Naturally, beasts feared wildfire. The scorching heat and flickering light sharpened their animalistic instincts, filling them with unease. They hesitated, reluctant to step into the flames, even with the seven extinguished paths clearly laid before them in the outermost seventh bonfire ring.
Yet, some creatures, those adapted to heat and fire, had already surged forward, vanishing into the labyrinth without hesitation.
At the back of the horde, the three intelligent beasts—White Tiger, Silver Wolf, and Black Gorilla—watched their army waver. Their piercing eyes gleamed with authority. Then, in unison, they roared.
The thunderous command shattered the fear lingering in the horde's eyes. Hesitation melted away. Driven by instinct and submission, the beasts began moving, trudging into the rings of fire.
But not all followed.
A handful of cunning, smaller creatures tried to take their chances, darting toward the wilderness in a desperate bid to escape.
The Silver Wolf was the first to react. It lifted its head and howled.
In an instant, over fifty wolves emerged from the shadows, their sleek bodies slicing through the darkness like living blades. They hunted without mercy, their fangs and claws ripping through flesh. Screams of the deserters echoed briefly—then silence.
The Silver Wolf turned back to the horde, blood dripping from its maw. It roared once more—a clear, merciless warning.
Run, and you die.
John's golden eyes twinkled with amusement. He spread his wings and let out a delighted chirp, perfectly mimicking the Silver Wolf's cry.
"Run, and you die. I like it," he echoed, his voice laced with mirth.
Even the birds glanced at him in wonder, their gazes practically screaming, Master, you're damn amazing.
Huh? What is it? Is it just my imagination? No… it's something else. Maybe these marks let me read their thoughts when they're emotional. The condition must be their emotions… Whatever. I was born anew as a Mockingbird. It's only natural that I mimic.
John's satisfaction deepened as the final beast hesitantly stepped past the threshold of the seventh bonfire Ring. The flames crackled hungrily, casting flickering shadows like spirits waiting to devour their prey.
From his perch, he exhaled slowly, his amusement evident in his smirk.
"Now… the real game begins."
The mountain was no longer just a battlefield—it had become a labyrinth of fire, a grand stage set for annihilation. And John was its merciless puppeteer.
Suddenly, three deep roars echoed through the burning expanse. The White Tiger, Silver Wolf, and Black Gorilla stood at the heart of the horde, their eyes sharp as blades. Then, as one, they stepped into the fire-lit battlefield.
The White Lion's powerful voice thundered across the flames:
"We are the emissaries of the Triple Fang King. Undo this nonsense at once and surrender. This forest has rules, and you lot have caused a disturbance that may draw human cultivators here. Surrender now and face judgment at the Triple Fang Den. This is your final warning—stop this senseless commotion."
John remained silent.
The only response was the excited singing of the parrots, their fiery voices echoing through the crackling flames. With each note, they spat fireballs, sealing off the seven paths with raging infernos.
The horde was now trapped within the blazing ring. No way back. Only forward.
John finally broke the silence, tilting his head.
"Say again… what was that? Triple Fang what?"
"It's Triple Fang King, foolish bird," the Black Gorilla corrected gruffly.
"Triple Fang King… King? Never heard of him. Or is it a she? No? Whatever. The point is, you're trespassing on the Sky Dominating Clan's territory, bringing this horde with you. Are you all trying to trample my mountain? In that case, I'll crush this horde first, and then we can negotiate."
"You dare—!" The gorilla growled, muscles tensing in rage.
"Shut up, Mario! Let me talk." The White Lion's commanding voice cut through the tension.
John let out an amused chirp. "Yes, shut up, Mario. Let the lion talk. Oh, by the way, I don't like you. So you're off my list of potential recruits. Instead, I'll just slaughter you, gather my clan, roast your meat properly, and have a nice dinner."
"You shitty bird—"
"I said shut up!" The lion snapped. "Know your place, ingrate. Let me handle this."
The White Lion turned its attention back to John, his tone surprisingly warm and calm for a beast of his stature.
"Mr. Mockingbird, you must be newly reincarnated. This forest—this entire land—is a sanctuary for reincarnated souls like us. The ancients formed an alliance long ago to keep our existence hidden from human cultivators. A disturbance like this is strictly forbidden. Too many have already died."
