"What the…" John muttered, pressing his fingers to his temples—the throbbing headache thinking over how Bubble overreacted to his statement.
All he wanted was a competitive environment to push his birds into invoking their innate abilities. Was that too much to ask? But no. Somewhere along the way, he must've accidentally nudged Bubble into thinking it was the second coming of Bird Zeus.
Great job, me, John thought bitterly. Now I've got a feathered tyrant with an ego bigger than its wingspan. Perfect.
Bubble strutted mid-air, puffing out its chest like it owned the cavern. Meanwhile, the other birds chirped angrily below, their cries a medley of insults and challenges.
The swallows chirped about loyalty and how Bubble was betraying its own kind.
The parrots chimed in, accusing the hateful sparrow of letting its new ability go to its tiny head.
And then there was the woodpecker. Oh, the woodpecker.
"Fight like a real bird!" it chirped, its tone dripping with mockery. "What's the matter, Bubble? Scared to use your talons and beak? Or did you misplace them?"
John couldn't help but chuckle, though he stifled it quickly. That woodpecker's got guts, he thought, and apparently, a death wish.
Bubble froze mid-flap, its feathers ruffling as the insult hit home. Slowly, it turned to glare at the woodpecker, its eyes narrowing into slits.
Oh no, John thought, suppressing a groan. Here we go. The swallow's about to unleash its inner drama queen.
Sure enough, Bubble began chirping back, its voice dripping with disdain. "Worthless weaklings!" it spat, adding an exaggerated swoop for dramatic effect. "None of you deserve to be part of the Sky Dominating Clan!"
"Bubble, seriously," John interjected, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "Are you auditioning for a villain role, or are you actually going to fight? Because right now, all I see is a lot of flapping and not much action."
The other birds chirped in agreement, their taunts growing louder. Bubble's feathers fluffed up even more if that were possible.
John sighed, shaking his head. Great. I've got fifteen birds, and instead of working together, they're re-enacting some kind of avian soap opera. Just what I needed.
Still, he couldn't help but smirk. This might just work, he thought. Push them hard enough, and they'll either kill each other—or they'll grow stronger trying to survive.
Leaning back against the cavern wall, he crossed his arms. "Alright, Bubble," he called out, his tone laced with amusement. "Let's see if you can back up all that squawking. And remember, I'm watching. If anyone fails to impress me…" He let the sentence hang, his grin sharpening.
"Let the games begin," John murmured under his breath. The humor in his tone melted away, replaced by a gleam of cold determination in his eyes.
The woodpecker flapped its wings and puffed out its chest. "You dare fight me like a bird?" it challenged, its beak clicking menacingly.
Bubble, still hovering with regal disdain, gave a dismissive chirp. "Fight like a bird? Hmph! Do I look like I share your brain cell, woodpecker? Why would I play a beak-bashing game with you and that ridiculous drill of a face? Unlike you losers, I think before I fight. The Sky Dominating Clan doesn't need fools who mistake brute force for strategy."
The woodpecker bristled, its feathers ruffling in irritation, but before it could retort, Bubble turned its attention to two of its kin trapped in shimmering water bubbles floating nearby.
With a chilling glare, Bubble's eyes narrowed. A subtle shift in its wings and the water bubbles contracted sharply. The two trapped woodpeckers inside squawked in panic as the bubbles compressed. In a heartbeat, the bubbles exploded, sending the birds crashing to the cavern floor in a wet heap.
The cavern fell silent, save for the faint sound of dripping water.
John sighed, rubbing his temple. "Shit, I knew it," he muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of exasperation and grudging admiration. "You've been holding back this whole time, Bubble. Cunning little featherhead." He crouched, inspecting the fallen woodpeckers from afar. "At least they're still breathing. Good. A month in bed ought to teach them not to mess with a tyrant swallow."
Bubble chirped triumphantly, puffing out its chest even more. "Now it's your turn," it sneered, locking eyes with the remaining woodpecker. "Join them below, loser."
