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That time I got reincarnated into Danmachi with dishonored powers

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Chapter 1 - Mark of the outsider

The last thing I remember is the scent of chlorine stinging my nose, the echo of music and laughter bouncing off the pool walls. I was mid-laugh, watching my friend try to impress a girl with a cannonball, when it happened.

A sudden, sharp crack of electricity tore through the water, slamming into me like a divine hammer. My body convulsed. The world turned white, then black.

My final thought—absurd and pitiful—wasn't about my family or friends but a stupid regret: I should've finished that last boss fight last night…

Then nothing.

When I opened my eyes again, I felt like my skull had been split open and stuffed with fog. My entire body felt heavy and alien. The taste of stale ale clung to my tongue, and my head lolled forward, my forehead nearly smacking into the thick wooden bar in front of me.

I forced my eyes open. The dim glow of lanterns flickered around me, illuminating a haze of drifting smoke and rough laughter. The sharp smell of roasted meat and spilled alcohol flooded my senses.

A tavern?

I felt a draft on my back as I shifted. My fingers trembled against the mug in front of me—half-full with some golden liquid that looked far stronger than anything I'd ever drunk before.

Then I saw it.

On the back of my right hand, a mark shimmered faintly, like a half-awake creature stirring beneath my skin. A jagged lightning bolt entwined with something serpentine, curling and twisting with each weak pulse.

My breath hitched.

"This… isn't my body," I whispered to no one, my voice hoarse and raw, as though I'd been screaming underwater for days.

I pushed myself off the stool, but my legs buckled like a newborn fawn. The stool screeched against the floorboards, drawing startled looks from a few patrons nearby. A man in a cloak raised an eyebrow, but I didn't have the energy to care.

I forced my legs to move, each step feeling like I was treading water. My hand kept drifting to the mark on my skin, drawn to it despite the fear crawling up my spine. Every faint pulse felt like a heartbeat that didn't belong to me.

I stumbled through the doorway into the sunlight—and instantly regretted it.

The light was blinding, slicing through my skull like a blade. I squinted, shielding my eyes with my trembling hand.

When my vision adjusted, I felt my breath catch in my throat.

White stone streets stretched out before me, lined with colorful banners flapping lazily in the breeze. Stalls bustled with shouting vendors hawking everything from skewered meats to vials of glowing liquid. Children darted between adults, giggling and chasing each other around barrels and crates.

I spun slowly, taking it all in. The architecture, the colors, the language on the signs—my brain clawed through old memories, desperate to find some thread to sanity.

That's when I saw him.

A young man sprinted past me, almost brushing my shoulder.

Snow-white hair. Crimson eyes filled with naive determination. That wild, almost desperate energy in every step.

I knew that face.

I stood there frozen, my lips parting before I even realized what I was saying.

"…Bell Cranel," I muttered, my voice small and hollow against the roar of the city.

It didn't make sense—none of this made sense. My heart slammed in my chest, loud enough I thought it might burst through my ribs.

Danmachi. I was in Danmachi. The realization dropped into my stomach like a lead weight, twisting everything inside me.

I staggered forward, my mind a storm of questions and panic.

How did I get here?

Why was there a mark on my hand?

What did it mean?

I pressed my palm against a nearby wall to steady myself, my fingers scraping across the rough stone. The mark pulsed again, and for a moment, I swore I heard a faint whisper echo through my mind—low, metallic, and distorted like a broken radio.

I shook my head violently, trying to clear it, but the whispering only grew louder, curling around my thoughts like smoke.

I looked down at my hand again, horror crawling up my spine like cold water.

Whatever this mark was, it wasn't a gift. It felt… wrong. Heavy. Like a chain rather than a blessing.

People passed me by, barely sparing a glance—just another lost fool in the city of adventurers.

I pressed my forehead against the wall and drew in a shaky breath.

"Okay… okay, Ogun, think," I muttered to myself.

