"Yo, God, I've got a few more questions," John called out.
Silence.
"I know you're listening. Just this once, and I'll leave you alone," he coaxed.
["God of Machine said he felt cringe all over and insists you call him Master or just Ahjussi,"] the mechanical voice finally replied.
"Ahjussi?!" John blinked in surprise. "Is he somehow connected to Korea?"
["God of Machine responds that he has no idea what you're talking about."]
John sighed, rolling his eyes. Whatever. Must be some fluke of coincidence.
Still, he couldn't help but smirk at the absurdity. What kind of god feels awkward being called a god? he mused. He really does have such a strange personality.
"Alright, moving on," John said, shifting focus. "Is this body of mine permanent?"
["God of Machine responds that you are still a mockingbird. Your current human body can only last a few hours. But fret not; your human form duration will increase as you grow stronger."]
"Good to know," John said, nodding. "Can I switch back to my bird form?"
["Certainly. Just think about it, say Original, and you'll revert instantly. To return to your human form, say Human and visualize morphing back."]
"Alright. Let's do it."
Closing his eyes, John imagined his bird form, focusing on feathers and wings. He muttered, "Original."
Peeking one eye open, he scanned his arms. No feathers. Just the same slimy human skin.
"Shit! It's not working!" he yelled, flapping his arms in frustration.
["God of Machine blames the restrictive rules of this world. Try again."]
John frowned but tried once more. Still nothing.
"Still not working! Why do I feel like every 'cheat' you give me is a knock-off freebie from a shady store?"
["God of Machine insists that all features are original and high-quality. The world's rules are just… uncooperative. Try again."]
"Sure, sure," John muttered, rolling his eyes. "Try, try again, and eventually, what? Success? Or marriage? Let's see where this goes."
With that sarcastic pep talk, he repeated the process. Again. And again. By the 27th attempt, he felt his body shrinking, feathers sprouting, and his perspective lowering to the ground.
Finally, John glanced down at his tiny talons and sighed. "Alright, now for the big one. Let's try going back to human form."
Closing his eyes, he imagined his human body—tall, slimy, but functional. "Human," he said with confidence.
Nothing happened.
Unbothered, John kept at it, repeating the word and visualization. After thirty failed attempts, he was still in high spirits. But as he reached his fiftieth try, his mood began to sour.
By the hundredth attempt, frustration boiled over. "You've got to be kidding me! This is beyond absurd. There's no way this skill works properly. Are you sure this is just the world's restrictive rules?"
["God of Machine feels annoyed at your lack of faith. He assures you there's nothing wrong on his end."]
John sneered. Sure, sure. It's always this world's fault. But let me remind you—your so-called gifts have been nothing but knock-off junk. Mad Max's clone nearly ended me! If this world makes your 'cheats' first-rate, then I'm doomed. And you talk about faith in you? Try being me for five minutes!
Taking a deep breath, he calmed down slightly. "Anyway, will this nonsense happen with the Deception Herding Skill too?"
["God of Machine responds: Maybe. Maybe not. Best of luck!"]
John's eye twitched. The hell with your 'best of luck.' Take it back and shove it down your throat—or whatever it is you've got.
John groaned, rubbing his temples. "Why does every interaction with you give me a headache?"
["God of Machine says you're no fun when you're acting like a whiny little brat."]
John shook his head, the frustration palpable in his movements.
Whatever. I'll try again when I'm in a better mood. For now, how about I explore this forest—or zoo, or whatever this place is—and try to figure things out?
He paused mid-thought, a sudden realization dawning on him. "Wait a minute. I don't need to wander around aimlessly—I just need to check her diary!"
Excited, he flew back inside the room and landed in front of the black leather-bound book. With a determined flick of his talon, he tried to flip the cover.
["Wait!"]
Too late for the warning. A bluish electric spark leaped from the diary, jolting him with a sharp shock. The force sent him hurtling backward, slamming into the cold, unyielding wall of the cave.