The remaining woodpecker didn't flinch. Instead, it launched itself into the air, wings beating furiously as it surged toward Bubble, its intent clear: reach the swallow before it could attack.
Bubble smirked—or, at least, as much as a bird can smirk—and spat out a volley of water bubbles. But this time, something changed.
The bubbles varied wildly in size, with massive, looming orbs obscuring smaller, almost invisible ones that darted and wove unpredictably. It was a chaotic storm of water traps, each one a potential disaster for the approaching woodpecker.
John leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, now this is interesting," he muttered. "Bubble's hiding layers within layers. A trap within a trap. The big ones shield the small ones, making it almost impossible to predict. Clever. And in the dark? It's practically deadly."
The woodpecker twisted and turned mid-air, dodging the larger bubbles with precision, only to be blindsided by a sudden barrage of smaller, faster ones. It squawked in frustration, its movements growing more frantic as Bubble pressed the attack.
"Good," John murmured, a faint grin playing on his lips. "Push them, Bubble. Show me what you've got. But don't get cocky, swallow. There's always someone out there sharper than you—if you survive long enough to meet them."
The parrots perched nearby, their feathers ruffled and their heads bobbing as they exchanged squawking whispers. The sight of the woodpeckers' valiant struggle against Bubble stirred something unexpected: inspiration.
"For all their chest-thumping and beak-clicking, at least those woodpeckers are fighting fair," one parrot squawked, puffing out its vibrant green chest.
Another parrot nodded, its beady eyes fixed on Bubble. "Yeah, but this Bubble? Hah! It's like the bird equivalent of a total jerk. Uses its fancy abilities to cheat and then struts around like it owns the flock."
A third parrot, the self-appointed philosopher of the group, chimed in. "A villain, I say. A proper bird villain. First, it taunts us, flaunting its power. Then, it outright declares it's going to kill us all? If that isn't Grade-A feathered asshole behavior, I don't know what is."
The parrots squawked their agreement, ruffling their feathers indignantly as they glared at Bubble. It was a strange twist of fate: the woodpeckers, who had spent their days bullying the parrots, suddenly seemed like underdog heroes in the face of Bubble's ruthless display.
John, overhearing the parrots' grumbling, couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, Bubble," he muttered under his breath, "looks like you've officially been crowned Public Enemy Number One. Congratulations. Wear that villain cape with pride, you little tyrant."
Meanwhile, Bubble remained blissfully oblivious to its blossoming reputation as the flock's resident antagonist. Its focus was razor-sharp, and the air around it charged with the tension of a predator toying with its prey.
The woodpecker, determined yet visibly strained, zigzagged through the barrage of watery orbs. Each orb spun and shifted unpredictably, forcing the woodpecker into increasingly daring acrobatics. Its eyes darted with laser focus, and its senses seemed to heighten as it edged closer to the sparrow.
Just as it was ten feet away, Bubble changed the game yet again. It spat a fresh volley of bubbles, but these weren't ordinary orbs. Each was a uniquely shaped nightmare, their sizes and trajectories warping in real-time, all under Bubble's flawless control.
The sight drew audible gasps from the observing flock.
"That woodpecker…" John muttered, narrowing his eyes. "It's close to invoking its mark. Too bad it won't make it past this barrage. Or…" His tone shifted, intrigue creeping in. "Maybe it will?"
The woodpecker dodged and weaved through the chaos, narrowly escaping seven water orbs. But the final two—twisting mid-flight and shrinking at the last second—threw it off. It stumbled, wings faltering, its momentum skewed.
Desperation painted its movements until a sudden blur shot through the air.
A parrot launched itself toward the woodpecker, chirping dramatically, "Don't thank me! I just hate that pompous sparrow with every feather of my being!"
