Bubble soared through the air, spitting a fresh volley of water bubbles. The game of dodgeball resumed with renewed intensity. Each attack carried intent, calculated to bring down any bird still daring to stay aloft.
Of the remaining contenders, only five parrots and one woodpecker managed to hold their positions in the air. The two woodpeckers trapped within water bubbles drifted helplessly, while the chaos inside the cave intensified.
The air was alive with frantic flight patterns and the constant burst of exploding water bubbles, their failure to ensnare releasing brief but forceful sprays of water. The relentless pursuit of survival painted a scene both desperate and mesmerizing.
Despite being the strongest in raw power, Blackie's inability to take flight left it frustrated and restless. It chirped in desperation, a sharp, guttural sound filled with defiance. Beside it, the grounded woodpecker echoed the cry, their voices reverberating through the cavern like a chorus of failure.
Clicking his tongue, John leaned forward with a look of disappointment. "What a shame. You got hit once and gave up. And now you have the audacity to complain?" His tone was cutting, but his words carried a spark of provocation.
He straightened, his voice taking on an edge of challenge. "Blackie, if you want to wallow, that's fine. But if you truly want to stand before that proud sparrow—bet your life and soul. Awaken your latent ability. I know you can."
John's gaze bore into Blackie, a mix of calculated authority and genuine belief. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, as Blackie's chirps stilled for a moment, its beady eyes locking onto its master's with a flicker of something—determination, perhaps, or confusion.
Blackie kept John's words in its mind, but it was still just a bird with a clueless brain, unable to comprehend how to evoke its latent talent.
Coincidence or not, the two sparrows regained consciousness, their weakened forms slowly stirring. The first thing they did upon rising was chirp furiously at Bubble.
The sparrows' conversation was an open book to John. He rubbed his temples, his patience waning. "Yes, I'm also almost out of patience trying to figure out the secret to activating your dormant abilities," he muttered under his breath.
Bubble, noticing the commotion, halted its volley of water bubbles mid-air and chirped back at the sparrows with unmistakable disdain.
What followed was a long series of tweets, a back-and-forth melody of chirps that sounded like birds singing in discordant harmony. To anyone else, it would seem like meaningless noise, but to John, it was infuriatingly clear.
He almost jumped out of his throne, exclaiming, "Shit! It's happening again! What the hell is wrong with this world? Are you freaking kidding me? Every time I think I'm on the right path, something comes out of nowhere to screw it up! Or is this that fart god's handiwork? Some kind of curse that just keeps restraining me in one way or another? This is beyond frustrating!"
According to Bubble, something was actively restraining the Mark of Deception that now resided deep within its body. By some lucky chance—or perhaps sheer will—it had taken the opportunity to awaken its ability when a strange white cloud tried to envelop the mark. Bubble had used its courage and force to ignite the mark at that moment, succeeding in awakening its latent power.
John's eyes narrowed as he processed this. "So, even the laws of this world are working against us, huh?" he said, his tone a mix of frustration and grim realization.
"Shit! Shit! Shit! God of Shit!" John began ranting, his voice echoing through the cavern. "Your skill is freaking useless again! Why is it always restraints, in every possible way, after all that effort? What nonsense is this? One day... one day, I'll—"
He cut himself off, his frustration boiling over, but something strange was happening.
The birds reacted to his outburst, their emotions seemingly mirroring his own. All of them chirped in unison, their cries filled with anger and disdain. It was as if they too hated this so-called God of Shit with their very guts.
With their limited birdbrains, they assumed their master was fuming over some rascal figure called the God of Shit, whom they imagined presiding over trivial matters like the fate of their droppings. The flock even broke into an impromptu song—a mocking, chaotic anthem to the deity they now despised.
John paused, raising an eyebrow at the display. He couldn't help but smirk. Well, jokes aside, their anger is oddly... coherent with mine. It's as if the Mark of Deception is linking them to me emotionally somehow.
He pondered this development for a moment, his mood still sour. Is it a good thing or not? Who knows. But celebrating now feels premature when the trouble is still looming.
As he observed their reactions, a mischievous grin spread across his face. He glanced upward and muttered under his breath, "Oh, dear God of Machine, if you could see and hear these clumsy creatures right now, you'd either laugh yourself to tears or be cursed with endless sleepless nights. I know you're still watching. So, please, let it be the latter. Ha, for the information I don't teach them that. They just kind of caught it up themselves. Still, their song and thinking about your sleepless nights make my mood much better. Anyway, bless me with some trouble-free moments, will you?"
Taking a deep breath, he added in his head, Alright, I feel better now. Moving on—there's still a clue hidden in how Bubble described breaking through that clouding over the Mark of Deception. I'll figure it out.
Meanwhile, the four sparrows on the ground were still as lost as ever, staring blankly as Bubble continued its impassioned explanations. Their chirps grew louder, their collective demand clear as if saying humanly: Explain it simpler, Bubble. We're not scholars here!
Yes, something that even their limited understanding could grasp.
John let out a long sigh. Sparrows, huh?… Wait a second, I'm not getting it either. Great. Here I am, acting all superior to these birdbrains, and I'm just as clueless. Fantastic. No awkwardness here. They're my subordinates; it's totally fine for me to ask like I don't know a thing.
He squared his shoulders, fully embracing his role as the 'smart bird' in the room.
Turning his attention to Bubble, he adopted a sterner tone. "Listen, Bubble, about that promise you made to the sparrows... Let me be blunt. You're doing a terrible job. I mean, seriously, at this rate, I might start questioning your leadership skills. And poor leadership starts with poor communication. Remember that."
Bubble fluffed its feathers indignantly, chirping something that sounded suspiciously defensive. Then, as if inspired, it launched into an even more elaborate explanation. This time, it threw in some interpretive dance for good measure, flapping and hopping around with the enthusiasm of a bird auditioning for a musical.