Groaning, John rubbed his feathers, which were slightly singed at the tips. "Why? Why? Why?... Why does this always happen to me?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Even a diary left by some old hag—a clone, no less—has the audacity to bully me when I least expect it."
His voice dripped with annoyance as he shot the diary a glare, as though daring it to zap him again.
"Why?" he asked aloud, his chirping voice echoing in the quiet cave. Silence was his only answer. Huffing, he tried again, "Ah-jussi! No, that sounds weird with my bird chirp. Fine. Master, why is this book refusing to open and, instead, attacking me?"
["After a brief analysis, God Of Machine concludes that, despite being a clone, she was still created from the great immortal Mad Max. She retained enough skill to cast a powerful protection spell over the diary, ensuring no second pair of eyes could ever see its contents. The spell is so potent that anyone who attempts to flip the cover will die instantly."]
"Life-threatening?" John squawked indignantly, glaring at the book with newfound caution. "Hey, I'm still breathing after trying to flip its cover!"
["God Of Machine is thinking. Wait a moment!"]
"Sure, sure," John muttered sarcastically, "waiting is my new superpower."
["God Of Machine has a theory about why you lucked out and didn't die after touching the book."]
"Shit! Just spit it out already. No need for dramatic pauses!"
["The theory is that your human form was created using her body. It likely absorbed the book's lethal energy and only stunned you momentarily."]
"Meaning—it couldn't kill me at all?"
["Certainly. The protective seal couldn't kill you."]
"Good. That kind of pain's no big deal for me. But by hook or crook, I'm going to read the content of this damn book." John said, emboldened. He flew toward the book and gripped it tightly with both talons, determined this time to claim it.
As he attempted to flip the cover, another blue spark shot out, jolting him. Instinctively, he tried to toss the book away, but his talons held firm, gripping the diary as though it were an extension of his own claws.
Then, within the span of a few seconds, five more electric arcs struck him in rapid succession. The shocks surged through his body, causing him to morph back into his human form. The attacks ceased instantly.
Startled, John stared at his hands. "What the—?" A grin spread across his face as realization dawned. He picked up the diary, chuckling triumphantly. "Well, how about that? Problem solved just like that! Now I can turn back into my human form anytime—just by touching this book. No more trial and error with that frustrating spell."
He laughed out loud, holding the book aloft like a trophy. "Looks like this world is finally starting to play fair with me!"
He paused, shaking his head. "Nah, it's too early to celebrate. Let's check if this is just a fluke."
Placing the diary carefully on the throne, he closed his eyes and uttered, "Original," focusing on his bird form.
The first attempt failed, but on the third try, his body shifted smoothly back into the small, feathered frame of the mockingbird.
Encouraged, he hopped over to the diary, gripping it tightly with his talons. The moment he flipped the cover, the familiar blue spark jolted him, and his body morphed once more into human form.
Excitement bubbled within him. He repeated the process four more times—bird to human, human to bird—each transition as seamless as the last.
Finally, standing tall in his human form again, he stared at the diary with a satisfied grin. "Forget about what's written inside. Just having this book makes it an essential part of my survival. With this, switching between forms is a piece of cake!"
He chuckled, clutching the diary tightly, newfound confidence radiating from him.
"Now, time to read."
Surveying the room, his gaze fell upon the imposing throne made of white bones and skeletons. It was both eerie and strangely inviting. Shrugging off any hesitation, he approached it, brushing away a layer of dust before settling into the throne.
The hard, cold surface surprisingly offered a peculiar kind of comfort. He leaned back, letting the bizarre serenity of the moment settle over him. The throne's macabre design felt strangely fitting as if it acknowledged his struggles and triumphs.
Taking a deep breath, John placed the diary on his lap and carefully opened the thick cover.
His eyes widened as he sat bolt upright, his earlier sense of calm shattered.
"Oh no, seriously?" he gasped, leaning closer, his gaze fixed intently on the pages.