Wings Of Deception
Chapter 31 First Taste Of The Meat

Chapter 31: Chapter 31 First Taste Of The Meat

Anu, the white lion, let out a thunderous roar, his golden eyes gleaming with fierce determination. "You think I can’t defend myself? I am Prince Anu of the Triple Fangs Kingdom!" His voice carried the weight of his lineage, shaking the battlefield.

In the blink of an eye, the aura around him shifted. The air itself seemed to kneel before his will, twisting and churning in response to his power. A violent gust howled through the clearing, swirling like an invisible storm as he invoked his next spell.

"Sonic Strike!"

His gaze snapped upward, locking onto the black woodpecker circling high above. Blackie’s beady eyes glowed with a battle-hardened edge, meeting the lion’s glare head-on.

Then, Anu roared—not just a normal roar, but a devastating blast of compressed wind energy. The sheer force rippled through the air, a visible shockwave tearing across the battlefield like an unseen beast clawing its way forward. Leaves and debris were ripped from the ground as the sonic wave hurtled toward its mark with terrifying speed.

Blackie reacted in an instant, his instincts sharper than a blade. With a precise twist of his wings, he veered off-course just as the deadly blast passed inches from him. The strike barely missed, but the force alone sent a shudder through his small frame.

Anu didn’t relent. With each successive roar, another sonic wave erupted, relentless and unforgiving, shaking the very skies in his pursuit of the defiant bird. The battlefield trembled beneath his fury, the air howling with violent turbulence.

Blackie twisted and dodged with expert precision, narrowly avoiding the deafening blasts. But despite his speed, the pressure was mounting. He let out a sharp chirp, his voice tinged with urgency.

"Oh, Master, this is getting tricky! Can I use just a little of my skill? Not much—just the tip of my right talon will do!"

His plea was laced with desperation. He had struck the lion once but failed to draw flesh, and if he didn’t complete the task, John’s command was clear—he’d be cast out of the clan. That thought alone sent a shiver through his small frame. Life without his master? Unthinkable. His devotion, another marvel of the Mark of Deception, bound him utterly to John’s will.

At first, he had believed the task would be simple. But now, watching the white lion weave wind energy into deadly, precise strikes, doubt gnawed at him. He needed more than speed. He needed power.

Yet, at the very start of this battle, John had issued strict orders—no abilities, only talons, wings, and beaks. A true predator needed nothing else.

And so, Blackie pleaded—not for permission to win, but for permission not to fail.

After a brief pause, John finally responded, his tone casual yet firm.

"Alright, I’ll allow it. You may use your skill once. Just one time. And only one toe."

Then, with a sharp, deliberate chirp, he added, "Remember—just one toe."

"Thank you, Master! One toe it is."

With that, Blackie continued his relentless aerial dance, weaving through the sonic strikes, each narrowly missing his feathers as the lion’s roars battered the sky. He climbed higher, his small form a streak against the heavens, while he began chanting the activation incantation for his innate skill. The energy within his tiny body churned, resonating with the spell’s rhythm, until he whispered the final words—

"Silver Talon, activate!"

From his distant perch on the mountain, John’s keen eyes gleamed with curiosity. He murmured, amusement lacing his tone, "Silver Talon... Not bad. Let’s see just how well you’ve mastered that skill. Oh, Blackie, you still excite me like this. The moment we met, I knew you were special. Now, show me how special you truly are."

At that precise moment, John sensed a shift—a faint tremor of agitation from a sparrow perched nearby. His gaze flickered toward her, and with a knowing smirk, he teased,

"My little psycho sparrow... Don’t worry, you’re still my best. But I can’t deny the truth—Blackie is special, isn’t he?"

Bubble’s response came immediately, her tone flat and serious.

"I agree, sir. Blackie is, without a doubt, special."

John was about to commend her rare moment of acknowledgment when Bubble continued, her voice turning utterly nonchalant—

"Yeah, special among the losers. No doubt, no doubt."

John nearly choked on the words he had been about to say.

This psycho!

Can’t she just agree with me, just once?

Stubborn bird!

Before he could retort, another voice chimed in, sparing him from further frustration.

"I know I’m special too," Woodie, the other woodpecker, declared proudly. She fluffed her feathers and added, "And now, I finally have a name befitting my kind—Woodie."

Then, turning to the sparrow, she chirped in cheerful curiosity, "I believe I’m not on your loser list, right?"

Bubble’s sharp gaze snapped toward her, filled with undisguised disdain.

