The flock was wide awake, their eyes riveted on the final showdown between Master Singer and the psycho sparrow, Bubble.
Under immense psychological pressure, Bubble threw every trick and strategy it had at the mockingbird, whose calm, nonchalant expression betrayed no sign of concern.
The sight was both awe-inspiring and unnerving for the birds, especially for Blackie, who watched in stunned silence.
"So this is the difference between me and that psycho sparrow," Blackie murmured, its voice barely a whisper. "A true genius, even with a character as rotten as Bubble's. Compared to it, I'm still leagues away from standing on equal footing."
The battle unfolding before the flock was on an entirely different level. Strategy, cunning, and sheer skill clashed as Bubble threw everything it had into the fight. Every trick and technique of its water bubble manipulation was executed with the precision of a master, each movement calculated to trap the seemingly harmless-looking mockingbird.
But John was untouchable—a phantom in the air. His effortless dodges and last-moment escapes rendered Bubble's carefully laid traps futile. Every time it seemed Bubble had cornered him, John would slip away, as though he were mocking the sparrow's efforts.
What made it worse for Bubble was the undeniable truth: John knew everything about its bubble manipulation technique. He had read Bubble's entire playbook, dissecting not just its skills but also its battle instincts—the moments it would defend, attack, or retreat.
To John, the psycho sparrow wasn't just an opponent but an open book, its thoughts and moves predictable before they even happened.
The sparrow squawked in frustration, spiraling into chaos. It was an utterly hopeless situation—no strategies left, no skills left, no way out.
Hovering effortlessly in the air, John flapped his wings lazily, his mocking grin cutting deeper than any attack. "What? Is this all you've got, Mister Genius?" he sneered, imitating the sparrow's signature taunting chirp.
Bubble chirped back, its tone strangely unaffected, "Master, I give up. It's my loss. And honestly, I'm at a loss for how to counterattack your skills of excellence."
John froze mid-hover, cocking his bird head to the side in exaggerated disbelief. "Huh? Are you really the Bubble I know, or have you been possessed by some soft-hearted ghost? Skills of excellence?! My foot. And who the hell taught you to speak like that? The cocky version of you is far more entertaining." His mocking tone drew scattered chuckles from the flock below.
The other birds joined in, their chirps and tweets forming a chorus of praise for their master. But what they truly enjoyed was watching the once-tyrannical psycho sparrow get utterly humiliated. Strangely, Bubble didn't seem fazed at all. It wasn't even trying to defend its pride—something entirely out of character. Instead, it seemed to be, dare they say it, kissing up to John.
Flapping his wings harder, John stirred up a gust that sent feathers and dust swirling around Bubble. "What are you waiting for, then? Stand down and join the line. We've got rankings to sort, and I've got a clan to whip into shape."
With a graceful swoop, John descended and perched on his throne. "Everyone, form up!" he commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative.
The birds hesitated only briefly before organizing themselves into three groups: sparrows, parrots, and woodpeckers. Every pair of avian eyes shot daggers at Bubble, their glares dripping with disdain and long-held grudges.
Bubble felt the weight of their collective scorn but didn't flinch. Instead, it stood apart, refusing to join the sparrows' camp. Its posture was defiant, its focus unwavering as it fixed its gaze solely on John, ignoring the vengeful stares around it. The psycho sparrow acted as though the rest of the flock wasn't worth its time.
John, meanwhile, studied the assembled birds with an appraising eye. Without a word, he climbed atop the mysterious diary that had long piqued his curiosity. Gripping the thick cover, he tried to force it open.
As expected, the moment his fingers touched the book, a pulse of electric energy surged through it, jolting his bird body. He let out a startled squawk, his feathers ruffling from the shock. Undeterred, he tried again—and again. Each attempt resulted in the same blue arc of energy crackling over him.
By the fifth shock, John had had enough. He morphed, his bird form elongating and shifting into the young man's image he had imagined for himself.
The flock collectively froze, their tiny hearts hammering as they witnessed the transformation. This was the second time they had seen this startling sight. The first time, they had been mindless, unable to fully comprehend the enormity of what they were witnessing.
But now, with their newfound intelligence, the fear of John's human form hit harder—a primal dread embedded deep in their instincts from when they were still ordinary, mindless birds. The sight of the bluish electric arcs dancing over John's human body only heightened their unease.
John flexed his human fingers, his sharp gaze scanning the silent, trembling flock. "Let's begin," he said, his voice low and commanding, resonating in a way that made the birds shudder even more.
"Today, I officially announce the establishment of the Sky Dominating Clan!" he declared, his tone brimming with authority.
The birds chirped and sang heroically, their voices a cacophony of enthusiasm.
"Stop butting in while I'm speaking!" John snapped, ruffling his feathers as though to emphasize his annoyance. "Applauding?… You can do that plenty once I'm done here. Now, moving on."
He straightened, his imposing form towering over the flock. "Effective immediately, you fifteen avians are the first generation of the clan, and I am your sole leader. The clan will be divided into three societies: Sparrow Hall, Parrot Hall, and Woodpecker Hall, with five of you in each tribe. From now on, address each other with respect according to your rankings. Any violation of the rules will result in punishment proportional to the crime.
"For that, I officially announce the creation of a special class administrative department: the Sky Punishing Hall. Its sole purpose will be to ensure discipline and enforce our rules."
John paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Then, with a sharp glint in his eye, he added, "As for its leader, after much consideration, I've decided to appoint Bubble of Sparrow Hall as the First Head of the Sky Punishing Hall. This hall will oversee disciplinary actions when needed."
The birds chirped nervously, their unease palpable. The idea of Bubble, with its volatile personality, holding such a critical position filled them with dread. To many, Bubble's mental stability was questionable at best.
