Latest update: March 26, 2025
Summary:Some guy reincarnates in pjo as the human uncle of Thalia and Jason with the inspired inventor and realizes that things and canon are way more fucked than he originally thought to be. He also very much wishes to punch Zeus in the face
Link:https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/rage-against-the-heavens-percy-jackson-human-self-insert-with-the-inspired-inventor.1203476/reader/
Word count:110k
Chapters:18
In this new life, I found myself with an unexpected role: a little brother again. Only this time, there was a substantial age gap between me and my older sister, Beryl—a good twelve years separating us. But unlike any sibling bond I'd known in my past life, Beryl and I were close. Really close. Closer than I ever thought siblings could be.
Our parents weren't negligent, but they didn't really take care of me, not in the way a child would have probably wanted. Beryl was the one who became more like a mom than a sister to me. She'd fill in where our parents fell short, and in those early years, I wouldn't lie and say that she wasn't my whole world.
When Beryl dropped out of college to chase her dream of becoming an actress, everything changed. Our parents were furious. They cut her off financially, refused to support her in any way, and even barred her from coming home unless she abandoned her dream. But I believed in her. I knew, in a way that went beyond logic, that she could make it. And I was in a unique position to help. With the knowledge I'd retained from my previous life, I started making investments in the late '70s and early '80s—just when I knew they'd be lucrative. By the time she needed a hand, I was able to provide for her, covering her apartment, her essentials, and anything else she might need. All so she could focus on her acting career without the constant worry of scraping by.
And she did. She proved me right.
The first big break came when she landed a role as the blonde lead on a popular TV show called Cheers. I remember the day she got the part. She waited outside my school, her face glowing with excitement. The moment she saw me, she practically tackled me in a hug, her voice high and breathless with joy.
"Thank you, Alex. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I don't know what I would've done if I'd had to worry about being homeless or... or doing things I'd regret just to get by." Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, and she grinned at me like she'd just conquered the world. "This changes everything. Trust me, little brother. We're going to the top of the world."
And for a time, it was perfect. Beryl's show, one called Cheer where she had the role of the blonde female lead took off, gaining popularity across the country, and my investments were paying off, too. By the time I was a young teen, I was well on my way to being a millionaire before I even hit adulthood. And then, at her insistence, I moved in with her. Living together, we were more of a family than we'd ever been with our parents.
But then Lance entered our lives. He was that tall, imposing, and very muscular, with shoulder-length black hair and a grey-and-black neatly trimmed beard Greek guy.
I could see how he could have been deemed as handsome even with his resting bitch face that seemed to scream that he needed, deserved to be slapped.
Lance Reddick was... off. From the moment I met him, I felt an instinctive discomfort around him. It wasn't jealousy—no, nothing as weird and lame as that. Beryl still gave me plenty of attention and I wasn't the kind of person to go jealous because someone they cared about became close to someone else, even though she sometimes seemed to forget about me. For that one time, she left for a spontaneous vacation with Lance, locking me out of the apartment without telling me. I'd been fine, of course; I had my own money and it was my second life but I wouldn't have been if it wasn't the case and that was the problem. I said it to her of course, she apologized and told me she would be better but that incident was only the beginning of a string of times when Lance seemed to draw her further away from me.
It made me realize that something was wrong, that my sister was changing because of him and not in a good way and this was wrong because my sister was someone proud, someone who believed in herself, who would not let herself be cowed by the belief or the words or the actions of someone else or at least this is what I thought. Something in my heart, in my marrow, in my soul abhorred the existence that was Lance Reddick in a way I never had in my past life like in this current one. I didn't know why but I knew that he was bad news.
I tried talking to her about him, told her that something felt wrong. But she brushed me off, insisting I didn't understand, that I would understand later in the future. Maybe she was right; maybe I didn't understand her infatuation. But I knew what I saw.
Things came to a head when Beryl became pregnant. She was twenty-five, and I was only thirteen. I remember the day she told me, how my jaw dropped as I struggled to comprehend what she was saying. She was at the peak of her career, and she was willing to throw it all away for... for Lance? A man who ghosted her on a whim, leaving her devastated each time?
There were so many reasons why it was a bad idea. Firstly, it was the 80s, a time that was still socially regressive, one where a woman, a non-married one having a child with a quasi-absent father would be considered not too different from a prostitute.
More than that, having a child was an important and heavy responsibility. Raising one was something hard to do, raising one the right way even harder and with a father that went and came only when it pleased him? This was not a good idea at all.
Also, she was an actress. Being pregnant would make her unable to take on some acting gigs, make her career go to a ground still.
Those were a few of many reasons why having a child, a child with Lance Reddick wasn't a good thing.
We argued, really argued for the first time. I tried to make her see reason, told her that a child wouldn't keep Lance around if he didn't want to stay. I had seen it so many times, through my personal life, through statistics, through social media. Having a child with a man didn't guarantee him staying, would most likely never be the reason why he changed.
It didn't go well. Hurtful words were exchanged, and by the end, it was clear we couldn't keep living under the same roof. She asked me to move out, back with our parents. I agreed, bitter and resentful, and we didn't speak for the rest of her pregnancy. Weeks passed after her daughter, Thalia, was born before we finally saw each other again.
When Beryl came to visit at our parents' house, it was like we were strangers. There were no apologies, no acknowledgement of the things we'd said. Instead, we talked about trivial things, pretending the hurt didn't linger between us. We played with Thalia together, who was a curious, joyful baby with an insatiable curiosity for tugging at my hair.
Before she left, Beryl looked at me, her expression softened. "I'm doing my best, Alex. For all of us—me, you, and Thalia. Maybe you don't understand now, but I hope you will someday."
