The soul search began. As the mysterious sigil infiltrated his brain, John noticed it seemed to struggle, doing little damage and failing to approach his azure-blue soul. He allowed himself to relax, observing the futile attempt.
For Maximilian, however, the situation was the opposite. She furrowed her brows, her concentration breaking as she saw the sigil bounce back when it touched his soul.
"Huh! Strange. I've never encountered a soul like this before," she muttered, her surprise evident. Halting her spell, she looked at him sharply. "What happened to you, little bird?"
You happened, bitch! John cursed internally but kept his expression innocent. "I have no idea."
Maximilian frowned, more to herself than at him. "Usually, souls are either blindingly white or dark. But yours… it's azure blue. Something is very amiss here. And my spell—it refuses to fuse with it."
Who cares? Are you expecting me to help you soul-searched me? Too bad. I don't have a single clue myself. But thanks for the information. I know more about myself— it turns out I'm reaping the benefit of the ordeal I faced before. John signed.
Maximilian quickly regained her composure, her face hardening with resolve. "I have no clue what happened to you before, and frankly, I don't care. What I care about is the Beast-Master's Codex. Since the soul search failed, I have no choice but to extract your soul. You're not going to like it. So, tell me the name of the god."
"Sorry," John replied, his voice steady despite the growing dread. "I have no idea."
"Fine. It's your choice."
She clasped her palms together sharply, a sound that echoed ominously through the cave. Rising two feet into the air, Maximilian began chanting an intricate incantation, her hands weaving patterns as if commanding the very fabric of existence.
"The stars and suns shine upon the earth and give birth to life. The nine realms of souls provide the essence of being. Now, by the command of the Nirvanic Cycle, I hereby forecall the deserted soul!"
A blinding white lotus manifested, its radiant petals descending to rest above John's head. Slowly, the lotus sigil began to move, tethering itself to a small tendril of azure mist emanating from his core.
John's body convulsed as an agonizing pain surged through him. It was bearable—barely—but the real terror set in as he felt a piece of himself being wrenched away.
What the hell is this?! Panic coursed through John's thoughts. She's pulling something out of me. I'm losing… a part of myself!
The lotus spun faster, its radiant petals mercilessly extracting more essence from his soul.
Bastard god! I'm still playing by your book, and you still refuse to lend a hand. At this rate, I'll end up worse than dead—a soul pet! She likes to chew things; I'm literally becoming soul-flavored gum.
Desperation clawed at him. Think harder! Think, think… Then a wild idea struck him. Ha! I know what to do!
"You win, ma'am. Let's stop here," John said with forced cheerfulness, his voice smooth and friendly.
Maximilian didn't so much as glance at him, her focus locked on the spell as the lotus continued its relentless work.
"Alright, I'll tell you the name of that god. Let's stop this little silly game," he added with faux surrender.
Still no response.
"Well, his name is God of Ma—"
"God of what?" she asked sharply, her voice laced with suspicion.
"God of Ma—" he began again, dragging it out, only to be cut off by her irritated sneer.
"Useless. Don't waste my time if you don't mean it." Her chanting resumed, and the lotus hungrily devoured more azure mist from his soul.
This isn't working. Damn it. I've got to try something else!
"Whatever," John muttered darkly before letting out a burst of unhinged laughter. "He doesn't give a damn about me, so why should I care about him?" His laughter escalated, tinged with a mix of hysteria and defiance. "Fine! It's the God of Machine!"
Maximilian froze, her lips curling into a triumphant smile. "So, it's the God of Machine. Excellent! However, there's no point in going back now. I'll still enslave your soul." She laughed merrily, her thoughts clearly calculating all the potential gains.
Her laughter was abruptly cut short. The cave shimmered, the very air vibrating as the surroundings morphed. The walls faded, replaced by sleek metallic surfaces. A cuboid-shaped room of shining steel and shifting panels surrounded them.
From everywhere and nowhere, a deep, mechanical voice reverberated through the space. "How you doing, Mister Singer?"
John froze, a mix of relief and dread washing over him.
"No—no, that's not possible. You're not supposed to be here," Maximilian said, her brows furrowing as unease crept into her voice.
"Right, I'm not supposed to be here," the voice replied, dripping with amused detachment. "Since, technically, I'm not here. So, the rules of this realm have no hold on me. And it's all thanks to you, really. By extracting that tiny portion of my disciple's soul, you've inadvertently activated the hidden armament I implanted in him."
Maximilian's eyes widened as the implications hit her like a falling star. She pieced it together aloud, her voice heavy with realization. "The bird body… It contains the restriction seal because it was birthed in this world. That's why the rules here restrained the divine codex. It wasn't about the bird having little affinity…"
Her muttering trailed off as her gaze darkened, the gravity of her error dawning on her.
"Do you understand now, Mister Singer?" The God of Machine's voice continued, as though indulging in a lecture for John's benefit.
"When I pulled a bit of his soul…" Maximilian said slowly, her thoughts clicking into place. "...whatever you blessed him with activated, and now you're projecting your voice through the codex as a medium. Am I right, God of Machine?"
"Sharp as ever, Miss Maximilian," the voice replied, mockery seeping through every syllable. "But you should be careful—your cleverness tends to lead you to ruin."
Sneering, Maximilian shot back, "You still can't save your precious disciple. You're just a voice transmission, while I'm here in flesh and blood."
"Oh, very intimidating." The God of Machine's tone turned icy. "But perhaps you should reevaluate your situation, ex-immortal Max."
The floating lotus sigil disintegrated into black ash, vanishing into the ether. "You're currently inside my weapon, cut off from the rules and laws of the outside world. Your magic and spells are useless here. And honestly, I might have been slightly concerned if your original self had graced us with her presence. But alas, you're just a weak clone."
