Chapter 330 Angel's Dream Where Are My Wings?

Chapter 330 Angel's Dream·Where are my wings

"...Do you want to activate it..."

"...Oh...He himself has agreed..."

It's a brand new day on Baal.

Sanguinius woke up in the small nest he had specially prepared for himself to sleep more comfortably. He squinted his eyes and looked at the sunlight. The overwhelming sleepiness turned into the strongest barrier in the entire galaxy, pushing Sanguinius deeper into the nest.

He turned over and vaguely felt that there was something strange, but before he fell into the abyss of sleep, he didn't have time to decide to sleep for a while.

About a third of a Terra hour later, Sanguinius suddenly opened his eyes, grabbed a mess of quilts, and woke up completely refreshed. He felt that there was definitely something wrong with him, but a special feeling of lightness covered up the abnormality.

He jumped off the nest, and his perspective suddenly dropped. He found that his room had been incomprehensibly enlarged: the thin wooden tabletop was higher than his head, and he had to stand on tiptoe to get the water cup on it. Even if he got it, he would probably need to hold it with both hands.

His nest was big enough to sleep two of him. Such a spacious and warm bed made him want to climb up and sleep again.

Right above him, the picture of the angel's advent drawn by the tribe for him was so high that it seemed to be in the sky. His own flawless face was staring at him mercifully, which made Sanguinius embarrassed.

Then, when Sanguinius wanted to shake his wings, he found the last change of the day.

His wings left him.

The angel's smile disappeared immediately. After an extremely strong thought - could this be a dream moment, he thought unbelievably, and endless worries buried him in the wandering sand dunes like a sandstorm in Baal.

Sanguinius tentatively reached behind him, pushed aside his soft long hair, and touched his back where a pair of pure white wings should be.

There was nothing, no remaining feathers, no strong roots of wings, no subtle itch of feathers brushing against his fingertips, there was only his empty, smooth back without clothes.

The clothes that were cut open on his back to install wings were now just a torn robe with a big hole on the back. He should go to the tailor to change new clothes.

His brows were furrowed, and he was worried. He didn't know who cast such a spell on him, and when he could recover in the future.

As for himself, Sanguinius wanted to rush out and break through all the doors that he could not enter before due to his size and wings, and like other people in the tribe, walk in through the narrow main door of the rock fortress, instead of flying to the top of the towering rock formation hundreds of meters high and then flying down from the large hole on the top of the fortress for ventilation and light.

Every time he had to descend from the sky in the sun, the admiring eyes of the men and women around him almost made him lose his smile.

Sanguinius walked towards the mirror in the room, and the short distance he usually took became twice as long, and even extended further because of his hesitation.

Since he was in Baal and served as the leader of the pure-blood tribe, he had to consider the serious impact on the entire tribe after losing his ability to fly and his superhuman physique. Losing his glory is second only to the loss of combat and administrative capabilities, which will truly affect the survival of the entire tribe.

And the Emperor. Sanguinius thought. The Emperor will come soon. Will the Lord of Mankind prefer to see a mortal or a mutant gene-son?

Perhaps the Emperor does not want to see either.

Sanguinius pinched his fingers absentmindedly, staring at the man in the mirror who was still beautiful but worried.

What bargaining chips would he give in exchange for the political and religious autonomy of the Triple Sphere of Baal within the human empire?

Sanguinius found it difficult to step out of his room. He had to figure out what happened to him. Maybe he could ask for help from Conrad Curze and the new Morse. But that meant he had to go out of the room and let others see him now.

He did not allow himself to dwell on his troubles for too long.

The shrunken angel pursed his lips and climbed onto the chair so that he could ring the brass bell hanging above the table. Soon, the mortal maid who was responsible for serving him appeared outside his door-and it was not until the maid called his name that Sanguinius realized that he did not even sense the other's footsteps.

Well, it's okay. Sanguinius encouraged himself.

"Come in," the angel said, returning to the ground and standing against his chair. From the moment the maid appeared, he carefully observed every expression and movement of the maid, wanting to know how she viewed the changes in himself.

The maid held the tray in one hand and smiled at the angel without any abnormality: "Lord Sanguinius, your breakfast."

Sanguinius confirmed again and again until the maid's expression became puzzled. He hesitated for a moment, took the tray from the other party, and put it on a chair of suitable height, while casually asking: "Do you think I am different today, Aisha?"

"You look better than usual," the maid replied, "Maybe it's because you slept an extra hour today."

Sanguinius raised his eyebrows in surprise: "Are you complaining to me?"

"How dare I, sir." The maid smiled cunningly, "Please enjoy your breakfast slowly, the bread has just been reheated."

Sanguinius nodded and sent the maid away. Then, he looked in the mirror for the second time with doubt, and pointed at his fair face against the golden hair.

It seemed that his strange charm, like magic, had also disappeared, and... it seemed that no one thought there was anything wrong with him?

It was like the most incredible dream he could imagine.

With a hesitant heart, Sanguinius picked up the glass of grape juice in the morning, tasted it, and paused.

He was sure that he had either woken up to a completely different world, or was still lying in his nest dreaming.

The soil of Baal was not capable of growing such sweet grapes.

Sanguinius tried to stretch his hands, and because he had lost his troublesome wings, he was finally able to stretch his arms back more comfortably.

Whatever the truth was, the angel was sure that this was a problem that a non-psychic genius like him could not solve by himself.

So why didn't he enjoy this sudden gift?

Sanguinius pushed the door with a spirited look, but it didn't open.

He smiled at his dizzy self, pulled the door inward, and was determined to leave the room.

Thirty seconds later, Sanguinius fled back to the room and began to ring the emergency bell.

After losing his extraordinary physique, Baal's radiation rushed to his face, like fine needles sweeping across his skin. Perhaps this is the price of the gift - he has to ask the maids if there is a protective suit suitable for him.