My earlier mindset was like living in a bubble, clinging to a small, outdated version of myself. I shouldn't underestimate this new body of mine. For now, I'm a bird—a bird with the power to sing songs, including the god-forbidden Eternal Blissful Song. At my disposal, it could lull anyone into an unbreakable slumber. And... by so bizarre twist of fate, I might even be able to steal whatever I desire while they're asleep.
...Wait, what am I thinking? Stealing? Seriously? I'm a mockingbird, not a thief!
John ruffled his feathers with a huff. Focus, John. Enough self-criticism. First things first—deal with her.
With a smug tilt of his head, John declared, "Didn't I warn you before? I'm a walking disaster—wherever I go, bad luck tends to follow. It's a curse, a disease, and now it's finally embraced you in its tight grip. Your ti's up, granny."
Maximilian froze for a mont, the mory of his earlier warning flashing through her mind. She scoffed, brushing it aside, but her rage rekindled instantly. With a flicker of movent, she lunged toward him, unleashing a relentless barrage of attacks.
The shimring tallic shield responded effortlessly, parrying every strike.
Watching her futile effort, John puffed out his chest and began to sing the Eternal Blissful Song. The lody was hauntingly sweet, each note in perfect harmony, carrying an otherworldly resonance.
After three long verses, Maximilian's movents faltered, her eyelids drooping as if caught in an irresistible lullaby. But with sheer willpower, she bit down on her tongue, snapping herself awake, and yelled, "Do you honestly think that pathetic tune can take down?"
She raised her hands, her fingernails elongating into razor-sharp points. Without hesitation, she drove them into her ears, blood trickling down as she maid her own hearing.
John's eyes widened in shock. Damn it! How did I forget she could pull a stunt like that?
The chanical voice chid in his head, calm and mocking. "[Afraid not, Mister Singer. The Eternal Blissful Song is not a song of the ears but a song of the soul. Keep singing. She's just a clone—ignorant and limited in power. Press on.]"
Reassured, John steadied his breath and continued singing, the haunting lody weaving through the tallic chamber like an unrelenting tide.
Even though she was rely a clone, Maximilian clung desperately to her consciousness, enduring self-inflicted injuries to resist the song's relentless pull. But the strain proved too great. Created from only a fragnt of her original soul, she finally succumbed, collapsing into a deep, unyielding slumber.
John raised his wing, and from the tallic ceiling above, a massive cleaver materialized, descending with lethal precision toward her neck.
"[Wait!]" the chanical voice interjected sharply. "[Don't harm her body. You'll need it to construct a new one for yourself. All you need to do is sever the asly fragnt of her soul tethered to it.]"
John hesitated, the cleaver halting mid-air. "What do you an, a new body? And how exactly am I supposed to 'snap her soul'?"
"[Simple,]" the voice replied smoothly. "[To end her for good, you need only pierce the center of her forehead with a precise strike—a needle will suffice. That will sever her soul fragnt from the body completely.]"
The tallic cleaver shimred, transforming into a sleek, gleaming needle.
"[As for the body," the voice continued, "aren't you eager to escape this wretched bird form? Her clone body is made from materials, not of this world. By reshaping it into your new vessel, you'll bypass this world's restrictions, granting you far greater freedom and power. And," the voice added with a faint chuckle, "you'll gain full access to the Divine Codex of Beasts. With her body as your foundation, your adventure can finally begin.]"
Under the chanical god's guidance, John carefully controlled the needle, aiming for the exact center of Maximilian's forehead. With steady determination, he plunged it in, driving the full two-and-a-half-inch length deep into her head.
"[Alright, that's enough,]" the chanical voice instructed, its tone calm yet firm.
"One question," John blurted, panic edging into his voice. "Am I going to look like her? Because if I am, forget about all this. I'll spend the rest of my life here, flying and singing as I please."
The voice paused, seemingly amused. "[I thought she was considered quite attractive by human standards.]"
John flapped his wings indignantly. "Her looks aren't the problem! I just don't want to be stuck in a woman's body."
"[Ah, I see. No need to worry, then. You can imagine the body you desire, and this chamber will assist in creating it to your specifications.]"
John exhaled deeply, relief washing over him. "Good. Fine. One last question—why are you still helping ? I betrayed your trust, didn't I?"
