The mountain cave loomed ahead, its dark mouth like a shadowed abyss. Marx stopped abruptly at the entrance, his silver tail swishing as he studied the cave with sharp, cautious eyes. Behind him, a small bird named John fluttered awkwardly in the air before landing on the rocky ground nearby.
"Alright, we're here," the fox announced.
"So, is this the place?" John asked, tilting his head as he peered into the foreboding darkness.
Marx remained silent, his focus locked on the cave, as though expecting it to lunge at any moment.
"Hey," John pressed, hopping a step closer. "If this is the place, why aren't we going in? Did you forget how legs work, or—"
Marx turned his head sharply, his glare silencing John mid-sentence. "Birdbrain, do you even understand where we are? This isn't a stroll in the park. It's the lair of a legendary immortal. You don't just walk in like you're delivering a pizza."
John blinked. "Wait, you've delivered pizzas before?"
Marx groaned, dragging a paw down his face. "That's not the point. Focus. Unless you're keen on being roasted alive, we wait here until she acknowledges us."
"And if she doesn't?"
"Then we wait longer," Marx snapped, sitting down with a huff. His tail flicked irritably. "And if you keep flapping that beak, I might eat you before she even gets the chance."
John puffed his feathers indignantly but clamped his beak shut. Waiting games and thinly veiled threats—this wasn't exactly the grand adventure he'd been hoping for.
Despite Marx's warning, the silence around the cave began to gnaw at John, dredging up memories of his time in the Eternal Slumbering Realm. Back then, he had waited endlessly, alone in the void, yearning for connection and purpose. But he wasn't helpless anymore and refused to feel trapped again.
Spreading his wings, he leaped into the air. Flying had become his escape, a wild and exhilarating freedom. The rush of wind beneath his feathers lifted him higher, and farther, and for a brief moment, John could forget about caves, foxes, and immortals.
But the peace shattered as a voice rang out from the cave, soft yet carrying an undeniable edge of power.
"Still not leaving?" it asked, echoing ominously. "Leave. Before I make you."
Marx stiffened, the cocky demeanor he'd worn moments before evaporating.
Bowing his head slightly toward the cave, he spoke with uncharacteristic respect. "Marx humbly greets the esteemed Master Maximilian the Fifth."
The voice grew colder, the weight of its words making the air feel heavy. "Spare me your pleasantries, Marx. Our bond ended the day you betrayed me for your own ambitions joining my enemy. Be thankful I allow you to live. Now, leave."
Marx's tail flicked nervously, but his tone remained even. "And yet, Master, you still owe me a debt. Today, I bring a gift to ease your anger."
A sharp laugh erupted from the cave, ringing with mockery. "A gift? Do you mean that clueless little bird you dragged along?"
John froze mid-air. Me?
The laughter grew louder, each chuckle cutting deeper. "Marx, your cunning is as pathetic as ever. This scheme of yours? A joke. Take your ridiculous offering and leave before I incinerate you both."
John's heart sank. Not only had Marx tricked him into coming here, but now he was caught in the middle of what sounded like a decades-old grudge match.
Marx, unfazed, took a step forward. "Master, hear me out—"
Nope. John wasn't sticking around to see how this ended.
Flapping his wings, he climbed higher into the sky, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the cave. As he ascended, he cast a glance back at Marx and the cave's dark maw, the sound of their heated exchange fading with every beat of his wings.
"Perfect," he muttered smugly, a small, victorious chirp escaping him. "Next time, I'll pay them back—with interest."
But as he soared higher, realization struck like a stone to the chest. Whoever—or whatever—was in that cave wasn't just some reclusive immortal. Maximilian was a legendary reincarnate, a being whose power far outstripped anything he could imagine.
He hesitated mid-flight, glancing nervously back toward the cave. His bravado wavered as he muttered under his breath, "Of course, she's completely innocent in this! It's all Marx's fault!"
