heat. It didn't stop there.
Behind the point of entry, the steel warped and buckled, the kinetic energy rippling outward like a stone dropped into water. The back of the plate exploded outward, shards of molten metal spraying across the room in a deadly arc. The sound was gut-wrenching—a combination of screeching metal and the ominous crack of material breaking under pressure.
I hope I would never have to use it against an average human being because if this had been a living target, the results would have been catastrophic. The slug, small and unassuming, would have pierced flesh and bone with ease, leaving an entry wound barely noticeable. But the exit wound... that would have been another story, something else entirely.
There was a little nasty thing known as cavitation. Cavitation was the violent displacement of tissue by the projectile's passing—would have torn through organs, liquefied muscle, and left a gaping void where there had once been a body. The shockwave alone would have been enough to rupture eardrums, shatter ribs, and stop a heart.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. It worked. It actually worked. I looked at the clock that miraculously had not fallen. 3:19 PM it read. I had literally been tinkering for almost ten hours with barely any break. Of course, I felt as if I was dying. Who would not?
I tested the second gun next, and it performed just as flawlessly. It did a lot of noise too unfortunately but better that than it not working. Each shot had been precise, powerful. I hope that soon enough, I will become resourceful and strong enough to literally shoot all the bullets I would ever create in Zeus's mouth.
As I set the guns down, exhaustion finally caught up with me. My hands ached, my eyes burned, and my body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry. But I could not say that I didn't feel a quiet satisfaction in the air. It still kinda was a sense of accomplishment that was dulled by the edges of my fatigue.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the weapons on the table. They gleamed in the dim light, their sleek forms a stark contrast to the chaos of the workspace around them.
It was at that moment that the voice of Beryl rang "shit?! Are you okay Alex?! It's as if a bomb had exploded in the living room."
I felt two hands grabbed both side of my face. "Let me check if everything's okay." She was looking at my face and the rest of me as if she was searching for any imperfection. I could see fear and anxiety shining in her eyes. She was touching me as if the moment she let go, she would never be able to do so. The last time she did that had been before Zeus. I wonder if she even have showed this part of her to Thalia or if she had been too consumed in trying to make the promises of Zeus come true that she didn't. I hope it wasn't the latter but something deep down told me it probably was the case.
I grabbed her wrists softly but firmly "Everything's okay sis, everything's okay, well except the living room that does not seem to very seem to be living at this moment."
It was undoubtedly a bad joke but it was a bad joke that had made half a smile bloom on her face and the fear in her eyes to turn from a fire to mere embers.
It should have ended in that but an idea took root in my mind. Sure, I had finished building the guns and the plasma blades and the anti-detection earrings and chains but it was technically all too theoric to my tastes.
"Can I ask your favour sis?" I asked her.
"Whatever you want," she immediately answered. I honestly would lie if I said the way she answered immediately, the way she seemed so eager, the way she almost looked grateful, I would not lie and say I didn't feel something twist in my chest.
I hid it all behind a smile "I want you to not stop me from going monster hunting at this moment."
At first, she didn't seem to realize but slowly I watched as realization bloomed in her eyes. She looked as if she wanted to stab me. I preferred that look over the one she just had before.
"Motherfucker!"
scene
Honestly, I didn't know how I was still awake. My thoughts felt sluggish, as if wading through molasses, each one slower than the last. My body, too, was heavy—heavier than it had ever felt, in this life or the last. Each step carried the weight of exhaustion as if I was trying to march through thick, wet concrete. I had pushed myself beyond the brink, again, and I could hear Beryl's concerned voice above the pounding headache that seemed to be my new constant companion.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked, her tone drenched with worry. She tried to mask it, but I could hear it. It reminded me of when we were younger, before Lance, before everything went wrong, when she had been the one fussing over a younger me. Beryl had always done her best, even though we both knew her best wasn't much in our circumstances. I smiled bitterly, almost melancholic. Such a shame that Thalia never got to see this side of her mother. "You look like you're about to keel over, Alex. You could just... wait."
I took a deep breath, my chest aching from exhaustion, and forced myself to answer, "I could wait, sleep, and try again later, but the longer we wait, the longer something could happen to Jason or Thalia. I need to know this works. I need to know if I can handle even the barest minimum of threats we'll face if we're serious about bringing them home."
