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MK just wanted to deliver some noodles.
But here he is, sitting up in his bed and staring into the windows of his bedroom. He watches the shadows swirl and move outside, figures warped by the curtains the covered it.
And he stares hard at it, as if waiting for something —someone— to suddenly pop up from the shadows. He's seen it before, and now he's worried he'll see it again. Or worse, it shows up at the foot of his bed while he's asleep.
The clock ticks on the wall.He stares at the window, and lies back down. MK lets the sound of the clock, the sound of cars passing through the city streets, and the whispers of the shadows lull him to sleep.Tick. Tick. Tick.
And strangely enough, the shadows sing a tune for him. The moonlight outside shone as if to gently caress him.
MK tries to ignore it.
Now, you may be wondering..MK, what the hell? What happened for this to, well, happen? And MK will be real honest, dear readers... He does not know either!
It was a dark and lonely night —Oof, never a good start to a story— when MK first encountered it. 'The Shadow', he calls it.
The moon shone high in the sky as MK drove back to Pigsy's, finishing the last of his deliveries for that night. Maybe he shouldn't have picked the night shift tonight and just let one of his co-workers do it.. But noooo, he's a good guy, and his co-workers deserved a night off after covering his shifts for a while!He just groaned, driving the now empty tuk-tuk.Now, this is where he makes his first mistake.Because here, he makes the terrible decision to take a shortcut! Great, just fucking great! Hey, it's not his fault that the main roads were filled with traffic– and all the other roads were closed due to construction. Okay, so maybe the last part was his fault in some way.. That road ended up being collateral damage after he fought this one particularly hard demon.So there he was, driving into one of the darker parts of the city. The road was dark and empty, partially hidden away in between the bigger buildings.
He remembers somewhat that this area used to be a big residential area, but after a huge fire, most of the houses and apartments were either torn down or left abandoned. They reopened the roads that went through it, but not many people used it anymore and even avoided it at all costs— particularly because people would see shadow figures and apparitions of people who were no longer there.
And as MK drove into the road, he finds himself agreeing with those people. This was so going to give him nightmares.. And it felt like he was being watched, which felt worse because he knows there's not supposed to be anyone here.
It's terrifying out here, and so dark too. The street lights were almost non-existent, too dim and flickering. Some didn't work at all. The only light he had was the headlights on Tuk-tuk, and his phone. He glanced back at his phone, which displayed a map of the road he was taking.
Hopefully, he'd be out within five minutes like the GPS said. He's sick of this shit, tired, exhausted from training —god bless Wukong, cause he was taking him seriously now, but good lord there's just too many things going on and too many demons to fight this week and what MK needs right now is some good. Fucking. Sleep!
So in between his internal rant and the quiet drive, the shadows seemed to creep closer. Curious, cautious. The shadows drifted closer to examine this weird young man.
Familiar. Too familiar. Why was he familiar?
MK drives by a particularly dark alleyway— fucking hell, it looked more like a portal to the underworld, if he's honest. Pitch black like the void. He was perfectly content with driving by and ignoring everything.But curse him and his hero complex.A crack echoes through the dark alleyway, and MK immediately snaps his head towards the sound. Second mistake he made on the way home.
"What the fuck was that?" He asks no one in particular.That was his second and a half mistake, because why did he choose to acknowledge the sound. That's like, paranormal 101; you don't acknowledge something that can hurt you– that's like giving power to an entity that can and will get more powerful the more you believe in it.
The Shadows do not answer. In fact, it swirled, as if inviting him.
His third mistake? Following it.
MK hopped out of Tuk-Tuk, brows furrowed as they walked into the pitch black alleyway with a frown."Hello? Who's there..?"
Ah yes, his fourth and fifth mistake. Going into the alley without any lights. He blames the fact that he's sleep deprived, so of course he's not thinking straight! Yeah, he definitely wasn't acting on sheer impulse. Not only that, he left Tuktuk unlocked.
He's making plenty of mistakes tonight.
The shadows seemed to lull him, putting him in some sort of trance. The edges felt wispy, reaching out to pull him.
And so he ends up in the middle of two buildings. He doesn't remember the surroundings, the event itself a fuzzy, hazy blur.
All he remembers is the feeling of being cold, unbelievably cold. The darkness seemed to creep up all around him, and in the dark, he felt truly and utterly alone... Yet he wasn't, and he knew that. There was something– someone– in the shadows, and it felt powerful. Like a dark, looming figure that overshadowed MK immensely.MK felt like a tiny little candle, a faint flickering flame surrounded by an endless void.
'Someone's right behind me, isn't there,' MK thinks with a gulp, having a moment of clarity as it hits in he's not alone. But again, he gets entranced. This time, not by the dark.
A faint light shone from somewhere, like a lantern in the dead of night. Like moonlight giving him some grace and maybe some peace of mind. It's a faint, cold light. And it seemed to dance along with the darkness.Something stands behind him. Something he couldn't see. It stares. And stares.
At first, it tries to grab at him. But then it hesitates? It stopped abruptly, hand outstretched but not reaching for him. It observed, touching the cape of his scarf— a dark red scarf that belonged to Wukong, now given to him. The two caped scarf, old and tattered but undeniably Wukong's.
The figure seemed distracted by it, gently brushing it's wispy cold fingers on the fabric. As if it once knew it.
MK turned around, hit by clarity the second it started to touch the scarf. MK took care of his gifts seriously, and like many of the things he wore, that scarf was a gift. Wukong gave him that scarf– entrusted the the article of clothing to him, and he knew that scarf was something that Wukong treasured!
