The monastery loomed in silence beneath the Tibetan moon, its prayer flags limp in the dead air. Zumi and Hina stepped through the outer courtyard, their steps too loud against the polished stone. Something pressed against the night—the kind of weight that made mortals shiver and priests clutch their rosaries.
And then it came.
Laughter.
Not the laughter of a child at play, but a hollow, splintered sound, high and sharp, as though glass had learned to sing. It carried from the great hall ahead, filling the courtyard, curling beneath their skin like frost.
The golden doors of the hall began to tarnish. Their gleaming surface darkened as though scorched by unseen hands, the engravings of lotus blossoms twisting into thorns. In the space of a heartbeat, they became black iron gates, jagged and cruel, every edge breathing menace.
With a groan that shook the earth, the gates yawned open.
A tide of fog poured forth, thick and cold, snaking around Zumi and Hina like curious fingers. Whispers ran through it, words that carried no language, only intent—temptation, threat, hunger. Yet neither faltered. The Monkey King's reincarnation strode forward with his goddess-forged staff resting lightly against his shoulder, and Hina followed, eyes burning with her volcanic flame.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the gates slammed shut behind them.
When Zumi turned back, the monastery was gone. In its place stretched a cemetery that seemed to have no end, its crooked gravestones leaning toward them as though eager to listen. Trees twisted like tortured spines clawed at the starless sky, their branches skeletal and bare.
And upon a cracked tombstone, she sat.
A girl. Small, thin, no older than ten. Her short black hair fell in ragged strands, and her striped stockings clung to her dangling legs. Boots too heavy for her feet knocked gently against the stone. She smiled as though she'd been waiting for them forever, her wide eyes glowing crimson with a hunger that did not belong to children.
"You came," she whispered, and though her lips barely moved, the sound filled every shadow. "Finally…"
The fog recoiled and then thickened, as though the land itself bowed to her presence.
Zumi felt her gaze rake over him like talons. Her head tilted, birdlike, curious and cruel. The black cross at her throat glimmered faintly, not holy but inverted, dripping with unseen malice.
"You smell of him," she said at last, her voice half lullaby, half curse. "The Monkey King. My other half has been waiting for you."
The ground cracked. From the soil, shadows rose—eyeless silhouettes, human only in outline, standing in silent rows behind her. They shifted as though breathing, yet not a single one drew air.
The girl's smile sharpened. "But if you want me," she said, her voice now echoing with something far older than her body, "if you want the darkness, if you want me to acknowledge you—"
She leaned forward, her glowing eyes locking onto his.
"—then show me you are not just the Monkey King. Show me that you are Zumi."
The graveyard fell silent. Even the wind held its breath, waiting for his answer.
The girl's words faded into the night, and at once the fog thickened, swallowing the gravestones in a suffocating haze. The eyeless silhouettes twitched and then lunged forward, their movements jerky, unnatural—like puppets cut free from strings but still dancing.
Zumi planted the base of the staff of Sun Wukong against the soil. The weapon pulsed, alive with golden warmth that clashed against the suffocating gloom. "Stay close," he said, though his eyes never left the advancing tide.
Hina's answer was fire. Her hair erupted into molten strands, glowing like liquid magma, her body radiating the heat of a living volcano. She drew the power into her fists, flame coursing along her arms like rivers of light. "Let them come," she growled.
The first shadows struck.
They did not scream, nor shout, nor roar—only the silence of hunger as they hurled themselves forward. Bladed arms extended from formless bodies, slicing toward Zumi's throat. With a flick, his staff shrank to the size of a dagger, parrying the strike with sparks of gold. He spun, the dagger lengthening into a spear, and with one thrust impaled two creatures at once. They shattered into dust, only for more to rise from the cracks in the earth.
"Endless," Hina hissed, smashing her fist into the ground. Flames surged outward, a ring of fire consuming a dozen shadows in one breath. Their bodies writhed as they burned, their silence breaking into distorted shrieks that faded as they dissolved into smoke.
Still, more came.