It wasn't an apology, not really. But it was as close as she could get. And so I accepted it, letting the hurt settle into a quiet ache.
In time, I became Thalia's unofficial babysitter. Beryl's career kept her busy, and Lance was as unreliable as ever as I told her, like I knew he would be. The man vanished and reappeared without warning, leaving my sister in pieces each time. I took care of Thalia because someone had to, and despite the frustration, there was a part of me that found it almost nostalgic. I was, in a way, repaying Beryl for the care she'd given me when we were younger.
But it wasn't easy watching her crumble. Lance's influence left her stressed, anxious, and sometimes driven to drink. She'd drown her sorrows in bottles of wine, and I'd be left to clean up the mess, clearing away the empty bottles so that Thalia wouldn't hurt herself. Beryl wasn't the sister I remembered; she was a ghost of herself, hollowed out by her devotion to a man who only ever brought her misery and the worst was that I couldn't understand why, I couldn't understand how this girl who had been more responsible than our parents when we were younger, who gave me the utmost care couldn't do the same thing with her biological daughter.
Yet despite everything, Thalia thrived. She grew up happy and healthy, a spirited child with a vivid imagination and a knack for getting into trouble. She struggled with ADHD and dyslexia, but I made sure she knew those things didn't define her. I wanted her to know, to engrave in her mind like a gospel that she was perfect just the way she was.
Slowly, Beryl began to pull herself together. Lance had ghosted her again, this time for a year, and in his absence, she started to return to the sister I once knew. She found new acting gigs—not as grand as they could have been if she hadn't put her career on hold, but enough to give her purpose again. She even started to take her role as a mother more seriously. I hoped that, with time, Thalia might act and look at her with something other than anger and despise then one day, Lance came back. And it was like all her progress disappeared in an instant.
I begged her not to go back to him. I pleaded, told her that if she chose him over us again, I'd be done. I wouldn't forgive her, wouldn't talk to her. She had a choice—me and Thalia or Lance.
She chose him. I should have expected it but it still did hurt.
She told me it would be better if we didn't see each other anymore. She didn't want me "putting bad thoughts" in Thalia's mind about her father. The betrayal burned, but I wasn't ready to give up just yet. I went to confront Lance directly, hoping to reason with him or, at the very least, make him see the damage he was doing. But what happened next... it's hazy in my memory. The details blur, but I remember one thing clearly: I was served with a restraining order, barring me from coming near Beryl or Thalia, as if I were some kind of ticking sexual predator. It's as if the moment the guy had acted, the entire justice system has bent to his whims. I literally had millions, the best lawyers, teams of investigators launched in his direction and so many other things and those things weren't enough to change anything.
Lance won and the thought burned like hot iron on the flesh.
The look on Beryl's face when I saw her in court—guilty, yet silent—was the final straw. I left without looking back.
I left after putting Thalia to bed, I left lying to her that we would see each other again. I could remember how she had asked me if I would always be there. I had lied to her and said always. This was the last time I saw my niece.
For the next few years, I lived for myself. I was wealthy, young, and unburdened for the first time in my life. I tried to forget Beryl and Thalia, focusing on enjoying the second chance this life had given me.
And then, one Monday at 2:30 AM, someone banged on my door.
At first, I thought it was a robber, but then I heard my name, shouted in a voice I hadn't heard in years. It was a voice I'd almost succeeded in forgetting, one that brought with it a storm of anger and nostalgia. Beryl.
Part of me didn't want to answer. She had never been there for me, not when I needed her. But something in her voice—a desperation I'd never heard before—compelled me. I opened the door.
She looked like a mess. Her face was gaunt, her eyes red and swollen. She looked broken. I wouldn't know who was the first of us to move, who had craved comfort from the other the most but in the end, I was hugging my sister while she was crying in my arms.
I held her in my arms as her sobs broke through the silence of the night, each shuddering breath filling the room with a kind of grief that felt older than time itself. Her words came out in broken, trembling whispers, "I'm sorry, Alex... I'm so, so sorry, Alex... you were right, I'm so sorry..." She kept repeating it, the weight of her remorse hanging heavily in the air, almost suffocating.
Beryl's tears seemed endless, a torrent of regret and sorrow, and I found myself struggling to keep my composure. I'd seen her so many ways over the years – strong, vulnerable, radiant, bitter – but never like this, utterly shattered, like she'd been hollowed out by the very secrets she was revealing.
"Alex," she whispered again, her voice raw and torn. "You have to believe me. Lance... he wasn't... he wasn't normal. I wouldn't have given up so much... sacrificed so much... if he was just a man." She clutched my shirt like it was the only thing keeping her anchored to reality. "You think I would have stayed, would have... turned my back on you... on everything, for some ordinary man?" Her voice cracked, her face twisted in a mixture of desperation and dread. "It sounds insane, I know. But, Alex... gods... the gods from the stories, the myths... they're real. All of them. They're real."
When I was younger, she had liked to read me stories, stories to make me sleep she said, stories that ended most of the time with her being the one sleeping, stories about Greek gods and heroes, stories about Greek legends.
I had thought they were myths, things with no basis in truth just like in my past life. It seemed I was wrong.
The room seemed to shrink to my senses, my mind replaying her words, the gods were real, I had woken up in another world with living gods.
Beryl was looking at me, her eyes wild with a need that went beyond explanation. It was as if she believed my faith in her was the only thing keeping her from falling into a bottomless pit. And somehow, I knew that if I didn't believe her, she might just break entirely.
