AN: Not going to lie I got bored and started pondering ideas and this literally came to me this afternoon, and since I liked the idea, I decided to say screw it and just write it out. So yeah, could be something, could not be, just seemed like a good idea at the time.

Hope some of you all think so too.

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or Danmachi.

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Chapter 1

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When they had set off that morning, they had all been filled with absolute confidence. The three of them had been friends for a long time, and this had been far from their first adventure together.

It was supposed to be just another day trawling through the Dungeon, an easy payday.

Which is why they'd head down to a manageable lower floor – not the lowest one they'd reach – and then farm some monsters for their gems and drops and then turn those in at the Guild for some quick cash. They had done the same things dozens of times before, both whenever they ran low on funds or when their Familia was planning an expedition.

Only this time, things had gone wrong.

Panting as he continued to run through the dark tunnel, with his two companions at his side, he hazarded a glance behind him at his pursuers.

Shadows were moving in the fog.

Gritting his teeth and turning back around he lowered his head and continued to run, his booted feet slapping noisily against the stony ground.

Above the sounds of their footsteps and panting breath, he could the clattering sound from behind them growing closer.

"Come on," he shouted, pelting around a corner, and urging his companions.

Anne, his girlfriend, was bleeding from a wound she had sustained to her head. Blood had dyed her golden blonde princess curls a dark red colour.

Grimacing, he could hear her heavy breathing, and see her grey eyes glazing over from exhaustion.

Already he could see she was on her last legs, and he very much doubted that she would be able to make it to the next floor. Or at least not at the brutal pace they were setting.

Looking the other way, he saw his other companion was in a similar state. His best friend's gingery hair was damp with sweat, his normally pale skin was flushed, and his breaths were coming out in ragged pants.

But worst of all was the blood oozing from the wound in his gut. They'd tried to bind the wound as best as they could with the time and resources they had, but it wasn't enough.

Ideally, his demi-human friend needed a healing potion to at least clot the wound and begin the healing process. Unfortunately, that was an impossibility though as they'd already burned through the small supply they'd brought with them.

Grinding his teeth as the hopelessness of their situation weighed down on him, he still managed to force a smile as he urged them both on.

Despite how shit everything appeared, there was still a chance that they could make it out alive.

After all, the Seventeenth Floor wasn't too far away.

If they could get to the famous safe zone, then they'd be safe. Both because monsters didn't spawn on the Seventeenth, and also because there would be a lot of other adventurers around to help them out.

But first, they needed to get there.

"No long now," he gasped out, once again looking behind him.

He could still hear the clattering sound.

Only now it wasn't just coming from behind them, but also from ahead.

His eyes widened, and his grip on his sword tightened.

They were running down a tunnel, and from what he could recall this tunnel didn't have any other passageways leading off it.

"There are more of them ahead of us!" He shouted, putting on the brakes and skidding to a stop.

At his side both his friends did the same, or at least they tried to.

With a grunt, Anne hit the ground and rolled.

"Anne!" He shouted to his girlfriend.

"I'm okay," she gasped out, clutching her dagger tighter as she allowed him to help her up.

"Shit, we're dead, we're so dead!" His other friend panicked.

"Calm down," he snapped, his sword raised, and green eyes narrowed as he gazed into the swirling fog.

The tunnel was only two metres at its widest.

It was just about wide enough for the three people to stand shoulder to shoulder. Which meant they at least had a chance. If they could hold out long enough, and make enough noise, then maybe another group of adventurers would hear them and come to their aid.

It was a long shot, but also their best hope.

"We can still get out of this," he continued as he looked around.

Now that they had stopped running, he could hear more clearly. The sound of clattering was indeed coming from both in front of them and behind, and with every moment that passed it grew louder.

"But to do that we need to stand as one, and all pull our weight," he looked at both his friends and met their gaze steadily.

They had all fought together for many years, and during that time they had all grown both as people and as adventurers.

Sure, they weren't First Class adventurers like the Executive members of both the Freya and Loki Familias, but they could still hold their own.

He was a Level Three adventurer, and both of his friends were high, Level Twos. They were the three strongest adventurers in their Familia.

Taking a breath, he steadied himself and raised his sword.

He had lost his shield in the ambush that had seen his two friends wounded, but that was fine. He was both the most powerful member of the group, and the least wounded.