Without waiting for a reply, he beat his wings harder, determined to carry himself farther from the madness below.
"Not so fast, little bird," Marx howled, his voice dripping with mockery. Then, with a sharp laugh, he added, "You think you can just leave this place as you wish?"
John ignored the fox's condescending tone, his focus entirely on putting as much distance between them as possible. But moments later, something clicked in his mind, and panic set in.
What?! All this time, despite his frantic effort, he had only moved a few inches away from the cave. It wasn't fatigue or clumsiness holding him back—this was something else entirely. This has to be the doing of that hateful fox!
He wheeled around mid-air, glaring at Marx. "Marx, fox, or whatever you want to call yourself—I've got no beef with you. I don't want any part of this! Just stop dragging me into your mess and let me go!"
Marx chuckled darkly. "Oh, it has everything to do with you, Birdbrain. And no, you're not going anywhere."
John flapped harder, but his wings felt heavier with each beat, as though some unseen force pinned him in place.
Marx's smug voice cut through the air. "You're missing something important here. Sure, I brought you here with both good and bad intentions." The fox's grin widened as his words grew more cryptic. "But this isn't my doing, keeping you from escaping."
John's feathers ruffled in unease, his mind racing. "Then who—or what—is stopping me?"
Marx glanced toward the cave, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Why don't you ask her yourself?"
A shiver ran through John as a cold, unseen pressure rolled over him. It was heavy, suffocating, and far beyond anything the fox could conjure. He didn't have to turn around to know the answer. Whatever power held him in place was coming from inside the cave.
"Oh, you're cute, little bird," a sweet, melodious voice called out from within, laced with an unsettling undertone of malice. The sound reverberated through the air, making his body freeze involuntarily.
The next thing he knew, he was gliding backward against his will, as if an invisible hand had seized him. Helplessly, he was pulled into the cave's shadowy interior, the dim light revealing jagged walls that seemed to pulse faintly, alive with an eerie glow.
When he finally came to a halt, his eyes landed on a woman lounging lazily atop an imposing throne of animal bones. Her posture was relaxed, but her aura was anything but. Draped in silken robes that shimmered faintly, she exuded an effortless air of authority.
Her piercing gaze locked onto him, and her lips curled into a slow, predatory smile. "Well, what do we have here?" she purred, her voice sending a chill down his spine. "A little mockingbird, delivered to my doorstep. How... quaint."
"Hello, I'm Johnny Singer. Sorry for my earlier etiquette. It seems you've had a heated discussion with your disciple. So, I thought it best to find my way out," John blurted nervously, his feathers ruffling in discomfort.
"Ex-disciple," she corrected, her glare sharp enough to cut through steel.
"Of course! Who would want such a bastardly fox as their disciple? Just kick him to the curb and deal with him once and for all—make sure he never betrays you again!" John added hastily, trying to shift attention off himself.
Her eyes narrowed briefly before her lips twitched upward again. "Anyway," she mused, "what's so great about you, little birdie?"
"Nothing, madam! I'm just a nobody who seems to step in every pile of trouble wherever I go—bad luck's my only talent. And here I am again. But please, let me go before I pass this curse onto you and your heavenly abode. It's a disease, ma'am. It's a freaking disease."
The lady froze for a moment before bursting into hearty laughter, her voice a mix of amusement and menace.
"A disease? Truly, you are an odd little bird." She leaned back on her throne of bones, her posture as commanding as it was unbothered. "Tell me, Johnny Singer, is this what you rely on to survive? Humor and self-deprecation?"
"Absolutely, madam," John replied earnestly. "If you're laughing, you're not smiting me, so I'd call it a win."
Her laughter subsided, but her smile remained, dangerous and calculating. "You're bold for a bird so small. And yet, there's something peculiar about you…"
Her gaze sharpened as if she could see past his feathers and into his very soul.
John's wings twitched, his instincts screaming at him to flee, but the invisible pressure of her presence held him firmly in place.
