The Invincible Full-Moon System Chapter 1761: Humiliation and Pride

From the beginning of existence, the First Light manifested specific constraints that were passed down to his descendants.

He accepted a divine decree in exchange for a level of power that towered over all others.

An Angel is forbidden from using their strength to strike those whose hearts are free of corruption. Their primary mandate is the preservation of life and the shielding of the guileless. Every soul born into the Angel race inherits these fundamental restrictions.

It is a noble, majestic, and untainted duty suited for the most powerful beings.

The core message of the First Light was simple: power can be a force for good.

Demons had been known long before the arrival of Angels, and their erratic, often malicious pursuit of strength had warped the world’s perception. Power was frequently linked to evil. Consequently, the philosophy brought by the First Light carried immense weight.

It was so influential that, in the eyes of many, the very concept of an Angel became synonymous with righteousness.

If a person were asked to visualize the pinnacle of virtue, they would likely picture an Angel.

Throughout the passing ages, the Angel race remained steadfast in this reputation.

However, nothing is ever entirely pure.

Rumors persisted of a legendary figure among the Angels who possessed the ability to circumvent the decree of the Origin.

An Angel—or rather, an Archangel—who could wield his strength without restraint to inflict harm.

This figure was despised by all.

In fact, most dismissed his existence as a fabrication—a myth designed to tarnish the reputation of the Angel race.

Perhaps it was merely demonic propaganda.

But he was no ghost... he was the Archangel of Knives.

In the heights of the main heaven, stories of the Archangel of Knives were told to children as a warning; they were told that misbehavior would summon his visit. The tactic worked. For a long era, the mere mention of his name would instill a sense of dread or deep anxiety in other Angels.

Yet, that legendary Archangel of Knives was currently being dragged through the dirt.

"Herghh—!"

With a violent struggle, Stelios hauled himself out of the massive, yawning crater where he had landed.

He hooked his arm over the rim and heaved his body up, his eyes burning with pure malice.

The sheer force of the collision had disrupted his holy energy and caused the capillaries in his eyes to burst.

Now, his vision was tinted crimson, making his murderous expression even more terrifying.

Stelios pulled himself forward, his breath coming in ragged, labored gasps.

After finally clearing the edge of the pit, he attempted to stand, only to falter and collapse back onto his knees. He tried once more, his frame shuddering with the effort, but he met the same failure. Eventually, his eyes drifted downward.

His once-flawless, holy armor was now a wreck.

Fractures like spiderwebs covered his breastplate, and entire sections had been pulverized, exposing his bruised skin. The humiliation was unbearable. It was so intense that his entire body vibrated with a white-hot fury.

A defeat like this should have been a literal impossibility.

Not only should his Cultivation have easily suppressed the Royal Black Prince, but his wargear had been custom-made for this fight, reinforced with a fine layer of enchanted pure silver.

Despite those advantages, it had been smashed to pieces.

"That vibration I sensed before..." Stelios clawed at his face in a fit of manic rage.

"That was celestial energy, wasn't it? The power of the God realm. It was faint... but unmistakable." His voice sank into a venomous rasp as he processed the thought, followed by a jagged, broken laugh—a sound born of both indignation and bitter insanity. "And for that power to suppress me... You expect me to believe his divinity... that his divinity is superior to mine? Me? ME?!"

Stelios gripped the soil with his bare hands, crushing the earth until it dissolved into glowing particles of light.

The logic of the situation was an affront to history. The Royal Black Prince was a mere child, hardly old enough to be his distant descendant. It was beyond the realm of possibility for such a youth to possess a divinity that eclipsed his own.

It was a sick joke.

Furthermore, Werewolves were not supposed to be Demi-Gods—they possessed no lineage connecting them to the God Realm.

And yet, against all reason, the Royal Black Prince was a Demi-God.

It was incomprehensible—and utterly infuriating.

Even the strike the Royal Black Prince had utilized earlier was deeply saturated with the power of the God Realm.

It wasn't a standard Moon Ability that merely borrowed strength from the Lunirich Gods; it was their actual, direct power.

Specifically, it was the power of the Blood Moon.

Stelios had only ever seen such a phenomenon once: within the Werewolf Origin. But that being was an Origin, the one who had personally forged a pact with the Lunirich Gods. It was only natural for him to carry a spark of celestial energy.

In contrast, the Royal Black Prince was a nobody, yet he carried that same divine trace.

Pure, unadulterated frustration took hold of Stelios.

He slammed his palms against the ground repeatedly, shattering the stone to vent his boiling temper.

"You are the one who made us weak!" Stelios screamed as he struck the earth, his eyes ablaze with resentment. "You made it nearly impossible for us to elevate our divinity. Accumulating divine power by saving people? What a pathetic joke! I'll bet that filth increased his divinity by consuming others; that's the only way he could have overtaken me!"

"Damn you!!" An agonizing shriek tore from his lungs.

Stelios directed his hatred toward the First Light.

Why were they burdened with restrictions? Why was their power reserved for the sake of others? Why?

These questions haunted his mind like a sickness.

"I'm glad you're dead."

"Your Grace..."

A voice reached out to him, causing him to whip around toward the speaker; it was Empress Morgana.

Her features were clouded with concern.

"Are you hurt?" She stepped toward him, reaching out to assist him, but he rejected her violently. He slapped her hand away as if her very skin were contagious. "Your Grace, I beg you," she pleaded, keeping her voice as soft and submissive as she could. "Allow me to assist. This isn't necessary. If we work together, we can destroy him with ease."

He offered no reply.

Stelios continued to tremble in his silent fury, treating her words as if they were nothing but wind.

Though it was frustrating, she felt no anger toward him.