Beryl sighed, her eyes meeting mine, "I'm sorry, Alex. This is not what I wanted."
I gave her a small, tired smile. "I know, Beryl. But sometimes we have to do things even when we don't want to. Because we need to." I tried to reassure her with a smirk, though I was almost too tired to muster it. "Don't worry. After this, I promise I'll take a nap. Sleep deprivation can only take us so far before it turns into something worse."
She didn't seem convinced, but she let it go, giving me a gentle nod.
The air around us seemed oddly calm, almost serene. It felt like a nice summer day, too nice for what we were doing. A beautiful day outside: birds were singing, flowers were blooming, and here we were, searching for a monster that should be burning in hell rather than prowling in the mortal plane.
We had driven to Griffith Park, one of the largest parks near my neighborhood, and one that offered the kind of seclusion we needed. Its sprawling 4,210-acre landscape was a mix of hiking trails, wooded areas, and hidden spots—perfect for a hunt like this. We needed a place that was open enough to find what we were after but discreet enough that we could handle it without being watched.
"You didn't have to come, you know." I broke the silence as we walked along a secluded trail. "Everything would have been fine."
"I know," Beryl answered, her voice soft but firm. "Still, you barely look awake. I know you didn't need me to come. You stopped needing me a long time ago. But that doesn't mean I'm not still your older sister. You're doing this for me, for my children, for our family. I didn't need to come, but I wanted to. And, with me here, you said our chances of success would be higher, right?"
"Right," I sighed, shaking my head. There was no arguing with her when she was like this.
As we walked, my mind wandered back to what I knew about monsters, their habits, their instincts. If I remembered correctly, what attracted monsters most was a specific scent—a divine aura, strong enough to mark someone as different, special. It wasn't as strong as a god's aura, but it was enough to pique a monster's interest, enough to make them hungry. Luckily for us, Beryl and I weren't demigods, which meant we had a lesser chance of being noticed. But we weren't safe, either. Normal humans were still on the menu, just not as enticing—like the difference between a gourmet steak and a cheap burger patty.
And Beryl, well, she wasn't exactly a normal human. Being Zeus' lover, the mother of his children, meant she had a certain... fragrance. It made her stand out more than the average person. And then there were the gifts Zeus had given her. She wore diamond bracelets on each wrist, and there were earrings too—gifts from him, although she hadn't activated those yet. It all made her aura... richer, more tempting.
We had been walking for over fifteen minutes, and still, there was no sign of anything unusual. I knew I should be patient, but my exhaustion made it harder. A part of me was almost insulted that nothing had shown up yet. I was tired, frustrated, and I wanted something to hit. I had hoped that by now we'd have found some trace of what we were looking for.
And before you say it, yes, I knew about the Mist—how it obscured things from mortals, made the impossible look mundane. But I'd found a way around that. The rune array I'd etched into the chain around my neck did more than just hide my presence. It let me see through the Mist, let me see things as they truly were. Which meant I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there were no monsters nearby.
It was strange, being able to see through the Mist. In a way, it made me... clear-sighted. Though, honestly, I hoped that most clear-sighted mortals couldn't see as much as I could, because the world without the Mist was... well, it was maddening.
Trees weren't just trees anymore. I could see faint silhouettes of dryads moving through the branches, their forms almost indistinguishable from the bark and leaves. The rustling of the wind through the trees sounded like whispers, like the forest itself was alive, watching us. Out of the corner of my eye, shadows twisted and flickered unnaturally, stretching farther than they should have, as if they had a mind of their own. The sky above seemed to shimmer, ripples and streaks of light weaving across it, subtle changes in hue that made it feel almost liquid.
It was like a bad psychedelic trip, one that only made my headache worse.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. "This is taking longer than I thought. What do you have to do to get a monster's attention these days? Dress up as a satyr and pretend to be a female cyclops?" I muttered. "Maybe if I were about to marry one, then we'd get some action."
Beryl raised an eyebrow. "That sounds... weirdly specific."
I chuckled, though it came out more tired than amused. "Not mad?"
"Of course it sounds mad. But you're sleep-deprived, so I'll let it slide. Besides, even when you're not tired, you're... let's say, special."
I shot her a sidelong glance. "Special, huh? The good kind or the bad kind?"
She smiled, shaking her head. "Neither. The exceptional kind. Maybe you should really just re—"
I cut her off with a wave of my hand. Something had changed. "No need. I think we've found what we were looking for."
