"Eat, hurry up, come on..." John Markus propped his chin on his hand, eyes locked on the glowing info panel hanging in the air, heart pounding like a war drum.
[Phoenix Form: 999/1000]
That number sat there, bold and merciless, making him both thrilled and tense. Just one more. Just one more bite and it'd be done. But damn it, Little Fire was squirming like someone about to be marched to the guillotine.
In front of Little Fire, the porcelain bowl was already empty, except for one last hunk of greasy golden meat, thick as a brick. It stared wide-eyed at the chunk, then at John Markus, gaze begging for mercy.
"No! Finish it!" John Markus clenched his teeth, jabbing a finger at the bowl. "If you quit on the last step, what's the difference from giving up for life?"
Little Fire sniffled, its swollen belly quivering like a balloon about to burst. Shaking, it picked up the meat, shoved it into its beak, and chewed like a broken grinder. The sloppy, sticky sound stabbed at John Markus's chest with every bite.
He held his breath.
Then
The meat disappeared into its stomach.
[Phoenix Form: 1000/1000]
Complete!
John Markus shot to his feet, almost screaming out loud. He spun toward it, eyes glowing with anticipation. "Alright, show me! Come on, spirit beast transformation!"
Little Fire froze. It exhaled deeply, shut its eyes like it was listening to its own heartbeat. John Markus crept closer, palms sweating, nerves tight as a bowstring.
Suddenly it opened its eyes. Heat slammed straight into John Markus's chest, burning like living fire. In that gaze he saw a blazing, uncontrollable hunger that made him shiver.
"Master..." Little Fire's voice thudded in his mind, urgent. "I want to evolve. I need a place... with strong Fire energy!"
John Markus gaped, jaw slack. "Wha... what?"
It nodded firmly, feathers trembling. "I can't hold it in. Hurry, or I'll explode!"
"Wait!" John Markus scrambled through his memory. Phoenixes, immortal divine birds, every rebirth or evolution needed a place thick with Fire qi. Where the hell could he find that? His house only had a gas stove, cold water, and an electric fan. Buy a magic item? A pill? No time for that now!
"God... where am I supposed to find somewhere blazing with Fire energy, cheap, and right this instant?" He clawed at his hair, sweat dripping down like rain.
Little Fire was already trembling, eyes burning red like live coals. John Markus knew it only had minutes left before it burst.
Then, a spark lit in his head.
"Oh, I forgot The backyard!" John Markus roared, clutching Little Fire like a drowning man grabbing a log. "Wait there, I've got a grill!"
Without another word, he bolted outside. The door slammed open, night air rushed in, damp and cold but familiar. In the backyard, his eternal BBQ battlefield still stood: an old blackened iron grill, crusted with burnt grease and soot.
John Markus dumped in charcoal and lit it up. "Boom!" Flames leapt high, white smoke curling thick. Red-orange light splashed against the walls, throwing his shadow wild and warped.
"Is it enough? Does this work?" he coughed through the smoke, glancing at Little Fire.
It didn't answer. After a pause, it wriggled out of his hands, flapped once, and hopped onto the grill.
"Wait, you're not gonna"
Before he finished, its whole body ignited. A crimson blaze shot skyward, so hot John Markus had to back away. His eyes stung, his heartbeat went haywire.
The flames swallowed its chubby figure, hiding it from sight. But through their bond, he felt it. Still fine, even thrilled, soaking up every drop of Fire pouring in.
That moment, the yard turned into a forge. Charcoal crackled and popped, fire roared like waves. John Markus's hands shook as he shoveled in more and more fuel, sweat pouring down his back.
One hour... two... three. Time stretched on like centuries.
Then suddenly
A sharp cry pierced the blaze. The sound rang high and fierce, shaking the night sky. Goosebumps shot up John Markus's arms. It felt like the whole neighborhood must've heard, probably thinking he was performing some crazy god-offering ritual.
The fire shrank, layers of light drawing inward. He swallowed hard, eyes wide. This was it. The moment of history.
The flames died.
The smoke cleared.
And standing there was... something.
John Markus held his breath, heart about to explode. "A Phoenix... it's a Phoenix, right?"
But
On the grill sat a plucked chicken, skin pale and shiny, tiny wings trembling in the night breeze. It looked up at him with innocent watery eyes, beak opening like it was asking, "Am I pretty?"
John Markus went stiff.
In his mind, the image he had carried for so long rose up in all its glory: a Phoenix, the king of all birds, wings unfurling like sheets of living flame, every beat of them setting the heavens ablaze.
He could almost hear it, that piercing cry said to shake mountains and seas, that divine voice capable of making all creatures bow their heads. For a heartbeat, he saw the fiery silhouette soaring through endless skies, lighting up the night like a second sun. That was what he had been waiting for, the very legend he had dreamed of bringing into the world.
And then, as if some cruel god had decided to toy with him, the vision cracked. A single deafening boom in his heart, and the blazing figure crumbled away, falling apart into gray cinders. The grand scene of fire and majesty was gone, scattered like dust in the wind.
What stood before him instead was the world's most pitiful joke!!
He collapsed onto the ground, clutching his head, muttering like a lunatic:
"I just... gave birth to a roast chicken legend, didn't I..."
On the grill, a soft breeze brushed past, making the featherless chicken shiver, goosebumps rising across its bare skin.
That sight, John Markus knew, would haunt him forever.