A man trapped in a bird's body, leading a flock of magical misfits, and experimenting with a pocket dimension. Yeah, totally normal day… But hey, if this world wants crazy, I'll give it crazy.
Reclining on the majestic throne of bones, John stroked his chin in mock contemplation, his sharp eyes darting between the birds perched nearby. They gazed at him with what could only be described as unwavering devotion—or maybe they were just hoping for snacks.
"Alright, let's see if this Beast Space thing has any logic or if it's just another big fat joke." He wiggled his fingers toward them. "Come here, all of you."
One by one, the fifteen birds flew over, obediently touching their heads to his outstretched palm. As they did, they vanished into the strange void he could feel somewhere in the back of his mind.
"One, two, three, four, five…" he counted aloud, watching as each bird reappeared in quick succession.
"Nope, still broken," he muttered, shaking his head.
Undeterred, he repeated the process. Again, the birds disappeared and reappeared with the same maddening lack of any clear pattern. After several rounds of this, he leaned back, rubbing his temples.
"Alright, I admit it—this is going to take more brainpower than I expected," John muttered, leaning back on his throne of bones. "Is there some secret handshake I'm missing? A password? Or is this one of those 'keep trying until you accidentally stumble into genius' situations?"
He tapped his nose thoughtfully. "Think, think, think…"
Then, as if struck by a faint memory, he muttered, "Back in the office days, what did we do when a big issue popped up? Right—begin from scratch. Start with the basics. So, what's the 'basic' of a pocket dimension?"
He frowned, his mind drifting back to the God of Machine's cryptic remarks. "Ugh, I hate to admit it, but that Dumbass god is the one who gave me this 'surprise reward.' Which means, if this is a problem, it's his problem—no, wait, scratch that—it's mine, because he's the problem to begin with. Yeah, that feels much better."
John rubbed his temples, muttering, "Anyway, he must've already given me the answer. I'm just too bird-brained to see it. What was it he said again?"
He mimicked the God of Machine's dismissive tone: "There's no problem with the gift. You should focus more on your beasts instead."
John sat bolt upright, repeating the line aloud. "Focus more on my beasts instead. Focus. More. On. My. Beasts." He slapped his forehead and sprang to his feet. "That's it! The answer's been staring me in the face this whole time, and I've been too dense to see it!"
He dropped back into his throne and wiggled his fingers toward the birds. "Come here, all of you."
As before, they obediently flew toward him, lining up in an orderly queue. The parrot, always the first to arrive, stretched its head forward to touch his palm.
But this time, John pulled his hand back, his expression serious. "Not so fast," he said, fixing the parrot with a stern glare. "I know you understand what I'm about to say. I'll send you to that place again, but this time, stay put—or else I'll pluck your feathers clean, fry you up, and have a nice dinner."
The parrot shuddered, chirping slowly as if acknowledging the command.
John reached out, touching the parrot while imagining it being sent to the Beast Space. The bird vanished.
Then, one by one, he touched the other birds, each disappearing into thin air in turn. His experiment had finally yielded results.
"As expected," he said, excitement bubbling in his voice as fourteen birds reappeared one after another. "The problem was never the Beast Space—it was the beasts themselves. Guess I need to enforce some discipline."
Yes, the parrot was conspicuously missing this time.
John shut his eyes, focusing on the Beast Space. He envisioned the realm and saw the parrot perched comfortably on a branch of the banyan tree.
"Good! Now I understand who the troublemaker is," he muttered, his gaze shifting back to the rest of the flock. They stared at him with what seemed like a mix of passion and subservience.
"Stop giving me that look," he said with a groan. "Just tell me—what do you want?"
"Worm, tasty worm!" they squawked in unison.
"Worm? Really?" John burst into a hearty laugh. "God Of Machine was absolutely right to ignore my questions. If he had told me the culprit behind my Beast Space issues was some freaky—nah, some tasty worms—what then? Would I be stuck summoning a God Of Worms next?"
He shook his head, chuckling. "Nice try taking that cat nap, God Of Machine. You must've known this would end in comedy."
