Wings Of Deception
Chapter 26 The Game Begins- Part Three

Chapter 26: Chapter 26 The Game Begins- Part Three

"Mario! Where the hell are you?! If you hear my voice, get your ass over here right now!"

The white lion’s roars thundered, shaking the air. The horde heard it. Mario the Gorilla heard it. The birds circling above heard it.

High atop the towering magical tree, three birds perched on the branches, watching everything unfold within the Labyrinth Rings of Flame. The scene below was pure chaos—beasts shrieking in agony, blood soaking the ground, and birds singing in the thrill of carnage.

The cries of despair filled the sky.

"Master, something is amiss. That lion and the wolf are conspiring. Shouldn’t we stop them?" asked Woodie.

John chuckled. "Nah, let them struggle. They’re just rats caught in my game. It’ll be far more entertaining if they break through my maze of fire."

Woodie hesitated before speaking again, his eyes burning with eagerness. "About the hunt... I wish to join the flock."

John raised an eyebrow. "Oh? You sure?"

Woodie nodded firmly. "Yes. I can see them, Master. My flock is singing, reveling in the thrill. They enjoy this more than feasting on worms. I want to feel that song myself."

A sudden chill filled the air. Bubble’s sharp gaze locked onto Woodie.

"Did you just compare worms to dining? You dare?" Bubble’s voice was low, deadly.

Woodie blinked, realizing his mistake. "Ah—pardon my slip of the tongue. Old habits die hard. Worms are disgusting." He spat to the side. "Worms are the food of mindless garden birds. We—predatory birds—drool over meat."

Satisfied, Bubble turned away.

John smirked. "You can join the hunt... but can you? You still haven’t mastered the magical tree you cast. Until you do, your punishment remains."

Woodie lowered his head in frustration.

"That being said, don’t be ashamed of the spell. It’s doing a perfect job for our clan." John’s tone was almost approving before it turned sharp again. "But you should be ashamed for not mastering such a fine ability."

John shifted his gaze back to the rings of fire.

The hunt was still underway.

If John, the human from Earth, had seen this, he would have thought it belonged in some fantasy novel—a scene too absurd to be real. Tiny birds, no larger than a man’s palm, hunting down towering beasts. Yet here they were, diving, slashing, and tearing through creatures ten, or twenty times their size, turning predators into prey.

It was like ants hunting elephants.

Their songs, light and melodious, should have been soothing. Instead, they wove a symphony of terror. A requiem for the dying.

But to John, the Mockingbird, this wasn’t shocking anymore.

It felt normal. Expected. Right.

Meanwhile, deeper in the trees, a low, irritated growl rumbled.

Mario, the black gorilla, stirred. His muscles rippled as he stretched, annoyance flashing in his dark eyes.

"That bastard lion... What does he want now?" Mario muttered, his deep voice rumbling with irritation.

Shaking off his frustration, he prowled forward, following the sound of the roar.

Before long, he arrived.

The white lion stood tall, golden eyes gleaming with arrogance. Beside him, the silver wolf watched with cold calculation.

Mario growled, "What is it, my lord?"

The lion didn’t even bother looking at him. "You don’t need to know."

The wolf snorted. "Just shut up and follow us."

Mario’s teeth clenched. He was about to snap back, but the wolf’s icy tone made him swallow his words. Instead, he cursed them inwardly.

Damn, bastards. Just because they’re princes, they think they can walk all over me.

One day—when I’m ready—I’ll slaughter these spoiled brats and escape this damn zoo.

He rolled his eyes in frustration.

The wolf, ever watchful, caught the fleeting shift in Mario’s expression. Intelligence flickered in his gaze, but he chose to ignore it. Instead, he turned to the lion and said, "Go on. Let’s begin the plan."

Anu the white lion nodded. He lifted his head, maw opening wide. A deep pulse of energy rippled around him as the wind gathered, compressing into a swirling sphere. It expanded, growing to the size of a soccer ball, its form trembling under the force of his frustrations.

Then, with a mighty roar, he unleashed it.

The wind sphere blasted forward, striking its target with precision. Upon impact, it detonated, extinguishing the flames in a five-foot radius.

The wolf wasted no time. Moving like a gust of wind, he slipped past the fifth ring of flame.

The white lion followed, his strides majestic and unhurried as if the fire itself bowed to him. He cast a scornful glance back at Mario.

"What are you waiting for, fool? Move, or you’ll be left behind."

Mario grumbled under his breath, his irritation evident, but he followed.

Just as he crossed the gap, the flames behind him surged back to life—burning twice as fiercely as before.

Mario growled, shaking off the lingering embers. His thick fur still carried the scent of singed hair, and irritation bubbled inside him.

Rolling over the grass, he swiftly smothered the remaining flames before pushing himself back to his feet.

The white lion sneered, watching the spectacle unfold. "Sometimes, I really doubt you were human in your previous life."

Mario shot the lion a glare but held his tongue. He had learned the hard way—talking back only led to more mockery.

They advanced toward the next ring of flames.

Up in the towering magical tree, Woodie gasped. "Master, look! They really made it through with that cheap trick! What are we going to do? If this keeps up, they’ll reach the mountain in no time!"

Bubble, perched high on a branch, didn’t even bother shifting its gaze. It yawned, utterly unimpressed. "Let them. Moths always fly toward the firepit."

John smirked, his golden eyes gleaming. "Exactly. They think they’re making progress, but they don’t realize they’re just digging their own graves."

Woodie flapped its wings anxiously. "But Master, what if—"

John silenced it with a flick of his wing. "Relax. Let them struggle. It’s more fun that way."

