Chapter 330 Angel's Dream: Where are my wings
"...Do you want to activate it..."
"...Oh...he himself agreed..."
< br>It’s another brand new day on Parcel Moon.
Sanguinius woke up in the small nest he had specially prepared to sleep more comfortably. He reluctantly squinted his eyes and looked at the sun, and the overwhelming sleepiness turned into the most intense sleep in the entire galaxy. The solid barrier pushed Sanguinius deeper into the den.
He turned over, vaguely feeling that there was some strange difference somewhere, but he didn't have time to decide to sleep for a while before he fell into the abyss of sleep.
About a third of Terra's hour later, Sanguinius suddenly opened his eyes, clutching a messy quilt, and woke up completely refreshed. He felt that something was definitely wrong with him, but a special lightness covered up the abnormality.
He jumped out of the den, his perspective suddenly dropped, and he found that his room had been enlarged incomprehensibly at some point: the thin wooden tabletop was higher than his head, and the water glass placed on it needed to be tiptoed. He had to stand on tiptoe to get it, and even if he got it, he would probably have to hold the cup with both hands.
His little nest became big enough to sleep two of himself. Such a spacious and warm bed made him want to climb up and sleep again.
Right above him, the picture of the angel's coming to the world drawn by the tribe was as high as if it was really in the sky. His own flawless face was gazing at him compassionately, making the saint Gilles felt embarrassed.
Then, just as Sanguinius was about to flutter his wings, he discovered the last change of the day.
His wings flew away from him.
The angel's smile disappeared immediately. After an extremely strong thought - could this be the moment of a sweet dream, he thought in disbelief. The endless worries were like Baal's sandstorm, instantly burying him in the wandering sand dunes.
Sanguinius tentatively reached his hand behind his back, pushed aside his soft long hair, and touched his back where he should have a pair of pure white wings.
There was nothing, no remnants of feathers, no strong roots of wings, no subtle itching of down feathers brushing against his fingertips, there was only his empty, smooth back that was not covered by clothes.
The clothes that had been cut at the back to accommodate the wings were now simply tattered robes with a big hole in the back. They should quickly go to the tailor to replace them with new ones.
He frowned and was worried. He didn't know who had cast such a spell on him and when he would be able to recover in the future.
For his part, Sanguinius was itching to rush out, break through all the doors that he had previously been unable to enter due to his size and wings, and escape from the rock fortress like the rest of the Horde. You walked in through the narrow main entrance with your feet instead of arduously flying to the top of the hundreds of meters high rock formations, and then flying down through the large hole on the top of the fortress for ventilation and light transmission.
Every time he had to bathe in the sunshine from the sky, the admiring looks of the men and women around him made him almost unable to keep the smile on his face.
Sanguinius walked towards the indoor mirror. The usually short distance became twice as long, and even extended further because of his hesitation.
Now that he is in Baal and plays an important role as the leader of the pure-blood tribe, he must consider the serious impact that his loss of flying ability and superhuman physique will have on the entire tribe. The loss of glory, especially the loss of combat and administrative capabilities, will truly affect the survival of the entire tribe.
And the Emperor. Sanguinius thought. The Emperor will arrive soon. Would the Lord of Mankind prefer to see a mortal, or a mutated gene-child?
Maybe the Emperor didn't want to see either of them.
Sanguinius pinched his fingers absentmindedly and stared at the man in the mirror who was still beautiful but sad.
Then what bargaining chip will he use to exchange for the political and religious autonomy of Baal's triple celestial sphere within the human empire? Sanguinius found it difficult to get his feet out of his chamber, he had to figure out what was happening to him. Maybe he could turn to Konrad Coates, and the new guy Morse. But that meant he had to get out of the room and let others see him as he was now.
He did not allow himself to be immersed in trouble for too long.
The smaller angel pursed his lips and climbed onto the chair in order to ring the brass bell hanging above the table. Soon, the mortal maid responsible for serving him appeared outside his door - and it was not until the maid called his name that Sanguinius realized that he had not even sensed the other person's footsteps.
Okay, it’s okay. Sanguinius encouraged himself.
"Come in," said the angel, returning to the ground and leaning against his chair. From the moment the maid appeared, he carefully observed every expression and movement of the maid, wanting to know how the other party viewed his changed self.
The maid held the tray with one hand and smiled at the angel indifferently: "Lord Sanguinius, your breakfast."
Sanguinius confirmed again and again until the maid's expression became confused. . He hesitated for a moment, took the tray from the other party, and put it on a chair of suitable height. At the same time, he casually asked: "Do you think I am any different today, Ayesha?"
"You You look better than usual," the maid replied, "Maybe it's because you slept for an extra hour today."
Sanguinius raised his eyebrows in surprise: "Are you complaining to me? "
"How dare I, my lord." The maid smiled slyly, "Please enjoy your breakfast slowly, the bread has just been reheated."
Sanguinius nodded and sent the maid away. Then, he looked in the mirror full of doubts for the second time and clicked on his white face set off by his blond hair in the mirror.
It seems that his magical charm has also disappeared, and...it seems that others don't think there is anything wrong with him?
It was the most incredible dream he could have imagined.
With hesitation, Sanguinius picked up the morning glass of grape juice, tasted it, and made a move.
He was sure that he either woke up and went to a completely different world, or he was still lying in his den having his sweet dream.
The soil of Parvado is not capable of cultivating such sweet grapes.
Sanguinius tried to stretch his hands, finally able to stretch his arms back more comfortably now that he had lost his troublesome wings.
No matter what the truth is, Angel is convinced that this is a problem that a non-psionic genius like him cannot solve on his own.
Then, why didn’t he enjoy this sudden gift?
Sanguinius pushed the door energetically but did not push it open.
He smiled at his dizzy self, opened the door inward, and determined to get out of the room.
Thirty seconds later, Sanguinius fled back indoors and began to ring the bell urgently.
After losing his extraordinary physique, Barr's radiation hit his face, like a fine needle sweeping across his skin. Maybe this was the price of the gift - he had to ask the maids if there was any protective clothing suitable for him.
(End of this chapter)