1 Prologue: Beginnings & Betrayals

Disclaimer: This chapter may get a bit dark i guess, nothing graphic tho. Mention of rape and suicide.

A minute after my transmigration as my Percy Jackson Universe as Zeri, my awakening was a slow. Long, lime-green tresses cascaded over my shoulders as I opened my eyes. Confusion, a tempest in my thoughts, briefly shrouded my mind. Memories, foreign yet intimately entwined with my essence, surged forth, a torrent of experiences not my own. Scenes of a life lived, battles waged, and alliances forged played out in my consciousness, a surreal montage that spanned the vast tapestry of time. It was as if the very fabric of reality had been woven into the threads of my being, and in that transcendent moment, I embraced my true identity—I was Zeri, daughter of the mighty Zeus, born of the union between the Old God and a minor goddess.

This revelation imbued me with an indomitable strength and a sense of superiority that eclipsed my mortal past. I was no longer a mere bystander in the cosmic play; I was a deity, a force to be reckoned with, with powers that extended far beyond the limitations of humanity.

Ten minutes later and some memory searching, a bitter truth revealed itself. My grandeur, my status as a goddess, became a cruel deception, a lie spun by the whims of a capricious ROB.. The Realm of my wish, my supposed destination in the universe of Rick Riordan, turned out to be a sinister twist of fate—a transmigration into the heart of the DC Comic-Verse.

The realization, a bitter potion of betrayal, soured my mood immensly. I just did know enough about DC Comics to know i know nothing. Only that I'm fucked. Majorly fucked depending on where I am. My journey, I thought, would be a saga of sorrows and challenges, but the depths of my suffering surpassed even the darkest corners of my imagination. The treachery, however, did not end with the revelation of my altered destination.

The knives of betrayal cut deeper, plunging into the very essence of my divine existence. My father Zeus, the god who should have been my protector, savagely tore apart my divinity. With a callous stroke, he severed the ties that bound me to my godly nature, leaving me with a bitter emptiness where my new aquirred powers had resided. It felt as if my wings had been cruelly clipped, condemning me to a flightless existence in a world that demanded cflight. Half of my divine essence stolen, I found myself plunged into an existence no more potent than a demigod—a mere amusement for the gods.

And so, an hour after my transmigration, the tendrils of despair gripped my soul, and the desire for oblivion danced on the precipice of my thoughts. "With great power comes great responsibility," a trite maxim in a world of heroic fantasies, now echoed with a mocking resonance. Reality taught me a harsher lesson—great power, begets even greater suffering.

Pressed upon a rough stone table, the seconds bled into an eternity as Hercules, my half-brother, forced himself upon me. The reality of my suffering transcended the romanticized ideals of heroism. In the crucible of my despair, the greater the power, the deeper the abyss of torment. Heroes were not crafted through gallant rescues and noble deeds; they were forged in the crucible of unrelenting conflict and the searing fires of agony.

Amidst the depths of despair, a question lingered—did this ordeal cast me as a hero? The answer eluded me, elusive as the shadows that clung to the corners of my consciousness. In the face of Hercules' torment, I did not rise with unwavering resolve. I did not embrace a valiant stand against insurmountable odds. No, my desires were more nuanced, entangled in the twisted web of my conflicted soul. I did not yearn for death, but I craved an end to my sufferings—a desperate plea for liberation.

Yet, in the labyrinthine corridors of divine manipulation, I found myself ensnared as a pawn in the gods' malevolent games. My own brother, fueled by venomous jealousy, wielded the chains of my captivity. He always resented me for being born a god, inherting a privilige he suffered for, immensely.

Yet, in the face of such torment, I discovered a peculiar refuge—in retreat. Within the recesses of my own mind, I cultivated a persona mirroring the very traits of my father, Zeus. Pride, lust, and anger became my armor, a means of survival in the dark days of my captivity. It was a macabre dance with the shadows—a distorted attempt at emerging from this ordeal unscathed.

Perhaps, within this twisted journey of mine, a glimmer of heroism awaited discovery—a spark of defiance in the face of fate's machinations that sought to shatter me.