"Both of you stick together and deal with those in front of us," he said, calming his nerves. "I'll take the brunt of the attack from the ones following us."

"You sure?" asked Anne, her stormy grey eyes sharpening now she'd had some time to catch her breath. Her voice was still a little slurred, but she didn't seem as groggy as before.

"It'll be fine," he sent her a comforting smile. "We've been through worse?"

"Have we?" His wingman asked glibly.

He spared the ginger demi-human, a wry smile.

"Probably now," he shot back dryly, returning his gaze to the swirling fog as the first of their foes emerged.

It was a dark grey, skeleton. Not a spartoi, thankfully, but instead a lower-level variation which inhabited the labyrinthine depths of Floor 27.

Staring at the skeleton, his green eyes met the dark, pitiless pits it had for eyes. The skeleton looked far too human for his comfort.

Taking a half step back as it continued to emerge from the gloom, his gaze shifted down to the black axe it wielded in its bony, claw-like hand.

Nobody knew for sure where monsters got their weapons. Some believed they just picked them up off the corpses of dead adventurers. While others theorized that their weapons were spawned from the Dungeon itself, just as the monsters themselves were. Essentially there were a lot of theories out there, just as there were multiple theories for just every quirk and oddity in the Dungeon.

He'd never really had much interest in it.

After all, that kind of thing was more Anne's forte than his own. She was the bookworm, not him. Instead, he'd always been more practical. So long as he could use it in combat, he would learn. Anything else, and he couldn't be bothered.

Which is why, as more skeletons emerged from the fog, he wasn't surprised to see them brandishing a variety of other weapons. Some of them even wore rusted armour, or shredded, moth-eaten clothing.

Wetting his lips, he chanced a glance behind him and saw yet more skeletons.

At his back, both his friends readied their own weapons.

Turning back to face the large group in front of him, he gripped the hilt of his hand-and-half sword with both hands.

There must've been over twenty of them.

His heart started beating faster.

If they were still fresh and had the initiative, that was a number that the three of them could probably handle.

But in their current condition, with enemies to the front and back….

He gritted his teeth.

"We've got this!" He grinned with false bravado.

The other two didn't respond.

The skeletons however did, as without a sound they all started forward as one.

Pointing the tip of his sword at the lead skeleton, his green eyes narrowed.

"Come on then!" He shouted, lurching forward, and swinging his sword.

Behind him, the other two let out their own battle cries.

Within moments battle was joined.

Meeting the first monster head-on, he decapitated it with a single brutal swing. Shoving his foot forward, he ducked a retaliatory swing from one of the other skeletons and instead bulled forward and rammed his shoulder into one of their ribcages.

With a clatter of bones on stone the skeleton fell back. Only for it to be swiftly replaced with two more. Both of them swung at him with their weapons; an axe, and a sword respectively.

Avoiding the axe and deflecting the sword, he riposted and thrust his own sword through one of the skeletons' skulls, shattering its jawbone.

Backstepping he once again deftly avoided a vicious axe blow, only to hiss when he felt a rusted spear blade lung forward from the melee and scrape across his thigh, shearing through his trousers and biting deeply into his flesh.

Ignoring the stinging pain he could feel emanating from the wound, he smacked the spear away with the flat of his blade and raised his hand.

"Glowing white snow on a soundless mountain at night. Howling winds and swirling storms. Crystalize like an icy blast and let go!" His aria left his lips with the same practised ease as the spears of ice which burst forth from his hand as he used his magic and mind to will them into beings.

With a surge of cold that left everything in its wake covered in frost, a half dozen razor-sharp bolts of ice shot through the air striking three of the skeletons and shattering them, even as it sent another two clattering to the floor.

His reserves of magic or 'mind' as it was more commonly known, were at their limits. This would be his last spell for a while.

Exhaling a breath of mist, he pushed forward into the staggered mass of monsters and cleaved another skeleton down. His blade connected with the juncture between its collarbone and neck and sheared down through its ribcage.

At some point during its journey through the skeleton's torso, his blade must have clipped and shattered the monster gem within it, as moments later it exploded into black dust.

Grinning despite the direness of their situation, he was about to withdraw from combat once more, when his leg gave way on him.

Hitting the ground with a grunt, he kept his cool, and a tight hold on his sword as swung it around to cut through the knees of the nearest skeleton, even as he ignored the pain emanating from his leg and surged to his feet once more.

