Danmachi: The World's Anomaly

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy the chapter and let me know something if you need anything, have a good day✨.

Descending the wooden stairs of the inn, Mat found himself greeted by the lively atmosphere of the common room. The warm glow of lanterns hanging from the walls cast dancing shadows across the space, and the soft hum of conversations filled the air. People sat around tables, chatting, laughing, or eating simple meals. Adventurers with weapons slung over their shoulders boasted about their exploits in the Dungeon. Others, perhaps merchants or travelers, spoke of business deals and long journeys.

Mat's eyes scanned the room, looking for a quiet corner where he wouldn't attract much attention. Near a window, he spotted an empty table. Making his way over, he slid into the chair, leaning his arms on the sturdy surface.

The rhythmic clinking of mugs and plates provided a comforting background to the bustling activity. As Mat settled in, a young server approached him. She couldn't have been older than her late teens, her auburn hair tied back in a neat braid. She wore a simple uniform with a well-worn apron, her expression cheerful yet professional.

"Good evening, sir," she greeted with a polite smile. "What can I get for you tonight?"

Mat looked up, offering her a small nod in return. "Just something simple. Bread, some soup, and a cup of water, please."

The girl jotted down the order on a small notepad and nodded. "Coming right up." With that, she turned and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Mat to his thoughts.

Mat leaned back in his chair, letting his gaze wander around the room. The conversations from nearby tables drifted to his ears. At one corner, a group of adventurers were gathered, their voices animated as they recounted the day's events.

"I swear, that damn kobold nearly took my arm off!" a burly man with a scar across his cheek said, gesturing wildly to emphasize his point. "If it weren't for Lyria here, I'd be in pieces!"

The woman beside him, presumably Lyria, rolled her eyes but smiled. "Oh, stop exaggerating. You're the one who charged in without thinking. I just did damage control."

The rest of the table burst into laughter, and the scarred man grumbled something under his breath, clearly embarrassed.

Nearby, another group of adventurers spoke in hushed tones, their conversation less jovial.

"So, tomorrow's plan is simple," one of them said, a thin man with sharp features. "We'll head down to the fifth floor, set up camp near the safe zone, and scout the area before making any big moves."

"Sounds risky," another said, her brow furrowed. "You sure we're ready for that?"

"We don't have a choice," the thin man replied. "We need the money, and fifth-floor drops are worth more."

Their words blended with the general noise, but Mat found himself drawn to these snippets of Dungeon life. He couldn't help but feel a pang of longing—or was it envy? These people belonged to this world. They knew its rules, its dangers, and its rewards. He, on the other hand, was an outsider in every sense of the word.

Mat's attention drifted to the window beside him. Through the slightly fogged glass, he could see the city of Orario bathed in the soft glow of lantern light. The streets were alive with activity, even at this hour. Street vendors called out to passersby, offering everything from roasted meats to trinkets and charms. Children ran through the cobblestone streets, laughing and chasing each other, their parents watching from nearby.

He rested his chin on his hand, watching the scene unfold like a living painting. The night seemed to breathe with its own rhythm, a mix of chaos and harmony that was both foreign and strangely comforting.

"This city never sleeps, does it?" he muttered under his breath, a small smile tugging at his lips.

A faint clatter brought him back to the present. The young server had returned, placing a steaming bowl of soup, a piece of crusty bread, and a glass of water in front of him.

"Here you go," she said cheerfully. "Enjoy!"

"Thank you," Mat replied with a polite nod.

The server left to tend to another table, and Mat picked up his spoon, stirring the soup absently. The aroma of herbs and vegetables filled his nose, and he took a small sip. It was simple but hearty, warming him from the inside out.

As he ate, Mat's mind wandered. The conversations around him, the sights of the bustling city, even the warmth of the soup—all of it reminded him of how far he was from his old life. On Earth, his nights were filled with clinical routines, the sterile white walls of a hospital, and the constant beeping of monitors. Here, everything was alive, unpredictable, and vibrant.

But that vibrancy came with its own set of challenges. The Dungeon, the gods, the very fabric of this world—it was all dangerous, and Mat was painfully aware of how unprepared he was. He couldn't shake the feeling of being a small fish in an enormous ocean, constantly at risk of being swallowed whole.

