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Survivng ragnarok

Oliver Vigilanco, a 16-year-old Mexican boy, as he navigates the chaos unleashed by the Appearance of Norse god “Thor “ As the city grapples with the sudden onslaught of extreme weather and supernatural occurrences, Oliver discovers that he is at the center of an ancient prophecy foretelling the end of days—the legendary Ragnarok. -*******- -updates on Saturday and Sunday -

O_gon · Fantasy
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10 Chs

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As Oliver stood amidst the wreckage of the warehouse, his breath ragged and his body trembling with exhaustion, he couldn't help but feel a sense of hollow victory. The jotnar lay lifeless at his feet, its once formidable form reduced to nothing more than a smoldering heap of charred flesh and bone.

But even as he gazed upon the fallen creature, Oliver knew that his triumph had come at a heavy cost. Isabella and her brother lay motionless nearby, their lifeless bodies a stark reminder of the brutal reality they faced. With a heavy heart, Oliver knelt beside them, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he reached out a trembling hand to touch their cold, pale faces.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with grief as he struggled to come to terms with their loss. "I'm so sorry."

Oliver mustered his last bit of strength, he stumbled into what used to be the old warehouse and collapsed onto the dusty ground. His body ached with exhaustion, every muscle screaming in protest from the relentless battle he had endured. With a heavy heart and weary limbs, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the embrace of sleep.

As the first light of dawn began to filter through the broken windows of the old warehouse, Oliver stirred from his fitful slumber. His body felt heavy with exhaustion, He was so tired keeping his eyes open was almost more work than it was worth. Both his mind and body felt a sense of defeat,

"Buzz. Buzz. Buzz"

The faint buzzing of the system's notifications broke through the haze of fatigue that clouded Oliver's mind. With a weary sigh, he forced himself to sit up,

As he read through the notifications, a surge of mixed emotions washed over him. On one hand, there was a sense of accomplishment for his victory against the jotnar, but on the other, there was a deep sense of sorrow for the friends he had lost in the battle.

[Slaying an Jotnar - 100exp ]

[oliver has unlocked - level up ! ]

[Thor's lighting control has leveled up ! ]

[Thor's lighting control 1.10%! ]

With a heavy heart, Oliver acknowledged the upgrades to his abilities and the experience gained from the battle. But even as he did so, he couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at him from within.

[… 1.10%?? ] Oliver stared at the screen blankly

Oliver's brows furrowed in confusion as he read the system's explanation. It made sense, in a way, but the realization that he still had much to learn about harnessing Thor's power weighed heavily on his mind.

"So, I'm not strong enough yet," Oliver muttered to himself, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. He had pushed himself to the limit in the battle against the jotnar, but it seemed that even his best efforts were not enough to fully master the abilities bestowed upon him.

With a resigned sigh, Oliver accepted the system's decision. He knew that he would need to continue training, honing his skills and pushing himself to new heights if he was to stand any chance against the forces of darkness that threatened to overwhelm the world.

But even as he grappled with his own limitations, Oliver felt a flicker of determination ignite within him. He might not be strong enough yet, but he refused to let that deter him from his mission. With each passing day, he would grow stronger, until he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead with confidence and courage.

As Oliver ventured out into the city once more, his senses on high alert, he couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. The streets were eerily quiet, the air thick with tension and the lingering stench of death. But he pressed on, his determination unwavering as he scoured the desolate landscape for any sign of life—or, failing that, any useful supplies.

His eyes darted this way and that as he moved through the city, his footsteps echoing off the empty buildings that loomed overhead. With each passing moment, the weight of his solitude bore down upon him, a constant reminder of the perilous world in which he now found himself.

But Oliver refused to let fear consume him. Lighting crackled in his fingertips, and his senses sharp, he moved with purpose, his every movement calculated and precise. And soon enough, his diligence paid off as he stumbled upon a cache of supplies tucked away in the ruins of an old store.

With a sense of relief, Oliver set to work gathering what he could—a few cans of food, some bottled water, and a handful of medical supplies. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. As he stuffed the supplies into his pack, a sudden movement caught his eye—a shadow lurking in the darkness, just beyond the edge of his vision.

Instinct took over as Oliver whirled around, lighting crackled around his hands. And then, with a roar that shattered the silence of the night, a monstrous creature lunged at him from the shadows—a mare, its twisted form twisted and contorted into a grotesque parody of a horse.

Oliver's heart raced as he faced off against the creature, his every muscle tense with anticipation, Oliver channeled the power of Thor's lightning control, summoning a crackling bolt of energy that arced through the air with deadly precision. The thunderous blast struck the mare head-on, engulfing it in a blinding flash of light and searing heat.

The creature shrieked in agony as the lightning coursed through its twisted form, its flesh blackening and smoking from the intense heat. But still, it refused to yield, its eyes burning with a fierce determination as it lashed out with renewed fury.

Oliver's heart pounded in his chest as he danced with death, his every movement a testament to his skill and determination. With lightning-fast reflexes, he dodged the mare's attacks, his body moving with preternatural speed and agility as he sought out weaknesses in its defenses.

And then, with a swift and decisive strike, Oliver delivered the killing blow—a well-aimed blow to the creature's exposed flank that sent it crashing to the ground in a heap of twisted limbs and broken flesh.

Breathless and weary, Oliver stood over the fallen mare, his chest heaving with exertion. But there was no time to rest—not when there were still more creatures lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. With a grim determination, Oliver pressed on, his resolve unbroken as he continued his search for supplies in the dark and dangerous city.