Chapter Six: The One Who’s Teaching
The Oracle’s home wasn’t a temple of marble or skyglass it was a ruin carved into the underbelly of a floating island, its stone halls kept aloft by chains thicker than ships’ masts. Inside, the air hummed with a strange stillness. The only light came from braziers burning with blue flame, each guttering as though whispering secrets of forgotten gods.
Bjorn stood there, Mjolnir’s Bane strapped to his back, feeling the sheer weight of the weapon pressing against him not just in steel, but in what it meant.
The Oracle appeared, a woman bent with age yet crowned with eyes sharper than any blade.
“Strength is not wrath,” she rasped, circling him like a hawk. “Wrath burns out. Strength endures. If you are to survive here… if you are to become what the fates clawed from the void, you must learn control.”
Her first lesson was simple in theory, brutal in practice. She had Bjorn lift Mjolnir’s Bane and strike the great stone pillars of her chamber. The weapon’s passive hummed the runes on the pillar cracked as its magic dissolved, stone shattering under the anti-magic force.
But every swing carried a punishment.
Mjolnir’s Bane roared with backlash, sending shockwaves of anti-magic lightning tearing across the floor. Each careless strike knocked Bjorn off his feet, slamming him into walls until blood ran from his mouth.
“Feel it,” the Oracle commanded, her voice echoing. “The axe is not your servant. It is your trial. Every swing demands your life, and if you cannot tame it, it will unmake you before it un-makes gods.”
For days, Bjorn trained under her. She made him swing until his shoulders split, balance on trembling legs while shockwaves screamed around him, and endure hours where the axe sat in his lap, its power leeching at his soul while he meditated.
The Oracle guided him through it all not with kindness, but with a cruel necessity.
“You are destined,” she said one night, her voice low, “but destiny is not a gift. It is a burden. And if you cannot carry it, then you are nothing but another corpse in this sky.”
By the chapter’s end, Bjorn no longer swung wildly. His strikes grew deliberate, precise. Each swing of Mjolnir’s Bane no longer toppled him it obeyed his will, if only just.
The Oracle watched with a rare smile.
“Good,” she said. “Now you begin to look less like a beast… and more like a godslayer.”
ŞİMDİ OKUDUĞUN
Game Over, Reborn: The Final Save File
MaceraOrion was once a legend at least online. In his twenties, he was a pro gamer with a devoted fanbase, crushing tournaments and streaming to thousands. But that was a lifetime ago. Now at forty, he's single, broke, working a soul-crushing fast-food jo...