MK's not gonna let this– this ghost-shadow-thing touch it! What if it gets haunted or something!? Or worse, torn!?
What the fuck are your priorities, MK?! Your life or the scarf?
He does not get a clear look, but what he saw still haunts him.
That night when he finally lies down, he stares at the ceiling, unwilling to close his eyes.
MK's scared that if he does, he'll see those purple eyes staring back at him in the darkness.
MK woke up with a groan, eyes bleary as he stood up from his bed. The sun shone warmly and filtered through the curtains. His room no longer felt eerie, and he felt the slightest bit safer now. He stretched, relieving the tension in his joints and feeling satisfied at the sound of his joints popping.
"Time to start the day.." He yawns to no one in particular.
He ignores the feeling of being watched.It wasn't here. It wasn't real.
Yeah. Definitely. He was just hallucinating last night– because there's no fucking way he saw a ghost. But then again, he fights demons on a regular weekly basis.
That shadow... whatever it was– it wasn't real.MK refuses to believe that it was real, for his sanity.
The smell of rotting, decomposing and burnt flesh haunts him. In fact, it seemed to follow. The shadows seemed to creep closer now. Inching towards him with careful ease. It didn't seem to want to hurt him— so maybe, just maybe if it was real— he could make peace with it.
He brushes his teeth, phone in hand as he checks his schedule. He was a forgetful person, so he always made lists and reminders on his phone so he wouldn't forget. Thankfully, today was his day off. He had today and tomorrow off, actually. He could do some training today, and then rest tomorrow.
He gurgles some water, and spits it out, leaning his head down slightly. He doesn't notice the shadow of a figure right behind him. The same height as him, but the only thing recognizable is the red marking on it's face; similar to Wukong's..Except shaped closer to a skull. It looked like a clone of Wukong, except dark and burnt. Some of it's edges were wispy, fading into the wind. Or charred red. It's eyes, nothing more than yellow dots in the black void that made it's sclera, stared down at MK.
He does his usual morning routine, not noticing the shadow figure.
As MK goes down and out of the apartment building, a low and almost thunderous rumble goes through the apartment.
Something cracks. A picture on MK's shelf, one of him in Tang's lap as someone– probably Pigsy– took the picture. He seemed so happy, probably eight or nine the photo. A long-winding crack makes it's way, shattering the glass and splitting a crack between his forehead.
Wukong can be very observant. No shit, he's not called the intelligent stone monkey for no reason. Although his behavior may lead others to believe that he's no more than an impulsive monkey– which he is one, he'll admit– he is not stupid. Which leads us to this morning, with MK arriving just in time for training. Or what would have been training.
"Okayyy, looks like I'll have to cut training down today," He sweatdropped, brows furrowed in concern as he looked over his successor.
He looked... –okay, Wukong will be honest, MK looked dead on his feet. He walked sluggishly behind him, movements so slow that it made Wukong wince at the sight of it.
Yeah no, this kid was not training today!The mentor and mentee stopped at a clearing. It wasn't one that they typically used for training– usually, they picked out the barren mountains (which MK and Mei have dubbed the lonely mountains) for spars and anything that might involve damage.
The clearing felt serene, fresh air blowing in the breeze. It contrasted with the usual gloomy skies of the barren mountains.
MK blinked blearily, the words taking a moment to register in his head. "Wha..?" He stopped, feet slow as they came to a halt. He blinked a couple more times, trying to get rid of the tiredness in his eyes and the soreness in his limbs. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was a mess.
"Oh, c'mon, I can still keep training!" His voice lacked it's usual bravado, the confident and loud cheer wilting away with each word.
Wukong stared at them blankly.
MK pouted.
"..." "C'mon, Monkey King!!"
Well, unfortunately for MK, he will not be so easily swayed. There are times when cute pouts and teary eyes will not work on him.MK tries very hard to act all cute about it. Unfortunately again, he looks like a tired sad puppy who got left out in the rain. Which Wukong will admit is cute, but won't do much to tug on his heartstrings.
"You're 23, stop pouting..." Wukong muttered.
It felt so cruel honestly.. How MK manages to have the best parts of all his kids. Rumble's charisma, Savage's chaos, Light's stubborness and Despair's compassion. That's part of why he gave that scarf in the first place!
MK just groans. "But we're supposed to have training..." Wukong sighs, but at the sight of MK's kicked-puppy expression, he almost barks out a laugh. He looked like a terrible mix of Rumble and Light, melded together in some weird concoction made to strike him where it truly hurt.
He's not backing down, is he.
Wukong takes a step back in the clearing, stepping below the shade of a tree.
"If you can manage five stances right now, I'll let you train." MK, from where he stood in the middle of the clearing, grinned. His hands and feet moved immediately, hours of muscle memory and practice showing within that second.
"Make it ten!" He moves quickly.
Though his form was decent, Wukong noticed the discrepancies almost immediately. He's leaving too many openings, and his movements were sluggish. To say that Wukong is surprised they make it the fifth stance wouldn't be incorrect.
But alas, Wukong wins. On the sixth stance, MK stumbles. To which he falls to the grass. "...owh," He mumbles to the dirt, groaning. Wukong stepped towards him languidly, a chuckle in his throat.
"Sorry kid, no training today."
He picked the kid up, slinging MK's arm over his shoulder and lifting him up. "Up and at it, boy."
