The day of the Awakening arrived with a sky of brilliant, piercing blue, devoid of a single cloud. It was a day that felt fated, as if the heavens themselves were holding their breath.
The Spirit Hall was transformed. The central plaza, usually a place of quiet prayer, was now a fortress of high-level Soul Power. Thousands of elite Soul Masters lined the walkways, their silver and gold armor gleaming brilliantly under the morning sun.
The atmosphere is with the collective spiritual pressure of the gathered hosts.
The air within the Worship Hall was not merely oxygen; it was a pressurized sea of divine intent. As Bibi Dong walked down the central aisle, she felt the weight of a dozen gazes, each one capable of crushing a common Soul Master.
At the far end, elevated on the ivory dais of the Worship Hall, sat the true power of the Spirit Hall. These were the "Worships"—the Titled Douluos who had surpassed Level 95 and answered only to the Grand Worship himself.
In the center sat Qian Daoliu, Level 99, looking like a living statue of gold and wisdom. Surrounding him were his brothers in-arms. To his right was the Second Worship, Golden Crocodile Douluo, a man whose presence felt like a prehistoric mountain, his Level 98 cultivation leaking out in waves of predatory heat.
Next to him was the Third Worship, Azure Lane Douluo, whose eyes were as calm and deep as the ocean, yet held the sharp chill of a freezing depth.
The Fourth, Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Worships formed a semi-circle of absolute authority, their collective auras creating a "Holy Domain" that made the very floor tiles hum with resonance.
In a separate, slightly lower tiered area, Qian Xunji sat surrounded by the Spirit Hall Elders—Yue Guan, Gui Mei, and the others. While they were the "public face" of power, today they looked like children compared to the titans sitting around Daoliu.
"Let the ceremony begin," Qian Daoliu's voice boomed. It wasn't loud, yet it vibrated in the marrow of everyone present.
He stood, his golden robes flowing like liquid sun. In his hands were the Awakening Stones, glowing with a soft, inviting warmth. He looked at Renxue, and for a moment, the Peerless Douluo showed a sliver of human emotion—a grandfather's pride.
"Qian Renxue, daughter of the Seraphim. Step forward into the light of your ancestors."
Renxue stepped forward. Despite the suffocating pressure of the Super Douluos, she didn't tremble. She walked with a grace that seemed pre-ordained. As she entered the formation, the Awakening Stones began to spin, faster and faster, emitting a high pitched, melodic chime that sounded like a choir of a thousand voices.
Suddenly, a pillar of pure, blinding white light erupted from the floor, piercing through the vaulted ceiling of the hall. The stained-glass windows depicting the Angel God flared with life.
SCREE—!
From the light, a figure emerged. It was the Seraphim, the Seraphic Angel. But as the silhouette solidified, a collective gasp—a sound of pure, unadulterated shock— rippled through the Worships.
"Look at the wings..." whispered the Golden Crocodile Douluo, his eyes widening.
Usually, a member of the Qian family would awaken a Two-Winged Angel, which would evolve into four and eventually six as they reached higher ranks. But behind Renxue, two pairs of magnificent, snow-white wings unfurled with a thunderous flap.
It wasn't a two-winged start. It was a Four Winged Seraphim from the very first breath.
The entire hall was bathed in a holy radiance so intense that the lower-ranked priests were forced to shield their eyes. Golden feathers made of pure light drifted through the air, dissolving into sparkles as they touched the marble.
"The Innate Soul Power..." Qian Daoliu's voice was uncharacteristically strained. He pressed a crystal orb to Renxue's hand.
The orb didn't just glow. It screamed. The light was so fierce that cracks began to spiderweb across the high-quality crystal.
"Innate Soul Power... Level 20!"
A silence so profound it felt like a physical weight descended on the hall. Level 10 was a genius. Level 20... Level 20 was a myth. It was a sign of a "God-given" talent, a soul that was born half-ascended.
Qian Daoliu's heart hammered against his ribs. The Angel God has blessed us. She will surpass me. She will be the one to finally lead the Qian lineage to the Divine Throne.