Before the woodpecker could react, the parrot collided with it, shielding it with its own body. A split second later, the parrot was swallowed by one of Bubble's water orbs, its chirps of indignation muffled within the liquid prison.
The woodpecker seized the moment, shaking off its hesitation. With a burst of adrenaline, it surged forward, claws outstretched, aiming directly for Bubble's smug face.
John watched intently, his brow furrowed. "Why isn't Bubble fleeing? Is it about to pull another trick out of its feathers, or has its massive pride finally made it stupid?"
What happened next was nothing short of mind-blowing. A sharp, metallic clang echoed through the air—the crispy clink of two invisible swords meeting mid-flight.
"Shit!" John blurted, nearly falling off his perch. "What the freaking hell just happened? Did that tiny sparrow actually block the woodpecker claw-to-claw? Am I losing my mind, or is this another insane perk from the Mark of Deception?"
He rubbed his eyes, staring at the scene in disbelief. The sparrow and the woodpecker locked in mid-air, their movements faster than most of the flock could follow.
Unable to contain his confusion, John muttered, "God of Machine, please tell me this is normal. Is this another hidden bonus from the mark, or did I somehow create a feathery monster?"
The tension in the cavern escalated as the clash continued. The other birds were equally stunned, their chirps of shock and disbelief reverberating like a chorus of tiny gongs.
Suddenly, the familiar mechanical voice chimed in:
["God of Machine is still taking a nap. Yes, it's a passive skill they gained after successfully acquiring the Mark. Their bodies become stronger, their agility faster, and their claws and beaks sharper. As for their strength rankings, each part of their bodies—claws, eyes, beaks, wings, and more—is graded from F to A, with F being the starting grade and A the strongest."]
"Alright," John said, narrowing his eyes, "then what's the ranking of my fifteen flock members?"
["All their body parts are currently at Grade F."]
"Grade F? So, they're all physically equal?" John asked skeptically.
["No. Each grade has five sub-levels, from 1 to 5. For example, the swallows typically have slightly stronger legs—Grade F, Level 2—compared to others at Level 1. Parrots have sharper claws at Level 2, while the woodpeckers excel in beak strength and sharpness, with Level 4 beaks compared to the parrots at Level 3 and the swallows at Level 2."]
John frowned as realization dawned. "Okay, things are starting to add up. So, the woodpecker and Bubble are evenly matched when it comes to claw strength and sharpness—both at Level 1 of Grade F."
Then, as if hit by a sudden bolt of inspiration, John shouted, "Parrots and the rest of you! What are you waiting for, just sitting there gawking like mute spectators? Get real! You've got stronger bodies, sharper eyesight, and more powerful claws. If you're grounded by someone else's skill and can't use your wings, then use your claws, beaks, and legs to climb, crawl, leap—whatever it takes! Fight! Do something!"
His voice echoed through the cavern, jolting the flock into action. Determined chirps filled the air as the birds rallied together, galvanized by his words and the realization of their untapped potential.
The four parrots took flight, their wings slicing through the air as they soared toward Bubble. Below, the grounded sparrows flapped their wings furiously, finally managing to lift off.
"What the...?" John muttered, his jaw-dropping. "All this time, Bubble's spell didn't actually stop their ability to fly—it just trapped them inside those watery orbs. Does this mean that if they manage to pump their blood and fully awaken the Mark, they might get similar water-bubble abilities? Or worse, the same ability? Just imagining five of them with that power is… terrifying. Shit!"
On the ground, two woodpeckers lay unconscious, their battered forms a grim reminder of Bubble's ruthless power. But Blackie, who had been looking for an opportunity, chirped sharply. Its companion responded in kind, and together, they leaped into action. Pecking into the cavern walls, they clawed and climbed, inching closer to the fray with sheer determination.
All around, the air crackled with tension and energy as every bird focused on one target: the psycho sparrow, Bubble.
"Let's see how far you can push them, Bubble," John murmured, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "The Sky Dominating Clan is starting to live up to its name."