He (gently, don't worry) throws him onto a nimbus cloud, one that Wukong summoned with a mere wave of his finger. Wukong pats his successor on the shoulder. "Don't worry, it's just for today."
"But, but–" MK looked at him such pitiful eyes. In any other situation, it'd persuade him. Haha no, he's dealt with generations of monkeys and even kids of his own at one point, that alone will not make him crumble. "–Training!"
Wukong sits on the cloud, crossing his leg as it flew across the island within seconds. It brings them to the center mountain, where his hut was.
The moment they were inside the cavern, MK flopped down on the soft grass outside his hut.
"Tell you what, I'll teach ya something new next week," Wukong proposed after a couple moments of silence, crouching down next to MK's sprawled out, crumpled form. MK suddenly whips their head up so quickly. "If– if you rest today and tomorrow."
"Aughh..."
Wukong just laughed.MK's aura is weird, he noticed. He sat down on one of the rocks that overlooked the grassy area that MK was currently lying down in, hair being picked at and groomed by the other monkeys— a generation of monkeys that have lost their demon heritage over time. There's a select few troops that do have demon heritage. Technically all of them do, but so diluted their magic doesn't activate.
And speaking of Magic, he goes back to the topic of MK. Not much of it changed, of course. It's still the same bright, almost golden aura that was so similar to his. Compared to his aura— a blazing flame filled with power— he was like a tiny candle. A little spark, fragile and weak. But like any spark, capable of becoming more.
...but his kids never got to that point of becoming more. They could have.
While MK's aura didn't change in general, it was— the best way to explain was that something was attached to it. Wukong focuses in on MK, eyes glowing brightly as his eyes of truth activate. A gold spark. And yet, a tiny fragile piece of something clinging onto MK's aura. Like soot staining a clean white cloth. It's a familiar aura, but Wukong can't put a name to it. He doesn't remember who it belonged to, he's forgotten.
The King frowned. The light seemed to hit his back, cloaking his face in a slight shadow. His eyes, like usual, glowed softly.MK sits up from where he been lying face down on the floor, clothes disheveled as he pulled himself up. His fingers buried itself on the soft dirt as he turned his head to look at Wukong.
"Can I at least do something?" He groaned. Wukong blinks, snapping out of his thoughts. Get out of your head, Wukong. "Alright, alright."
Wukong leaped down from where he sat, landing gracefully in front of MK.
"Well, let's see..." He pretended to think. It would be a waste to make MK go all the way here, only to not do a thing. He needed something to keep him occupied, to focus on something while not overexerting himself. "You.. can help me clean up my manor."
MK looks at him for a moment, humming as he scrutinized Wukong. "Hmm, alright, I can do— wait, you have a manor?!"
Wukong laughed.
Wukong's manor is.. It's huge. And abandoned. Some of it's foundation is cracked, the stone walls outside were covered in vines and shrubbery and the marble floors inside had lost it's shine. A shame, it seemed so grand and beautiful too.
MK felt his jaw drop at the sheer size.
"..are we cleaning all of that?"
"What? No, just a couple rooms." Wukong looked at his incredulously. It would take a week at most to clean the entire thing.
They go through the old, partially broken double doors. MK was in awe of everything, even though the halls are covered in cobwebs and the statues are shrouded in dirt and partially eroded.
The halls are so familiar to him. It seemed to haunt Wukong. He swears if he closed his eyes, and listened really close, he can hear the echoes of laughter. The whispers of a family that was once happy, and cries of those who mourned.
Once upon a time, this manor was more than just a building. It was home to him and his family; a place of worship for his tribe; and a safe haven for his soldiers.Wukong looks at the grand dining hall with such sad eyes, reminiscing on the those days. The days where he was too power hungry, too focused on fame to truly pay attention to his people— and most of all, his family.
That's why they died. For his sins.
"Woah," MK muttered. Old tapestries and banners hung around the walls, carvings and murals engraved onto the stone. The colors were faded, worn away from centuries of disrepair. His eyes wander all over, eventually landing on the grand ornate throne that stood tall before the feast table. It was golden, engraved and bedazzled by gems. But it didn't shine.
There were what seemed to be more thrones next to it, a slightly smaller throne on the left of the grand throne (which he assumed was Wukong's), and four smaller thrones. Two on each side. The collection of thrones stood before what would've been the feast. Though unlike the King's throne, the others were covered, a black cloth draped over them. As if to mourn them.
MK doesn't know exactly who owned those thrones, but he feels a sense of.. Sadness? Like the empty, aching feeling in your chest when you mourn someone. When you realize that they're gone, and all you have is a memory of them.
He turns his head to Wukong, who stands before the large stone table, his arms crossed as he stared at the collection of thrones. Oh. They were someone he lost. Maybe that's why he felt sad.
He ignores the sharp, simmering feeling of rage. It burns deep within his chest, urging him to he angry. At what? At who? Wukong. Wukong. Wukong. Father... This is your fault, your sin to repent for..."So uhm," MK swallowed the lump in his throat, an uncomfy sensation making his mouth dry. "Which room are we doing first?"
Wukong snaps out of his trance, shaking his head he turned away from the table. He shakes away the ever lingering feeling of guilt, regret and shame spiralling in his chest. "Ah, right... Let's do one of the bedrooms first."
It's a surprisingly peaceful chore.
After cleaning most of the dirt off the floor and throwing out the debris, it actually looked okay. The only thing left was— right. The inventory.
