My God Ragnarok System

Ragnarok doesn't send a warning. The sky tears open, the world turns into a battlefield, and the gods watch like it's entertainment. A handful of people wake up with power. Most don't wake up at all. He's one of the ones who doesn't — not the first time. A nameless monster gets him in his first week, before he even understands what's happening. Then he opens his eyes again. There's a system in his head now, something that shouldn't exist, born out of Ragnarok itself. It doesn't hand him anything. Every stat, every step forward, has to be earned in blood before the system even considers giving it to him. And he does earn it, through every hardship the system throws at him and every scrap of training he forces into his own bones. When he decides to fight, there's no half-measure — he has to see it through. When the world demands more than he's ready for, he adapts faster than he should, because the alternative is dying slower than he'd like. But strength doesn't go unnoticed — not in a world run by gods. The more he grows, the more he draws their eyes, and the harder it gets to stay just another face in the crowd. This world was built to reset itself clean. He's the one thing in it that won't go quietly. "You want to reset the world? Then you better be ready to put me down first — because I'm not #####ing finished yet."