An IF story about a demigod with 'Great power Great Responsibility' guidelines who gets locked on by an immortal godslayer onee-san. No Isekai or SI.

PS. The legends of Cu have lots of versions and interpretations, so please don't roast me over for it!

Enjoy!

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Prologue: The responsible Hound

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Every story has its what-ifs.

The tiniest deviations might very well cause an entirely different outcome, resulting in a derived timeline. Such is the Butterfly effect.

What if the greatest hero of the Celts were to be more...let us say, modernly sophisticated?

What if the most feared godslayer and queen of the shadowlands were to set eyes upon this anomaly?

This is such a tale.

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The boy was...special.

The boy didn't know how he came to be, nor did he know why he had his own moral code from birth.

He had sentience unlike any other child of his age, and his eyes shone with a light that declared an unbending, unyielding iron will.

From his youth, the boy never feared nor grew arrogant. It was as if he existed in a different time, a different place, a plane alien to the rest of the Celt world.

His mother was Deichtine, the charioteer of Conchobar who was the King of Ulster. A snowstorm had struck her while she was on the hunt, so she had sought shelter in a small hut which was, unknown to her, an act under the protection and guidance of Lugh the Incandescent Sun god.

There she gave birth to him, a boy who she named Sétanta.

Due to his divine birth, and the unwillingness of his mother to take him in as her true heir, the nobles of Ulster argued over who was the most qualified to be his foster father. They debated day and night until the wise Morann stepped in and said, 'Why not all of them?'.

Thus, Setanta was brought up by four; Conchobar taught him judgment and eloquent speech, the wealthy Blaí Briugu provided for his needs, the noble warrior Fergus mac Róich showed him how to protect the weak, and the poet Amergin educated him in the path of literature.

Under their guidance, Setanta grew up with an indomitable heart and immortal skill, with a spirit serene yet fiery and wild.

One of the episodes that portrayed his unique character occurred when he was seven.

At the age of seven, Setanta joined the boy troops of Emain on a whim, curious about what the other boys of his age were up to. Knowing not of the custom for a newcomer to ask for their protection before one sets foot into their playground, the boy troops took his act as a challenge and assaulted Setanta as one.

When Conchobar heard of this, his face had become ashen. He wasn't worried for Setanta's safety for he knew his foster son had power and wisdom far beyond a normal man, much less a child.

He was afraid that one of them might offend Setanta so gravely, that it would cause the young demigod to lose his temper. After all, mature or not, he was still a child with the volcanic temper of a demigod.

When he arrived, he saw one of the eldest boys raise a rock from behind Setanta's head, his arms held high.

All the other boys were sprawled on the ground, uninjured but thoroughly spent. It was clear that Setanta had taken care not to go overboard, and as a result, made him lower his guard.

Conchobar watched in slow motion as the rock was struck against the back of Setanta's head with full force. The sound of rock cracking against the skull reverberated through the woods.

Drop, drop, drop.

Crimson blood trailed down Setanta's azure hair, down his marble skin, and onto the forest floor.

Slowly, very slowly, the boy raised his head and turned around.

To this day, Conchobar would freely admit that it was that split second he had experienced true fear.

At that moment, that split second, Setanta was truly furious.

Even if he had an unusually mature mind, his bloodlust was still intense due to his lineage as a demigod.

The boys around him paled, most wet themselves, terrified by the tremendous rage he emitted, expecting to see the eldest boy beaten to death.

However, Setanta persevered. He persevered.

It was unbelievable.

His skin turned red, and his jaws ground together, yet he suppressed his fury and managed to unclench his fists.

Conchobar was astounded. He couldn't believe his eyes. He had realized the moment the boy attacked him from behind, Setanta would be furious, and most likely, beat the boy to death.

That was how immensely furious Setanta was.

It was at that moment he was once more reminded that Setanta was the son of a god and that he boasted monstrous powers that far exceeded those of a human.

However, he would soon know that he had yet again, undervalued Setanta's virtue.

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"Hey, good smash you got there. Just...never do that again to another kid. It's dangerous. Geddit?"

To the king's awe, Setanta had laughed out loud and patted the trembling boy on the shoulder, even kindly lecturing him!

The eldest boy was also bewildered. He had fully expected himself to be killed in some gruesome way.

But Lo and behold, the young demigod had suppressed his anger. Not only that, he had forgiven his attacker!

A boy not even 10 years old, a boy with his background, did not throw a tantrum.

It truly was a marvelous display of self-control!

When Conchobar came to himself, he immediately stepped forward and started praising him for his restraint.

Setanta couldn't help but give his foster father a complicated look when Conchobar started praising him while drenched in cold sweat, though he didn't speak out of respect and simply bowed in acknowledgment.

This was how Setanta was praised without himself knowing.

'Setanta the demigod, is a man of self-control, while not arrogant in the wild power of his blood. The nobility of his spirit is already that of a hero.', he was praised.

As for Setanta, he had simply decided that it was absolutely wrong to beat a person to death after being hit once.

Aware of his own tremendous strength, he understood that he could easily cause the death of a boy if he were to lay a single hand on him, so he forced himself to be patient.

He didn't have a shred of memory of having done anything worthy of praise, and that was where he was wrong.

In the ancient times when gods still lived amongst men, might made right. A 'hero' was someone who had the power to murder hundreds if not thousands of enemies by himself, no matter the consequences or the righteousness in it.

In the truest sense, might was justice.

'He didn't hit him back.'

That was why what Setanta had done was so grandeur.

Setanta himself was bewildered that he had received praise for something so mundane.