With a clatter of bones, the skeleton fell. At the exact same moment, one of its fellows lurched forward and landed a hit with a faintly glowing, bronze blade.

Howling in pain, he lashed out with the hilt of his sword and landed a heavy punch to the head of the offending skeleton, staggering the monster enough for him to pull back a few steps.

His leg was now slick with the blood from his wounded thigh. But that was nothing compared to the blood he could feel coming out of the fresh wound in his gut.

The skeleton's blade had dug deep and pierced both his intestines and stomach.

Clasping his free hand to his wound, he desperately gave ground as he tried to keep his 'innards' from becoming his 'outers'. Already he could see dark red blood and viscous foul-smelling bile dripping from his gut wound. Unless he downed a high-grade health potion or received some advanced magical healing straight away, it was a fatal wound.

A feeling of resignation filled him, even as he looked up and saw the four remaining skeletons in front of him start advancing.

The one leading the pack was still brandishing its blood-stained blade.

Behind him, he heard a piercing, painfully familiar cry of pain.

"Anne!" He shouted, looking away from his would-be killers for a moment.

He was just in time to see his girlfriend hit the ground with a spray of red, arterial blood.

"Anne…" He rasped out helplessly.

Her grey eyes locked with his own green eyes one last time, before moments later a mace crushed her skull into a bloody pulp.

"ANNE!" He screamed desperately, his vision going red as he surged to his feet, his wounds forgotten as he scrambled across the ground, heedless of all else.

Scrabbling forward, he only vaguely noted his other friend lying dead in a pool of his own blood some several feet away, before he struck his girlfriend's killer like a rage-fuelled juggernaut.

There was no technique in his actions, not anymore.

Just pure unadulterated rage as he hacked the skeleton to pieces, and then turned to fury on the other two remaining skeletons behind him.

Lashing out with no regard for his own safety, he beheaded one and shattered the second one's skull.

Exhaling a mist of red, his bloodshot gaze turned to those he had been fighting previously.

Of the twenty-odd skeletons that had cornered them, only four of them remained.

"Fuck you, you fucking fucks!" He spat out, his voice quivering with rage.

He was already dead.

This he knew without a doubt.

But he didn't care, not anymore.

No, instead all he cared about at that moment was exacting his vengeance and his friend's vengeance on their killers.

Letting loose a roar of fury, he dashed at the four grey, skeletons.

In response, the skeletons just stared at him with their empty, black eyes sockets, their jaws chattering madly. In his mind, he knew they were little more than mindless monsters, but in his current state, he couldn't help but think of their chattering as cruel laughter.

"BASTARDS!" He bellowed, his voice echoing around him as he leapt forward and hacked the first one, and then a second skeleton down.

With a wet squelch, he felt his ruined entrails splash wetly onto the ground at his feet.

His vision was starting to darken, and he felt the cold claw-like grip of death close around his heart.

Ignoring his pain, he allowed rage and adrenaline his last actions in his current life as he smashed aside the penultimate skeleton with brute force and threw himself at the final one.

A crunch of bone followed.

Gasping his last breath, his blurry gaze shifted down to the gilded hilt of the sword protruding from his chest.

Looking up his green eyes locked with skeleton's empty eye sockets. In their depths, he saw nothing but an endless void.

Cough, he sprayed blood a mouthful of his lifeblood across the skeleton's skull. A gurgle soon followed, as bloody mist sprayed out of his ruined lungs.

Slumping to the ground, he slipped off the monster's sword and hit the ground.

As the life fled his body, he could feel his falna, the symbol of his beloved goddess' Blessing, fade away.

It left him feeling cold and empty.

Staring at the dark ceiling overhead, his vision went black as his immortal soul finally left his body.

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It could feel blood dripping down its face.

It felt… warm...

Its body twitched,

Warm?

The feeling was both alien and yet also painfully… familiar.

Its fingers twitched and its mouth chattered.

Looking down its vision sharpened and colour started to seep into the previously monochrome world.

Its mouth opened as he tried to draw breath.

Only for nothing to happen.

He couldn't draw breath.

Nor, did he apparently need to...

Opening and closing his mouth, he tried to frown.

Only he couldn't, his facial muscles were paralysed… no, he didn't have face muscles or any muscles at all….

Twitching again, he raked his hand across his face, he could hear a scraping sound, but he couldn't feel a thing.

