The Invincible Full-Moon System

Chapter 2026: Origin-rank Bloodlines (3)

Rex gained access to four Origin-rank bloodlines, so it would only be appropriate that one of them was the Original Werewolf bloodline. He was surprised to read the name on the hovering card at first, but it died quickly.

As it turned out, this memory covered two bloodlines at the same time.

Now, Rex wasn’t in the White Omicron’s body, but he was inside the Original Werewolf.

Every nerve, every muscle—and every shattered bone was now screaming at him as the sheer presence of the White Omicron against his body was horrible. After all, the White Omicron is the direct counter to the werewolf race.

He knew that already.

And it also influenced the Original Werewolf.

From the start, it was really strange that there was an entity made solely to kill werewolves.

Hah, you wish. I’m sure I can read the White Omicron’s description through the card.

Rex sneered at the System’s attempt to extract gold from him the moment he was richer than normal.

Killing Mayar had made him a rich man, and he had no intention of vacating that title in the near future.

Swoosh—!

Across from him, the White Omicron stood above on the impossible rock formation. A figure of brilliant light—the personification of death for werewolves. A reaper given form. Even looking at the featureless light made more wounds.

Rex felt his eyes burn, felt blood seeping from the sockets as the sheer presence overwhelmed his senses.

His regeneration, or rather, the Original Werewolf’s regeneration, which was far superior, fought hard to keep pace—but it was visibly losing. The initial shockwave that had wiped out a million werewolves still lingered in the air, a poisonous afterimage that gnawed at his flesh.

His right arm had turned to pale sand, dissolving at the shoulder.

And though the regeneration was already working to pull it back into existence, the process was slow.

Slower than it should have been.

For werewolves, the White Omicron wasn’t simply another entity—it was an ending.

But even then, the Original Werewolf did not kneel.

He lifted his head dominantly, while his ruined eyes blazed—with a defiance that had survived the death of his entire people. Anger climbed to his throat like lava climbing to erupt, and then his mouth blasted with a thunderous howl.

Aooouuu—!

Not a sound of grief, but a declaration of war and intimidation.

Moonlight energy exploded from his body in a violent—silvery detonation. It was purer than anything Rex had ever felt—a raw, unfiltered connection to the moon itself, as if the celestial body had reached down and poured its very essence into the werewolf’s soul.

On his forehead, the Super Moon King Mark blazed.

It burned with a light that rivalled the White Omicron’s own destructive light.

Kingly energy erupted outward, and as the howl reached its ending, the Original Werewolf slammed his claws into the pale desert underneath him. The impact cracked the world. A ripple of pale blue light tore through the sand, spreading outward in a shockwave that stripped the desert away and revealed the true terrain beneath.

A rocky wasteland of black stone and ancient stone.

His slam pushed the pale sand away, and in its place, the bones of the earth lay exposed.

And then, from every corner of that broken land, something began to climb out.

Souls. Blue and flickering, they rose from the stone like smoke from a dying fire. They were the fallen werewolves—the million dead, the million marked, the million kings who had stared death in the eyes and charged into oblivion.

Their bodies reconstructed themselves from the pale sand, rising as hollow husks, dead but standing.

They moved as one, an army of the fallen, and they turned toward the Original Werewolf.

Rex watched the spectacle in a marvel.

What in the world...?

Another rip-off from the System, but Rex couldn’t help but agree.

He wanted to know what was really happening.

Incredible... Its authority even reached the soul?

Rex was completely taken aback.

Something like that was beyond even his dominance over the Silverstar Pack.

And what interested him more was the corrupted werewolf. Turning his enemies into a werewolf would require extra steps that he couldn’t simply do in battle. Not to mention, it would also take up a precious slot in the Silverstar Pack.

Even after the Bloodline Evolution, when the slot was increased, he still wouldn’t do it.

Not to mention, turning his enemies into werewolves would develop a binding connection.

One that made it almost impossible for him to kill them afterward.

His instinct as the Alpha would not allow him to do that, and even if his willpower was stronger, there was also the penalty from the System for killing his own pack members. One that would damage both his berserk stat and sanity stat.

It was the reason why he was careful in choosing his pack members.

One death would impact him greatly.

Naturally, if he killed the pack member himself, he would be severely influenced. The penalty from the System would most likely be vicious.

But if it’s a corrupted werewolf, then he was quite sure there was no need for him to worry about that.

I need to have this power.

Just then, the first soul reached him and dissolved.

It became a phantom of blue light and smashed into his chest, seeping through the fur and flesh and into the core of his being. The second followed. Then the third. And then they came rushing in a flood—a tide of blue ghosts rushing across the rocky plain.

Each one devoured, absorbed, their power merging with the Original Werewolf’s own.

Rex felt it.