I would have doubted her – I should have doubted her – if it weren't for the fact that this was my second life. The quiet, dark secret I'd carried with me since I was a child, the one that made me question everything I thought I knew about the world, came crashing into my thoughts. When I was younger, I'd wondered if this world was different, supernatural somehow, but the fact that everything seemed so painfully familiar had forced me to let that notion go. It was the seventies, not 2000, but still... I was sure I was in the same mundane world I'd always known. But now? Now, I was beginning to think I'd been terribly wrong.
And worse, I feared I knew what world I'd reincarnated into – the world of Percy Jackson. My mind raced as pieces fell into place, each one heavier and darker than the last. A world where gods walked unseen among mortals, where children carried the burden of heroism, facing monsters with only their wits and stolen moments of bravery. The gods were no saviors here. They were cruel and distant, their immortal lives devoid of compassion for their own children, leaving them to fend for themselves against beasts that lurked in shadows and under beds.
Many would think that I should have known that something was wrong, that maybe I had indeed reincarnated into the world of Percy Jackson with my older sister being literally called Beryl but Beryl Grace was in my defence not her entire name. Grace wasn't our family name. Grace was her career name. Beryl's true name was literally Beryl Gracelyn Chambers. Our family name was literally Chambers. Howwas I supposed to know otherwise?
I recalled all the failures of the gods, every sin they'd inflicted upon their demigod children. Chris Rodriguez unclaimed while living in the Hermes' cabin. The supposed protectors of humanity who turned their backs on their own flesh and blood, for no reason other than selfish indifference. Poseidon, unconcerned with Percy's fate until it suits him, until he needs him but the guy doesn't care and does nothing when his son has a stepfather that was more than implied to be abusive. Classical Poseidon wouldn't even spit on him even If he was on fire. Even Athena, casting away her offsprings like discarded chess pieces until she deemed them useful enough, good enough to go on a quest for her pride, a quest that was happening and had been failed for thousands of years. She was literally doing the same abominable thing, sending her children to die for a statue for more than a millennium, a quest that not any one of them had survived until Annabeth and Annabeth had been lucky.
This was a world wrapped in tragedy, but no one saw it. People held onto the idea of heroes, of valor, but how many lives had been ruined, children forced to beg for acknowledgement from parents who never cared enough to stay? This was a grimdark world that just didn't seem like one because in which world was it fair for children to beg to be claimed, acknowledged, not even taken care of by their literal godly immortal parents, how was this fair for children since childhood to have to deal with literal monsters, monsters that wanted and did kill them, eat them alive, make them suffer. And even more horrifying – a world where every advancement, every bit of human ingenuity, was merely a reflection of the gods' influence, like shadows cast on the walls of Plato's cave. Western civilization itself was just an extension of their whims, their endless play with mortals. The thought turned my stomach.
Destroying the gods would bring ruin, the PJO books had informed. Doing so would impact humanity in more than a negative way because the truth that no one in his past life had seemed to grasp was the fact that the gods were Parasites.
This world was one where every human advancement came directly and/or indirectly from the gods. The gods were the Western civilisation itself and all the changes good and bad it brought to the world. This was why if I remembered well, the books had said that destroying the gods and thrones would send back all of humanity living back into caves.
This meant that the humanity of this world depended on the gods and I hated that idea, hated the idea that heroes, that people who followed their dreams, who died, killed, suffered for them were only able to do so because of the gods whether it was directly or indirectly. I hated that idea, I hated that fact because I came from a world where humanity made all the same things present in this world without any god. I hated what they did to this humanity. I hated the thought that every possible achievement born of the human defiance, of the human will of living, of bettering their lives was only because of monsters in all but name and one of those monsters, the greatest of them was the sperm donor of my niece.
Thalia... Thalia would face monsters, come inches from death, all because of her father's grudge, something she'd never had any part in. My breath grew shallow as the implications unravelled inside me. Thalia wasn't safe, and neither were any of us. But as I fought to contain the storm within, Beryl's voice broke through my spiralling thoughts.
"He promised me so much, Alex," she murmured, almost as if in a trance. "He said... he said he'd give me the world. That he'd make me a queen, like he'd done for his lovers before. He even promised... he promised immortality, Alex. For me, for my children... for you."
I held back the surge of anger as I listened, Beryl's words scraping against the rawness of everything she'd given up. "I was going to bring you with me, Alex. I promised I would." She looked at me, her tear-streaked face twisted with regret. "I thought... I thought he meant it. I thought all of this was worth it. I ignored you, hurt you, gave up on my career, because I believed in him, in us."
She laughed, a hollow sound that held nothing of joy. "When Thalia was born, he seemed to care, you know? I thought... I thought I'd made the right choice, that you'd forgive me, understand, once we all were immortal. But every time I reminded him, reminded him of his promises... he'd leave for days, weeks... months. And when he returned, he was different. Each time, he seemed to care less. And that's when the bottle became my comfort... when I should have been comforting Thalia. When I... I was weak, Alex. But you... you were there for her. You took care of her when I couldn't."
She looked at me, a strange mix of admiration and shame in her gaze. "You proved, again and again, that you were better than me."
My heart twisted painfully as she spoke. She'd tried to let go of him, to pull herself out of the darkness. But every time, he would return, whispering promises that wrapped around her like chains. "He promised me, Alex, on the Styx itself, that he'd make me a queen," she whispered, almost in reverence. "That he wasn't lying. But you... you threatened to leave... and even though it hurt, I stayed silent."
"Why didn't you tell me, Beryl?" My voice was barely a whisper, afraid to disturb the fragile quiet that had settled between us.