Lowering his hand, he stared at it in shock.

Blood dripped off delicate-looking grey bones.

He moved his hand, and the claw-like skeletal hand in front of him copied his movements.

What was happening?

A part of him desperately wanted to panic. But for some reason, he couldn't muster up the energy or emotion to do either. Instead, he just felt empty… and hollow….

Looking down, he saw a broken, mangled body lying at his feet.

The body was of a skinny, dark-haired, pale-skinned young man, with forest-green eyes. Only now his porcelain skin was stained with blood, and his forest green eyes were glazed over in death.

A part of him wanted to recoil in horror at the sight of the corpse – he may have long since become desensitized to death due to the violent life he lived, but even so, the sight of a body should still have stirred up at least some response from him. But once again, he couldn't muster up the energy to do so.

Instead, he just stared blankly at the corpse for a moment before his eyes drifted over to the rest of his surroundings.

There were a lot of bones and skulls scattered throughout the narrow gloomy tunnel, as well as the occasional odd gleaming purple stone. Additionally, there were two other corpses, only unlike the bones these bodies looked freshly slain.

One of them, he could see, was a pale, blonde-haired, grey-eyed woman, with oddly pointed ears. The other was a tall, well-built, ginger-haired man, with odd wolf-like ears protruding from the top of his head.

The blonde girl looked like a fantasy elf.

The ginger guy, meanwhile, looked like a furry cosplayer.

His head tilted oddly to the side, as he tried to work out where those intrusive thoughts came from.

Only for his mind to then shift on to other, more important questions. Such as why was he here? Where was here? Who was he? And perhaps most importantly, what was he?

He raised his other hand now and inspected it, only to 'blink' in surprise as he caught sight of the bronze sword, he had apparently been carrying around with him all this time.

Now that he had seen that he was holding it his mind seemingly decided to make up for his lack of muscle and physical sensation, as he suddenly became aware of its weight.

Ignoring the newest oddity his newly working mind had created, he continued to stare at the blade in shock.

He knew this sword….

But what was it called?

The dark, eye sockets in his skull suddenly lit up with a faint glow, as a set of sea-green irises suddenly emerged from the darkness.

Anaklusmos.

That was the name of this sword.

His gaze trailed over the intricate gilt handle, and the delicate engravings on the leaf-shaped blade.

This was his sword.

And who was he?

Ah yes, of course.

He was Percy Jackson, that's who.

A flicker of emotion emerged from his empty ribcage at that realisation.

He was Percy Jackson.

And apparently, he was dead….

The brief surge of emotion he had suddenly felt plummeted back into nothingness at that thought.

He looked down at his freehand and wiggled his skeletal finger again.

If he was dead, then he wouldn't be moving.

So did that mean that he was undead?

He tried to frown again, only for nothing to happen as once again he had neither the facial muscles nor living flesh needed to frown.

This would take some getting used to.

Shaking his head – which he was at least still able to do – he once again looked around at his surroundings.

He had obviously died.

A flurry of disjointed memories flooded into his head.

The last thing he could remember was being in Tartarus.

He had fallen… from where he didn't know. And he had been with someone… but who?

Once again, he couldn't remember.

His grip tightened, and he raised Anaklusmos again.

He couldn't remember right now, but he would find out.

He once again looked around.

This place didn't look like Tartarus. So did that mean that this was instead the Underworld?

Maybe he had died in Tartarus, and had then been raised via necromancy?

It was a possibility.

But until he knew more, it was still just speculation.

Keeping that thought in mind, he tried to sheath his sword, only for it to slide across his hip bone.

Looking down, he saw nothing but bone.

Apparently, not only was he dead, but he was also apparently naked, or at least as naked as a skeleton can be.

Humming silently to himself at that thought, he eyed the dead bodies around him.

They were all clothed...

And from what he could see, they probably weren't going to have much need for their clothing any time soon either...

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AN: Weird I know, but what can I say, my mind is an odd place.

Let me know what you think.

At the moment, I'm just editing some old stuff before I begin updating. But I'm sure I will be putting gout another update for one or other of my stories sooner or later.

Thanks for reading.

And if you like PJO, then please do check out my second account on FFN, which is under the penname, Greed720. Most of those stories are at least a little more polished than many of the first attempts I have on this account.

Cheers, and catch you later.

Seagate.