Chapter 13: A New Transformation

The last of the random teleportations hit while Nathan was sleeping peacefully.

One moment he was dreaming of food and freedom—the next, he was falling.

[Alert: Teleportation triggered.]

Raphael's voice jolted him awake just as he hit the floor with a thud. Groaning, Nathan sat up and blinked around. He seemed to be… in a library?

A very ancient, very grand library.

As he stood and brushed himself off, he realized he wasn't alone. A woman behind a nearby desk was staring at him, clearly unimpressed.

"Uh… sorry about that?" Nathan offered weakly.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

Before he could follow up with another awkward apology, his H-Omnitrix pinged.

"Hello there, Nathan. I've been expecting you."

That got his attention. His head snapped up, suddenly alert. She knew his name.

[Processing with caution. The individual's energy levels are high. Estimated power: above Awakened Demon Lord tier.]

Nathan cleared his throat and offered his most polite smile. "And who might you be, fair lady?"

The woman returned his smile with something colder. "I am Athena. Goddess of Wisdom… and of Warcraft."

She took a step forward, her gaze sharp enough to pierce stone.

"And you, dear mortal, are the reason my daughter is stuck in the Underworld."

Nathan's polite smile froze in place.

[Analysis complete. Your disclosure of the Underworld entrance location to Percy, Annabeth, and Grover may have altered the timeline. It is highly probable they failed to return.]

"Ahh yes… actions having consequences…" Nathan muttered.

Athena's expression hardened. "I would have sent you to the Underworld myself, but Olympus dares not offend the Galvin."

She stepped closer, eyes burning.

"That doesn't mean I can't beat you within an inch of your life."

The sentence had barely finished leaving her lips when her fist connected with Nathan's stomach. The impact launched him ten feet back, slamming him into a bookshelf with a crunch.

At least three bones voiced their complaints.

Nathan's fingers barely brushed the Omnitrix—

"No, you don't." Athena's voice cut through the air like a blade. "You think I don't know what that does?"

Her foot snapped forward, aiming to crush his hand.

At least—that was the plan.

[Emergency Procedures Initiated.]

In a flash of light and steel, a massive slab slammed down between them, forcing Athena's foot to ricochet off with a metallic clang. Her eyes widened in surprise.

The slab shimmered with strange, ancient script—the Order Dragon's Breathing Technique, engraved in sacred metal. Raphael had pulled it from the Space Ring in the nick of time.

Nathan didn't hesitate. Pain and fury surged through his body as he slammed his hand onto the Omnitrix.

A blinding pulse. A shift. A transformation.

The fury inside him was given form.

The H-Omnitrix reshaped him into a towering figure of wrath and divinity: Orion, Son of Darkseid.

Godly power coursed through his veins. The rage became his armor. The injustice of the blow—the humiliation, the suddenness of it all—lit a fire he could no longer contain.

In a heartbeat, he crossed the space between them.

Athena barely registered the movement before she felt his hand clamp around her throat.

"Wha—?"

Her words were cut off as he launched upward, dragging her body with him as if gravity were a suggestion.

Earth fell behind them.

Clouds blurred past.

Space swallowed them whole.

Then, with a terrible silence, they crashed into the moon.

Cratered dust erupted in every direction. Athena's body hit hard enough to shatter mountains, stone and stardust breaking beneath the force. Even a Goddess gasped for air.

She had fought Titans. Fought Ares. Fought Giants.

But this? This wasn't war. This was destruction.

Nathan landed a moment later, foot first, slamming down onto her chest with godly force. The impact sent shockwaves across the moon's surface, cracks spider-webbing beneath them.

Only her divine Anchor—her link to the concept of Warfare through Olympus—kept her from being reduced to nothing.

She tried to speak.

Nothing but blood and dust.

She reached out with her mind, desperate for calm, desperate to reason—

Only to be met by the burning core of Apokolips. Endless war. Pain incarnate. No room for negotiation.

Nathan—the real Nathan—was buried somewhere beneath that firestorm of fury.

And then—

[Warning: Emotional Contamination Detected.]

[Nathan. You must regain control. You are being consumed by rage.]

[Return to Earth. Transform back. Now.]