Inside, the overwhelming surge of energy, the impossible weight of a million souls pouring into a single vessel, was enormous. The wounds began to heal. Lacerations closed. The missing arm regrew in a burst of silver light. Internal injuries that should have been fatal knitted themselves back together.

And with every soul that joined him, his aura climbed higher and higher.

Kaboom—!

Another explosion resounded, destroying the surroundings even further.

But the tide did not stop. A million werewolves became a million rivers of blue light, smashing into the Original Werewolf from every direction. The force of it hurled his body left and right—a ragdoll caught in a storm of his own making, but still he absorbed it all.

Still, he grew stronger.

Once the last soul merged with him—the Original Werewolf stood still. The silence that followed was absolute. The White Omicron, still standing on its spire, seemed to dim. It was visibly questioning what had happened before its very eyes.

And the aura that the Original Werewolf was emanating could even activate its senses.

Right now, the Original Werewolf could actually hurt it.

And then, Rex finally charged.

Boom—!

Underneath, the rocky ground shattered.

A crack split the earth from horizon to horizon, a long, horizontal scar that carved the continent in two. The force of his movement sent shockwaves rippling outward—and the land itself seemed to scream in protest.

The distance vanished.

There was no wind, no blur of motion—only stillness, and then impact. One moment Rex stood on the cracked stone. The next, he was mid-air above the White Omicron, gleaming blue claws raised. Space itself seemed to tear as he thrust forward, the tips of his claws slicing through the fabric of dimension, opening a wound into a starless void.

But the White Omicron was faster.

A lance of pure light exploded from its chest and impaled him through the heart.

Rex’s eyes bulged.

Blood burst from his mouth in a hot spray, and the world darkened as his body went limp.

I... I’m dying?!

He gasped as the world turned black, as the entity had killed him with a single strike.

Just then, a howl sounded inside his skull. It was the cry of a million souls—and the darkness shattered. Strength surged back into his limbs. Life flooded his veins. He came back. Rex blinked his eyes as the light returned.

Before he could wrap his head around what happened, his claws swept in a brutal arc.

It caught the White Omicron across its formless torso. The impact detonated—splintering into needles of dimensional energy that shredded the sky. The entity was hurled downward hard, smashing into the pale desert with world-shaking force.

Rex pursued without a pause.

He crossed the distance in a blur, but the White Omicron was already rising.

Its body swelled with a crippling light—as a spectral roar tore from its non-existent mouth as it became a second moon. A sphere of searing white fire that pushed back against everything. The light hit him. His skin disintegrated. His muscles burned away. His bones turned to dust.

As he fell from the sky, the world went black once again.

But then, the collective howl greeted him, and he was revived. Back from the dead.

Splash—!

Rex landed on the ground and resisted the light that pushed like a physical blow, and he died again. And again. And again. Each time, the White Omicron unmade him. Each time, the million souls that he had absorbed pulled him back to the world of the living.

It was a painful cycle.

Death and resurrection flickered through him faster than a heartbeat—each revival a fresh wound, each death a new darkness. But he kept moving. One step. Two. His flesh sloughed away, his bones crumbled, and still he pushed forward through the blinding light.

The howling inside him grew louder.

All of them had died in anger, and that anger fueled Rex’s body to keep on going.

No matter how many times Rex needed to die, the million souls would guarantee his victory against the White Omicron. And with every resurrection, the White Omicron’s light dimmed. The second moon flickered rapidly.

The reaper of werewolves was tiring.

Rex was not. The Original Werewolf could not.

The dead were with him, and they would not stop until he killed that debilitating light.

Once again, the world turned black.

Not because he died, but because he was pulled into the dark space once again.

Rex panted heavily—as the display of power from both the White Omicron and the Original Werewolf was surprising. ”One has a light that would disintegrate werewolves—while the other carried the anger of a million werewolves. Incredible.”

Out of the two, he liked the Original Werewolf more.

As strong as the White Omicron was, its power was limited to werewolves and maybe beasts.

It wouldn’t be useful for the Purgation Duel.

Right now, Rex had already made up his mind to take one trait from the Black Omicron and the Original Werewolf. He could still have one more trait—so naturally, his eyes shifted to the last brilliant card that was hovering to his right.

Rex read the name.

”Progenitor of Beasts...?”

His consciousness was pulled again.

From the name alone, Rex couldn’t quite guess what this bloodline could even be.

Among the others, this one was the only bloodline that he didn’t know anything about. Not even a bit.

But as his consciousness lingered in the darkness, he frowned, as there was nothing around. He waited for a little bit more, and yet the darkness still prevailed. Is this it? No display of what this new bloodline could do? What’s going on, System?

Just as he thought of that, he was returned to the dark space again.

”What...?”