Jennifer Moore
Stories
6
Chapters
1,982
Words
445.8 K
Comments
0
Reading
1 d, 13 h
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Gna felt as if his body was restrained by an invisible force, unable to move an inch. Owen, observing Gna's transformation, had a glint of victory in his eyes. He knew that Gna was no longer a threat to him. Taking a deep breath, Owen's golden holy light grew even brighter, like a blazing sun. He leaped towards Gna, his dragon claws drawing golden arcs in the air, stirring up a whirlwind. Each strike was as fierce as thunder, leaving Gna no chance to dodge. Gna, overwhelmed by Owen's…
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His breathing was steady, each inhalation building power for the next round of attack, each exhalation releasing this power in the most precise way. Surrounded by dozens of trolls, Owen remained unflustered. He moved nimbly among their attacks, his body swaying with each dodge like a leaf floating in the wind, yet always finding the safest foothold. His attacks were rhythmic, striking at the moments when the trolls least expected, without any superfluous motion, each hit fatal. Finally, as the…
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Erin's eyes, a pure sky blue, are blurred with tears, evoking an instinctive desire to protect her. She wears a green dress adorned with delicate golden patterns, exuding both nobility and a hint of sorrow. Approaching her, Owen asks in a steady, sympathetic voice, "Why are you so sad?" Lifting her head, Erin recognizes Owen, her expression swiftly turning to excitement. "Saint, is that you?" She quickly wipes away her tears, though her voice still quivers with emotion, as she tries to show…
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The volume of information is so immense that Owen's soul nearly bursts, like a fragile bubble teetering on the edge of bursting. Weakly, he tries to open his eyes, to seek help from those around him, but the overwhelming energy robs him even of this basic ability. Barlo, noticing Owen's distress, grows tense and anxious, "It's happening, as feared. Saint, you must hold on!" The surrounding tribe members, witnessing this, are visibly worried. They kneel, hands pressed together, muttering prayers…
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"The 'Race Transformation Ritual'?" Owen inquired, slightly puzzled. "What does it entail?" Barlo began to explain with his melodious voice, "The Race Transformation Ritual is a profound magic that delves into the essence of life and the deep connections of the soul. I won't go into the intricate details." "You can roughly understand it as a necessary process for every saint who arrives in Novalia. They must undergo this ritual to gain the abilities of their respective race." Owen's brows…
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Owen struggled to raise his hand to defend, but it was already too late. Malcolm's dragon claw, sharp as a blade, pierced through Owen's defense as easily as through paper, plunging into his chest. The combination of strength and speed was flawless, devoid of any flamboyant technique, only a simple and direct act of killing. Owen's body offered almost no resistance at the moment of contact with the dragon claw, as if struck by a heavy hammer. His bones seemed to cry out in protest. A look of…
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As time ticked away, Owen was immersed in the dual blessings of the sun and the stars. He closed his eyes, attempting to feel the changes within. Initially, he just felt a warm energy flowing inside him, like an ever-expanding river filling every vein. But as time progressed, he started to perceive more profound changes. The powers of the stars and the sun seemed to intertwine within him, forming a new type of energy. It rooted deep within his cells, even in his genes, altering his very…
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In the vast expanse of the sky, Owen tightly grasped the scales of the ice dragon, letting the cold wind whistle past his ears, his hair and robe fluttering wildly in the gusts. Barlo's massive form, with wings unfurled, seemed to cover half the sky. The dragon's scales, like finely carved ice crystals, gleamed with a cold light. Its eyes were like two deep sapphires, mysterious and icy. Riding on the broad back of the dragon, Owen gazed down at the world below — a land covered in white snow,…
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Barlo shook Roger, swinging him back and forth like a child on a swing. Roger, petrified and helpless, desperately waved at Owen, "Owen, I was wrong! I truly realize my mistake. I shouldn't have treated you that way. I was a fool." Owen's eyes narrowed slightly as he reminisced in a dreamlike tone, "Back in school, you always bullied me... " "Once, during a break while I was asleep, you poured a bucket of paint over my head, leading to a whole day of ridicule from our classmates." "Do you know…
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"A perfect match," Owen muttered under his breath, feeling an overwhelming aura emanating from the figure above. "So, the fearsome wings in the prophecy belonged to the angel race's envoy!" With no saint appearing from the angel race in three hundred years, they hadn't attended the ceremony, hence their late arrival. In the original course of the future, Owen would have faced ridicule but nothing more. Now, having altered the future's path and embarrassed Roger, he found himself in the…
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