One of the reasons that Wukong couldn't bare to clean up this manor alone. The memories... And the things left behind by them. Wukong was never good at moving on, always stuck in some form of mourning and unable to truly move on from the grief.He never liked cleaning up. Especially when it's the things of people he lost. He couldn't bare to look at their belongings, and he couldn't bare to throw them away for good. They served as reminders. Something to remind him of what he's doing, what he is now.
When Taozi died, he kept their ribbon and tied it around his old armour. Every day that lead up to the coup, he would look at that ribbon and remind himself why he's still fighting the celestial realm alongside his brothers (even though without that ribbon, he wouldn't have kept going. His spite and anger for Erlang ended up costing everything.)
And when Rumble and Savage died— he held on to the only thing he could. Rumble's scarf. The only damn thing that survived that fire. Rumble died from severe burns, their skin charred and wounds gaping as blood loss helped take their life. Savage's body couldn't be found, unable to escape the fire in time.
Rumble's scarf miraculously survived. The scarf that Wukong used to wear, and passed on to his eldest son. Burnt at the edges, tattered and worn— but survived nonetheless. Why did that thing survive and not his sons?
To remind him he is a monster and must be tamed.
"Achoo! Augh," His successor crouched over a box of old things sneezed, groaning as he rubbed his nose. "Man, it's so dusty.."
Wukong is, thankfully, pulled away from his thoughts. It never ends well once he starts listening to them.
"Careful kid," Wukong said, pulling away another crate of items from the bedroom's closet. He doesn't know what it was filled with it, from what he could see it's just trinkets. He doesn't know why it'd hold so much relevance that Rumble would keep it.
Now that he's thinking about it.. He realizes how little he actually knows of his kids. He doesn't know much of their personal details. But then again, it's his own fault. He would leave for a century or two the moment his kids were old enough, leaving them at the care of his moon. If they ever resented him, he does not blame them, for he is the reason for this distance.
"Who's room is this, anyway?" MK asks, fixing his scarf to cover his nose. A red, tattered scarf, the edges of it burnt and restitched.
"Just—" He pauses for a moment. Should he tell MK? The books never mention his kids, hardly even mentioned Macaque. Should MK know about such a sensitive detail of his life? "—someone who was dear to me."
"Ah." MK grabbed a crate filled with clothing, patting away the dust on that had gathered on top of it. "..were they on the thrones?"
Wukong stilled for a second, focusing on his crate of trinkets. "I– yeah.. They sat at my left side. That'd be your right, by the way." They said.
There's a bit of a tense silence as they worked quietly, removing the crates and removing the debris. But after an hour of so of just moving the things around, MK opens the crate of clothing.
Wukong was about to pick up a crate, one filled with old armour. It was practice armour, the kind that children would wear to learn how to fight in amour. It was tattered, practically falling apart now. He hears the shuffling of clothes, and he stood up to see what MK was doing.Only to absolutely get his heart ripped out.MK had slipped on some old robes, what would have been ceremonial clothes. Wukong felt like crying. He could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen Rumble ever wear that robe. MK hadn't noticed his gaze, fixing his scarf so it would be on top of the robes. He moved his arms slightly, letting the fabric settle over him. Somehow, the clothes fitted him.
"Hey, Monkey king, look—" MK doesn't finish his sentence, looking at Wukong.
Wukong felt guilt, the shame and regret making his heart ache more than anything. Tears threatened to prick the corner of his eyes. He didn't dare to let it fall. He took a step towards MK, gently pulling him into a hug.
MK, the poor guy, looked confused. He patted Wukong's back unsure. "...monkey king?" He swore he could hear his mentor sniffling.
He pulled away quickly, wiping whatever was in his eyes. "Sorry 'bout that." He tries to laugh off. "Are you sure—?""Yeah." Wukong doesn't say much after that. MK puts the clothes back in the crate, hiding it away again. Good. Wukong can't bare to look at it again. There's a long tense silence after that.
It felt so awkward. Maybe MK shouldn't have worn that thing.
It wasn't his fault.
"Anyways.. I'll be going in a bit, it's getting late." The skies were starting to darken, the clouds becoming an orange hue as the sun started to set over the horizon. Sun still sets on paradise, after all.
Wukong ignores the lingering feeling of guilt, or the whispers that threatened to swallow him whole. He ignores the figures in the corner of his eye.
"Ah, well, be careful on the way home," Wukong said, walking besides MK. "Will do." The air around them was tense in anticipation. But at the same time, so awkward.
"Hey kid?" "Yeah?"
A calloused, furred hand made it's way to ruffle MK's hair. MK felt his eyes widen. His palms are rough, worn from years of fighting and living, and yet they were soft.
"You're a good kid, MK." His hand stopped ruffling their hair, going down to fix their scarf slightly, pulling the fabric to rest more easily on his shoulders.
MK stared at him for a second. "Yeah, psh, I knew that." Wukong chuckled. The air was still tense, yet warm nonetheless. It reminds him of his kids. His sons, and daughter.
"Now, off you go."Wukong lets MK walk off, summoning a cloud of his own and leaving the island as the sun slowly dipped over the horizon.
The moment he was gone, the king felt his shoulderd slump. The never ending wave of regret and guilt washes over him. For a moment, he had let himself believe that it was Rumble he was talking to— and for that moment, he wished that his eldest was listening to him.
The shadows around him seemed to bend and warp in response, the figures that lingered in the corner of his eyes drawing closer. The same red masked figure, which that attached itself to MK, creeps over his shoulder.
It didn't seem to sneer. It just.. observed.
