In the days that followed, John made the light crystal below the tower his vigil, sitting cross-legged before its radiant pulse as system access let him train mana meditation—sparks of Water Orbs flickering in his palms. The collar's dampening held steady, a fragile window only encountered in one specific place, but enough to stave off total atrophy while Bobo's "???" recalibration ticked invisibly in the parallel realm, unseen to John.

  Orwen found him there on the third day, the dragon-dwarf hybrid stomping up with a clank of gear and a scowl that hid keen curiosity. Collared just like John—his own divine band etched with years of frustrated runes—Orwen was a scientist at heart, his forge a laboratory of arcane hacks born from system exile. "Boy," he grunted, clad head-to-toe in mirrored protective armor that reflected the crystal's glare harmlessly away, goggles fogged with anti-radiance enchantments. "Heard you exited the tower before your 30 days are over. Let's poke the bastard collar before you return."

  Protected by his gear, Orwen unpacked a satchel of jury-rigged tools: rune-probes humming with borrowed dragon aether, a mana spectrometer cobbled from forge scraps, and etheric clamps pulsing blue. First experiment: he affixed the probes to John's collar, channeling crystal radiance through them while John held still, system readouts flickering. Divine Binding Integrity: 92%. Orwen grunted approval as micro-filaments wormed into the collar's seams, testing shear stress—no give, but the radiance made the runes jitter, unlocking John's Mana a bit more.

  Next, the spectrometer: Orwen pressed a crystal-tipped rod to John's throat, bathing the collar in focused light pulses synced to Golddeep's ambient ley lines. John's interface glitched wildly as harmonic frequencies rattled the divine weave. Orwen scribbled notes on soot-stained parchment, muttering about "resonant decay," but the collar stabilized, runes flaring warning crimson before snapping back to full seal integrity.

  Final test: etheric clamps locked onto the collar's clasp, Orwen infusing them with overcharged mana from a portable forge-core while John channeled a basic Shield Barrier. The clamps whirred, torque spiking; John's skin blistered from heat bleed, system alerting Collar Lock: 100%. The hybrid yanked them free with a curse. "Stubborn divine shit. Radiance weakens it, sure—your stats danced like dwarven drunks—but it adapts. Won't pop off today."

  John rubbed his raw neck, stats reverting to baseline. Orwen clapped his shoulder. "Good data, lad. Come to the forge tomorrow; we'll build you gear that mimics this dampener. Portable crystal shards." The collar stayed clamped, unyielding, but John's path sharpened: experiment by experiment, toward Bobo's return and beyond.

  In the next days, Orwen and John turned the crystal tower's base into a makeshift laboratory, the light crystal's radiant pulse fully deactivating John's collar in its immediate vicinity—no restrictions, stats blazing at parallel-world peaks, mana flowing freely like a river unchained.

  Orwen, shielded by his gear, ran exhaustive experiments but to no avail, John was unrestricted in the presence of the crystal but as soon as he got away, he was sealed anew.

  Curious, John tried to brew negative XP potions right there, under full system access. The inky brew filled perfectly. He corked a vial and stepped out of range. The potion looked toxic even to him now, even lethal and he did not even dare to drink.

  Orwen scratched his bearded chin. "This Crystal's your forge, lad—full power inside, frailty out. No shortcuts." John nodded, staring at the cavernous walls. Bobo's wait endured; his own gains tethered to this spot. Time to go back.

  The next day, John returned to the crystal tower in Golddeep. No collar restrictions—the full system access surged back when his mind returned to the other reality, stats blazing at parallel-world peaks, mana coiling freely through his veins.

  He rematerialized in the second shelter's dome, the Incubation Chamber humming softly at the rear. But the crystal pod's door stood wide open, nutrient mists dissipated, aurora lights dimmed to standby. Bobo was gone—no silhouette, no pawprints in the dust, no bond ping in his interface.

  John's heart clenched. How much time had passed here during his real-world days? The parallel realm's dilation was erratic—his brief experiments with Orwen might equate to centuries or millennia in this flux. Had Bobo emerged evolved, wandered out seeking hunts? Or worse—stepped into some trial-spawned threat the shelter's dome couldn't contain? He checked the Pots of Abundance: soup still warm, negative XP brew full, untouched. No signs of struggle, but the open chamber mocked him.

  "Bobo!" John's call echoed unanswered through the crystalline cavern. Bond sense tugged faintly—alive, nearby-ish, but directionless. Impossible to say precisely how long the "???" recalibration had stretched; time here bent like light through water. He gripped the Enhanced Stone of Recall, ready to hunt, resolve steeling against the void of uncertainty.

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  All of a sudden, a melodious female voice echoed through the shelter dome, soft as harp strings in a summer breeze: "John, you are back."