Still, there was something about this moment that felt… peaceful. For the first time in a while, he wasn't running or worrying. He was just being.

As Mat took another sip of his soup, a thought struck him. The adventurers' conversations, the bustling city outside, even the mundane act of eating—it was all part of this world's rhythm. If he wanted to survive here, he couldn't just be an observer. He needed to become a part of that rhythm, to find his place in the grand tapestry of Orario.

"I need to start now," he muttered to himself. "Even if it is a small step at a time." he wipes some of the bread crumbs in his mouth. "It's worth it."

For now, that meant finishing his meal.

...

After finishing his dinner, Mat trudged back to his room. The lively hum of the common room faded as he climbed the stairs, his thoughts consuming him. Entering the dimly lit space, he closed the door behind him, leaned against it for a moment, and let out a deep sigh.

The room was simple but cozy—a single bed pushed against the wall, a small wooden desk with a stool, and a window overlooking a quiet street. Yet to Mat, it felt stifling.

He stood there, lost in thought, staring blankly at the desk. The day's events replayed in his mind: his work at the potato stall, the snippets of conversations he'd overheard, and his attempts to blend into this world. None of it mattered if he couldn't unlock whatever power he might possess.

Mat pushed off the door and began pacing the room. His steps were measured at first, but as his frustration mounted, they grew more erratic.

"Okay, think, Mat," he muttered to himself. "If I really have some kind of power, there has to be a way to trigger it. It's not like the protagonists in those anime just sit around waiting for something to happen."

He stopped in the middle of the room, his eyes narrowing as an idea struck him. "Maybe… maybe I need to copy what they did."

With renewed determination, Mat began mimicking scenes from the various shows he had watched back on Earth.

First, he spread his legs apart, bent his knees slightly, and raised his arms in front of him, palms facing outward. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shouted, "Unleash! Power, awaken!"

Silence.

Mat cracked one eye open, glancing around the room. Nothing had changed.

"Okay, maybe the chant wasn't dramatic enough," he reasoned.

He grabbed the knife from his bag—the one gifted to him by his orphanage director—and held it aloft.

"If I were a hero, this would be the moment my weapon transforms into something amazing," he muttered.

Holding the knife tightly, he called out, "Blade of destiny, heed my call!"

He waited, his arm beginning to ache from holding the position too long. The knife remained a knife.

Mat groaned and let his arm drop.

Standing in the center of the room, he stretched both hands forward, fingers splayed. He imagined fire bursting from his palms, just like a mage casting a spell.

"Flame Burst!" he shouted.

Nothing.

"Okay, maybe I need a different element."

He lowered his hands and crouched slightly, pretending to draw power from the ground beneath him. "Earthquake Shockwave!"

Still nothing.

Mat clenched his fists, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

"Maybe it's not about shouting or poses," he said, pacing again. "Maybe I just need to concentrate, like meditation."

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he closed his eyes and took slow, deep breaths. He tried to clear his mind, focusing only on the idea of unlocking his latent abilities.

Minutes passed. Then half an hour. Despite his best efforts, his thoughts kept drifting to unrelated things: the taste of the soup he had for dinner, the faces of the adventurers he'd seen earlier, the sound of people talking outside.

Eventually, Mat opened his eyes with a frustrated huff. "This isn't working either."

For nearly an hour, Mat continued trying various methods. He reenacted transformation scenes, whispered ancient-sounding chants, and even tried spinning around like a magical girl transformation. Each attempt left him feeling more ridiculous than the last.

Finally, he slumped onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

"Why is this so hard?" he muttered. "If I'm really in some kind of isekai story, shouldn't I have a cheat skill by now? Something to give me an edge?"

The room was silent except for the faint sounds of the inn below and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards.

Mat sat on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, wrestling with his thoughts.

"I'm not the protagonist," he muttered to himself. "I don't have a cheat ability. No hero's journey, no grand destiny. Just… me. Normal, boring me."

His voice trailed off as he glanced at his hands, still faintly aching from his earlier work. The faint cut on his left hand was wrapped in a makeshift bandage, a reminder of his failed attempts to summon anything remotely resembling power.

