Chapter 130: The Wrath Of The Origin Clan

Chapter 130: The Wrath Of The Origin ClanMidnight struck. Across seven countries, across oceans and mountain passes, the world trembled as the sky cracked with crimson thunder. Resistance bases, once hidden by shadow and secrecy, now faced a reckoning. It began with silence. It ended with screams.

New Delhi Outpost

The guards barely had time to blink.

One second, the wall was still.

The next—blood bloomed in the air like petals on the wind. It twisted into spiraling ribbons, wrapping around necks, limbs, and rifles. Then it tightened.

Bodies dropped. Some without heads. Some without spines.

A woman stepped through the gore. Red eyes glowing softly, ribbons of living blood fluttering behind her like wings. She didn’t touch anyone. She didn’t need to.

They fell all the same.

Her squad moved behind her—vampires trained in precision. One flicked his wrist. Blood pooled from his palm and became throwing needles. Another sliced with a single red-threaded finger, severing limbs like butter.

"Stack the corpses," she whispered, voice cold.

Her men obeyed. And when they finished, she lit them with one spark of red fire.



—

Berlin Command Bunker

The alarms went off too late. By the time soldiers gathered in formation, she was already among them.

A flicker. A breath of shadow.

And then nothing.

Screams burst from every direction. Men vanished into the walls. Bullets fired at reflections that didn’t exist. Blades of pure darkness sliced through armor like silk.

In the control room, one general tried to run.

A hand reached from his own shadow—grabbed his ankle—and dragged him under the desk.

She appeared behind him. Hood down. Pale lips curled into a faint smile.

"Darkness listens," she whispered.

And the room blinked out.

—

Amazon Outpost

They heard him coming before they saw him.

Heavy steps. Metal boots cracking rock. Each one like a drumbeat of war.

The Butcher King arrived with no words. Just a blade strapped across his back the size of a streetlamp.

He grabbed the first soldier and slammed him into a steel door—then used his twitching body to batter three more.

His squad? Berserkers. Vampires who had replaced their hearts with runes of rage. They fought like animals, ripping Resistance fighters apart with their bare hands.

He stepped into the armory, picked up a tank, and hurled it into the command tent.

Boom.

No survivors.

—

Tokyo Underground Lab

No screams here. No chaos.

Just silence.

Zane moved like a scalpel. Efficient. Cold. His eyes glowed like burning coal, and his power hummed like electricity under skin.

He appeared behind a tech, pierced his spine with a shadow spike, and turned to the next before the body hit the floor.

Beside him, his personal unit—mirror images of his own ability—moved in sync. Each one used blood and shadow like a martial art.

In the lab’s core, he found the central processor. Without emotion, he placed a sphere of condensed blood inside the system.

"Good night," he said.

The entire base collapsed from the inside.

—

Moscow Barracks

Screaming. So much screaming.

It wasn’t just the soldiers—it was their bodies.

Roland grinned as he twisted his fingers. The bones of his enemies turned against them. Ribs ruptured outward, spines coiled like serpents.

He stepped over a man who was still begging for his skeleton to stop moving.

"You should have worn thicker skin," Roland said.

His elite? Bonewalkers—vampires who had grafted extra limbs from dead foes. Together, they looked like a nightmare.

And they made the entire base look like a butcher’s temple.

—

Nairobi Resistance Cell

Silas walked in, arms wide.

"Guns? Really?" he asked the squad aiming at him.

They opened fire.

He copied the bullets mid-flight.

And sent them back—multiplied.

In ten seconds, he had the sniper’s position, their enchantments, and the flamethrower of the frontline brute.

He burned the last man with his own fire.

Then walked away, smiling.

—

London Safehouse

Words carved into the air.

Runes of old. Symbols of power.

Kira walked down the staircase of the safehouse and whispered, "Die screaming."

And one by one, the men above clawed at their throats, unable to breathe.

She said, "Fall apart."

And their bones shattered inside their flesh.

No sword. No hand raised. Just words.

And that was all she needed.

—

Istanbul

Osric landed in silence.



His chains didn’t clink. They slithered.

He pointed once, and three souls flew from his side—wrapped in molten chain links—slamming into the enemy frontlines.

He pulled.

Three bodies were dragged back—screaming—and crushed mid-air.

His team? Soulbinders. Armed with spectral weapons tied to the spirits of their ancestors.

The whole base was silent by the time the sun rose.

—

Seoul

Flash.

Flash.

Nothing moved faster than Vel. Not even light.

The first base thought it had time to react.

It didn’t.

A red spark danced through the corridors, splitting skulls before a single breath could be taken. Vel zipped from body to body, each strike turning bones to ash.

His squad used shockwave steps—blurring faster than the eye.

When the base cameras were reviewed—there was no footage.

Just static.

—

Athens

Daron wore glasses, a vest, and a bored expression.

He didn’t lift a weapon.

He didn’t need to.

Every soldier was where he wanted them. Every mine was in place. Every angle covered.

His squad followed silently. Acting like pawns. But every move led to a checkmate.

Explosions lined the hallways as soldiers funneled themselves into traps he’d designed six days ago.

By the time the base realized it, it was too late.

The final explosion spelled "Checkmate" in fire.

—

Paris

She stepped through a rift the size of her hand—and came out the size of the sky.

Mira did not fight with strength. She fought with absence.

Void swallowed her enemies. It didn’t kill them. It erased them.

One by one, soldiers vanished. Their screams echoed from places they’d never return from.

Her elite team opened rifts and tossed grenades into dimensions—then pulled monsters out of others.

By the end, Paris had a new sinkhole. They called it "The Wound."

—

Cape Town

Jax stomped through the gates like a titan of war.

His right arm rotated like a saw. His left—part cannon, part claw.

He ripped through the first tank like paper, using its own barrel as a club.

His team moved with robotic rhythm. Half-undead. Half-machine. All death.

One of them crashed into the central power core.

The lights across the city blinked. And the Resistance line died with it.

—

Norway

The snow turned red within minutes.

Fenra led her werewolves through the hills like wolves in open war.

Her howl shattered the Resistance radio tower. Her claws cracked open their bunker.

She moved like thunder wrapped in fur, her eyes glowing bright gold.

No mercy. No talk.

Just teeth.

—

Shanghai

Serah’s roses grew from blood.

Her steps left red vines curling from the floor.

The Resistance in Shanghai saw her once—and then their veins did the rest.

Her magic entered them, bloomed inside them, and tore them apart from within.

By the time she finished, a field of thorn-covered corpses grew beneath her feet.

—

Alaska

Riven walked alone.

No power. No weapons.

Just a bat and the perfect timing.

Every punch he threw broke something important.



Every move he made dodged a bullet.

He walked through machine gun fire like it was rain. Not because he was immune. Because he moved before it hit.

By the end, the entire base surrendered.

He didn’t kill anyone.

He didn’t have to.

He just stood in front of the general... and said:

"You’re done."

—

From every corner of the world, Origin’s wrath echoed.

The Resistance had drawn first blood.

But the 15 Seats bled them dry.

And this was just the beginning.