A Half-Angel like her could never truly grasp the internal world of a true Angel.

Empress Morgana lowered her gaze, not even daring to let out a sigh. "I... I have already secured the First Light."

At the mention of that name, Stelios bolted to his feet and seized her by the face.

"Do you actually believe you're superior to me? Just because you live in this established world and have gained a bit of strength, you think you've surpassed me?!" He bellowed, his enraged eyes boring into hers. "Are you implying I can't hunt him down myself? Are you suggesting I lack the power to protect the First Light on my own?!"

"Y-Your Grace, no... that wasn't my meaning," Empress Morgana stammered, shaking her head in fear.

But no explanation could dampen the fire raging inside Stelios.

Pah!

Stelios delivered a brutal slap to Empress Morgana, sending her sprawling across the floor.

She clutched her stinging cheek but made no move to defend herself.

Her pathetic display only fueled Stelios’s anger further, and he began to kick her in the ribs repeatedly.

"You are nothing but a tainted beast who happens to carry our blood. Learn your place," he spat, planting his boot on her shoulder and shoving her aside. "You require me to cleanse that disgusting blood of yours so you can become a true Angel before transitioning to a Dark Angel. And you think you're my equal? You think you can help me?!"

Bam—!

He drove his foot hard into Empress Morgana’s midsection.

The force of the blow was technically insignificant to her, as she was stronger than Stelios, but she allowed it to happen.

She didn't even attempt to use her Qi to shield herself.

Even when she felt her protective artifacts begin to activate, she suppressed them immediately.

Taking the abuse was better than further provoking Stelios’s wrath.

"I apologize," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper against the stone. "I was out of line."

Empress Morgana leaned forward, pressing her brow against the frigid ground in a gesture of total submission.

It wasn't enough for him.

Stelios placed his foot over the area of her heart, applying a cold, unrelenting pressure.

He ground her face into the dirt.

To him, her loyalty was worth less than the dust under his boot.

"If you fail the window to become an Angel, you will never be a Dark Angel or one of us. So never speak to me of 'helping' again," Stelios hissed in a haunting tone. "Your only purpose is to obey. That is all you are good for."

"This is my final hunt, and I will finish it alo—?!"

Crack!!

Before he could finish his thought, a massive, thunderous boom echoed through the heavens.

The barrier holding April had finally shattered.

Stelios snapped his head upward, his every move showing a tired but stubborn will to fight.

His holy energy was nearly spent, but it remained as a low, persistent flicker within his Dantian.

Exhausted as he was, he refused to believe he would lose a battle of endurance. It didn't matter if his opponent was a royal werewolf. He had outlasted countless Werewolves in the past; this would be no different.

A crimson blur streaked down toward the Tomb of Heroes.

It was moving incredibly fast, but Stelios recognized the Royal Black Prince immediately.

He must have retrieved April and was now moving to hide her somewhere within the Tomb of Heroes.

Regardless, Stelios had no intention of letting him succeed.

"Not while I'm still standing!"

Stelios unfurled his six feathered wings and coiled the muscles in his legs, preparing to intercept.

However, his eyes widened as a heavy thud sounded behind him.

Suddenly, the sunlight that had been hitting his back was blocked, casting him into a deep shadow. A low, guttural growl that seemed to vibrate his very soul echoed behind him, filling his ears.

Even before turning around, Stelios knew exactly who was there.

If the growl wasn't enough, the look of pure shock on Empress Morgana’s face confirmed it.

When he finally looked over his shoulder, he was met with a terrifying sight.

'He's enormous—?!'

Just as he feared, Rex was standing right behind him, radiating a murderous intent so vast it could fill an ocean. And he had grown. He was significantly larger than before. Earlier, he had been roughly twice Stelios’s height, but now he was even taller.

Rex stood at least ten feet tall, perhaps even more.

His fury had physically expanded his body, a trait Stelios had never known him to possess.

"Royal Black Prince!!"

Seeing Rex standing tall after that impact ignited a fresh wave of rage in Stelios.

Rex was clearly still battered and bleeding in places, but by all rights, he should have been incapacitated on the ground.

That was how this duel was supposed to conclude.

Instead, Rex appeared to be in better condition than he was, which was beyond insulting.

Fueled by blind, frantic rage, Stelios threw himself at Rex—a golden streak of fury devoid of fear. The response was not a parry, but a devastating impact. Rex’s talons met him in mid-air with absolute force, sounding like a mountain splitting apart, and sent him tumbling backward.

Stelios flared his wings to stop his fall, his feathers shedding both light and broken pride.

He had barely regained his footing when the space in front of him went dark.

Rex was already upon him, moving with the unstoppable speed of a predator.

Boom!

The two locked hands in a brutal test of strength.

Rex snarled viciously, crushing Stelios’s armored hand in his grip and warping the metal.

Stelios hovered to meet Rex’s gaze, his body erupting in a brilliant golden glow.

"You're sweating quite a bit, Archangel of Knives... are you starting to taste defeat?"

"I haven't exhausted my arsenal yet, Royal Black Prince. Try this on for size..."

As he spoke, Rex watched as Stelios’s six wings curved forward, pointing their tips at him. Each wing tip surged with holy energy and began to glow, but then the tips started to crack and split until blood began to seep out.

Swoosh!

Rex flinched as a powerful vacuum force erupted from the wing tips.

It wasn't pulling his body—it was siphoning something vital from within him.

It was draining his rage, converting it directly into holy energy to fuel Stelios’s own power.

<Notice: the user is suffering from the Vambrace of the Hunter!>

<The user’s anger was drained rapidly!>

<All physical stats are gradually decreasing.>