"Lance said... he said that knowing would put you in danger. That it'd attract monsters, that he wouldn't protect you like he did Thalia and me." Her voice dropped to a trembling murmur. "He didn't like you, Alex. He hated that Thalia called you 'Dad'... that she chose you over him. That's why..."
It dawned on me, like a cold blade pressed to my spine. I'd made Zeus jealous. I'd challenged a god's pride without even knowing it. And the memory that felt hazy – the one where I'd somehow asked for Thalia's guardianship – must have been altered, twisted by Zeus himself to keep me from remembering.
My memories had been altered. He had controlled my mind and there had been nothing that I had been able to do. The fucker had violated me and I hadn't been able to do anything and this more than anything burnt.
The worst was that I knew I could do nothing that would make him pay for everything he did. Stories about overthrowing, fighting against gods sound cool when you're able to tank a blast akin to thousands of hydrogen bombs from the Master Bolt, not when you're an average human.
The truth was that even though I hated him, I couldn't forget the fact that beings like him were called gods for a reason, that beings like him wiped lineages, directly or indirectly were the cause of the downfall of probably hundreds of millions if not more.
Why would a lone average human be able to do against a creature capable of controlling the sky itself, of uprooting mountains with pure physical strength?
This is why I could understand Luke's decision of siding with the Titans not that it wasn't stupid. Understandable indeed but still stupid because the original myths, the PJO books, they all indicated one thing, only the godly, only the immortal could take down the immortal.
Beryl's voice wavered, barely audible. "There was... another child, Alex. I wanted to name him after you... Alexis, but he wouldn't have it. He named him Jason, to appease his wife. And then... then he offered Jason to her, sacrificed him to keep her satisfied. No matter how much I begged, he wouldn't listen."
Jason, her boy, my nephew, a boy who would literally be thrown to the wolves, who would literally become a child soldier, a nephew who would die alone not long after being heartbroken. How was any of this right? How was any of this acceptable?
The emptiness in her eyes spoke volumes. She'd been promised the world, only to be thrown away like a pawn. "I told him he shouldn't... that he'd promised me to make me a Queen and he laughed. He looked at me and said, What else could you call a mortal woman who bore the king of the gods' child?"
I could almost hear it as if I had been present, dismissive, uncaring, cruel.
"That's when," my sister continued "I knew... I knew I'd been used, tricked... that he never intended to keep his promises. Everything I had done, everything I had given up was for nothing. I was… just a toy, a toy he got bored of after the novelty passed. You were right Alex."
"Where is Thalia?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper, even though I already knew the answer. She was gone, out there, alone in a world that didn't care.
Beryl's shoulders shook, and she clung to me like I was the only solid thing in her broken world. "She left... she's gone. And I don't want you to leave me too, Alex. You're all I have left."
I swallowed hard, feeling the sting of bile in my throat. Beryl had been left with nothing, her career gone, her dignity shredded, her daughter resenting her so much to the point that she ran from home.
I was the only thing she had left, the only one who possibly still cared about her. I didn't remember it exactly but in the books, Thalia hated everything about her, hated her more than she did Zeus who was the true reason for everything wrong that went on in her life but that should be expected, weren't daughters the first ones to despise their mothers after their fathers when they were in fact looking into a broken view of the could be?
Now, after everything she had told me, I could understand so much more about the way she acted, everything she had said, everything she had done.
'We're going to the top of the world.'
This sentence had been the beginning of everything wrong, the curse that infected the roots. I wonder, in another world, one without me existing, one where she wouldn't have the support of a brother to stop her from going homeless, to stop her from losing her soul by doing what she needed to do to grasp at her dream, I wonder if in this world, if in canon, the thing that was the beginning of her fall was her thinking 'i'm going to the top of this world.'
I was her brother, probably the only one still willing to hold her through the pieces of a life that had been taken, crumbled into dust. I wonder, if I hadn't opened this door, would I have woken up with the news that I lost my sister, that her fate had been unchanged from canon, that worse, it happened earlier?
All of this was Zeus' fault. Zeus was the reason why my sister was crying. Zeus was the reason why my nephew would be groomed into a child soldier. Zeus would be the reason why Thalia would be homeless for two years, who would be the reason why she faced the worst monsters of the Underworld at twelve and do nothing to help when he could have, who would turn her into a fucking tree! Thalia who… Thalia who still was alive, Thalia who still could be saved, Thalia who I could bring home. I didn't care that it could be dangerous, that it could fail, that it could end with the attention of Zeus and the other gods on me, that I could die or worse.
This was a second life, my second life. What was the point of living again, of being able to do something worthwhile and do nothing?
I didn't care that Fate was a tangible thing in this world. I didn't care about the Destiny, the canon set in place by the Daughter of Ananke. I didn't care that I was merely a human in this mad world of gods, heroes and monsters.
The loom of Fate, the one that had preordained the suffering of my family. I will destroy it until there is nothing left, I will crush it and all those who try to stop me.
The Gods of Below and Above, the Underworld, the Seas, the heavens, they won't stop me.
I tightened my arms around her, every word she said fueling the fire simmering inside me. Zeus, his promises, his lies, that had and would cost my sister everything.
I would rage against the heavens until that Yoke that gods had on humans, that power that allowed them so much cruelty, that could allow them to ruin the lives of mortals like my sister would be worthless.
At that moment, something happened almost like a recognition, almost like a baptism, almost like enlightenment.
At that moment, infinity seared itself and bloomed into my mind, a sephiroth of potential with stars at the places of branches taking root.
One of those stars shone almost eager, almost alive, almost screaming for change.
'Shape me,' it seemed to whisper and I did. I shaped, my mind twisting, giving it form, giving it direction and making it go supernova overwhelming my mind with what my heart had desired, knowledge, knowledge on how to create anti-godly weapons.
