The museum was supposed to be a quick stop. Kael Lughson, college sophomore and self-proclaimed history nerd, had only swung by to kill time before his next martial arts class. The dimly lit exhibit on Celtic artifacts wasn't exactly thrilling—rusted swords, cracked pottery, and a few creepy stone carvings. But the spear caught his eye.
It was mounted behind glass, its blade a wicked curve of blackened iron, etched with spiraling runes that seemed to pulse under the fluorescent lights. The placard read: Gáe Bolg, Legendary Spear of Cú Chulainn. Kael smirked. He'd read about it in his mythology elective—some over-the-top weapon that never missed and shredded its target from the inside. Total anime protagonist vibes."
Bet I could do some damage with that," he muttered, adjusting his gym bag. At twenty, Kael was lean but muscled, his black hair perpetually messy, and his green eyes sharp from years of sparring. He wasn't a pushover, but he wasn't exactly expecting to star in a fantasy epic either.
Then the lights flickered.
A low hum filled the room, like a distant chant. The runes on the spear glowed, and Kael's vision blurred. He stumbled, grabbing the display case for balance. "Whoa, okay, maybe I skipped lunch or—"The floor vanished.
Kael hit the ground hard, grass and dirt cushioning his fall. The air was thick with mist, smelling of pine and something metallic—blood? He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. The museum was gone. Instead, he stood in a sprawling valley, ringed by jagged mountains under a sky streaked with crimson clouds. Distant war cries echoed, and the clash of steel rang out.
"Okay, this is not the campus," Kael said, his voice cracking. His gym bag was still slung over his shoulder, but his phone had no signal. Classic.
Before he could process further, a shadow loomed overhead. A monstrous figure—ten feet tall, with gray, barnacle-crusted skin and a single glowing eye—charged toward him, swinging a spiked club. Its roar shook the ground.
"Fomorian!" a woman's voice shouted, sharp and commanding. "Get down, mortal!"
Kael dove to the side as a flock of crows erupted from nowhere, swarming the creature. The monster flailed, but the birds tore into it, forcing it to its knees. Kael blinked, catching sight of the voice's owner.
She was stunning. Tall, with pale skin and raven-black hair cascading past her waist, she wore a flowing cloak that shimmered like liquid shadow. Her crimson eyes locked onto Kael, and her lips curled into a smirk that was equal parts dangerous and amused. A longsword hung at her hip, but she hadn't drawn it. She didn't need to.
"Who… what…?" Kael stammered, his brain short-circuiting between the monster and the goddess-like woman.
"Quiet," she snapped, striding toward him. The crows dispersed, leaving the Fomorian slumped and bleeding. "You're not supposed to be here. Yet here you are, reeking of Lugh's power."
"Lugh? Like, the Irish god?" Kael's mythology class was coming back in fragments. "Lady, I just wanted to look at a spear, not get yeeted into Narnia!"
Her smirk widened. "Morrígan, War Goddess of the Tuatha Dé Danann. And you, boy, are no ordinary mortal. The Gáe Bolg chose you."
Kael's eyes widened as he noticed the spear in his hand. Not a replica—the real deal, its runes glowing faintly, its weight perfectly balanced. He hadn't even felt it until now. "Uh, this isn't mine. I'm more of a 'fists and feet' guy."
Morrígan laughed, a sound like distant thunder. "Fool. That spear is your destiny. And mine to judge." She stepped closer, her presence overwhelming. "Prove you're worthy, or I'll end you myself."
Before Kael could protest, the ground shook again. Three more Fomorians burst from the mist, each uglier than the last. Their clubs swung wildly, tearing up earth. Morrígan crossed her arms, clearly expecting Kael to handle it."Seriously?" Kael gripped the spear, his sparring instincts kicking in. He wasn't sure how he'd survived the museum-to-monster pipeline, but he wasn't about to die in some Celtic fever dream.
The first Fomorian lunged. Kael dodged, moving faster than he ever had in the dojo. His body felt wrong—too light, too strong. The spear hummed in his hands, guiding his strike. He thrust it forward, and the blade pierced the Fomorian's chest with a sickening crunch. The creature screamed as thorny energy erupted inside it, shredding its insides. It collapsed, dead.
"Whoa," Kael whispered, staring at the spear. "That's… broken."
The other two Fomorians roared, charging together. Kael's confidence surged. He spun the spear, his movements fluid, almost instinctive. One thrust, and the second Fomorian fell, its body torn apart by the spear's curse. The third swung its club, but Kael vaulted over it, landing a kick that sent the monster staggering. A final spear thrust ended it.
Panting, Kael turned to Morrígan, who clapped slowly. "Not bad, for a mortal. Or whatever you are now."
"Care to explain?" Kael asked, wiping sweat from his brow. "Because I'm pretty sure I just broke physics.
"Morrígan's expression softened, just slightly. "You've been marked by Lugh, the Many-Skilled. His power flows through you—strength, speed, and the Gáe Bolg's curse. You're in Ériu, the land of gods and heroes. And you've landed in a war."
"War?" Kael's stomach dropped. "Against those one-eyed freaks?"
"Fomorians," Morrígan said. "They seek to drown this land in chaos. The Tuatha Dé Danann—my kin—fight to stop them. But you… you're something else. A prophecy speaks of a spear-bearer who'll unify Ériu or burn it to ash.
"Kael groaned. "Great. I'm the chosen one. Any chance I can opt out?
"Morrígan's eyes narrowed. "Refuse, and the Fomorians will crush you. Accept, and you might survive. I'll guide you—for now. But don't expect me to hold your hand."
"Guide me where?" Kael asked, still processing the fact that he was chatting with a war goddess.
"To Scáthach," Morrígan said. "The warrior-queen. She'll train you to wield your power without losing yourself. Or your head.
"Kael nodded, though his mind raced. He was in a mythical Ireland, armed with a cheat-code spear, and apparently destined to save or doom the world. And the goddess eyeing him like a hawk was both terrifying and… kind of hot? He shook his head. Focus, Kael. Monsters first, existential crisis later.
As they started walking, the mist parting to reveal a path lined with ancient standing stones, Morrígan glanced at him. "What's your name, spear-bearer?"
"Kael Lughson," he said, then paused. "Wait, Lughson? Like Lugh? That's a coincidence, right?
"Morrígan's smirk returned. "There are no coincidences in Ériu.
"The path led to a cliff overlooking a vast battlefield. Below, warriors in bronze armor clashed with Fomorian hordes. Kael's grip tightened on the Gáe Bolg. This was real. And he was in way over his head.
But as the spear's runes pulsed, a fire ignited in his chest. He'd always been a fighter—on the mats, in life. If this was his new reality, he'd make it his own.
"Alright, Morrígan," he said, flashing a grin. "Let's see what this spear can do."
Her laughter echoed as they descended into the chaos, the first step of Kael's legend etched in blood and destiny.