I wasn't in my world anymore. I wasn't even in my own body, not entirely. I was in a place where gods played with mortals, where dungeons swallowed the unprepared whole.

And me? I had no idea what I was or what this mark meant.

It looks familiar but I can't put my tongue on it

But one thing was certain: I was here now.

Somewhere deep inside, past the panic and the dread, a tiny spark flickered—a thrill, a dangerous excitement.

After all, how many times had I dreamed of living in a world like this?

I pushed myself off the wall and took a shaky step forward, the mark on my hand throbbing in response.

This was it. My new beginning.

Even if I had no idea whether it would be a blessing or a curse.

I needed answers. Anything to ground me. I patted my clothes frantically. My fingers slipped into a pocket of a dark, worn coat I didn't even remember putting on.

And then… I felt it.

A rough, palm-sized object.

I pulled it out slowly.

A stone—crude and jagged, decorated with tiny shards of bleached bone arranged into strange, fang-like symbols. The same mark on my hand was carved right into its center, filled with something dark that seemed to ripple beneath the surface.

My breath caught.

"What the hell are you?" I whispered, my fingers trembling as I turned it over.

A sudden whisper slithered into my ears, so close I flinched as though someone had leaned in right behind me.

Break it.

My fingers locked around the stone. I felt my teeth clench. The whisper wasn't a suggestion—it was a command. A temptation.

I looked around wildly. The crowded street continued on without me, nobody noticing the foreigner trembling with a cursed artifact in his hands.

Swallowing hard, I realized I had no options. No answers. Only this… and the mark that was burning hotter with each passing second.

I let out a shaky breath.

"…Screw it," I muttered.

Then, with a sudden surge of adrenaline, I crushed the stone in my hand.

It shattered with a sound like breaking glass and a low, echoing chime that seemed to reverberate through my bones.

Suddenly, my eyes rolled back. The world around me vanished in a smear of light and darkness.

I felt my spirit tear free, soaring upward—past the sky, past the city, past everything I knew.

When my vision returned, I stood in a place that felt… wrong.

The base structure looked like a cavern or quarry, its walls alive with shadows. The rock formations twisted into unnatural shapes, as though they'd been sculpted by a mad god. Some parts seemed to phase in and out of existence, shimmering as if woven from glass and smoke.

A thick, yellow fog clung to the cavern floor, glowing with an eerie, otherworldly light. I took a step forward, my foot sinking into the mist.

Every breath felt heavy, like inhaling ash and whispers.

I turned slowly.

Behind me, a massive tree had erupted from the stone—black as the void itself, its bark shifting and writhing like a mass of living shadows. Transparent runes spiraled along its branches, flickering softly, some blinking in and out like dying stars.

The tree's presence loomed in my mind, sinking into my bones.

I hesitated only a second before I started climbing. My hands gripped its cold, almost liquid-like bark. Each pull upward felt as though I was ascending through layers of reality itself.

When I reached a low, thick branch, my eyes fell on something embedded in the wood.

A single word glowed softly beside it.

Blink.

I stared.

A sudden flood of memories—not mine, yet somehow intimately familiar—rushed through my mind. A figure in a bone mask, silent as death, leaping from rooftop to rooftop in the dead of night. A hand reaching forward as the world collapsed into smoke and reformed elsewhere.

Dishonored.

My breath rattled out of me in a sharp, broken laugh.

I understood now.

I wasn't just in Danmachi. I didn't just have some random mark. I had powers from Dishonored—from the Outsider himself.

I looked down at my hand. The mark pulsed again, as if satisfied, as if laughing.

A shiver crawled up my spine, both terrifying and electrifying.

This wasn't a gift. This was an invitation—and a curse.

I clenched my fist, feeling a surge of power twist and coil inside me like a living thing.

"Blink, huh?" I whispered, a crooked grin slowly pulling at my lips despite the fear still gnawing at my heart.

A thousand questions and a thousand dangers waited outside this strange void realm.

But for the first time since I'd woken up, a sharp, dangerous excitement hummed beneath my skin.