It was just novice-level knowledge a part of me was sure of. This same part almost seems to say that with time, it could become more.
Even then, even though it was only a level of knowledge that could only be called level entry, it was still enough to make me able to do something. I knew that with costly things like gold, diamonds and high-level batteries, I could create something that would mask a human or a location If I had enough resources from the gods themselves.
What made it primordial though was that it wouldn't only work on the gods. It would If I desired it to do so also work I was sure on beings classes below them in power and strength which meant that I knew how to create a place or even objects that would hide the scents of a demigod, that would ensure that they wouldn't have to fear monsters coming after them. It meant that I could save my niece, ensure that she is and feels safe and all of this was possible just with one charge.
What else would I be able to do with another?
Zeus had brought pain to Thalia, to Beryl, and fucked with my memory, with me. So many other mortals had and were actually suffering in the entire human history, in the entire world because of the gods. The gods had meddled in mortal lives for too long, crushing us underfoot as they pursued their whims.
It was time for humanity to fight back. It was time for mankind to rage against the heavens.Awarded ×16241allen1996Dec 10, 2024View discussionThreadmarksBig companies are replacing humans by robotsView contentallen1996They/ThemDec 10, 2024 Awarded ×1#2Maybe it was the relief of finally spilling everything, maybe sheer exhaustion, or maybe something deeper—some intangible weight lifted, leaving her body with nothing but fatigue—but Beryl had fallen asleep. The rise and fall of her chest was steady, her face slack in a way I hadn't seen in years. As I removed her heels, setting them gently on the floor, and tucked her under the blankets, I was struck by how much she reminded me of the sister I used to know. Not the fractured image she had become.
Her hair, once styled to perfection, now lay messy across the pillow, strands clinging to the sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her makeup was smudged, remnants of mascara tracing faint rivers down her cheeks. She looked vulnerable. Mortal.
I didn't lie to myself. I still had lingering, tangled feelings about her. Mixed wouldn't even begin to describe it. Resentment? Maybe. Regret? Absolutely. Bitterness? That too. Intellectually, I understood—none of this was her fault. Ninety-nine percent of it wasn't, at least. Zeus wasn't some pushy human suitor whose advances could be brushed off with a sharp word or a slammed door. He was a god, a creature woven from pride and power, who would burn an entire city to ash if he thought it mocked him, who had probably done much worse in the past. Refusing him wasn't an option, not for her, not for even most goddesses, not for anyone mortal.
And yet... the other one percent lingered like a thorn under my skin. My emotions didn't care about logic. They only remembered how she'd shut me out, how I'd picked up the pieces she dropped, how I'd watched her wither into something unrecognizable. They whispered that she could've, should have tried harder, listened to me when I begged her to walk away. They whispered that herchoices, no matter how constrained, had ripped us apart.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I'll get over it , probably, hopefully, I thought, glancing back at her sleeping form. Maybe before she even woke up. There were bigger concerns now, concerns that made sibling grievances feel like dust in a hurricane.
My worries were focused on something else much more important, ironically primordial: the gods and monsters that walked this world.
The knowledge I'd scraped together after unlocking my tinkering abilities had been... Let's say enlightening and in this moment, two immediate goals burned in my mind. Things I needed to do. Things I needed to build. Those thoughts were the ones who brought me here, standing in a convenience store at four in the morning, buying things I never thought I'd be touching in either my first life or my second.
The cashier—an older man with thinning hair and a drooping face—looked more preoccupied with staying awake than paying attention to what I was buying. Thank God, not those gods for small mercies. Anyways, he hadn't asked a single question as I loaded batteries, jumper cables, disposable cameras, duct tape, aluminum foil, and a mismatched assortment of other items onto the counter. All the ingredients that should seem to be for a very strange, very dangerous science experiment or maybe something worse.
This neighborhood—the kind of place where wealth was passed down like family heirlooms—was a world of calm and control. The sort of gated community that wasn't technically gated but might as well have been. It wasn't a place where people worried about muggings or robberies; crime was a thing that happened to other people, on other streets. The residents of these mansions and manicured lawns paid for security, paid for peace, paid to keep the chaos of the world at bay.
I wondered how they would reach if they knew that this peace was an illusion, that Chaos was everywhere, hiding under masks of normalcy, waiting for the right moment to strike, that at any moment because of the will of a god or a monster, everything could go wrong and nothing they could try to do would change that. I wondered how they would react if they knew that monsters weren't metaphors, that they were real, literally amongst us being hidden by the mist.
Honestly, another reason to build something as quickly as possible. The early '90s weren't kind to night owls like me. This wasn't the future, where you could order anything with a few clicks and have it delivered in minutes. Honestly, kinda one of the things I truly missed the most about my first life was the convenience of it all. Most stores were closed, especially in a place like this. Electronics shops, hardware stores, specialty suppliers—all of them locked up tight. If I hadn't stumbled across Eta Construction, a store that was a bizarre hybrid of hardware, automotive, and electronics, I'd be out of luck.
It was almost suspicious how convenient it was. The kind of store where you could find copper wires, batteries, quantum resonators, and even small tools , all under one roof. Almost like someone knew what people like me might need and it kinda ranked up my paranoid a little but still, I knew hadn't had the luxury to hesitate.
In the end, I paid the cashier $3,150, sliding a credit card across the counter with a practiced indifference. He handed it back to me with the kind of detached politeness that felt rehearsed.
"Thank you for your purchase at Eta Construction," he said, his voice monotone, as I began stuffing my haul into bags.