"Alright, if I can put it in, how about taking it out?" He focused, imagining the parrot emerging from the Beast Space. A moment later, the parrot was back, chirping joyously at him, "Worm!"
John sighed, a wry smile tugging at his beak. "Alright, alright, I'll find a nest of worms soon, you little gluttons. But first, I have some experiments to run. Like... can I put other stuff in there?"
He grabbed a nearby crate and concentrated, imagining it entering the Beast Space. The crate vanished before his eyes.
"It works!" he exclaimed, practically hopping with excitement. "This is perfect! No more lugging things around in this bird body. I can even store the diary in here—that solves the problem of transforming back to human form anytime I need."
He was almost burst into tear as this was the first gift from that god without any problem. He looked up in tears. "Shit! Enough with this theatric. I almost thought I'm becoming someone else. Yikes,"
He glanced back at the parrot, who tilted its head at him. "And yes, after I figure out these experiments, we'll go worm hunting. Deal?"
The parrot chirped once more, clearly in agreement, though John couldn't help but feel it was more interested in its meal than his breakthrough.
With a satisfied grin, John began transferring all his belongings into the Beast Space. As he focused on the realm, he observed the peculiar sight of his possessions—his diary included—floating around the small landmass, with the banyan tree at its center.
"Good," he muttered. "That'll make things easier. Now, time to test the strength and abilities of these birds. Worm hunting can wait. Actually…" He paused, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Why should I be the one looking for worms? I'm their master, not some keyboard-punching office worker anymore. They should cater to my needs, not the other way around."
Straightening up as though to assert his newfound authority, he addressed the flock. "Alright, if you understand what I'm saying, nod your heads."
To his surprise—and amusement—all fifteen birds nodded in perfect unison.
Exactly as I thought, John mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"The baptism of the Lure and Trust Mantra must've triggered an evolution," He murmured, his tone tinged with curiosity. "Not just in their forms, but their minds too. They've gained intelligence—maybe even awareness. Interesting."
Leaning back on his throne of bones, he allowed himself a moment to ponder, ideas swirling in his mind.
"Let's put this to the test," he declared, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
With that, he addressed the flock. "Alright, listen up! It's time to see who's got what it takes to lead this squad. The rules are simple: fight. The last bird standing will be your leader. You can use any means necessary—just no killing."
The moment the words left his mouth, the fifteen birds scattered, wings flapping as they took to the air. They hovered at a safe distance from one another, their eyes darting warily as they sized up their opponents.
"This should be good," John muttered, leaning back with an amused smirk, watching the scene unfold.
But the birds didn't dive into the fray immediately. Instead, they hovered in place, their movements cautious, eyes darting from one opponent to the next.
Each seemed to understand the weight of the challenge, viewing everyone else as both ally and adversary. More to adversary at the moment.
"Smart," John mused, his smirk widening. "Looks like they're learning the art of strategy already. Or maybe they're just scared stiff. Either way, this'll be entertaining."
A woodpecker let out a sharp tweet, shattering the tense silence. The other four woodpeckers chirped in response, quickly forming a tight-knit gang.
Across the battlefield, the sparrows exchanged a series of high-pitched chirps before aligning into their own formation. The parrots followed suit, banding together with resolute squawks.
"Interesting," John muttered, leaning forward slightly. "Blackie, you're the one to break the ice. I expect big things from you."
Blackie chirped confidently, and three of the woodpeckers from its group swooped into action. They began circling the other two groups, their movements calculated and precise. With a sudden burst of speed, they glided toward the parrots.
The sparrows held back, seemingly taking a breather, content to let the parrots fend for themselves.
"Who needs backup?" John chuckled. "Three against five... Let's see how this plays out."
The woodpeckers struck with precision, their sharp beaks aiming for vulnerable spots. Each blow landed with an audible thwack as they targeted three of the parrots in their way.
The parrots squawked in disarray, flapping their wings wildly in an attempt to counterattack. But the woodpeckers' coordinated strikes kept them on the defensive, their unity showing an edge over sheer numbers.