"[It's true—you failed to keep your promise in the end. Yet, I suppose I still owe you sothing. After all, it was I who did nothing when you are pulled into this sealed world, where transmigrators like you are treated as the lowest rung on the food chain.]"
The voice hesitated for a mont before continuing, its tone sharpening. "[This will be the last ti I aid you. And one more thing—never utter my na again, or I will smite you without hesitation.]"
The God of Machine guided John, manipulating the chamber to envelop Maximilian's fallen clone. Piece by piece, the chamber began to dismantle the clone's form, reshaping and constructing a new body over John's bird fra. The process was ticulous, every detail perfected under John's imagination.
Minutes later, the tallic chamber faded into nothingness, leaving behind the familiar desolate scenery of the cave. At the very center of the room, where Maximilian's clone once stood, rested a massive, spherical egg, its surface smooth and faintly gleaming in the dim light.
Weeks passed.
The egg remained motionless, undisturbed. Those who knew of the place, or the being it once housed, kept their distance out of fear or reverence. The cave remained eerily silent, a monunt to Maximilian's fall.
By the end of the second week, a faint, crisp sound echoed through the still air—a crack running along the egg's surface. It vibrated gently, the motion growing more vigorous as sothing within stirred to life.
Inside, John awakened, his senses slowly returning. The confined space pressed against him, and he instinctively pushed outward. His fingers found the edge of the shell, and with a forceful shove, a hand broke through.
The egg shattered piece by piece, revealing a tall, youthful figure drenched in viscous sli. He stretched his muscles, rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms, getting accustod to his new body. Every movent felt foreign yet exhilarating.
"Much better," he chirped rrily, his voice echoing in the cavern. His sharp eyes darted around the cave, landing on a scattered collection of items. With curiosity, he rummaged through them, pulling objects aside until he triumphantly held up a pair of pants and a shirt.
"I almost thought there weren't any clothes here," he muttered, shaking his head. Dressing quickly in the ill-fitting garnts, he surveyed his reflection in a shiny tallic shard. Adjusting the loose shirt, he grinned. "Here goes the sha of Adam and Eve."
Continuing his exploration, he stumbled upon various artifacts and trinkets. His eyes lit up as he discovered a weathered book tucked beneath a pile of rubble. Dusting it off, he flipped it open to reveal handwritten notes—Maximilian's personal diary.
Before he could delve into its contents, a chanical voice resonated in his mind:
["God of Machine has completed fixing the Divine Beast Codex in accordance with the laws of this world."]
[First Skill: Deception Herding unlocked.]
John blinked, tilting his head. "Deception Herding? That na sounds the opposite of ."
["God of Machine sneered at your comnt and noted that this skill perfectly aligns with your abilities and personality."]
"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence," John muttered sarcastically. But despite the biting remark, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of intrigue about this new skill.
What exactly could it do?
["Deception Herding: Lure any beast, gain their trust, and, when they least expect it, pluck a hair or feather from their head using the Lure and Trust Mantra. Use the Mark of Deception Mantra to draw a sigil with the plucked item, binding the beast to your will."]
John stared at the glowing text, his eyes narrowing at the instructions. Below them, two sets of verses shimred—strange, rhythmic songs, unlike anything he'd seen before.
"So, I just sing these mantras, grab a feather, and scribble a mark?" John muttered. "Sounds simple enough... too simple."
He read through the mantras again, noting the peculiar cadence of the verses. "Lure and Trust, huh? It's practically begging to break into song. And Mark of Deception? That's as subtle as a punch to the face."
As he skimd the instructions, the finer details clicked into place. The first mantra wasn't just a lody—it created an aura of calm and familiarity, tricking the beast into lowering its guard. The second mantra, however, was where the real magic happened. By using the hair or feather as a pen, he could draw the sigil of deception, binding the beast to him.
A voice chid in his head:
["God of Machine reminds you: Precision in singing is key. A wrong note could turn the beast hostile."]
John groaned. "Great, no pressure."
With a deep breath, he humd the first line of the Lure and Trust Mantra, testing its tune. A mischievous grin spread across his face. "Let's see how this plays out. I might just ta myself a dragon next."
["God of Machine advises caution—dragons are not—"]
"Hey, stop right there!" John interrupted, waving his hand as if physically silencing the voice in his head. "I know, I know. It sounds like I'm getting way over my head. Still, let enjoy this, will you? I'm just having the mont of my life. Don't spoil my mood yet."
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