The White Lion's golden eyes softened slightly. "Please, stop this and come with us. I will plead for you. The king may grant you a pardon since you're bright, gifted, and new to this world."
No one responded.
Other than the crackling flames, an eerie silence settled over the battlefield.
The tension stretched, heavy and unspoken, until the lion, unable to bear the awkward stillness, barked, "Mr. Mocking—"
"Ah, just call me Singer." John cut in, flapping his wings dramatically. "I hate being called that. Mockingbird? Bleh." He shuddered as if the word physically pained him.
"Mister Singer, please, let's stop this."
John tilted his head. "About that, I might have considered it—if you hadn't come in here with that attitude." His golden eyes glimmered with mischief. "You see, for people—no, birds—like us, attitude is everything. And who said anything about pleading? I am the Founding Head of the great Sky Dominating Clan! To suggest that I plead is a crime."
He chirped, "What do you say, birds?"
In response, the flock puffed up their chests and broke into a melodic, arrogant chorus, their voices carrying the name of their clan through the air like a war anthem.
John smirked. "Alright, alright, now let's get to the real deal. Enough of this 'Triple Fang King-Kong' nonsense." He gestured dramatically with a wing. "Dear intruders, you are now trapped inside the first ingenious battle art I have ever crafted." His golden gaze flickered with amusement. "Mind the flames. These are not your household fires; they are the ever-burning skill of my proud parrots."
He flapped once, his tone turning sharp.
"Here are the rules if you wish to crawl to the foot of my mountain and grovel beneath my claws."
The beasts tensed.
"There is no turning back. Only forward." John continued, his voice dripping with amusement. "Six more rings of bonfires still stand between you and freedom. Each ring has safe paths hidden within it. But—" he clicked his beak, "—there's a time limit."
The beasts stiffened.
"After the time runs out, the paths will close, and the fire will continue. You must run, find the path, and enter the next ring before time is up."
John paused, then added with a smirk, "Oh, and about the time… I forgot to mention—I don't have a watch or any device to measure it. So the time limit…" He let the words hang.
"…is my patience."
Panic rippled through the horde. Even with their limited intelligence, they understood John's words. Chaos erupted as they scrambled, trampling over one another in a desperate search for the safe paths.
From above, the flock sang in delight, their voices ringing with mockery:
"The fools run blindly! The beasts are dumb! Soon they'll be roasted—crispy and numb!"
Among the three intelligent beasts, Mario, the black gorilla, was the first to react, letting out an enraged roar.
The white lion followed, his golden eyes blazing. "If it's war you want, little bird, then war it is! I'll crush you under my paws and tear your feathers apart. Do you think these flames will stop me? You don't know who you're dealing with."
Without hesitation, the lion charged—not toward the open gaps between the trees, but straight into the sixth ring of the bonfire. His powerful form moved like a phantom, undeterred by the searing heat.
John tilted his head, watching with mild amusement. "Hmm, it's fast." He turned to Bubble. "What do you think? Is it actually fast?"
Bubble scoffed, unimpressed. "Not really. Even the weakest among us could outrun that. Not worth my time. Master, just say the word, and I'll wipe them out."
John chuckled. "No need. This is just a game for my amusement. None of them are worth your presence. Just enjoy the show. Today, we'll be harvesting plenty of fresh meat."
At the mention of meat, the ever-curious Woodie blinked and tilted his head. "Meat? But Master, aren't we just garden birds? We eat grains, fruits, and worms."
John recoiled dramatically. "Worms? Ugh! Do you really still want to eat those slimy, tasteless things?" He straightened, his voice ringing with authority. "Listen well, all of you! Bubble, add this to our clan's laws—worms are officially forbidden. The Sky Dominating Clan is no longer a flock of weak, seed-pecking birds. We are predators now!"
Woodie flapped his wings uncertainly. "Predators? Like... big eagles? Or those giant black crows I once saw when I first learned to fly?"
John nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Do you know what they eat?"
Woodie hesitated, then guessed, "Worms… bigger worms?"
Bubble face-palmed with a wing. "No, Woodie. They eat meat."
Woodie's eyes widened. "Meat?"
John's beak curled into a smirk. "Yes. Meat. And those birds are the kings of the sky—the true predators. But from this moment on, we rise above them. We are the new apex predators, standing at the very top of the food chain. And do you see those beasts running around like fools? They are our meal."