He wonders what it's thinking. Was it angry? It had every right to be.It let out a low rumble, one that shook his legs before it disappeared. And so did that shadow, probably off to follow MK. Wukong lets out a sigh, taking slow breaths as the darkness around him evened out.
He looks over to the moon in the distance, the last of the sun's light fading as it disappeared over the horizon.
"Are you still mad at me, Moon?" He asked, half joking. It would've been sarcastic had his voice sounded less tired.
The shadows just sneered at him. Typical.On any other day, maybe he would have returned it with a glare.
But that day isn't today, and he simply returned it with a frown.
The shadows seemed to reel back.
He walks back to his hut. His legs felt weak with each step. None of his subjects dare to bother him. He wonders if they could feel the rage simmering in his chest, or the overwhelming guilt that's drowning him. Either way, it's best if they leave him alone.
His Moon still hates him. They have every right to.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
A W A K E N
M Y
C H A M P I O N.
.
.
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Eyes shot wide, his peaceful sleep of the afterlife was so soon disturbed. The cold embrace of the damp soil collided with pools of red, a taste of bitter death that judged each twitch of his decaying body, buried under.
Severed fingers ghosted on the sticky ooze of his own blood, mangled limbs and pained cries was nothing more than a long memory of his own slump defeat; a means to nothing roadblock on the heroes journey.
He died with regrets.
.
Such a pitiful sight.
He hopes the soft quiet buzz of the afterlife would treat him better than the one when his heart was still beating.
Peace was yet to come as time stilled and he watched himself drift to unconsciousness. It was quiet, he liked quiet.
How long has it been?..He cracked his eyes open. A familiar glow of light awakened his so long to be closed eyes. His ears picked up subtly at the sound of his surroundings; the vibrating hum of leaves meeting the whistles of the wind.
The wind greets him in return, welcoming him back from his slumber. A far too long prolonged nightmare and he just had woken up from, how amusing. It's as if death never occurred to him to begin with.
The thing he found odd that his own body flicked uncontrollably, his soul fighting between the choice of shattering in several bits or gluing itself together to form an unstable form of what his body should be. His hands would feel the blades of grass underneath for a split second and then the next thing he'd know— he won't.
He felt disgusting. Even with such an unstable—not—so—solid body, he can feel how whatever or whoever managed to yank him out the reaper's cage sewn his own resurrection with little to no intent of giving him the instance to feel whole. A thread that looped through thin metal needles in grace and forcibly sewing an unrecognizable corpse whole again. Somewhat, he should send them his regards.A 'Thank you for shoving me back with lungs to breath and a heart to beat when I was content to staying dead.' should be fitting. Or maybe a simply 'I liked me better dead.'Batted fingers ghost over the familiar dampness of the soil, clutching earth beneath his finger tips. For long he had seen the light—
for so long had he ever feel the pulse of his veins come back to life, the faint rise and fall of his chest. The sudden gasp that left his mouth made him choke, eyes widened in sheer confusion—
fear—
and then anger.
Disbelief.
The small pathetic hole he was buried was like a dreading reminder of what he just lost—
what he could've lose again. The small movements of his aching body shifted. He hadn't moved them in so long, each twist and turn sent jolting pain across his entire body. Macaque hissed, sharp canine grinding against one another— it hurts so fucking much. Nails clenched deeply on earth as he had forced his body to detach itself from his sad burial.
He looked like he had just escaped from a psychopath from how he looked, dark fur now mangled with scars, clothes tattered and dirtied, then—
his eye. Nose scrunching at the reflection on the puddle, was that seriously him? What a fucking joke!A hoarse laugh bubbled from his dry throat, he hadn't drank any water ever since the cruel knots of faith wanted him alive again. His eyes darted to his own supposed grave. It was littered with flowers, other objects that looked like it was left untouched for far too long and contained a gravestone, a gravestone for him. His name etched to rock. "The moon to my sun." it read. He laughed again—
a pitiful noise more like than a laugh.He didn't deserve to have such a nice grave.
Then it was anger again, why and how? Who would waste all their efforts on someone like him? He was no one's moon.Clenched fists immediately made way to olden rock. Next thing he knew, he ransacked whatever nice thing was in that grave, anything that looked too nice to litter and cover his body was long gone. Stomped and destroyed. Ripped and dismantled.Screams and yells ripped out of his throat, sore and painful, each intake of breaths attacking his overwhelmed lungs. He didn't even know the moment he felt the stinging pain of tears stream down his shameful figure. gritting teeth as he watched the mess he had created. No one would even think this place used to be someone's burial by the time Macaque was done with it. His foot hit the crumpled flowers, petals weak and fallen. The foot of his heel to aggressively bury anything that was supposed to look beautiful, anything delicate, and anything lovely. To him, it didn't mean a single thing.
Shaken legs and batted breathing, his knees buckled and he fell on the ground just a few feet away from the very hole he crawled out of. Clawed hands scraped dirt, dark debris forming underneath his pointed fingernails.
He cried and he cried.And yet no one answered to his prayers.
.It was painful to walk, to stand, to run in this form. His entire soul ached and half the time he couldn't maintain to stay physical. It felt like putting a band aid to a gunshot wound and call it a job well done. His fingers would shake at anything he tried grabbing, ragged breaths and frustrating scowls as anything would just simply pass through him and the opposite would happen every single time.