Bubble let out a soft chuckle. "Cheat or not, in the end, they’ll burn."

John stretched lazily. "Besides, between you, Bubble, and the rest of our flock, what real threat could they possibly pose?"

Not long after, the anguished cries from the gaps between the sixth and seventh rings of bonfires faded into silence. A heavy stillness settled over the labyrinth, pressing down on those still trapped inside—as if their time had just run out.

The flock had finished their gruesome work. The last of the beasts within the outermost ring had been slaughtered.

A woodpecker meticulously carved up the remains, ensuring each piece was cleanly butchered, while others carried the meat to the designated spot near the cave atop the mountain. When the final haul was delivered, one of the birds announced, "It’s done, Master."

A parrot, unable to contain its curiosity, asked, "Shall we seal off the safe paths through the fifth ring of flames?"

John shook his head. "Not yet. It’s still not time."

Then, turning to the proud sparrow, he issued his next command. "Bubble, you’re up. First, use your skill to cleanse the meat—wash away the blood and filth. Then, cast a storage bubble spell to preserve it. This will be our clan’s first essential stockpile. From now on, we won’t need to hunt for food anymore."

Bubble chirped in acknowledgment and opened its beak, spitting out a series of shimmering bubbles. With precise control, the first bubble landed atop the stockpile of meat. Then, in rapid succession, more bubbles descended, enveloping the pile in a transparent sphere of water.

A deep hum resonated as waves of liquid swirled within, cleansing the meat. Blood, grime, and excess oils seeped out, forming murky red tendrils that drifted to the surface. With another chirp, Bubble directed a separate bubble to collect the impurities. Then, without hesitation, it launched the dark, contaminated sphere downward—straight toward the labyrinth of bonfires.

At that exact moment, the white lion opened his maw, preparing to invoke his spell. Before he could react, the tainted orb plunged straight into his mouth.

Anu instinctively swallowed half of the foul liquid, but the overwhelming stench of rot and filth—laced with the excreta of deceased beasts—assaulted his sharp nose. His feline instincts kicked in, and with a violent gag, he vomited, expelling not just the contaminated water but also his breakfast from earlier at the palace.

"Those wretched birds!" he snarled, his voice filled with fury and disgust. "Is this how you fight? No honor, no dignity—just filthy tricks! You’re nothing but a band of scavengers who know nothing of a warrior’s pride!" His golden eyes burned with rage as he roared, "I swear in the name of the king—I will show no mercy! Especially to that damned mockingbird... It must be the leader of this bandit flock!"

"Oh, now that’s the spirit!" John chirped back, his tone light and mocking. "I must say, you’re quite the performer. Your righteous fury, your grand speeches—spectacular! Truly, you keep me entertained. Keep going, and who knows? I might even consider sparing your measly soul."

Anu’s entire body tensed, his muscles rigid with fury. This bird—this infuriating creature—was treating him like mere amusement, a plaything for its own entertainment. His pride screamed for vengeance.

"Stop it, Anu." The wolf’s sharp voice cut through his rage. "It’s trying to get under your skin. Ignore its nonsense and focus on your spell. They’re just bandits—there’s no point in dignifying their words."

Amusement flickered in the ape’s eyes. For the first time, he witnessed the proud lion take a verbal beating, and he thoroughly enjoyed it.

"Hah! And here I thought I was the fool," Mario sneered. "Yet even a measly bird mocks you relentlessly, and all you do is roar? Go on, keep roaring—maybe that’ll get you somewhere. This is just too good."

The lion’s glare snapped toward him. "Did you say something?" he growled, his voice laced with warning. Then, with a sudden lash of his claws, he snarled, "If you have the guts, say it to my face, you damn coward."

Mario smirked but quickly masked it with a huff. "Nah, just venting. That disgusting bird keeps undermining your authority. Honestly, I hate that damn thing with every fiber of my being."

The white lion’s anger ebbed slightly. Even though he knew Mario’s words weren’t entirely sincere, they still served their purpose—calming him down. He shot the ape a measured look and said, his tone firm but approving, "Mario, you’re a good warrior. No—a fine and formidable one. It’s just your attitude that I can’t stand. But I won’t deny that you have a warrior’s spirit. I’ll be watching you closely today. If you prove your worth, I might reconsider your punishment... perhaps even grant you a promotion."

Mario inclined his head slightly. "It would be my honor," he replied curtly. But inwardly, who knew what curses he was hurling at all this nonsense about warrior spirit? He never cared for such ideals. A promotion, though? That was something he could get behind.

Meanwhile, the fox watched the exchange intently, his intelligent eyes gleaming. A knowing grin stretched across his face—he could see right through their words, understanding the real game at play.

From atop the tree, John let out a mocking tweet. "Ah, what brotherhood! What camaraderie! I’m almost moved to tears. Truly, an emotional scene." He sniffled dramatically. "And you know what? That’s exactly what’s needed here. Who wouldn’t get sentimental when their lives are on the line, trapped within a maze of enemies and fire? The first thing anyone would do is band together, coordinate... and, of course, stab each other in the back when the time is right. Isn’t that how survival works?" His voice dripped with amusement. "Now that’s the kind of entertainment I signed up for."

The white lion’s face twitched ever so slightly before he masked it with a stoic expression.

The ape, on the other hand, reacted instinctively—his eyes flickered toward the lion and the wolf, only to dismiss them just as quickly. Perhaps he was searching for reassurance, or perhaps he was gauging the weight of John’s words.

The wolf, however, remained utterly unreadable. His face was a mask of calm, betraying nothing.