"But why?" he whispered, his thoughts racing. "Why am I acting like this? Back on Earth, I wasn't… desperate. I wasn't this irrational."

He shook his head, trying to dispel the growing sense of disconnection. "No," he said firmly. "This isn't irrational. It's survival. This world isn't like Earth. I can't just… coast by. If I don't figure something out, I'm as good as dead."

Sighing, Mat pushed himself up and moved toward the small window in his room. He rested his forearms on the sill and stared out at the city. The streets were alive with the glow of lanterns and the faint hum of voices, but his gaze was drawn upward—to the Tower of Babel, its spire piercing the night sky like a blade.

The sight stirred something in him.

"This is Danmachi," he thought. "A world where gods and mortals coexist. Where power is real, and it's given through a falna."

The word lingered in his mind, sparking an idea.

"Falna," he whispered.

A chill ran down his spine as the thought crystallized. He turned from the window and grabbed his knife, the blade catching the faint moonlight as he examined it.

"This… this could work," he muttered, doubts creeping into his voice even as he spoke.

Mat placed the knife on the desk, his fingers brushing against the handle as he paced the room.

"Okay," he said aloud, trying to reason with himself. "Falna is granted by gods. It's a contract, a bond between deity and mortal. But… what if it's not exclusive to gods? What if the concept of falna is something anyone can access, given the right conditions?"

The doubts in his mind grew louder.

"This is insane," a voice whispered.

But another part of him, the part that had lied to a goddess without consequence, argued back.

"Why not? You were able to lie to Hestia and the other gods. That's not normal. There's… there's something different about you. Maybe you're not bound by the same rules as everyone else."

The thought sent a thrill through him, mingled with fear.

"If this doesn't work, it's just another failure," he reasoned. "But if it does…"

He didn't let himself finish the thought.

Mat sat down on the floor, knife in hand. He unwound the bandage from his left hand, exposing the faint cut from earlier that morning.

"I'll need more blood," he murmured, his voice trembling.

With a deep breath, he pressed the blade against the edge of the cut, extending it just enough to draw fresh blood. He winced but forced himself to remain still, holding his breath to avoid jolting and worsening the injury.

"Pain is temporary," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Focus."

Blood began to bead on the surface of his skin, and he watched it with a mix of fascination and trepidation.

Removing his upper shirt, he positioned himself so that his blood would drip onto his back.

"The falna is applied to the back," he said aloud, as if justifying the act to himself. "It's symbolic. A mark of power, a bond. That's what I need to recreate."

As the blood touched his skin, he closed his eyes and focused, imagining the act as a ritual.

"Power," he whispered. "Grant me power. Mark me with strength. I… I accept the bond."

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, everything shifted.

An overwhelming wave of blank darkness consumed Mat. It wasn't just the absence of light—it was a void, an emptiness so profound it felt suffocating.

"What is this?" his thoughts screamed, but no sound emerged.

The darkness pressed against him, and with it came whispers. Indescribable, chaotic murmurs filled the void, each one speaking in a language he couldn't understand but somehow felt he should.

"Power… falna… strength… contract…"

The words were fragmented, echoing in his mind like shards of broken glass.

"Who's there?" he wanted to shout, but his voice was swallowed by the void.

Suddenly, a sharp, searing sensation erupted in his back, as if something was being carved into his skin. The pain was blinding, yet he couldn't move, couldn't scream.

The whispers grew louder, merging into a cacophony that threatened to drown him.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

Mat jolted awake, gasping for breath. He was sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, the knife lying a few feet away.

"What… just happened?" he whispered, his voice shaky.

His hands trembled as he touched his back, half-expecting to feel some kind of mark, but there was nothing.

"Was it real?" he thought, panic and confusion swirling in his mind.

The whispers still echoed faintly in his ears, like the remnants of a dream.

Mat sat there for what felt like hours, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of what had happened.

"That wasn't normal," he thought. "That wasn't… human."

A chill ran down his spine. Whether it was a failure or the first step toward something greater, he couldn't tell.

But one thing was certain—he had crossed a line, and there was no turning back.