Sensing their discomfort, John raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter? Do you have a problem with Bubble as Punishing Head?" He let his question hang in the air before smirking. "Good. Then step forward, challenge Bubble to a duel, and win. If you succeed, the position is yours. Do you dare?"
The silence was deafening. Bubble puffed out its chest, its feathers flaring as it chirped smugly, "Do you even dare? I'm happy to comply with Master's plan. This time, I won't hold back. After all, my social ranking in the clan is on the line. No?"
Still, no bird moved. They remained rooted in place, their feathers trembling under Bubble's imposing gaze.
"That settles it," John said with finality. "I hereby declare Bubble the Head of the Sky Punishing Hall."
After a pause, he added, his voice dripping with mockery, "Well? What are you all waiting for? Applaud for Bubble and sing its praises."
Reluctantly, the birds began flapping their wings and chirping a song. Their tone was strained, blending reluctant acknowledgment with faint bitterness. The lyrics, though improvised, touched on Bubble's ruthless achievements and its infamous cruelty—even toward its own kin.
Bubble basked in the attention, preening and puffing up its chest further as though the song was the highest honor it could receive. Meanwhile, John leaned back, his sharp gaze sweeping over the flock with satisfaction. The Sky Dominating Clan was officially taking shape, and its dynamics were already proving to be as chaotic and entertaining as he had envisioned.
John raised his hand abruptly, silencing the chorus of chirps and fluttering wings. "Enough," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. The birds fell silent, their attention riveted on him.
"There are still two more administrative pillars to establish," John announced. "The Scouting House and the Gathering House. The Scouting House will be responsible for gathering intelligence and exploring new lands beyond this mountain. As for the Gathering House, its members will collect resources to sustain our clan."
He surveyed the flock, his expression stern. "Now, who here has ventured beyond this mountain?"
The birds exchanged uncertain glances, but not a single chirp broke the silence. Even Bubble, usually so quick to boast, remained uncharacteristically quiet.
"As expected," John muttered under his breath, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. They were mindless birds before. Fear still grips their instincts. None of them have left this mountain since hatching from their eggs.
John's thoughts turned inward, his expression darkening. I'm the only one here who came from another place. That damned fox brought me here. His fist clenched, and anger flared in his heart.
"Marx!" he roared, the name echoing across the mountain. "You scamming, scheming scum of a fox! Soon, I'll gather my strength, build an army of magical beasts, and come for you—and that rascally master of yours, too!"
The flock stirred, feeling the weight of their master's fury. The birds chirped in unison, their voices rising into a harmonious cry of loyalty and vengeance. Their songs swore to tear the flesh of the fox named Marx, each word laced with feral determination.
Bubble, ever the overachiever, puffed itself up dramatically. "Master!" it chirped, its voice brimming with fervor. "I swear to feast upon that fox's corpse, drink its blood, and quench your anger with its demise!"
John smirked at Bubble's theatrics, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of lingering fire. "Save your boasts for the battlefield, Bubble. There'll be plenty of chances to prove yourself when the time comes. For now, our focus is on strengthening the clan. We'll need it for the battles ahead."
He turned his gaze toward Blackie, who had been quietly observing. "Since Blackie of the Woodpecker Hall has successfully awakened its innate ability on its own, I hereby crown you as the joint head of both the Gathering House and the Scouting House. Congratulations, Blackie. Your rank is second only to the head of the Punishing Hall. You are free to manage these two departments as you see fit, but I expect results. Do you accept this position, Blackie the Woodpecker?"
Blackie stepped forward, its feathers trembling with emotion. Its voice wavered with awe as it chirped, "It's my honor, sir. Truly, it's my honor."
John nodded approvingly, then addressed the flock with a sharp tone. "For Bubble and Blackie, I've already grasped the nature of their abilities. The rest of you, step forward one at a time and show me what you've got. Your abilities will determine your place in the clan. But remember this—nothing in this clan is set in stone. Every position is yours to claim if you have the strength and will to challenge for it. Even my position as leader. If you dare."
The air grew thick with tension, a ripple of fear coursing through the birds. Feathers fluffed involuntarily as each bird instinctively lowered its head.
Bubble was the first to break the silence, puffing out its chest with a gleam in its eye. "I dare not, sir. You'll always be my beloved master." Its tone dripped with fervent loyalty.
The rest of the flock hurriedly followed suit, chirping the same words in unison, as if in ritualistic reverence to their leader and, perhaps reluctantly, to Bubble.
Bubble, basking in the collective deference, sneered at the flock. "If you dare to go against my master," it declared menacingly, "you'll have to face me first. My bubbles are always ready to shatter your bones."
The flock chirped in a harmonious chorus, desperate to pacify the self-proclaimed enforcer. "Please don't mislead us, Sir Bubble. We are ready to die for the master!"
Bubble turned its head in smug satisfaction, its chest puffed out even further.
John clapped his hands sharply, redirecting the focus. "Enough. Let's begin the inspection, starting with the Parrot Hall!"
The five parrots stepped forward, lining up with pride shimmering in their eyes. One by one, they began to display their abilities.
"Fire!" John muttered, his excitement barely contained as the parrots spat fireballs into the air. Each of them possessed a fire-nature ability, but as John observed more closely, he noticed distinctions among them. Their flames were all yellow, but they varied in intensity—some burned hotter, while others sustained their flames longer.
John almost leaped out of joy but quickly reined in his excitement, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Absolutely amazing. Fire abilities. The potential for this group is immense.
He turned to the flock, his sharp gaze demanding attention. "Well done, Parrot Hall. You've set the bar high. Let's see how the rest of the clan measures up."