F I N D
M E
It hums, so subtle that anyone could've thought they were hearing things, but one thing's for sure— she seeks freedom.Macaque doesn't entirely know who's the one whispering inside his head, the voice referring themselves as The Lady. That it was she who brought him back to life, In her eyes, he was a formidable asset, opponent, an
opportunity
against her greatest enemy who was part of her imprisonment, one that is still very much alive:Sun. Wukong.
I T
I S
H E
The name a part of him dreaded to hear, he wasn't sure what he felt was anger or bitterness. So soon has he have to face him? So soon will he start fearing to loose himself and then—
his life.
...He had a dream one night ago, it was a blur of sun-kissed golden fur and warmth radiating throughout his entire figure.
"Liu'Er" hands made it's way to cup his face, it felt warm. Was he cold before? He didn't remember feeling cold. When has it become so cold? In his fuzzy dazed vision he couldn't pinpoint whatever the silhouette Infront of him was saying, mouth talked, moved but no words had come out or at least no words Macaque could hear came out. It must've been something important, right? The face shifted so strangely, despite the swirls that's rudely invading his line of sight, the figure remained still and an expression Macaque can't seem to uncover.
It's mouth opened and moved again.
"Wake up."
.
Macaque's body spasmed as he jolted awake, his lotus ears shunned to wrap itself from the sudden ringing that engulfed his senses.
It was clearly still dark out, the day hasn't even started. It's been around a day or two— he lost count after he's chained back to earth. Macaque had gotten used to the shots of pain every few hours, annoyingly having to endure it.He was so tired that in the first night he ended up sleeping more than he should've been, when he woke up, he was greeted with the bright and unwelcoming rays of the sun. The Sun. He sneered. His dream was circled all about him— more like a nightmare. Wukong was the last thing he wanted inside his head.
Feeling restless, sleep was inevitable to him now, the sky dark and the trees rattled from every small gush of wind. It was quiet. No such thing was
too quiet for Macaque and yet his fur prickled on every little sound the forest made, quiet wasn't supposed to make sounds— it felt inhumane, unhinge and foreign. A trickle of a drop of falling water to the tiniest of thud echo the woods that sent jolting right back to his ears.
A part of him felt..
Afraid.
Paranoia?
To what?No one's really after him, no one even knows he's
alive.
Maybe that was part of it, part of the reason why he's on edge, the lack of sleep. Because no one knows. And if they do? Will they be so kind enough to let him keep his life?
One thing for sure— sleep wasn't planning on presenting itself on a silver platter for Macaque, he can't force himself to sleep this time unlike the previous night even when he woke up still feeling as if he was given 30 minutes of shut eye and was woken by a spear to the head.
He had managed to make his limbs stand up and walk despite how much his body protests of the absurdity that it requires rests. 'walk it out.' Momentarily chewed the inside of his cheek as he continued his small trek along the dirt road. No matter how severely damaged his ears were, chipped and scarred which he found disgusted of himself after a look near a body of water, face scrunched of repugnance— the revelry that the image he saw was of himself.Used and batted and yet he could almost snicker to himself how to his horror he could hear the past's gargled wails of fear and panic— long reverberations of a long casted battle then the whistle of a sharp strike. Going deaf never sounded so good till now..His feet halted on one particular path, the smallest sound of running water.
He could really use a wash, yeah. He felt like every dirt and scraps, physical or not clung to his fur to the pit of his skin. Dried blood his own or not he doesn't care littered his body— not just his armor which don't even get him started on how it looks. What he's saying is he needed a cleanse. If he imbue himself on water— will his mistakes and regrets be scrubbed away? If his physical form would serve him hell, Macaque at the very least hopes that taking a dunk on cold water would get him the peace of acceptance.That maybe this won't be as bad as his thoughts kept berating him on and on about. That maybe his thinking too much about this.Despite the chill and sheer freezing temperature of the water he so badly wanted to be baptized in,he didn't feel cleanse. Not at all.The water poured and yet the rust was permanent.
..
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It was,, a week or was it two? He couldn't fully remembered exactly. He spent his days familiarizing— overwhelmingly a lot had changed since he was dead.When Macaque wasn't busy traveling to wherever
she wanted him to go or wasn't reusing an ability valuable to him (despite failing multiple times on the first week) he found himself pretty satisfied on the cover up he had conducted. Hiding all those ugly parts he didn't liked.Back to topic, he'd find himself observing frequently. Observing civilizations, humans more on.
Demon like and humans seemed to co-exist from what the ebony was seeing, unlike before where they'd be consumed by fear of whoever demonic beast would dare break into the threshold of their own home and make an appetite for their skins and flesh.
Cower in fear, shrills of screams, and gnawing of gore.Despite the sudden 'friendship is magic' growth between the two co-existing species, it doesn't necessarily included all.
Humans were unfriendly at the same ratio of demons were.
More ever, Macaque was found perched up a tree, somewhere where the shadows accompany him. Below was what seemed to be a festival or some sort— he wasn't familiar with the newest of events happening.
Or was it a show? Traveling perhaps?
The stage was draped with a deep red silk curtains that had thick gold ropes tied to each side, wood was seemed to be out of lumber. Whoever was behind it surely didn't make an effort into design prep other than the basics. It looked bland as hell, Macaque tsked. That'd be unfortunate to find that such a poorly attended play reigns to make a big buck to those who can't tell the difference between quality performance and a running gag for entertainment.
Unaware that their wallets are just going to be sucked dry, the cherry on top would be the classical 'no refunds' after they realized they just got scammed. Not Macaque though, he's watching this for free.He waited rather impatiently for the host to show up, to appear by a trap door or those cheap smoke bombs, they'd either be fake or illegal— It's always between those two options.
