#god!danny

Pjo x dp

From what I've read, a common Trope is that Clockwork is Kronos. My idea is Danny going on time travel Adventures and ends up in very early time like before Kronos finds out about the prophecy of him being over throned early. Danny stays there till he can go back to his own time but Danny is there for a while.

I saw an idea that Clockwork or Kronos at the time only did what he did in the myth because he saw it was the best timeline and I like that idea for this. Danny going down in history or I guess the myths as Kronos is the first child. I want Danny to be known as his favorite child and to be known for making Kronos more merciful.

Now to the PJO part of this idea.

The Kronos that Recruited Luke is not Clockwork. Clockwork and Kronos are two separate beings now Kronos being his living part and Clockwork being the Dead part.

When the demigods are looking for a weapon against Kronos either they find the myths or one of the Gods tells them of the myths that involve Danny.

He’s old, so old he can’t even remember just how old he is, his name – did he even have one? – is whatever he decides that moment and he’s feral. Black hair long, thick and filthy – unwashed and wild. Eyes, so pale blue that they were nearly white, that never looked in place for long and was dull and shone at the same time, thin lips everlastingly pulled back into a snarl or a grin – even he couldn’t tell anymore.

He was A God, and drank worship from the lips of mortals who foolishly gave themselves to him. And he’d wrap his too long and too thin fingers around their necks as he dragged his lips across their flesh and listen as their pleas for more turned to pleas for mercy and he’d hum. He’d leave them where ever he had them splayed eagle or in a heap – sometimes with a pulse and sometimes without. He can’t remember anything from the beginning except for vague colors or words that made him absently note how the last few mortals he’s been with had violet colored eyes or skin was dark like a mixture of caramel and dark chocolate.

He was A God, and he’d stalk out of dark alleyways with blood dripping off of the tips of his fingers and teeth stained pink and eyes green and pupils white. And he’d comfort the dying with murmured words of peace, of freedom of the likes that Life could never offer, of Rest. With galaxies spinning in his eyes, and Death in his voice he’d tell stories of Purgatory and the things he’s seen. He would sit in bars and watch as one mortal drugs another only to die at the hands of yet another and he would drink harsh scotch and he’d laugh.  He’d stand next mortal who wished for death atop a bridge and he’d ask why, he’d laugh –short and harsh and so, so bitter – and reply when they answer him with hissed words of pain, of desperation for Rest, of a soft promise to jump with if they step off. He’d hold young mortals to his chest and sing soft and low as they cried.

He was A God, and other Gods would whisper and wave at him with warnings on the tips of their tongues about giving immortality to a mortal, about how it shatters them without remorse, of how wrong it was to do so – to give a mortal something like immortality because look at that creature – as it lives with mortals and interacts with them. Life and Death would laugh and toast to how their creation, their child, was perfect.

He was A God, and he would stand in front of the others as liquid gold dripped from the tips of his fingers, with Life and Death, Time and Fate, Order and Chaos standing by him. And he would declare War with his lips eternally pulled back into a grin.

Oh, yes, Daniel Fenton is A God.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.