Qian Xunji, watching from his seat, was trembling with a manic sort of joy. He looked at the Elders, his eyes screaming 'Behold my work!' He felt as if he had personally crafted her soul, taking all the credit for her brilliance. To him, this wasn't just his daughter; it was his ultimate political weapon.
Bibi Dong, however, remained a statue of purple silk. She looked at her daughter's joyous, glowing face and felt a pang of bittersweet pride. You are magnificent, Renxue. But now, you are a target. They will never let you go.
After several minutes, the holy light began to dim, retreating back into Renxue's small frame. She stood there, panting slightly, her eyes glowing with a faint golden hue. She looked at her hands, then at her mother, a brilliant, toothy grin breaking across her face.
As she walked back toward the line, she passed Yorrichi. The crowd was still buzzing, the Worships debating in low, frantic tones about the implications of a Level 20 awakening.
Renxue leaned in as she passed her brother, her voice a tiny, mischievous whisper. "Good luck, brother. Try not to make it too boring after my big entrance." She gave him a playful wink, her joy radiating off her in waves.
Yorrichi didn't smile, but his eyes softened for a fraction of a second. "I'll try," he whispered back.
"Yorrichi Qian," Qian Daoliu called out, his voice now laced with an intense, curious scrutiny. "The second scion of the Seraphim. Step forward."
The atmosphere changed instantly. If Renxue's awakening was a sunrise, Yorrichi's felt like the moments before a thunderstorm. The "holy light" that had lingered in the hall seemed to shy away from him.
The Spirit Hall Elders leaned forward. They had heard the rumors of the "strange twin" the one who didn't use light but practiced "breathing."
Yue Guan whispered to Gui Mei, "What do you think? Another Level 20? Or a dud?"
Gui Mei's eyes remained fixed on the boy. "He doesn't feel like a dud. He feels like... an empty room. There's something there, but it's hidden behind a locked door."
Yorrichi stepped into the circle. He felt the gaze of the Golden Crocodile Douluo and the Azure Lane Douluo boring into him like physical drills. They were looking for the Angelic aura, the spark of the Seraphim that should be inherent in his blood.
But as Yorrichi stood in the center of the Awakening Formation, he didn't close his eyes. He didn't pray. He simply took a deep, whistling breath.
Total Concentration: Constant.
The Awakening Stones began to glow, but unlike the warm, inviting light of Renxue's ceremony, the light here was harsh and cold. It started as white, then flickered into a deep, bruised violet, before finally settling on a pitch-black void.
The melodic choir of the hall was silenced. Instead, a sound like a blade being drawn across silk echoed through the rafters.
This is it, Bibi Dong thought, her heart hammering against her ribs with a violence
she hadn't felt in years. The lie I have prepared must be perfect. The world is about to see a monster born of a sun that died a thousand years ago. Let them be afraid.
A shadow began to manifest behind Yorrichi. It wasn't an angel. It wasn't a beast. It was something that felt ancient and sharp. The Worships stood up one by one, their faces masks of confusion and rising alarm.
"That's not the Angel," the Azure Lane Douluo muttered, his hand going to the hilt of his weapon. "What... what is that boy awakening?"
Yorrichi's hand moved to his side, his fingers curling around an invisible hilt. The air temperature in the Worship Hall began to drop rapidly. The "Holy Light" was being consumed by a rising, dark pressure that felt less like evil and more like... absolute, final justice.
The Grand Worship, Qian Daoliu, narrowed his eyes. He felt a resonance in his own Seraphim soul—not a kinship, but a challenge.
"A Tool Spirit?" Daoliu whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of intrigue and a strange, buried fear.
The light flared one last time, not upward, but inward, as the Black Stone from the auction—hidden in Bibi Dong's storage seemed to pulse in sympathetic vibration from across the room.
The shadow behind Yorrichi solidified into a tall, black-clad figure with a hilt at its waist, but before anyone could discern its features, a Black Nichirin Katana materialized in Yorrichi's hand.
The thrill in the room was electric. The comedy of the bickering Elders had vanished.
Now, there was only the cold, hard reality of a new power.
Yorrichi looked up at his grandfather, his eyes no longer those of a child, but of a man who had walked through the fires of hell and come back with the sun in his pocket.
"My turn," he said softly.