Under Blackie's lead, the Woodpecker Hall began activating their spells. With their tallic, base-elental wings gleaming under the light, they dove into action. One by one, they felled the tall trees surrounding the mountain with swift, calculated strikes. The woodpeckers worked like a synchronized unit, their sharp wings slicing through trunks as though cutting butter.
They carved a full circle around the mountain first, then began working their way inward, creating precise gaps between each ring. By the ti they finished, seven concentric rings of fallen trees surrounded the mountain—a defensive masterpiece.
Atop the ever-growing magical tree, John stood tall, surveying the scene. He watched as the towering trees toppled one after another, like dominos in a ticulously orchestrated fall.
"Beautiful work," he muttered, a proud grin spreading across his beak. "Just their wings alone are sharp enough now, thanks to my Mark. And with that elental skill boost... they've multiplied their strength by thousands of folds. No longer are these the woodpeckers of yesteryears—they're my proud woodcutters now."
His gaze sharpened as he noticed movent beyond the outermost ring of fallen trees. The intruders were drawing near.
"Ti to roll out the welco mat," he murmured. "And what better way to greet them than with a little bonfire?"
He waited, his keen eyes watching the horde's approach with a calm intensity. Then, as the first beasts neared the edge of the seventh ring, he began to hum—a soft, fiery lody that ignited in his mind.
And with a sharp chirp, he commanded, "Fire Squadron, light it up!"
At his command, the flock of parrots took to the skies. Their vibrant wings shimred as they circled the outermost ring, flas sparking to life in their wake. Within monts, the fallen trees ignited into an inferno.
The fire spread rapidly, roaring to life as though chasing after the parrots in a srizing display of light and heat.
"Wow..." John breathed, his eyes glinting with awe as he watched the flas dance and consu the rings in sequence. "What a view! The bonfire's timing is perfect. Let's see how our 'guests' like this warm welco."
He tilted his head slightly, a mischievous grin creeping across his beak. "As expected. With that much montum, the front runners are always the first to get roasted."
Below, the scene unfolded exactly as he predicted. Beasts charged recklessly into the flas from all directions, their instincts overridden by panic and the sheer force of the stampede. The roars of the dood filled the sky—chilling, desperate cries that marked their final monts before they were reduced to blackened cinders.
John observed it all with an eerie calmness, though a flicker of unease touched his thoughts. The chorus of screeches rose higher and higher, only to be abruptly silenced.
Then, cutting through the chaos like a blade, a thunderous roar reverberated across the battlefield.
"Halt your movent. It's a trap!"
The deep, commanding voice froze the horde in its tracks. John's sharp eyes scanned the horde below, his attention locking onto the source of the sound: a white lion standing at the rear of the pack.
The beast exuded an undeniable aura of authority, its sleek fur glowing faintly in the fiery light, as if untouched by the chaos around it. Its golden eyes swept over the battlefield, its gaze burning with intelligence and power.
"Interesting," John muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. His sharp vision traced every detail of the lion's form, from its unnaturally majestic posture to the faint, ancient energy radiating from it.
"So, you're the one who brought all these beasts here," John murmured, a flicker of excitent sparking in his chest. "What are you, Mr. Lion? A reincarnated soul... or just a bloodline-awakened sentient beast?"
A sly grin curved across his beak as he shifted slightly on his perch, his feathers ruffling with anticipation. "Either way, this just got a whole lot more interesting."
Nearby, Woodie the woodpecker, perched diligently near the cavern's entrance, overheard him. Tilting its head curiously, it chirped rather naively, "Master, it's a mountain lion. Why are you calling it a reincarnated soul?"
The word "Cute" whistled through John's thoughts.
Before he could respond, a sharp, shrill voice interrupted.
"Shut up, loser!" Psycho Bubble snapped, its wings flaring slightly as it glared at the woodpecker. "Who do you think you are, questioning the master?"
Woodie's feathers puffed indignantly as it chirped back, "I'm not a loser, Psycho Bubble! And for the record, I have a na now—Woodie. Much better than yours! That must be why you're jealous, right? You wish you had my na, don't you? Well, too bad! I'm a woodpecker through and through, and I like Woodie!"
It glanced at the mockingbird, seeking silent approval, its naive passion evident.
John, observing the exchange, couldn't help but smile in his own bird-like way.
She's so self-absorbed. Cute, though, he mused, his eyes darting to Bubble. What's that expression? It's not anger... no, it must be lost for words, trying to process just how naive and self-absorbed Woodie is.
"Ahem—" Bubble cleared her throat, its sharp gaze narrowing on Woodie. "Alright, Woodie. It's not about your na." It fluffed her feathers dramatically. "It's about how you're a total failure of a bird! You can't even control your own skill properly. You're the biggest loser in the clan."
Woodie froze for a mont, but before it could respond, Bubble hesitated. Its wings twitched as if resisting the urge to boast further. It added, almost grudgingly, "But... if you can control this tree soday... I might believe you're worth sothing. I believe..."
Its words lingered in the air, dripping with scorn and faint acknowledgnt.
John, perched above them all, continued its unfinished sentence in his own mind.
I believe you could be a great rival—one who might even surpass soday. Yeah, even though you can't control it now, this magical tree spell of yours is an overpowered skill in the bunch. Just one tree has caused this much commotion. What about a hundred? No... thousands of these giant trees under your command? Then the dynamics of any fight will shift. Others will crawl under your claws... which ans they'll ultimately crawl under my feet. Oops, not feet. Sleeve of my tongue. Wait... no, under my claws! Right?
Lost in his own musings, his feathers ruffled slightly, giving away his excitent.
anwhile, the flock of sparrows had grown restless. Having tasted the thrill of destruction, they could no longer hold back their eagerness. Chirping in unison, they sang a hauntingly sweet yet brutal tune, their voices painting the chaos of burning trees and the panicked screams of mindless animals running to their doom.
The sharp lody broke through John's thoughts.
"Alright, alright," he muttered, shaking off his distraction. He spread his wings dramatically, the motion sending a ripple through the air.
He chirped shrilly, his voice cutting through the flock's song, "Fire up!"
The words "Fire up" were like the most beautiful lody the parrots had ever heard. Their excitent erupted in a synchronized chorus as they echoed the command, taking flight in swift, graceful arcs.
With an almost supernatural coordination, the parrots ford a ring and began igniting the sixth ring of fallen trees. Flas roared to life, racing through the dry wood. Their speed was staggering—before long, the second bonfire was complete, its circle glowing fiercely against the backdrop of smoke-filled skies.
But they didn't stop. Chirping with exhilaration, they darted toward the fifth ring, igniting it with the sa precision and fervor. Then to the fourth ring, then the third, second, and finally, the innermost circle—the first ring of fallen trees at the mountain's base.
As the last flas consud the wood, the parrots returned to the sky, flying in an elegant formation before perching neatly on nearby branches of the sole tree standing tall at the top of the mountain. Their voices chid in unison, carrying an eager pride, "Master, the Parrot Hall has completed the task. Is there more to burn? We are happy to follow your advice!"
John's sharp eyes flicked between each parrot, noting the unmistakable wild thrill burning in their gaze. A dark amusent curled in his chest.
So, you lot are simply addicted to burning, huh? Good. Keep up this spirit. One day, when I burn this world that opposes so much, you can enjoy to your heart's content. But until then...
He chirped, his tone calm but commanding, "Stand down for now."
Then, with a sharper, decisive tone, he gave the next order, "Sparrow Hall, you can begin your task."
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