John's grin widened. "This might just be more fun than I thought."
The five parrots retreated, their defensive formation faltering under the relentless attacks of the three woodpeckers. The air inside the cave grew chaotic—filled with a flurry of feathers, the sharp sound of claw scrapes, and the occasional shrill chirps of the battling birds.
Seriously? John thought, tapping the armrest of his throne lightly. I hyped this up in my head, and it's about to end like a regular chick fight? Come on, give me something interesting!
His fingers drummed rhythmically as he observed the parrots regrouping hastily at the far edge of the cave, their bright plumage ruffled but still intact.
The woodpeckers didn't let up, maintaining their aerial dominance, their sharp beaks striking with practiced precision.
"Blackie, don't tell me this is your grand strategy—bully them into submission?" John muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
The sparrows, meanwhile, still sat back, chirping occasionally amongst themselves as if content to spectate.
John leaned forward, a mischievous gleam dancing in his eyes. "Alright, if this is turning into a snooze-fest, it's time to spice things up a little."
With a sharp tone, he shouted, "Listen up! Since you've grouped yourselves into three, here's a new rule—whichever group loses first will be tasked with scouting for fruits and worms. And here's the kicker—no worms for that group for an entire week!"
The cave fell eerily silent, the birds frozen mid-flight as his words sank in.
"No—worms—for—a—week?!" they squawked in unison, their horror palpable. The very thought of a worm-free diet for a week sent a shudder through every feathered body.
None of them could fathom such a dreadful fate.
John smirked as the birds' horrified squawks echoed through the cave. Their tiny eyes widened with panic, and the flurry of feathers intensified as the reality of no worms for a week took hold.
"Yep, you heard me right," John said, reclining back on his throne. "No worm privileges for the losers. Scout duty awaits the first group to drop. Think of it as... motivation."
The sparrows, who had been content as spectators, immediately abandoned their passive role, diving into the fray with renewed vigor. Their sharp, coordinated chirps suggested they had been strategizing all along.
The parrots, spurred by the threat of worm deprivation, found their second wind.
Tightening their formation, one bold parrot swooped down, clawing at a woodpecker mid-flight.
Blackie chirped indignantly, rallying its woodpecker gang to retaliate with even more ferocity.
John chuckled, leaning forward. "There we go! Now this is a fight worth watching. Desperation really does bring out the best in everyone—or every bird, I guess."
Feathers flew, claws clashed, and the cave transformed into a miniature battleground. John's eyes sparkled with amusement.
Survival of the strongest—and the hungriest, he mused. Let's see who wants those worms bad enough.
The parrots were cornered. Just as they seemed on the brink of defeat, the remaining two woodpeckers flew toward them, ready to deliver the final blow.
However, their paths were blocked.
"Good move," John muttered, impressed. "The sparrows know if the parrots fall too soon, they'll be next. They're starting to read the battle. Smart. They've figured out the woodpeckers are the biggest threat with their pecking power."
The sparrows used their quick, mid-air bouncing flight to intercept Blackie and the other woodpecker.
Then, one sparrow opened its beak and spat out a small bubble. The bubble expanded, trapping two of the strongest woodpeckers within its transparent, watery prison.
John's eyes widened in excitement. "Holy hell! It's happening. That sparrow just used a water-based ability to trap the strongest of the woodpeckers. This is exactly what I've been waiting for!" He sat upright, completely engrossed.
The two trapped woodpeckers thrashed violently, their deadly beaks pecking furiously at the bubble.
With a loud pop, the bubble exploded!
But the woodpeckers didn't escape unscathed. They were drenched, their feathers sodden, and their furious flapping yielded nothing.
"They can't fly!" John exclaimed, his grin widening. "Looks like the water drained their energy. Oh, this just keeps getting better."
He leaned forward, observing them struggle, and quickly changed his guess. "Nope, scratch that. It seems the water-based ability has more to do with binding their feathers—stopping their flight mid-air. Fascinating."
John reclined on his throne, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. This is just the beginning, he mused, his eyes gleaming with anticipation for what was yet to unfold.