For a moment, my hands froze as his words rang into my mind, as something clicked. Eta Construction. The name felt wrong, like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit. My gaze flicked to the cashier, and for the briefest instant, something changed.
His skin shimmered, metallic and gleaming like polished bronze. His eyes—God, his eyes—darkened into empty voids, pupils replaced by burning orange orbs that looked like molten lava. The image was gone in a blink, leaving only the tired man behind the counter, his features unremarkable once more.
"Is everything alright, sir?" he asked, his tone so normal it felt mocking.
"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile that I hoped didn't look as fake as it felt. My heart hammered in my chest, but I kept my voice steady. "Just tired. Probably should be sleeping instead of shopping. Heading home for that now."
"Understood, sir. Have a nice night," he said, with no hint of suspicion.
I nodded, picking up my bags and walking as calmly as I could manage toward the exit. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I forced my legs to move at a measured pace. The second I was out the door and into the parking lot, my composure cracked. My steps quickened, the bags swinging wildly at my sides, until I reached the sanctuary of my car.
The second the door slammed shut behind me, I dropped the bags onto the passenger seat and leaned my forehead against the steering wheel. My breaths came fast and shallow, each one burning in my chest like I'd been sprinting.
"Eta Construction. Really? Could they be more obvious?"
It clicked into place now, the name, the store, the cashier—or whatever the hell that thing was. Before tonight, before knowing I'd been reincarnated into a world where Greek gods roamed, I wouldn't have thought twice about it. But now? Eta could be said to be the Greek letter equivalent of H the same way Alpha was for.
Of course, the store called Eta construction with too many things, opened 24/7 in one of the richest neighbourhood in America was owned by Hephaestus, the god of the forge. The Olympian craftsman.
It was so blatant it felt like a bad joke and that cashier? An automaton, maybe, or some other mythological creature cloaked so thickly in the Mist that I'd almost missed it.
Almost. I probably would have if I wasn't aware now that the supernatural indeed existed in this world.
And that was the problem, wasn't it? I'd been face-to-face with something inhuman, something that could have crushed me or worse without breaking a sweat, and I'd been powerless if anything had gone wrong, if for any reason, the automaton or whatever that thing wanted to. Sure, my abilities let me build things, create weapons, craft tools that could level the playing field. But tools were useless if you didn't have time to make them. What good was ingenuity when you were caught empty-handed?
I needed an edge. ASAP!.
With that thought, I started the car, the engine growling to life beneath me. The faint vibrations against my hands felt grounding, a reminder that, for now, I was still alive, that things were alright but this wasn't, didn't feel enough like maybe it once did in the past. Not anymore.
I glanced at the bags in the passenger seat, the jumble of components that would soon become something far more dangerous. And as I pulled out of the lot, words echoed in my mind: I guess I'll just have to Build, or die.
*scene*
The encounter at the store had been proof enough: I needed to start building right now. Not in a few hours, not after catching some rest, but this very instant. I couldn't shake the image of the cashier—his metallic skin shimmering like molten steel, the volcanic glow in his eyes—and I didn't want to. Fear had a way of sharpening the mind, and tonight, I intended to wield mine like a scalpel. There was no way I'd sleep without creating something, anything, to ease the gnawing paranoia that had taken root in my chest.
I wasn't deluded enough to think I'd suddenly craft something capable of obliterating a god. With one charge in anti-divine weaponry, my knowledge barely skimmed the surface of what such a feat would require. Even against a minor god, I'd be an ant trying to jab a needle into the boot about to crush me. But monsters? That was another story. The thought lit a small fire in me. Monsters were way more tangible, fallible, killable than gods and the capacity of possibly dealing with them was one I could not pass on. Sure, Zeus was my real target but I knew the roads would be paved with a lot of bullshit and if I couldn't deal with the bare minimum from monsters and gods, what was the point?
The living room had turned unrecognizable. A sprawling battlefield of tools, wires, and random scraps of material spread across the once-pristine carpet and coffee table. Bits of quartz and aluminum glinted under the harsh glow of the overhead light. The scent of adhesive and faintly burnt plastic hung in the air, sharp and acrid. It looked chaotic, but everything had its purpose, a piece in the intricate puzzle I was assembling. The knowledge that had burned itself into my soul hours again ensured I knew this.
Three projects. That was the goal. Three tools I deemed essential in the wake of what Beryl had revealed to me. The first and most important was concealment. If the gods—or worse, the monsters—could track us through our scent or whatever mystic sixth sense they used, then we were already dead. This wasn't just about me; it was about Beryl too. The idea of Zeus coming near her again made my blood boil. And Hera? Sure, in canon, it was said if I remember well that Beryl died because of a car crash due to driving intoxicated. That was a fate I would not allow to come to pass and if the Moirai were not happy about that, they could fight me over it. Still, better to not tempt the devil and all of that. Did I even need to justify why we couldn't afford to be found?
The plan was to miniaturize a greater ritual into something portable, wearable, and discreet. I didn't fully understand the original design—it was like staring at a complex equation missing half its variables—but I had enough knowledge to work with. Earrings for Beryl, a chain for me. Both would need to sit close to the skin to function, and both would have to hold up under scrutiny if anyone looked too closely.
I spread out the materials I had gathered from the store earlier. Batteries, quartz crystals salvaged from wristwatches, copper wire, aluminum foil, duct tape, epoxy, titanium jewelry, piezoelectric crystals, moonstone, and obsidian. Each item felt like a tiny lifeline, a stepping stone away from helplessness.
The first step for both accessories was the creation of metamaterials, artificial substances engineered to manipulate electromagnetic waves in ways nature never could. According to the knowledge that had been etched into my mind, these materials would bend light and disrupt detection systems, cloaking our presence from prying senses. Maybe it sounded overkill, but in a world where divine wrath and monstrous appetite were literal threats, overkill was the only kind of kill that mattered.