Seriously, what's the hold up? Not like he paid but he has been waiting 30 minutes for something to happen! He'd complain that he'd want his money back if only he had any.
His leg swung back and forth, did the guy fell asleep and forgot he had a crowd of waiting people? Or maybe he got too chicken and cowered out.
"I do apologize for the wait," his ear picked up a voice, louder than the crowd so it must be the host. Amongst the dim stage appeared a figure in a hooded cloak. Couldn't see his face, shame. Macaque would've wanted a peek incase if the play was just as bad as he suspected he could remember the guy's face and give him the upmost severe criticism in his entire career.
"You all came here waiting who knows long for my show, interested? Or perhaps curiosity I assume? Well, I do not want to keep my guest waiting after all." The hooded man spoke, under the darkness that hid his feature, a smile can be seen tugging at the corner of his lips. "A funny talker." Macaque hums, he had his fair share of observing people who talk in this manner, always so formal, Shakespearean and has the capability to turning a simple sentence to a thousand worded mumbo-jumbo.
Not that he was judging, he actually applaud those people. Always seemingly able to pull words that he never knew even existed.
Who knew snollygoster was actually a word. A walking, talking encyclopedia.The hooded man let out a small ambiguous hum, tugging at the ends of his sleeves, "Let's get this started, shall we?"
The crowd cheered in response, the cloaked figure swatting his hand playfully at the crowd— a sheer indication for the people to quiet and settle down. Reluctantly obliging, the sound of voices peeped to just the diluted sounds of murmurs. The man seemed pleased about it.
The start was okay.
Quite sloppy for Macaque's standards as the execution seemed too far fetched but not so much where it'd be barren to pay attention to. As starter, the man for a solid few minutes prompted to just speaking directly towards the audience. No puppeteers, no shadows or paper-like appearance showed, acting was certainly out of the picture, he supposes stand-up acting exists although those specifically are in forms of comedy— the story he was describing didn't fall into the pipeline of 'comedic'.
The warrior listened intently despite the lack-luster for visual entertainment. one finger drumming on wooden bark.
As it lead on, the figure continued to shift— pausing a lot as if anticipating his next line or dialogue, nothing came however.
Instead,
Macaque's brows knitted as his eyes landed on a similar looking item the man had hidden beneath the darkness of his cloak. It brew a hypnotizing glow of purple, every peak he got only confirmed his suspicion. The lanternThe lantern's glow hummed as if it was calling his name.
The man bowed curtly as he finished his story, turning towards the crowd. "Make sure to applaud loudly whereas it'll be your last." a white blinding light flashed as Macaque was hit a sense of familiarity from it's energy alone. That lantern was his.
Leisurely opened an eye, and then the other— the crowd nowhere to be seen as if it was never one to begin with. The man however was staring right up top the tree lines where Macaque was."They're quite troublesome, don't you say?" Okay, so he definitely knew Macaque was there. For how long exactly? He didn't reply back, suspicion and maybe a boiling sense of paranoia. "Oh, don't be so tense, her Lady
sent me here. You may call me The Mayor. Because well, I'm the Mayor." He waved a hand dismissively as if that helped.
His brows rose slightly, Mayor? Was that seriously his name or was that a title. Is he really a Mayor? Possibly entrapping a bunch of civilians didn't seem very "Mayor-esq" if you ask Macaque.
His eyes squinted and then he slowly got down from the branch he perched at, gaze focused on the lantern. Will he use it on him? Did she send him there to execute Macaque due to how poorly he's been able to satisfy her wishes?"Why?""Why?" The man repeated rather mockingly, this time a slow smiled appeared under that hood. Right, he hasn't seen his face yet. Not sure if he wanted to now.
"To of course give our upmost esteemed guest a small token for his efforts." He took off the cloak, revealing a man in what it looked like to be in his 30's, wore a blue tie, and a very disturbing set of pure white eyes. "Although, do forgive me for being so late, I decided to have a little fun with your little trinket."
"As much I do like to play pretend," he laughed. "This must go to it's rightful owner." He tossed the lantern towards the ebony monkey who caught it (thankfully). It's insides now probably trapped with dozens of souls, he can feel it.
As bad as it sounds, Macaque found his entire body fixated to it. He can feel the sudden surge of energy that wafted straight to his limbs. It was weird— he hadn't had that feeling till now. Did his resurrection somehow affected the way he can use certain objects?
"Ah,""Your confusion is such a thrilling sight to see."
"This little bulb of yours," He lightly tapped the glass of the lantern."It's not a bulb."
"Right." the man bluntly ignored.
"You will be purely dependent on it from now on."Wait, what?"Have you noticed yourself growing immensely weak? How the touch of that little souvenir of yours suddenly made your senses clearer? Oh, my! Don't tell me you'd be as dense as that stone monkey." The Mayor smiled and then chided a laugh, a wide grin spreading across his face."Don't. Don't compare me to him."
He hummed.The shadow scowled which only deepened the man's twisted amusement. Instead, he traveled his attention back to the faint glow of his lantern. Where The Mayor even get this and how? He hasn't seen this for so long he might as well thought it's long gone or somewhere beneath the rubble of his carcass.
The souls, just how many were even inside? He could practically feel every swing of energy trapped, It made him shiver.
"Please make
her Lady's gift of gratitude with much needed thanks,"."As such I do wish to remind you on the more important aspect. Your dept, remember that."