Raphael's voice cut through the inferno. Cold. Clear. Familiar.

For a flicker of a second, Nathan's own thoughts surfaced.

Yet they only invoke the emotions that he had felt a few moments before transformation, the guilt about Percy, Annabeth and Grover.

And the rage surged again, like the firestorms of Apokolips crashing through his veins. His brief clarity was smothered, buried under divine fury. Yet even as it faded, it left behind something—a purpose.

A reason.

He wouldn't calm down. He wouldn't transform back.

Not until he found them.

Without a word, Orion blasted off from the moon, breaking gravity with a single step, fire trailing from his boots. Space warped around him as he streaked through the stars like a crimson comet. Earth grew larger by the second, his course sharp and precise.

Los Angeles.

Specifically, a building tucked beneath the city, hidden from mortal sight—DOA Recording Studios.

He crashed through clouds, street lights, concrete, and reality itself.

And then he was there.

A man made of godflesh and rage stood outside the doors to the Underworld.

The air shimmered.

A pressure thickened, as if the world itself objected to his presence.

The Authority of the Underworld—the divine laws, the spiritual filters meant to deny the impure, the uninvited, the unworthy—rose like an invisible tide to push him back.

They faltered.

They cracked.

And then they shattered.

The aura of Apokolips bled through Orion's skin. A being connected to the Source—the raw code of existence—was not subject to the rules of death.

The doors burst open.

He descended.

Down corridors of shadow and soul, past lost spirits whispering in forgotten tongues. The River Styx stretched before him like a bleeding vein of night.

Its waters churned at the sight of him. Spirits screamed. Charon abandoned his boat.

Nathan flew.

He soared over the river like a streak of burning fury. The Underworld howled.

And then—Hades reacted.

A legion of the dead—skeletal warriors, decayed titans, spectral monstrosities—rose from the ground, their empty sockets locked onto him.

They never got the chance to swing.

Orion's hand rose.

Astro Force erupted like a collapsed sun.

In an instant, the undead army was vaporized, turned to nothing but ash and broken concepts, their souls scattered.

Thunder boomed. Darkness twisted.

And from the shadows of his throne room, Hades emerged.

Tall. Pale. Clad in armor forged from the regrets of mankind, his helm radiating dread, his scepter a crackling pillar of soul-bound magic.

"You dare trespass, Mortal?" he growled. His voice echoed like a thousand graves closing at once.

Nathan didn't reply. His eyes—burning with Apokoliptian fire—locked onto the god.

Hades struck first.

Shadows twisted into spears. The Underworld itself rose to defend its master. Black chains lashed out from the walls, dragging pieces of the realm into physical form, aiming to crush, bind, erase.

Orion moved through them like a blade through mist.

He tore through shadow constructs with his bare hands, his footsteps splitting the floor. Hades summoned a storm of soul energy, enough to erase armies—

And Orion walked through it.

Each blast only scorched his armor, burned his skin—and fueled his wrath.

Then, Orion lunged.

A punch met Hades' scepter mid-air—the scepter broke.

The next moment, Hades was slammed into the obsidian walls of his throne room. The impact cratered a chunk of the Underworld, soul energy leaking like blood.

Hades tried to rise—only to meet Orion's heel crashing into his chest.

He gasped, golden blood spilling from his mouth.

Orion grabbed him by the neck, lifting him off the ground. His glowing eyes locked with Hades' for a moment too long.

And Hades understood.

This was not just a mortal wielding power.

This was a New God born of fury and principle—connected to something older than Olympus, deeper than death.

Then, without a word, Orion hurled him aside. Hades crashed through a column of souls, unconscious.

The Underworld stilled.

Its very essence trembled.

And Orion… moved forward.

Silent. Focused.

Searching.

Even in his godlike form, Nathan's senses were blurred—not by weakness, but by the rage.

He could feel everything. Every soul. Every whisper. Every heartbeat echoing through the hollow bones of the Underworld.

But his focus?

Shattered.

Where once there would've been clarity—Raphael's calm guidance and precise calculations—there was now only static. His mind, once sharpened by Wisdom, was now ablaze with wrath.

