With great power comes the ability to possess many things. If one becomes powerful enough to ascend to godhood, even having every wish granted isn’t impossible—a truth widely known.
Thus, everyone craves strength. Yet heaven is unjust: not all who seek power succeed. Countless factors constrain their choices.
Talent is the most typical barrier. It’s an elusive thing—for some, having talent or its degree comes down to sheer luck. It might also manifest unevenly across fields: someone utterly hopeless with a sword might excel at alchemy.
Sometimes, however, talent is glaringly obvious at first glance. Bloodline is the prime example. Descendants of the strong—especially in families that frequently intermarry, layering ancestral bloodlines—often inherit their forebears’ aptitudes. This can even become a fixed trait, one of the most well-known and effective ways to boost innate talent.
Additionally, every race possesses innate abilities. Their individual talent’s quality and potency vary sharply based on birth bloodline status.
Angelic bloodlines rank in six tiers. Mistflower now stands at the fifth tier. This means she was born with greater affinity for Divine Arts than I. When our cultivation levels are comparable, her physique surpasses mine, and her Divine Arts strike harder.
I felt envy—no, jealousy. Staring at her wings, I thought: *These should have been mine.* But I truly couldn’t afford more attention.
Unable to resist, I gently reached out to touch her wings. So soft, so fluffy. Warmth spread through my palm. *Might as well give them a squeeze.*
"Yah!" She recoiled violently, stumbling back. Her wings snapped shut behind her as she curled inward like a startled creature.
*Huh?* That reaction was odd. I’d barely pinched them. I spread my own wings forward, pinched one lightly—nothing. Squeezed harder—just pain. Was Mistflower unusually sensitive?
"Don’t move. Let me try again? It’s nothing much."
Forgive me, but her timid, shrinking posture—like she wanted to vanish into the water—paired with her current beauty, was utterly tempting. It made me want to tease her.
We stood close. I leaned in, nearly pressing against her. Flustered, she retreated backward—only to bump into another adorable red-haired angel still adjusting to her new body. Mistflower collapsed into her arms, and they accidentally groped each other.
"Sorry! So sorry!" Mistflower jolted away like she’d been shocked, stumbling back into my reach. Now trapped between a wolf in front and a tiger behind, she had nowhere to run.
But as the saying goes: corner a rabbit, and it’ll bite. In desperation, she struck back—reaching out to grab my wings and yanking hard. The surprise attack left me no time to react. She hit my weak spot dead-on.
"Ahh! Yaaah!" My cry was even more frantic than hers. An indescribable sensation flooded me—not quite pain, not quite itch. A tingling numbness shot from my wings up my spine, straight to my brain. A wounded-animal whine escaped my lips.
Ten seconds passed before I regained my senses. The strange feeling still clung to my feathers. My whole body went limp, strength utterly drained. I looked up to find every angel staring at me, whispering to companions after hearing my cry.
Humiliation burned my cheeks. I wanted to sink into the water like Mistflower had earlier. *So wings are this critical a weakness?* If I’m not careful later, one grab could force my surrender—no chance to fight back.
"Alright, seems you’re all awake. Anyone feel unwell? If not, congratulations—you’ve all succeeded. You’re true Angels now. Rise up. I’ve left clothes by the door. Get dressed in the hall, adapt to your bodies. I’ll take you through the formalities shortly."
Bishop Farina finished cheerfully, then hurried out of the conversion pool. The ritual had drained her—channeling the Divine Realm took its toll. She needed rest.
We clambered out one by one. Neat piles of white silk dresses waited by the door, identical to those worn by angels in the temple murals. Since we all appeared female now, dressing was quicker. Soon, everyone stood in the hall, chatting with familiar faces while testing their new limbs.
I took the chance to observe. The girls hadn’t changed drastically. Subtle refinements made them more beautiful, but their identities remained clear.
The boys, however, were unrecognizable. Only hair and eye colors—and minor features—remained. I vividly recalled a giant over two and a half meters tall entering the pool with us. Now, no one exceeded one point eight meters.
I studied myself in a mirror. *Even my sister wouldn’t recognize me now.*
Mistflower lingered nearby—she knew no one else. She seemed to regret what she’d done earlier, wanting to speak but too hesitant.
"Mistflower, you’re a ten-winged Angel now. Your future achievements might surpass mine. You’ll have to look after me later," I said, aiming to invest in this promising newcomer.
"Oh no! How could I ‘look after’ anyone? I know nothing. Please... please take care of me," she stammered, snapping to attention like a soldier answering an officer.
"Count on it. You’ll likely stay in the Imperial Capital for a while. How about I visit you at Bishop Corlmo’s place?"
"Yes! I’ll be staying with my uncle. I know nothing about the Imperial Capital... I might trouble you for guidance."
"Guidance? Of course!" Annoyed by her timidity, I slung my arm around her shoulders—a habit from my old drinking buddies. "The Imperial Capital has hot spots. But they’re only lively after midnight. Big brother’ll show you the real fun."
She nearly swooned again, mechanically nodding. *Poor kid’s had quite the day.* I’d meant to befriend her, slipping into my old "bro" persona before realizing how inappropriate it was now—and how I no longer deserved the title "big brother."
Just then, the doors opened. Bishop Farina entered with several others—men and women. Bishop Corlmo was among them. But the most striking figure was a golden-haired Angel with ten wings, just like Mistflower’s.