  John whipped around, heart pounding, hand instinctively reaching for a Water Orb that fizzed to life in his palm. Stepping gracefully through the luminous wall at the edge of the shelter came an angelic figure, radiant and towering at nearly 2.5 meters, her presence filling the chamber with holy light that danced off the walls. Cascading waves of long, golden blonde hair flowed down her back like liquid sunlight, shimmering with an inner glow that framed her perfect, heart-shaped face—high cheekbones, full lips curved in a gentle smile, and piercing blue eyes sparkling with warmth and ancient wisdom.

  She wore a form-fitting white dress of ethereal silk that hugged her voluptuous figure, the fabric translucent in places yet modest, adorned with intricate golden ribbon lacing up the front and forming a bold black arrowhead emblem over her ample bosom—breasts even larger and fuller than those of a warrior goddess, straining proudly against the material with hypnotic sway. The dress narrowed at her slender waist before flaring into a short skirt over toned thighs, accented by gleaming gold armlets, anklets, and sturdy black gloves reaching her elbows. From her back sprouted eight magnificent wings—six pure white feathers shimmering like fresh snow, paired with two smaller black ones edged in gold—folded elegantly yet ready to unfurl into divine flight.?

  Bond Update: Bobo - Evolution Complete. Rank: S+. Form: Celestial Hunter. Stats recalibrated. The system chimed, bond-link flaring gold. John staggered back, awe crashing over him. "Bobo...? You... evolved into this?"

  John stared, mouth agape, the Water Orb fizzling out in his slack grip. "You... turned into a girl?"

  The angel—Bobo—tilted her head, golden hair swaying like a cascade of sunlight, her full lips curving into a knowing smile that lit her blue eyes with playful warmth. "I have always been female, John. You simply did not notice in my previous form." Her voice was a melody of silk and steel, resonating through the shelter dome with effortless grace, her eight wings rustling softly as she stepped closer, the white dress shifting over her exaggerated curves.

  John blinked, pulling up the bond interface again. Rank: S+. Evolution: Celestial Hunter. "Rank S?" he murmured, awe edging his voice. "That's... beyond A.", his pet said as if knowing what John was thinking.

  She laughed lightly, a sound like chiming bells, reading his thoughts as easily as an open book. "Rank S is beyond A, yes. Far beyond." Her ample breasts rose gently with the motion, the golden ribbons of her dress glinting as she folded her wings tighter, radiating serene power.

  Curiosity burning, John focused on her full status window—??? across every field: Health, Stamina, Strength, all veiled in shimmering question marks. Even as his bonded pet, her metrics hid beyond his comprehension, a divine enigma forged from their endless grind.

  The angelic figure glided closer, her eight wings shimmering with restrained power, golden blonde hair swaying like a halo of captured dawn. "My name is now Archangela," she said, voice a harmonious blend of tenderness and thunder, "but you can call me Bobo if you wish."

  John nodded, the name rolling off his tongue in his mind—Archangela suited her divine grace far better than the old moniker, evoking celestial might rather than fragile beginnings, though a flicker of affection lingered for "Bobo." "Archangela... it fits," he said softly, still reeling from the transformation.

  "Have you waited long?" he asked, glancing at the empty Incubation Chamber.

  Her blue eyes sparkled with quiet amusement. "Yes. I awakened in this form to find you gone, but I saw your note promising return." She gestured gracefully, wings rustling like silk on stone. "I trained in this world's Ashenhaunt Peaks—shredding gigantified Dreadmaws, outpacing venom storms—and traveled far and wide, conquering trials that once broke us. Now, nothing challenges me, save perhaps the leviathans lurking in the ocean depths."

  John's bond sense thrummed with her unfathomable strength, the question marks in her stats a testament to S+ transcendence. Archangela—no, Bobo—had eclipsed the Peaks entirely, their year of grinding forged into quasi godhood.

  Archangela's blue eyes gleamed with purpose, her eight wings half-unfurling like banners of light. "Should we go to the dungeon you wanted to reach?" she asked, voice carrying the weight of shared ambition.

  John nodded, resolve igniting. "Yes. Let's end this."

  In a fluid motion, she scooped him into her arms—cradling him bridal-style against her voluptuous form, his cheek mere inches from the generous swell of her bosom, the white dress's golden ribbons brushing his skin with silken warmth. Heat flooded John's face in a fierce blush, heart hammering as her scent—pure ozone and wildflowers—enveloped him, her strength effortless and unyielding.

  Her wings snapped open fully, propelling them skyward through the shelter's tunnel wall in a rush of wind and light. Archangela flew with blinding speed, a comet streaking over fog-choked peaks; monsters below—wyverns, Dreadmaws—cowered and bowed in instinctive reverence, spines flattening as her aura washed over them like divine judgment. John clung tighter, face burning hotter against her curves, but she only smiled serenely, undaunted.?

  They soared past familiar Ashenhaunt crags, piercing deeper into uncharted heights until an enormous opening yawned in the mountain's flank—a colossal cavern mouth ringed by jagged spires, pulsing with primal system energy. Archangela dove gracefully, wings folding as they descended into cool shadows. Stone platforms bustled below: village 001, the origin hub for parallel-world dragons—air thick with challenge roars. Their true conquest awaited.