The OP MC by Logan Jacobs

The OP MC

The OP MC: God of Winning by Logan Jacobs
English | 2020 | Fantasy | ePUB | 3.0 MB

I was a nobody gamer working a dead end tech support job.
But then I was pulled into this strange fantasy world, and I’ve learned that I possess a power that makes me, quite literally, a god walking among mere mortals.
Now I always win every fight.
Now I always get the best girls in my harem.
Now I have infinite and unlimited potential to get better.
And now I’m gonna have fun trying every possibility.

She was breathing heavily into the mouthpiece of her phone. I could just barely hear the scratching of the mouse along some surface.

“Oh, there it goes!” Just like that, her voice was so much brighter. “That was really easy! Thank you so much!”

“Is there anything else I can help you with today, Ma’am?” I was so glad I didn’t have to plaster a fake smile when I said that over the phone.

“Not a thing! You’ve been such a dear,” she gushed. “Thank you again, Sebastian.”

I might have been a little too eager to hang up the phone. The clock on my own desktop said it was time for a quick break, but I stared at it for a moment and willed it to just jump ahead to clock out time and let me leave for the day. Nope. No superpowers for me.

My coworkers chatted as they made their way to the break room. I should have followed them, but I was dead tired. The next installment of my favorite game had dropped the night before, and like any decent gamer, I had stayed up far too late playing, and I was really dragging today.

Our break was only fifteen minutes long, but a quick nap would go a long way when dealing with all the Way-Backs still to come. I set an alarm on my phone, laid my head down on my arms, and I was asleep almost immediately.

It was all too soon that a chiming noise filled my ears and dragged me from my slumber. I let out a groan and reached my arms up to stretch. My left hand hit something hard on the way up, and when I turned to see what it was, I realized that I was not in the office anymore.

I was laying on my back on some kind of cold platform that was a far cry from the hard desk I had face-planted on. The ceiling was made out of some kind of rock, and the light kept dancing in orange, yellow, and red across its surface. It definitely wasn’t sunlight coming through the windows, but my first thought was a torch or flame and that made about as much sense as the cold bed I was on.

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