I started by cutting the aluminum foil into thin, precise strips, no wider than a thread. Each strip was paired with a matching piece of plastic sheeting, and I alternated the layers like a miniature lasagna, bonding them together with superglue. Conductive, non-conductive, conductive, non-conductive—every layer had a role to play. My hands moved with steady precision, the repetitive process almost meditative.
Once I had enough composite material, I brought out a magnifying glass and a fine-point needle. This was the tedious part: engraving nano-scale patterns into the aluminum surface. Spirals, zigzags, interlocking loops—their complexity wasn't just for show. Each line guided electromagnetic waves, bending them around the object to render it invisible or scattering signals to confuse detection systems. The knowledge behind these patterns felt instinctive, a gift from the charge I had spent. I probably would have not been able to do anything of what I was actually doing if it was not for the star of Knowledge in my mind. I also was kinda sure that I was kinda cheating in a way, that even with my knowledge, I shouldn't have been this fast or able to build with such a simple environment and materials. Yeah, Without that star of knowledge, I'd probably be lost.
When the etching was done, I placed the layered sheets into a toaster oven repurposed for this task. Low heat, just enough to cure the glue and stabilize the structure without warping it. The smell of heated plastic filled the air, faint but sharp. I watched the timer tick down, the seconds dragging like hours.
Once the sheets had cooled, I tested them with a laser pointer. The beam bent unnaturally as it passed over the material, refracting in unpredictable ways. It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough I hoped. The first step was complete.
The second feature, and arguably just as important, was the quantum resonators. These would emit randomized noise at a subatomic level, scrambling the signals gods and monsters used to track their prey. If metamaterials were the cloak, resonators were the smokescreen.
I started by dismantling the cheap wristwatches I had bought, carefully extracting the piezoelectric crystals inside. These tiny fragments had the remarkable ability to generate electrical charges when stressed—ideal for creating quantum-level interference. Using copper wire, I connected each crystal to a salvaged capacitor from disposable cameras. The capacitors would store the electrical charge, releasing it in irregular bursts to generate the interference patterns I needed.
Programming the noise pattern was a delicate process. With a few resistors, I adjusted the discharge rate of the capacitors, ensuring the bursts were irregular enough to mimic the randomness of quantum phenomena. The result was a constantly shifting field of noise, like static in a radio signal, but on a scale no mortal device could detect.
I encased each resonator in a small plastic shell for protection, then tested them by placing them near a makeshift detection ward I had hastily scrawled earlier. The ward failed to react.
Perfect.
With the key components ready, I moved on to assembling the final accessories. The titanium earrings were cleaned and buffed, their surfaces prepped for adhesion. I cut small pieces of the metamaterial and affixed them to the earrings with conductive adhesive, ensuring full coverage. The resonators were attached to the backs, their wiring carefully insulated and sealed with epoxy. For a finishing touch, I engraved the earrings with runes in a language I didn't understand at all but that I knew deep down were some kind of concealment runes, filling the engravings with a mixture of moonstone dust and adhesive.
The chain required a slightly different approach. I sprayed each link with a liquid metamaterial solution, ensuring even coverage. The chain was then heated with a butane torch to cure the spray, the metal glowing faintly under the flame. The resonator for the chain was larger, a triple-crystal array housed in the clasp. Like the earrings, the chain was engraved with runes and infused with obsidian powder to amplify its properties.
As I worked, the living room seemed to blur around me, the tools and materials fading into the background. My focus narrowed to the task at hand, each movement deliberate and precise. It wasn't just about building tools; in a way it was kinda about reclaiming control.
By the time I finished, the first light of dawn was creeping through the windows, painting the room in shades of pale gold and gray. On the coffee table sat the fruits of my labor: a pair of titanium earrings and a sleek, unassuming chain. They looked ordinary, almost mundane, but I knew better. These weren't just accessories; they were shields, lifelines, things I knew could possibly be the beginning of everything changing. Those things were for Beryl and me but I knew I could build something similar for Thalia, something that would make sure she would not have to go through the same things as her canon self. This was something that could make all demigods have a more normal life instead of being forced, forever dragged, unable to escape the world hidden behind the mist.
I leaned back in the chair, exhaustion tugging at the edges of my mind. There was still testing to be done, calibration to ensure everything worked as intended. But for now, I allowed myself a moment of quiet satisfaction. The gods might continue their fuckeries for now, the monsters could continue prowling. They would not be able to involve my sister or me tonight.
Honestly, it felt as if I went through five straight hours of college-level math classes without a break and if you already went through this modern torture, you must understand kinda how bone-deep tired I felt. My brain felt fried, like someone had run it through a cheese grater. Every thought came sluggishly, as though I were trying to drag it through thick mud.
"That sucks," I whispered to myself, the sound barely audible over the mess of tools and parts scattered around me. "I didn't even start on the other two projects, and I'm already spent."
The weight of the night pressed against me like a physical force. My fingers itched to keep going, to finish everything I had planned, but the mental fog rolling in was undeniable. I needed a moment.
Yeah, just a moment and I'll go back to tinkering.
The sound of soft footsteps pulled me from my haze. They were light but deliberate, with just enough hesitation to make me think twice. My eyes narrowed toward the living room doorway as a familiar voice broke the silence.
"You look like you barely crawled out of hell, Alex."
I turned my head slightly, catching sight of Beryl standing in the doorway. Her hair was still a disheveled mess, and there were faint shadows under her eyes, but she looked... better. Marginally. If I squinted. At least now, she resembled someone nursing a hangover instead of someone who had hit absolute rock bottom and kept digging.