That was the reason why Setanta would be very puzzled to learn of his own reputation which had spread widely in the span of a few years.

It was also the very reason he was personally invited by Chulainn the smith out of the blue. He was called to a feast held with Conchobar as an honored guest.

Setanta immediately clad himself in his best robes and cape and took off. Due to the messenger having been delayed in order to find Setanta who was at the time training in the mountains, Setanta was already nearing the line of being 'fashionably late'.

Unknown to him, Chulainn had also made a mistake. He had let loose his ferocious hound to protect his house, thinking that all the guests had already arrived.

That was how the boy of ten came to face to face with the giant beast.

The boy stood calmly in the face of great danger, his breath steady and his muscles relaxed.

At least, that was how it seemed from the outside. Inside, he was forcing his raging instincts to stop itself from shoving his training spear down the hound's throat.

Setanta urged himself to be more objective and analyze the precarious situation he had got himself into. Giant hounds were rare in these lands, and a hound with arcane properties even more so.

The hound of Chulainn pawed the ground, its fur bristling with sparks of electric energy. Its nose twitched as it too inspected the trespasser as he stood without a hint of aggression.

A short time passed, their eyes gazing into one another. Suddenly, Setanta's eyebrows twitched.

"Ah-ha! You are the hound of Chulainn, aren't you? The smith. He invited me, ya know?"

The hound's growling stopped. It pawed its nose and sniffed, unable to detect a lie in the boy's odor. It looked slightly confused as it cocked its head to the side, its tongue dangling out from its jaw.

Setanta chuckled as he sat down.

"Look, you are a royal hound, I can see that. You have your duty, and I have my invitation. So...how about you call your master here and we can get rid of this misunderstanding? Right, boy?"

With a smile, Setanta held out his hand. The hound stared at him, then tentatively licked his palm. The boy giggled childishly.

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Conchobar and his smith were having a jolly good time when suddenly the high howls of a hound echoed through the night.

"Yer boy is excited, eh? What happened?", Conchobar slurred.

"Heh heh heh...might be a midnight visitor. Three coins to his groins getting ripped off.", the smith joked back.

Both men guffawed as they drank deeply from their cups.

"Speaking of visitors, where's the lad?", Conchobar asked.

"Who?"

"My boy who you invited, dimwit! Setanta!"

The color rapidly drained from Chulainns face as he jumped up from his chair as it crashed onto the ground.

"Ahh SHIT!", he bellowed. "I forgotta leash mah hound in!"

"Gahahahahaha- WUT!?"

The two men looked at each other, the alcohol, long forgotten. They rushed out into the plains as fast as they could, desperate to stop the inevitable.

Conchobar to stop his son from killing the hound, and Chulainn to stop the hound from murdering a child. It was almost comical how the two grown men ran across the plains in ragged breaths with completely opposite objectives in mind.

"Setanta! Are you all...wut?"

Both men felt their jaws drop. Before their very eyes, there was a scene so bizarre, that they wouldn't have believed it if they did not witness it firsthand.

"Hahahahahaha! Oi, nice catch you have there! Who's a good boy? Yes, you are!"

Setanta whooped in delight as the hound caught his thrown spear in its mouth, and reciprocated by scratching the hound behind the ears. The hound also looked happy as it panted and yipped, its tail wagging back and forth in a blur.

The two men looked at the scene for a few minutes, dazed. Then, Chulainn shook his head in disbelief.

"Your boy...he is aCú (Hound). A Cú in human skin if I ever saw one."

Conchobar could only nod his head numbly in agreement.

Setanta was indeed an enigma, through and through.

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Somewhere in the Shadows, from a faraway place in the lands of Skye, a certain godslayer opened her eyes from her long slumber.

It has been some time since she had last taken a direct disciple. She had spent her recent days scanning through the lands for new seeds, in hope of attaining her unachievable dream. Her eternal slumber.

She did find a few promising warriors; Ferdiad being one of them. However, even he paled in the face of a new seed, yet to spring from its shell.

A seed so peculiar, even she couldn't see into its future, and that was not the most intriguing part.

The boy seemed to have a completely different sense of value to that of a Celtic warrior despite his upbringing and lineage. By all means, the elder boy who assaulted him and the hound of Chulainn ought to be dead.

They should be dead. Their fate indicated so. Yet...

A smile, strangely sultry yet full of chilling blood lust split across her pristine features. She sensually bit her lip as her white hands fiddled over her crimson spear.

"Yes...you would do. Perhaps you...would be my salvation."

The woman blinked once, her crimson eyes glowing in the darkness like two orbs of fire.

"But first...I must test if you have the qualifications."

Her fingers danced through the air, tracing a rune of the old.

And with a soft hiss, the shadows swallowed her whole.

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Setanta groaned as he opened his eyes.

He remembered his foster father and his smith bombarding him with barrels of alcohol.

Everything else was fuzzy as if his mind was trapped in a haze. He could smell the cold mist in the air.

Was he somehow sleeping outside?

Setanta cracked open his eyes. A row of sharp fangs met his eyes. Scales gleamed in the moonlight.

Setanta blinked.

"You've got to be freakin' kidding me."

The reptile roared.

Setanta jumped to his feet.

A few miles away, a single shadow was perched on the branch of a tree. Long, black-purple hair rippled in the cold breeze. The woman chuckled in an almost sadistic manner, her eyes trained on her target far away.

"Fight or Die. Your test begins now, little Cú."

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Ah, yes. Cu Must Die Edition of the Ulster Cycle.

Please let me know your thoughts and review! (If you have some detailed questions/corrections about the legend of Cú or fate lore, pls tell me.)

X-kalibur, over and out.