John's eye twitched. Shit, Bubble, that complicates things even more… Oh, for the love of mango seeds! Bubble, what is that? A TED Talk? They're not getting it, and now neither am I!
He threw his hands up. This is turning into a comedy sketch. Let's just skip the theatrics and get to the point before I lose more brain cells.
He exhaled sharply, deciding to cut through the theatrics. Fine. No need to beat around the bush. Let's just ask directly and beat the answer out if necessary.
He softened his tone, trying to inspire Bubble instead of letting his frustration show. "Bubble, my dear genius, you're doing much better now. I'm sure the sparrows will catch some of what you're saying. But let's be real—they're not exactly the brightest. Not like us smart birds, right?"
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Now, how about you just tell me directly: what exactly did you do to wipe out that white cloud blocking the Mark of Deception in your head? I mean, what did you really use to clear it?"
The game was momentarily paused, with no bird daring to launch a sneak attack on Bubble while John interrogated it. Even the combatants seemed interested in the secret, though their birdbrains were clearly struggling to keep up. The more Bubble flapped, chirped, and performed its elaborate mid-air mime routine, the dizzier they felt.
Bubble didn't chirp back immediately.
Oh, it's thinking now, is it? John mused. Maybe this swallow's got a bit more going on upstairs than the rest of these feathered fools. Could it be that it wasn't just dumb luck that it unlocked its ability right after the Mark was planted? That's right. Think, Bubble. Storms that little birdbrain of yours! There's always fortune after some struggle, right?
The room grew awkwardly silent as everyone, even John, refrained from interrupting Bubble's thought process.
Bubble, for its part, was feeling very self-important. With John's curious gaze and the collective, clueless stares of the other birds focused on it, the pressure began to mount. The silence felt like a mountain sitting squarely on its back. Unable to handle it any longer, Bubble finally chirped in revolt: "Such a pain in my feathers!"
John's eyes widened. You mean I'm a pain in your neck? Or maybe you meant to say 'a pain in the ass'? What the hell, Bubble? Where did you learn to cuss like that?
He shook his head, incredulous. Never mind. Guess I've been putting too much pressure on it. Alright, chill out, Bubble. Think freely. No rush.
Bubble flapped its wings and chirped again, this time explaining its process. During the awakening, it had used sheer courage to accelerate its heartbeat, forcing blood toward the Mark of Deception. Somehow, the rush of blood had managed to cleanse a tiny part of it.
To be exact, Bubble's chirp mentioned, cleansing only a dint of the Mark.
John's brows shot up. "Just a dint of the Mark? So, the ability you're using now is just a microscopic fraction of its true potential?"
Bubble nodded, chirping an additional detail: it was still relying on the adrenaline of the ongoing game to pump blood toward the Mark, keeping the process going bit by bit. "I'm getting smarter, faster, and stronger. Don't you see it, master?" it asked.
Ah, now it makes sense, John thought, a mischievous grin forming. Blood is the key to cleansing those wretched rules clogging the Marks. And if I remember correctly, I placed Bubble's Mark close to its head. Next time, I'll plant the Mark directly on the heart. Or better yet, I'll mix fresh, pure blood straight from their hearts into the ink. That should solve this mess of a problem.
John snapped back to attention and clapped his hands. "Alright, listen up! I've figured out the simplest way to help you all unlock your innate abilities."
The birds erupted into a symphony of chirps, their song a chaotic yet charming mix of praise and excitement for their master's bravado.
John smirked his expression a blend of mischief and challenge. That's right, sing your hearts out. But just wait till you see what I've got planned next!
The birds chirped louder, their melodious racket growing chaotic.
"Enough!" John's shout cut through the noise, silencing the avian chorus. He puffed his chest theatrically. "You think that was a song? I can sing better than all of you put together! I'm a Mockingbird, you feathered fools!" He pointed at them, his grin turning wicked. "Now stop chirping like a bunch of losers and fight! Fight with everything you've got! Push yourselves until your hearts are on the verge of bursting. And when that moment comes, block your breathing and pump your blood toward the Marks I so generously gifted you."
John's eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a low growl. "If you fail, then die trying. Better that than living in shame as a failure. I need birds with dignity, with pride, with strength. Not weaklings clinging to survival like cowards."
He paused, a sly smirk tugging at his beak as a thought crossed his mind.
"I need subordinates who are the exact opposite of me. Yeah, I'm a coward—so what? But I'll never herd cowards. One coward in the flock is plenty. I'm already carrying that baggage." He chuckled darkly to himself, though the humor was entirely lost on his audience.
The cavern fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of his words pressing down on the flock. Their feathers ruffled nervously as John let the tension linger, his gaze sweeping over them like a predator eying his next meal.
Finally, he broke the silence. "Bubble, I've got another task for you."
Bubble chirped eagerly, puffing its chest like it was ready to take on the world.
"Consider this your reward," John said, his tone turning almost playful—though the gleam in his eye suggested anything but, "Stop holding back and attack all of them. Hurt them. Hurt them bad." His grin widened, sharp and merciless. "Any bird that can't keep up with the reputation of our Sky Dominating Clan doesn't deserve mercy."
Leaning in, he dropped his voice to a chilling whisper, "They deserve… death."
The cavern grew colder, the air heavy with dread as the other birds stared at their leader and his enforcer in wide-eyed terror.
Bubble glanced around disdainfully, its eyes flashing with malice. It chirped, its tone dripping with scorn. "Master, in my eyes, none of them deserve to hold even a candle to our Sky Dominating Clan. They're worthless." It paused, the disdain growing sharper. "They all deserve death!"