"Tell me," she continued, her tone shifting to one of curiosity tinged with warning,
"what exactly brought you to my doorstep? Was it truly just bad luck? Or does this fox have plans for you that even you don't know?"
John's beak opened and closed a few times before he managed to stammer, "Honestly, madam, if I had any clue, I wouldn't have come anywhere near this place. This fox is the mastermind. I'm just the unfortunate passenger."
The fox, who had been silent until now, chuckled lowly. "Careful, birdbrain. You're starting to sound ungrateful for my generosity."
"Generosity?!" John squawked indignantly. "You dragged me here against my will!"
The lady raised a hand, silencing them both instantly. Her sharp gaze flickered between the fox and the bird. "Enough. This bickering is beneath even a fox and a mockingbird. Marx, explain yourself. Why bring this... creature to me?"
Marx tilted his head slightly, a sly grin playing on his muzzle. "A unique and strange soul traveler who managed to skim through the mental umbrella of this zoo. I found him purely by chance."
"A strange soul traveler? Aren't we all?" the lady drawled, her tone laced with boredom. "But unique? How so?"
At her words, John felt a cold sweat forming. Oh no... Did I mess up big time by running my mouth? He cursed himself inwardly, wishing he could slap his own beak shut—if only his wings could reach it.
"Blessed by God," Marx said with an air of satisfaction.
The lady froze, her eyes narrowing sharply. "Blessed by God?" she repeated, her voice low and dangerous.
Marx nodded solemnly.
For a moment, the cave was filled with an oppressive silence. Then the lady leaned back on her bone throne, her lips curling into an unnervingly pleased smile.
"Well, then. I really hit the jackpot this time," she purred, her mood suddenly light. With a lazy flick of her wrist, she conjured a small, dried wooden stick, no longer than two inches, and tossed it to the fox. "Fine. I'll grant you this one favor. Take this and leave. But hear me, Marx—never cross my path again, whether by coincidence or not. If you do, I'll snap your traitorous soul, chew on it for a few centuries, and spit it out."
Marx caught the stick between his teeth and grinned—a terrifying sight, given his vulpine visage. "I get it. I'm nothing more than chewing gum to you," he quipped.
The fox turned to John, his tone now almost cheerful. "Mr. Singer, don't take this the wrong way. I've done you a favor here. You seem more lost than any traveler I've ever met. Consider this a practical life lesson. If fate sees fit, we'll meet again."
With that, Marx bounced out of the cave, his tail swishing happily behind him as he vanished into the mist.
John glared at Marx's retreating silhouette, his feathers bristling with unrestrained irritation. Deep in his heart, he made a solemn pledge: Favor? My foot—no, my claws—ah, whatever! First, I'll suck up to this old hag with her obvious princess syndrome, gather my strength and wealth, and then I'll come looking for you. This is my vow to the God of Machines: You and I can never live under the same sky. But before I snap your soul, I'll make sure to repay your schemes with interest—a thousandfold.
A sudden chime rang in his ears, crisp and mechanical.
["God Of Machine Is Satisfied With Your Resolve!"]
["God Of Machine Has Added the Fox Named Marx as Your First Nemesis."]
Unknowingly, his beak clicked in rage, the sharp sound echoing through the cavern.
The lady's laugh shattered the tension, rich and mocking, reverberating off the bone-laden walls. "How adorable," she teased, her predatory grin widening. "It seems we have one thing in common: we both despise that bastardly coward."
Her expression shifted, darkening as though recalling an unpleasant memory, though her amusement lingered. "But let me give you a piece of advice, little bird. He may be a scoundrel, but he was my student—a very good one. No, to be precise, he was a rare protégé I once groomed with my own hands."
Her gaze bore into him, sharp enough to slice through his bravado. "Going after him is a very bad idea. Even if you were blessed by a god, you're still just a fragile little bird. What can you possibly do?"