"You?" Bubble scoffed. "You’re at the top of my loser list. A bird who doesn’t even know her own innate skill? You’re the biggest fool."

Woodie’s feathers bristled with irritation. "Shut up, you stupid sparrow!" she snapped. She opened her beak to continue her rant but immediately froze as a chilling, unmistakable killing intent radiated from Bubble.

Swallowing down her irritation, Woodie huffed and turned away. "Hmph. You’re so annoying. I’m not talking to you anymore."

"My pleasure," Bubble replied smoothly. "I hate talking to stupid losers."

John, watching their exchange, was internally amused. These two... quarreling over something so trivial.

Shaking his head with a smirk, John finally redirected his attention to Blackie, who was soaring higher and higher, his silver talon gleaming ominously against the sky.

At that moment, a transformation overtook the black woodpecker. His aura sharpened, fiercer than before, as his right talon turned a brilliant metallic silver, reflecting the sunlight in dazzling flashes. The silver sheen crept down, retreating from the rest of his scaly foot, leaving only a single toe coated in its radiant luster. That single toe would be enough.

Without hesitation, Blackie folded his wings and plummeted, diving straight into the incoming sonic waves. Each roar from Anu unleashed a brutal burst of wind energy, tearing through the air with deadly force. Yet, just as the first wave threatened to swallow him, Blackie slashed forward with his silver talon.

The attack shattered.

Like a blade cutting through mist, the wind-based energy split apart, dissolving into harmless turbulence.

Another roar. Another slash. Three more sonic waves collapsed before Blackie, and in mere moments, he had already reached his target.

The lion.

A flash of silver. A spray of crimson.

Blackie struck, his talons raking deep, then fluttered back in a swift retreat.

Anu’s roar thundered through the battlefield. "Why are you running away? Keep running, you rat!"

From above, a gleeful chirp.

"I’m here. Come and get me."

Anu’s sharp gaze snapped toward the voice. Perched on a thick tree branch, the black woodpecker lounged with unsettling ease. But Anu’s eyes weren’t on the bird. They were on the bloody chunk of raw flesh lying beside him.

His breath hitched.

Then the pain came.

A scorching, itching agony tore through his back, spreading like wildfire beneath his fur. His muscles seized, and his vision blurred for a second.

Anu growled—a deep, guttural sound. But beneath it, fear had begun to creep in.

Blackie’s voice cut through the tension like a razor.

"Don’t you dare look away while I’m eating your flesh," he chirped coldly. "Or else, I’ll tear off your precious head and devour it whole."

Then, with deliberate slowness, Blackie pecked at the chunk of raw meat beside him.

"This," he said, swallowing the first bite, "is for insulting birds."

The lion’s heart lurched.

"This is for insulting my Clan." Another peck. Another swallow.

"This is for insulting my Master."

Blackie’s pace quickened, his beak tearing into the flesh, devouring it with ruthless efficiency. Blood dripped from his beak, staining his dark feathers.

Anu, the mighty white lion, had stopped roaring. Stopped moving. His golden eyes widened in disbelief, locked onto the scene before him. With each bite the bird took, something inside him shattered. His will. His pride. The arrogance he had cultivated through two lifetimes crumbled away with every swallow.

Blackie finished the last scrap, licking his beak clean.

John’s voice broke the eerie silence.

"How’s your first taste of meat?"

Blackie ruffled his feathers, his tone disturbingly eager. "It agrees with me far too well, Master. I want more."

John chuckled darkly, his voice laced with amusement. "That, my dear Blackie, is the taste of raw lion’s flesh." He let the words hang in the air before his tone shifted, darker now. "Now, deal with the rest of them. But don’t kill them."

Then, with a mischievous hum, he sang,

"Blackie has tasted his first meat and loved it. Who else wants to eat?"

A chorus of eager chirps erupted from the flock.

"I do, sir!"

"Me too!"

"I want some!"

Their voices filled the air, a hauntingly sweet melody of hunger and madness that echoed through the trees.

Across the battlefield, from the shadows, the wolf exhaled softly, his gaze shifting toward the bloodied lion.

"Arrogance is your downfall, Anu," he murmured, his voice thick with disappointment. "I told you not to be reckless. These birds... they’re not just strong—they’re insane. If we follow their rules, we might survive this. But you? You let your ego cost you a piece of yourself. Worse—your pride was devoured in front of your very eyes." He shook his head, his expression hardening. "That’s a trauma even I wouldn’t wish on anyone."