As the oppressive aura holding John dissipated, he flapped his wings and landed safely on the hard, metallic floor.
"So what?" Maximilian growled, her confidence unshaken. "Without magic, I can still crush that pathetic bird. And once he's gone, everything here will fall into my hands."
She lunged at him, her fists flying with calculated force.
A shimmering shield appeared before John, effortlessly parrying her punches, kicks, and every martial arts move she unleashed. The sound of her strikes echoed futilely through the metallic chamber.
"Ah, one small detail I forgot to mention," the God of Machine chimed in, almost casually. "Inside this space, John is the absolute being. Not even I can interfere with him. The weapon belongs to him, and it will protect him automatically."
"Shut your trap, God of Whatever!" Maximilian barked, her frustration mounting. "I've never even heard of you. You're probably just some knock-off, small-time god."
"Fair enough, I'm relatively new," the voice admitted smoothly. "But your reputation precedes you. The legendary Immortal Mad Max, brought low by the treachery of her own beloved disciple. Truly tragic." The voice paused, laden with sardonic reverence. "It's an honor to converse with you—even if it's only a clone."
John's eyes widened as realization dawned. She's just a clone? Then how powerful is her real self? Am I betting on the wrong side? His inner doubts flickered for a moment before he dismissed them with a shrug. Whatever, who cares? Now that the tables have turned, it's time for a little payback.
Bursting into laughter, John flapped his wings mockingly. "Is this all you've got, old hag?"
"Old hag?!" she shrieked, her face twisting with indignation. It was the first time anyone had dared to insult her with such a title—either in her previous life or this one. The words struck at her pride and ego like a well-aimed dagger.
"Oh, did I hit a nerve?" John smirked, reveling in her reaction. "Yeah, you're someone who's lived for centuries. You're an old hag hiding behind that youthful flesh. Or wait—should I call you Granny Max? Nah, doesn't have the right sting."
Maximilian glared at him, her composure cracking further.
"No, no, I've got it!" John's beak tilted upward in mock contemplation. "Cougar! Yeah, that fits. With your disgustingly high-and-mighty attitude and that ridiculous princess syndrome—you know, the one where you think everything good around here belongs to you."
The metallic chamber reverberated with her scream of frustration as she lunged at him, fists flying. Her face contorted into an ugly frown as she unleashed her fury.
Every strike, every kick, every ounce of her rage met the same unyielding fate—parried effortlessly by the shimmering metallic shield surrounding John.
"Keep going, Granny Max!" John taunted, his laughter echoing through the chamber. "At this rate, you'll tire yourself out before you even touch me. I almost feel bad. Almost."
"Shut up, you insolent bird!" she snapped, her voice shaking with a mixture of rage and humiliation.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings?" John's tone dripped with mock sincerity. "Maybe you should take a nap. I hear it's important for people your age."
"ENOUGH!" she bellowed, her strikes continuing to pound uselessly against the impenetrable barrier.
"[Yes, that's enough. You've had your fun. Now stop wasting time and attack. You don't have much time left,]" the mechanical voice said, reverberating telepathically in John's mind.
"What do you mean I don't have time?" John shot back, his tone laced with irritation and worry.
"[Do you think such a weapon can function indefinitely on its own? It's running out of fuel. This world's laws are restricting every ounce of its energy. Attack her now, with the resolve to slaughter. Go!]"
"How do I attack?" John demanded.
"[Imagine any weapon, and it will manifest—enhanced with greater lethality.]"
"Good. One last question—how long before this thing runs dry?"
"[A few minutes at most.]"
The weight of the situation hit John like a falling anvil. The weapon's limited time added a sense of urgency, but it wasn't just that. Maximilian's relentless assault, her reckless rage, and her refusal to back down solidified her reputation as Mad Max. Her furious yells filled the metallic chamber as she attacked the shield with everything she had, her strikes now desperate and erratic.
"Alright," John muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. "Let's see how you like this."
"Flying sword!" he uttered aloud.
In an instant, the metallic floor beneath Maximilian shimmered and shifted. A blade shot upward, sleek and deadly, its edge gleaming with an otherworldly aura.
Maximilian barely reacted in time, stepping back as the sword sliced upward, its edge catching the hem of her robes. A jagged tear revealed a sliver of her ankle, her expression twisting with a mixture of shock and fury.
"You dare?!" she snarled, her focus now squarely on the unpredictable bird before her.
"Oh, I more than dare," John retorted with a sly grin. "You want a fight? Let's make it interesting."
Maximilian's movements were almost hypnotic, her figure weaving through the air like a ribbon caught in a fierce wind. The ten swords struck out in rapid succession, each one slicing through the space where she had been just moments before. Her agility was unmatched, her strange movement technique keeping her just out of reach.
"You've got some pretty quick feet for a granny," John called out mockingly, flapping his wings with exaggerated amusement. "How about we up the ante? Ten swords are too easy. Let's make it a hundred—no, a thousand flying swords!"
"[Stop there, fool,]" the mechanical voice cut in sharply. "[Ten is already the limit you can control.]"
John huffed, his feathers ruffling in frustration. "Ten is not enough! She's practically dancing through them. How am I supposed to kill her when she's pulling off moves like that?"
"[That's your problem to solve, Mister Singer,]" the voice retorted, its tone almost bored. "[But here's a hint: aside from this weapon chamber, you have another powerful restricting skill—one that doesn't require any energy.]"
John's eyes widened as the realization hit him. A restricting skill… of course! Anyway, do I have one? I'm just a mockingbird. What can I do other than sing and imitate?… Sing and imitate, yeah that's it. You're a genius. I've already solved the god's riddle.
"Gotcha," he murmured, a sly grin creeping across his beak.