He stalked the dark halls of the Underworld like a storm with no eye, seeking a trio of souls he knew should be here, but unable to find them. His vision flared. His aura scorched walls and left fissures in reality. Spirits fled. The Underworld itself curled away from his presence.

Minutes bled into more than half an hour.

And then, finally—

A ripple of power approached.

From the deepest vaults of the realm, Hades returned. The god of the dead was bruised, armor cracked, ichor staining his gauntlets—but his eyes now held no fury.

Instead, there was resignation.

Floating behind him, protected by a sphere of his own power, were four figures:

Percy Jackson. Annabeth Chase. Grover Underwood. And Sally Jackson.

Unconscious. Suspended in a sleep-like stasis, souls intact but tethered to the Underworld by ancient threads of divine authority.

Hades raised a hand, as if to speak—perhaps to explain. Perhaps to offer truce.

He never got the chance.

Astro Force erupted from Nathan's body like a tidal wave of will made manifest. It wrapped around the four captives, gently but firmly, like hands forged of starlight and vengeance. The bindings that held them—spiritual anchors, crafted by the rules of death—snapped like string beneath his power.

Hades stepped back.

And just like that—Orion was gone.

He soared through the Underworld like a meteor given purpose, breaking the veil between realms once again. Screams echoed behind him, but he didn't hear them.

The skies of Earth parted as he reentered the world of the living.

He hovered above a city hospital—its rooftop trembling under the weight of divine gravity.

With a thought, the sphere of Astro Force gently lowered the unconscious four onto the rooftop, bathed in celestial light. Doctors would find them moments later. Safe. Alive. Unharmed.

Nathan didn't wait.

He took off again, blazing across the sky like a red star losing control of its orbit. But this time… there was no destination. No goal. Just motion.

Fury had carried him this far.

But now?

Now, the fury had no target.

And then—

The H-Omnitrix chimed.

A pulse of light.

The divine glow vanished.

And Nathan, mortal once more, stumbled forward—barely landing on his feet in a patch of grass just outside the edge of New York City.

His breaths came heavy. His hands trembled.

He looked up at the sky, its stars peaceful and uncaring.

And finally… he felt the weight of what he'd done.

[You have likely offended the Olympian faction, caused a minor tsunami from your lunar impact, were probably caught on dozens of Earth-based cameras, and may have once again attracted the attention of cosmic-level entities.]

"Yeah… well, lesson learned: don't use Orion."

[Incorrect assessment. Despite the rage, you caused no intentional human casualties, completed your objective, and merely flew around afterward. I'd classify it as a successful deployment. Given its power, I recommend developing better emotional control and refining your usage of this transformation.]

"You're the brain here. Still, I'll need somewhere quiet to practice—before I end up launching anyone else into the Moon."

Then came the telltale rush of air.

"Nathan!" snapped a voice overhead—sharp, feminine, and furious.

He sighed. "...Hi, Gwen."

She hovered above him, suspended by the Charms of Bezel, fully decked out in her Lucky Girl outfit—cloak trailing, eyes glowing faintly with magic. Behind her, Jetray landed with a low thrum.

"We've been trying to find you for two whole days," Gwen said, arms crossed. "And then you're just flying around New York like it's no big deal!"

"Yeah… about that. Well, let's see—first I got randomly teleported, then there was a Greek goddess involved, and also... my new transformation is kind of uncontrollable." Nathan replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

"And you couldn't have called us once?" Gwen raised an eyebrow.

"Come on, Gwen. Give him a little slack," Ben said, shifting back to human form. "I mean, fighting a goddess while being half-crazy sounds like a pretty packed schedule."

"I... we were really worried," Gwen admitted, her voice softening as she looked away.

[Indeed. You should have contacted them.]

"And you could have reminded me, Raph," Nathan muttered in his head.

"Okay, okay—I get it. I'm sorry," he said, raising his hands. "How about I make it up to you by treating you both to dinner?"

"Nah, I'm good," Ben said. "My mom's already on my case for staying up late."

"Same here," Gwen added. "I should probably head home before my parents start freaking out too."

"Alright—lunch tomorrow then? I'll tell you everything."

"Sure," Gwen said, then gave him a pointed look. "But first... at least give us your phone number."