I turned my gaze back to the tree, to the other glowing runes that waited higher up—promises of more abilities, more power.

I didn't know what kind of path this was, or what price I'd pay.

But right now?

I was ready to climb.

——

I don't know how long I clung to that tree in the void. Minutes? Hours? Time twisted there, dripping and stretching like candle wax. But eventually, I felt my spirit get yanked backward — torn through clouds of yellow fog and bleeding shadows — until I slammed back into my body.

My eyes snapped open, and the world of Orario rushed in, bright and loud and painfully solid.

I stood frozen in the alley where I'd crushed that stone, heart hammering against my ribs. I could still feel it — that echoing, coiling pulse of power in my veins. My hand trembled, not from weakness now, but from raw anticipation.

I looked down at my palm.

Blink.

I thought about moving forward.

Suddenly, my body folded into a swirl of blue-black smoke, my vision lurching as if I'd been shoved through a broken window into another space. In an instant, I reappeared a few meters ahead, stumbling into a pile of crates.

I crashed hard, pain flaring in my ribs. I let out a strangled laugh, half exhilaration, half terror.

"Shit… it actually worked," I gasped, clutching my side.

I forced myself upright, wiping dirt from my face. I stepped out into the street again, my heart pounding faster than ever.

People bustled everywhere — adventurers in gleaming armor, merchants yelling about fresh potions and rare monster drops, tourists gawking at sword shops. None of them paid me any mind.

Good.

I slipped into the flow of the crowd, head down, my fingers brushing the mark on my hand every so often, as if to make sure it was still real.

I paused near a fruit stall. The vendor was too busy arguing with a customer over prices to watch the pile of gleaming apples stacked at the edge of his cart.

My stomach growled violently. I hadn't eaten since… well, since I died.

I took a breath.

Blink.

A swirl of blue-black smoke — a heartbeat of movement — and suddenly, I was standing behind the stall, an apple in my hand. The vendor didn't even twitch.

I bit into it immediately, the juice running down my chin. It tasted better than anything I'd ever had — sharp, sweet, alive.

I kept moving, weaving through the streets, trying again and again. Each time, the distance grew a little more natural, my sense of the world stretching and warping.

A pouch of coins from a careless dwarf's belt? Gone.

A dagger from a distracted adventurer's stall? Mine.

A half-empty bottle of something strong left on a tavern table? Pocketed.

At first, it was just survival. But then… a rush started to take hold of me. The adrenaline, the precise timing, the thrill of slipping through spaces where no one should be.

I was invisible, intangible — a ghost among mortals.

The city itself seemed to breathe around me, its ancient stones and towering walls humming with possibility. I started to see routes and gaps everywhere — from balconies to roof edges to shadows between stalls.

I perched on a roof eventually, my stolen loot tucked inside the coat I'd woken up in. Below, the crowded main street writhed like a living thing, oblivious to the predator perched above.

I looked at my hand again.

The mark pulsed faintly in the sunset light, as if it approved of me.

I exhaled, my breath catching in the warm evening air.

"I could get used to this," I murmured, flexing my fingers.

A thought struck me then, sharp and cold: Is this really me?

Back home, I was just a guy — average, harmless. Here, in a single day, I'd already stolen from more people than I could count. My heart should've been pounding with guilt, but all I felt was exhilaration.

Maybe it was the mark. Maybe it was the world. Or maybe… this was who I really was, buried under layers of mundane life.

I shivered, half in fear, half in anticipation.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and lanterns began to flicker on below, I felt the city shift around me — the safe, bustling daytime face fading, replaced by something raw and dangerous.

A place where people disappeared in the dark. A place where power spoke louder than anything else.

I pulled my hood up, hidden in the shadow of the roof tiles.

Tonight, I would test the limits of this new gift.

Or curse.

I closed my eyes, focused on a nearby roof, and whispered under my breath.

"Blink."

A ripple of blue-black smoke. A rush of impossible motion. And I was