Chapter 2 - An Awakening Not Asked For

Paddy: "I hope my ex-wife isn’t watching… she’d be loving this."

He groaned, rolling onto the cold, lumpy stone floor. His ribs screamed. His head pounded like a marching band at a St. Paddy’s Day parade. The cold air smelled faintly of despair. Definitely not home.

Then, the memory hit. Hard.

Paddy: "Oh shite."

His fingers rubbed his temple as the whole sorry episode played back in his mind:

His mind rewound to that desperate sprint through twisting, claustrophobic corridors. Breath ragged, heart hammering, pursuers snapping at his heels like rabid dogs. Then, bam, face-first into a mountain of a man. A knight. Towering, armour gleaming like it was forged from pure spite and enough metal to bankrupt a kingdom.

Knight: "Lost, are we?"

The knight squinted down at the poor, naked old man before him.

Paddy: "Well, funny you should ask-"

Before he could finish, half a dozen more guards dogpiled him. They beat the rebellion, and any remaining dignity, right out of him.

Paddy: "Yeah, that didn't go too well."

Voices echoed in the dim chamber as the door creaked open and a familiar sharp-eyed man stepped inside.

Head Researcher: "You’re awake. Quite the stunt for a man your age."

He crossed his arms, his expression unreadable, a mix of disappointment, amusement, and something else Paddy couldn’t quite place.

Head Researcher: "You’ve been summoned here for a reason, Paddy. Or rather, the summoning was supposed to bring the ideal candidate. But it gave us you. Make of that what you will. This world is embroiled in a mess... a war between the Demon Lord’s forces and the Empire."

Paddy: "Oi, before you start handing out orders, what’s your name, lad? Always polite to know who’s locking you in damp basements."

The man paused, clearly unamused.

Head Researcher: "Bubel. Guum."

Paddy: "I’m sorry, come again?"

Bubel: "Bubel. Guum. That’s B-U-B-E-L… G-U-U-M."

He said it like it was supposed to mean something. Like it should carry weight.

Paddy: "Right. 'Bubel Guum'. Sounds like a-"

Bubel: "..That will be quite enough."

He adjusted his glasses with a twitch that suggested a mix of impatience, menace, and the sort of disdain only a mad scientist and a disapproving father-in-law could share.

Bubel: "As I was saying... You’ve been summoned here for a reason, Patrick Doherty. This world’s in chaos. The Demon Lord's forces march across the eastern territories. But they’re not our biggest concern."

He motioned toward the candle-lit map hanging on the far wall. Paddy squinted, still upside down.

Bubel: "To the west lies the Athyre Empire. Arrogant. Fanatical. Worse, efficient."

He gave Paddy a moment to let that sink in.

Bubel: "They’re stronger than the Demon Lord’s army, even if they won’t admit it."

Paddy: "Right, so you want me to join the winning side, then?"

Bubel: "Wrong. We want neither side to win."

He stepped closer.

Bubel:  "This is the Dermott Kingdom, Paddy. We’re small, but we survive if we're cunning. If the Demon Lord wins, we’re doomed. If the Empire wins, we’re annexed, erased, rewritten."

Paddy: "So… your plan is to sit back and watch while the two worst lads in the pub knock each other out, yeah?"

Bubel: "Precisely. And you, Paddy… you might be the perfect fool to help us do just that."

Paddy blinked.

Paddy: "I’m sorry, what?"

Bubel: "…Tool. I said tool."

A pause. Then:

Bubel: "You were summoned as a hero. Technically. The details are… still being disputed. But if you play your part, and don’t die too quickly, you just might help save the world."

Bubel paused, adjusting his glasses again as he regarded Paddy carefully.

Bubel: "Before we proceed, we need to test your mana. Not just any construct will do, only a Relic can properly sense the flow of magic in a body like yours."

He clapped his hands sharply, the sound echoing off the stone walls. Almost immediately, two assistants wheeled in a strange contraption humming softly on its base. It looked like a twisted mix of archaic machinery and delicate glass tubes.

Bubel: "Step forward, Paddy. This is the Archmeter. Ignore the smell, it’s been recently recalibrated... This will measure your mana. Just stick your finger in here."

Paddy: "You first."

Bubel: "Finger. Now."

Paddy sighed and complied.

The machine buzzed ominously, then crackled with a sudden electric snap that sent a jolt through Paddy’s finger. He yelped, jerking his hand back like he’d just been shocked by a live wire.

Paddy: "Jesus, what the hell was that?!"

Bubel: "A necessary shock. The readings are clear."

He peered at the glowing dials, then frowned.

Bubel: "No detectable mana. Your body isn’t attuned to this world’s magic. It appears your body doesn’t absorb mana naturally, unlike natives here. We believe mana is... ambient. In the air, in the stone, even in food. Slowly, it may begin to permeate your body. If you live long enough, that is. We can only hope mana seeps into you over time, or you’ll be at a serious disadvantage."

Paddy wiped his finger, grimacing.

Paddy: "Well, I’d say that’s a grand start. Let’s just hope it’s like a slow drip feed, yeah?"

Bubel: "Indeed. Now, since you’re mana-poor, we’ll provide you with a weapon attuned to your current status. You get to choose one."

Before Paddy could react, the chamber door squeaked open again. Two more assistants appeared, each pushing carts stacked with odd items. The cramped room suddenly felt even smaller. Bubel nodded toward the cart.

Bubel: "Now, these are relics, not constructs. The difference? Relics have known powers and clear purposes. These constructs, though… nobody really knows what they do. Could be trash for all we know."

He picked up the first relic, a normal living room lamp.

Bubel: "This here is the... hammer. We think it’s a hammer, but that’s just a guess."

Next, he gestured to an old laptop with a cracked screen. 

Bubel: "This one was mistaken for a magic shield at first. The glass was thought to reflect spells, if the spell didn't break it instantly, that is."

Finally, he motioned at the third item, an ancient TV box, covered in dust and cobwebs. 

Bubel: "And this… no one has the faintest idea. We included it so it looks like you have more options."

...

He pushed the relics aside and gave Paddy a pointed look.

Bubel: "So, what’ll it be? Choose wisely, or foolishly. Either way, you’re taking one."

Paddy rubbed his sore finger, eyeing the strange objects.

Paddy: "Right, grand. I’ll take my chances with the lamp- the hammer. Feels right in my hand. Probably makes a decent club if nothing else.”

Bubel: "Wise enough. Now, no time to waste. The King wishes to meet you before the day is out."

Paddy groaned as he stood. His ribs reminded him he wasn’t a young man.

Bubel gestured toward the dimly lit corridor.

Bubel: "Follow me. You’ll meet the others soon. Adventurers chosen to keep you alive. Ideally."

Paddy sighed, giving the 'hammer' in his hand a test swing.

Paddy: "If this is destiny, she’s got a cruel sense of humour and terrible taste in men."

He limped after Bubel into the hallway, each step echoing like a bad decision. The lamp swayed at his side... useless, mysterious, and probably cursed. Just like him.