Perched over the throne of bones, John pondered a new design for the cavern's interior. He envisioned a grand restructuring, leaning toward a Renaissance-inspired style.
His thoughts were interrupted by a distant commotion outside the cave. At first, he dismissed it, but the explosions grew louder and more frequent. Tremors shook the cavern, worsening the cracks in the walls and floor.
Suddenly, a deafening blast rocked the mountain, causing a massive chunk of rock to break free from the wall. It tumbled across the floor, narrowly missing the throne he sat upon.
John's feathers bristled with irritation. What the hell is going on out there? He shook his head, muttering, "This is getting out of hand. I'd better take a look."
Transforming into his bird form, he flew out of the cave. The sight that greeted him left him stunned.
The once lush mountain was barren, stripped of trees and grass. The landscape was scarred, with deep craters, jagged cracks, and scattered debris. The only tree that remained was the colossal magical tree summoned by the Woodpecker, its overbearing presence dominating the ruined terrain.
The Woodpecker chirped frantically, apologizing to everyone as the flock launched relentless attacks on the ever-growing tree. Bubble, the psycho sparrow, was the most aggressive, hurling skill after skill in a frenzy.
John surveyed the destruction, his beak twitching in disbelief. "What in the loving hell is wrong with them? I sent them to deal with the magical tree and its caster, not obliterate the entire mountain! And to top it off, the magical tree is the only thing holding the mountain together, keeping my cavern intact. Isn't that a bit contradictory?" He let out a wry laugh before shouting, "Stop! Cease your attacks this instant! Get back inside and clear out all the debris." Then, as an afterthought, he added, "And about the worms—forget about it for today."
Flapping his wings, he landed next to the Woodpecker, which stood frozen in the center of the gigantic tree, thick roots spreading outward in a chaotic web.
"It's all my fault. Please punish me, Master," it chirped, lowering its head in shame.
"Yes, it is your fault, Woodie. One must never cast a spell they haven't mastered."
John's tone was firm, though there was a hint of amusement in his gaze. "However, this isn't all bad. From now on, you'll serve as the gatekeeper of our clan. Your only duty is to master this spell. Until you do, the punishment stays."
The Woodpecker chirped in agreement, bowing its head.
John craned his neck, surveying the enormous tree. It was still growing, albeit more slowly. "Good. At least it's stabilizing. Keep at it, Woodie. Good luck figuring this mess out."
With that, he flapped his wings and prepared to fly back into the nearly collapsed cavern when a faint sound made him halt. The rhythmic thudding and hooping grew louder with each passing moment.
"What now?" John muttered, taking to the skies. As he ascended, his enhanced bird's-eye view revealed a startling sight—hundreds upon hundreds of beasts storming toward the mountain from every direction.
His feathers ruffled as he scanned the hordes, noting the variety of animals—some familiar, some distinctly unusual. "Ah, the earlier chaos must've drawn them in," he mused, his sharp eyes narrowing. "And I'd bet a good number of them are reincarnated souls."
A sudden thought struck him, and a sly grin spread across his beak. "Hmm… What if I trick them all and brand them as part of my herd? Letting this opportunity slip would be a waste."
The idea brewed quickly, but the sheer size of the incoming horde dampened his excitement. The ground trembled faintly beneath his talons as he watched the beasts approach from all directions. If they all reach the mountain, it's going to be utter chaos. Bloodshed, destruction... maybe even worse. He let out a frustrated chirp. This isn't just about them—it's about protecting the clan and the cavern.
He paced on his perch, his feathers ruffling with agitation. "I could send my pets to mislead or scare them off... but there's no guarantee it'll work on all of them. Wait…" His sharp gaze gleamed as an idea struck him. "I still have my... my…" He paused. "Wait, what should I even call it?"
Raising his gaze skyward, he called out, "God of Machine, can you scan this incoming horde and give me a heads-up about any strong beasts that might be a threat?"
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then the familiar, dispassionate mechanical voice rang in his mind.
["God of Machine is still offline."]
John blinked. "What? How are you offline when you're in my head? Ugh, whatever. Can you at least process my request?"
["Sure! Scanning... Scanning... Scanning failed due to disruptions from the rules and laws of this world. Scanning terminated."]
His feathers bristled as he let out an indignant squawk. "Seriously?! What's the point of having you if you flake out every time I need something important?" He flapped his wings in irritation, pacing again.
After a moment, he sighed. "Eh, my fault for even hoping." He ruffled his feathers, his tone shifting to resigned determination. "No point sulking—I made this mess, and I'll clean it up myself."
He launched into the air, his sharp eyes scanning the horde again. The beasts moved in a relentless tide, and from his vantage point, he could see their sheer variety—massive predators, swift runners, and even a few that glowed faintly with latent power.
"Still…" he muttered, his sly grin returning, "if I play my cards right, this could be the start of something big."
Without wasting another moment, he let out a series of sharp, shrill melodies that echoed across the barren landscape. It was a warning—a call to arms—alerting the clan of the incoming intruders and the danger they posed.
The fourteen birds immediately responded, soaring out of the cavern in a flash of feathers and fury. They perched strategically on the thick branches of the magical tree, each taking their positions as if it were second nature. The three halls were easily distinguishable: four sparrows, five parrots, four woodpeckers—and, standing apart from the others with an air of unshakable pride, Bubble, the lone, self-proclaimed "psycho sparrow."
John wasted no time. With quick, precise chirps, he outlined their duties, his tone commanding and sharp. Each bird listened intently, their gazes fixed on him as he detailed their tasks and strategies. Within minutes, they dispersed, wings cutting through the air as they flew in all directions, ready to carry out his orders.
Only three birds remained. Woodie, the woodpecker, stood resolutely near the cavern's entrance, now officially appointed as the gatekeeper. Bubble hovered nearby, its sharp eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and madness. The mockingbird perched silently, its presence subdued yet purposeful.
John turned to Bubble, his gaze steady. You're my insurance, he thought, the weight of his plan settling on him. If things go south, you'll ensure I'm not caught off guard.
Looking at the trio, he sighed softly. "Alright. The pieces are in place. Now... let's see how this plays out."
With that, he took one last glance at the horizon, the oncoming horde a swirling mass of chaos, and braced himself for what was to come.