"Yeah," I muttered, my voice flat. "Your words feel accurate."
She stepped closer, rubbing her arms like she was trying to keep the last remnants of her shame at bay. "I'm sorry," she said softly, her voice tinged with guilt. "It's probably because of me. I was the one who woke you up so early, and I'm the one who's been hogging your bed."
Her words carried an undercurrent of something else—worry, maybe even self-loathing. I sighed, forcing a weak smile onto my face. "It's not your fault. I'm the one who decided to put you in my bed. Besides, I could've slept on the couch or anywhere else in the apartment if I really wanted to. The reason I look like I crawled out of hell is because I spent the night tinkering."
"Tinkering?" she repeated, tilting her head. "What do you mean by that?"
Instead of answering, I grabbed the small pair of earrings from the table and tossed them her way. "Catch," I said.
Her hands darted out, fumbling slightly, but the lack of a clattering sound meant she had caught them. "You made these?" she asked, her tone almost disbelieving. "They're beautiful."
"Thanks, I guess," I said with a shrug. "I'll take the compliment. Anyway, they're yours. Made them for you. They're the reason I didn't sleep."
"For me?" she asked, her voice tinged with something between gratitude and guilt. "Alex, I—thank you. But you didn't have to stay awake all night making something for me. I'm not even sure I deserve them. Not after everything."
Her words hit like a dull knife, and I sighed again, turning to look at her. "They weren't made just to look pretty, Beryl. They're designed to block gods or monsters from being able to track your... presence, I guess. Your scent, your aura—whatever they call it, whatever it is they use to find people. Of course, you shouldn't go tempting fate or anything, but with these, you should theoretically be under their radar for a long time."
Her eyes widened, her lips parting slightly in shock. "How?" she stammered. "Did you know about all this before I told you?"
"Not even a little," I admitted, leaning back in my chair. "I probably would've done a lot of things differently if I had. But earlier, when you told me everything... something in my brain just clicked I guess. Now, I can build... well, amateur-level anti-divine stuff, you could say."
Her hand tightened around the earrings, and I could see the emotion welling in her eyes. "Why aren't you angry?" she asked, her voice breaking slightly. "How can you still try to help me after... after everything I've done? After how many times I let you down?"
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words. "Angry? Really, truly, mom and dad angry? Maybe I'll feel that way later. But right now, I'm too tired and too worried to care about anything else. Besides, it's not like this is entirely your fault. Lance was a god."
"It doesn't matter, Alex!" she snapped, tears starting to pool in her eyes. "It was still my fault. From the very beginning, when I first started seeing Lance, you told me over and over that it wasn't a good idea. You told me you didn't trust him, and I knew deep down that you were right, but I didn't listen. I didn't listen because I was greedy, because I wanted immortality, because I wanted to be on top of the world."
Her voice cracked as she continued. "I focused on what could've been. I hurt you. I neglected Thalia. Even when things were hazy, it was all because of me. I let him manipulate me, warp my mind into something I barely recognized. And worst of all, you—you weren't even a teenager yet, and you were taking care of Thalia like she was your responsibility instead of mine. A baby taking care of another baby, because I was too much of a screw-up to do it myself. I'm not a good person, Alex. I'm not even close."
Tears spilled freely down her face, and she didn't bother wiping them away. Her shoulders shook with the weight of her guilt, and for a moment, I just stared at her, my chest tight with emotions I didn't entirely understand.
"You're being way too hard on yourself," I said finally, my voice steady but soft. "Yeah, there are things I wish had gone differently. But honestly? You're not the monster you think you are. You believed—truly believed—that what you were doing was for our greater good. Sure, you made mistakes, but who hasn't? And even if you were a monster... you're still my big sister. That doesn't change for me."
She looked at me like I'd just said the most unbelievable thing in the world.
"If that's not enough for you," I added, "then prove it. Become better. Be better—not just for yourself, but for Thalia and Jason. Be someone they can look up to. Someone who'll make those gods jealous, not just of your strength, but of your ability to rise above them."
I smiled then, a small, tired smile that I hoped carried some of the conviction I felt. "We don't need gods to reach the top, Beryl. We can do it ourselves. Now, would you please put those earrings on? It'd really suck if I spent three and a half hours making them for nothing."
She stared at me for a long moment, her tears slowing, before finally nodding. She slipped the earrings on, her hands trembling slightly as she did. The titanium glinted in the dim light, the engravings catching and refracting the glow in a way that made them seem almost alive. The inlaid moonstone gave off a faint, ethereal shimmer, while the obsidian details seemed to drink in the light, grounding the design in a quiet, understated elegance.
"Thanks, Alex," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
I smiled again, this time with a bit more strength. "Don't mention it."
She hesitated, then said, "You've got a plan, don't you? A plan for dealing with Lance. With... them."
I shrugged. "The bare bones of one."
"Whatever it is," she said, her voice gaining a steely edge, "I want in. I want to make him pay, Alex. I know your plans are probably going to be... exceptional."
Her words made me think about something. A seed of an idea began to bloom in my mind "Do you know a Tristan Mclean?" I asked her.
I watch her begin to think, her eyes going hazy as if she was trying to remember something. After a moment, she spoke "I think I heard that name. Barely a B+ TV show and movie star but he's raising pretty fast. Why?"
I looked at her, my smile turning just a little sharper. "Hey, sis, what do you think about completely overturning the concept of Fate?"
Link:https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/rage-against-the-heavens-percy-jackson-human-self-insert-with-the-inspired-inventor.1203476/reader/