Without realizing it, we had wandered into a more secluded part of the park. The sounds of people had faded into the background, replaced by a tense, eerie silence. The kind of silence that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
"Beryl," I whispered, "activate your earrings."
The moment she did, the air seemed to change, an unforgettable, potent smell of blood filling my nostrils, nearly making me gag. It was close. My eyes scanned the area, finally landing on something—or rather, someone—far ahead.
It looked like a man at first glance. A particularly large man, the kind that had probably taken way too many steroids and worked construction in his free time. But that wasn't what he truly was. With the chain around my neck, I could see his grotesque, leathery skin, the bulging muscles that seemed almost unnatural, his sheer size. A cyclops. And not a friendly one like Tyson.
He turned, looking in our direction, his eyes squinting as if he sensed something. His gaze swept over where we stood, not pausing long enough to notice us before he shrugged, mumbling something in a thick, slurred voice. "Coulda sworn... somethin'... ah, whatever." His voice was as dumb as I expected, each word sounding like it took significant effort to form.
He turned back, leaning over something obscured by his massive body. Then I heard it—a sound I'll never forget. The crunch of bone, the raw, wet snap of it.
The cyclops crouched over something mangled, his massive hands tearing flesh from bone with the ease of breaking twigs. He bit down with a sickening crunch, the sound ricocheting through the air, wet and sharp. A half-chewed limb hung from his grip, its small, delicate fingers frozen in a final, futile plea for mercy.
As he moved, I caught a glimpse of what lay on the ground before him. My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat.
The body of a child. Torn apart, savaged. Couldn't be more than eleven. Blood soaked the ground around it, and I watched in horror as the cyclops picked up one of the child's limbs—his fingers still small, delicate—and bit into it like it was nothing more than a chicken wing.
I could not help it but look at the desecrated, at half-devoured corpse of this child, one dead with an expression of fear frozen on his face, I could only see Thalia instead of him, Thalia at his place.
Maybe I was wrong but this dead child was probably a demigod, the child or a descendant of an immortal who did nothing, who probably didn't care about the death of this child and this was probably happening everywhere in America, this had probably happened everywhere the gods had rooted themselves.
Apathy. This was the result of apathy, I was sure. I wish it could have been of cruelty, I wish all of this could have made sense, I wish all of this was not fucking senseless.
It was still bright. I knew that somewhere else in that park, people were laughing, going their merry ways, thinking that everything was fine, unaware that a child had been murdered. At this moment, I wished my humanity was escapable. Maybe if it was, it would not hurt so much. Maybe if it was it would not hurt so much to feel at this moment.
The world was wrong. It was flawed because it reflected the nature of its masters. Something like this, such a world only seems worthy of destroying.
Gods were real and they were monsters. Gods were real and they were beggeters of monsters.
Watching this monster, one that probably was begotten by the divine too, I could not help but feel disgust. I could not help but feel hatred but greater than those two, I felt fury.
The gods, the monsters, they all needed to pay. In that moment, I took the third star that had bloomed in my mind, the one that had been untouched.
I didn't change it, mould it for some greater purpose, no. I only commanded to do one thing, giving me the knowledge to make monsters suffer and it did.
Fury roared in my veins, hot and fierce, pushing back the exhaustion that had weighed me down. I reached beneath my shirt, feeling the cool metal of my Berettas, railguns hidden away in custom holsters.
It was a beautiful day outside. Children were dying. Birds were singing, flowers were blooming... On days like these, monsters like these...
Should be burning in hell.
I really hope y'all like the chapter. Like I said, I really went heavy with the science stuff. I allowed myself to nerd out but honestly if I can't do so on an inspired inventor fanfic, what's the point? I also put some references in the chapter. Were y'all able to catch them? Those with science backed degrees, jobs or hobbies, please don't hesitate to tell me where and when I theoretically fuck up. It only helps me better my writing. Also, I think people forget a little too easily that most monsters in PJO at least literally want to eat demigods. Also, when you think about it, isn't the concept of the most fucked up? You could be just on the side of a monster trying to hurt you and you would not be able to do anything because you don't even know.
Anyway. I got a p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / Eileen715 with two more chapters on it. With less than five dollars, you have access to everything I write in a month. Don't hesitate to visit if you want to read more or support me or maybe both.