Your dept.
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He either managed to make the worst decision of his life or one of the few greatest.She was still locked up somewhere, so much for finding the key or fulfilling his so called 'destiny'. Macaque made a choice at the very end that'd either bite him back in the future or let him go without consequences scott-free.The key to the prison itself was no longer with him, quite sure he should've kept it somewhere with him instead of just throwing it away till some naive civilian picks it up. Too late for that now.
As much as his lantern serves him a purpose of keeping a physical form longer, it can't be help that he'd feel the guilt of having to use it. Being so reliant on the relic to just make him
feel alive was as much of a severe punishment for Macaque already, disobeying
her words might double to that even— if you add Wukong that'd be three.
He got somewhat used to it, not having a physical appearance he meant. It was,, uncomfortable. That never really changed but he had lived to grow accustom to it (though it was and will always be a nuisance to him.)Entirely, he's been doing alright if you ignore the problems he has yet to solve. Wandering around the corners of Metropolis ever since he first stumbled upon the city, It looked way too complex and advanced compared to the villages humans used to reside in.
Despite how enormous the city is, Macaque had found himself glued to a specific part of Metropolis, a shady and unpleasant part of the city. Abandoned buildings to the point that they might as well be haunted and an eerie quietness to it. He overheard some time ago that the area will be up for demolition soon for a mega mall or something. Seriously, it's always malls.
In a more spiritual sense, his soul is trapped in that gotham city wannabe part of Metropolis because right under this whole section of pure depression somewhere is where
she resides.
Right after he was resurrected, a part of
her was attached to his soul, like a syringe being pierced to a lab rat. It was to keep his whole soul from spasming and eventually initiating detonation of killing itself. Due to the fact that a part of
her is now a part of him and the whole of her is right underground beneath his feet, it's like invisible chains pulling him back to the same spot. He can leave, not for long,
she decided that.In other news, he's basically stuck.
Macaque is able to stay longer for around—
a few hours before his vitality would start aching, begging itself to retreat back to the forgotten part of the streets. He tried staying out longer,, his goal was to reach 24 hours without the need to go back.
He didn't even last 12...Night struck again, an endless cycle of broad daylight to the coldest of nights.
At this point, Macaque can remember the whole entire structural integrity, every crack and crevice with all his senses messed up. He had planned to find a comfortable spot (what he consider comfortable) and rest his worn spirit.Unluckily for him, he has to put that line of thought of sleepful bliss away as a foreign light flashed amongst the dark, empty streets of the city.
Someone was there, lost?
The shadow perched closer, that was new. Almost nobody dares going to these parts of the city other than the ones wanting to demolish it or a group of teens wanting to put graffiti on every nice looking
piece of concrete they saw.
The figure in the distance didn't seem to be a construction worker of any sort, neither a teen. He didn't even had graffiti canisters on him.
A delivery guy? He thinks, although that didn't subside the question of what he could be doing here— unless he is lost, that was what Macaque is suspecting already.Slowly he had inched closer, the kid sure was jumpy.
"Hello? Who's there..?"
The boy asked, jeez, this kid surely has the horror movie instincts. Does he star in one?
The monkey watched and observed in growing curiousness. From what he could see from the small vehicle the boy drove with it seemed to be noodle according to the aroma. Macaque had found it amusing how he had absolutely no survival instincts, he could almost pity him.
Cowering, hands shaking and Macaque wasn't even doing anything. Paranoia will always be the number one reason to people claiming they 'saw' or 'heard' something where in reality they didn't. Their brains probably too terrified and overwhelmed that it tried to make sense of it's surroundings. Example no. 1— this situation.
He didn't interact, he didn't really saw the reason to other than giving the poor dude a scare.Macaque blinked, scanning his features, jacket, red bandana, red—
scarf.
A familiar one at that.Coincidental, probably.
One feature struck out the most. The burn marks and most importantly the pattern. Golden and in a pristine motif. He eyed the one side which was uneven, a bit lopsided. He stared at it because he was the one who made that small mistake hundred if years ago.From the way the pattern looked to how it was stitched, his own hands twitched as he remembered each poke of the needle..Why does he have it?How did he get it?Where—"Monkey King is gonna kill me if this gets dirty." Macaque heard the boy whispered, quickly inspecting the scarf incase of any visible damage.Ah,Wukong.A bitter pit in his stomach grew from the mention of the Sage, yet, his expression softened to how much the boy seemed to be genuinely thankful for the gift. Worried at best. Brows knitted in uncertainty, the scarf. Is he really going to let him keep it just because Wukong gave it to him for whatever reason? It couldn't even be something important. 'I like your style, kid. Here, have this very significant cape that is very important and valuable to me as it holds several important recollections of my past to your possession!' sounded like something the stone monkey would say.The kid did looked happy wearing it,,Maybe Macaque can let that slide— he'd keep an eye on him instead every once a while.Yeah, he could do that.
"Take good care of it, kid." the boy certainly didn't hear him as unconsciousness got to him first than Macaque's words but oh well. He didn't needed to hear it anyways..."Are you still mad at me, Moon?" the voice asked.Was he? Yes. Very much so, at the same time he doesn't anymore. It was complicated to wrap his head around.The best Macaque could do was frown from where the shadow masked him, he wasn't ready to talk to Wukong yet.
He isn't sure if he'll ever be.
Someday when the familair scent of peaches and warmth embraces meets those golden eyes again.
Yeah, someday.