Zumi extended the staff, its length soaring higher and higher until it towered like a colossal pillar. He swung it in a wide arc, the air itself breaking beneath its weight. Dozens of shadows were flung aside, their forms scattering like paper in the wind. Yet they pulled themselves back together, crawling, relentless.
"They're not meant to be killed," Zumi realized aloud, his eyes narrowing. "This is the trial. They test our will, not our blades."
The girl giggled atop her tombstone, her small legs swinging lazily. "Clever Monkey…"
The next wave came, larger, denser, merging into beasts of impossible shape—wolves with too many jaws, serpents with bodies made of smoke. They leapt for him, their teeth clashing against the golden staff, forcing him to brace under their sheer numbers.
"Zumi!"
Hina struck from the side, her entire body igniting. She launched herself into the beasts, every punch detonating with volcanic force. Her aura burned through the fog, turning it crimson with heat. She grappled a shadow-serpent, flames pouring from her arms as she ripped it apart and let it melt back into the mist.
Zumi spun his staff, shrinking it again, then splitting it into afterimages. Each duplicate swung independently, striking the beasts from angles impossible for one man. The air rang with the crack of impact, golden sparks illuminating the graveyard like fleeting stars.
The creatures faltered.
Together, Zumi and Hina stood back-to-back, breathing hard but unbroken. The shadows circled, slower now, their forms trembling as if sensing something greater. The fog that had once suffocated the air began to retreat, drawing back toward the girl.
Her laughter faded into silence.
When she finally spoke, her voice carried not mischief but something far heavier. "Enough."
The shadows melted into the ground, leaving the graveyard eerily still once more. The girl slid from her tombstone, landing softly, her boots barely disturbing the dirt. She looked at Zumi, her crimson eyes gleaming with something like curiosity—perhaps even respect.
"You do not flinch at darkness," she whispered, tilting her head. "You do not break. Even your flame-girl walks through the abyss without fear."
Her small hands clasped behind her back. A smile tugged at her lips—not cruel this time, but almost childlike.
"Very well. You are acknowledged."
The cemetery shuddered, and a fragment of shadow rose from the earth, floating into Zumi's chest. The world seemed to ripple, the taste of iron and ash filling his mouth for only a heartbeat before fading.
The girl stepped back, the glow of her eyes dimming. "One piece of me is yours. But the others…" She giggled again, softer, as though sharing a secret. "They won't be so kind."
And with that, the graveyard dissolved into fog.
When it cleared, Zumi and Hina stood once more in the monastery's great hall. The golden doors gleamed behind them as if they had never changed. Only the lingering chill of the darkness told them it had not been a dream.
The last echoes of the girl's laughter faded with the mist. The monastery's golden doors gleamed once more as the shadows dissolved, but Zumi felt the weight of something new settle into his chest. His staff pulsed faintly, as though even the relic of Sun Wukong recognized the change.
Then it came.
A clear chime rang inside his mind, resonant and eternal, like the tolling of a celestial bell across the heavens. A voice followed—warm, commanding, filled with both grace and inevitability.
[Celestia Speaks]
The Trial of Darkness — First Fragment is complete.
You have been acknowledged by the Child of Shadows, bearer of one piece of the Goddess of Darkness.
Reward: 1 of 5 Fragments obtained.
Zumi closed his eyes, and the world flickered into black flame. A shard of darkness, cold and eternal, sank into him. For a heartbeat, his heart felt split—half burning with his own fire, half echoing with an ancient sorrow.
Celestia's voice deepened, resonant with divine weight, as if the stars themselves leaned closer to speak.
"Zumi Kogane, hear this truth. The Goddess of Darkness was shattered, her being divided into five fragments. Each fragment rests within realms born of shadow—despair, wrath, hunger, envy, and sorrow. You have claimed the first.
When you hold four, the fifth will reveal itself in the abyss of Hell. There, you must descend, not as Monkey King, but as man—Zumi—to seize her hand and pull her back into the light.
Only when all five are made one will the Goddess stand whole beside you… as your eternal wife."
The air in the monastery trembled with those words. For an instant, Zumi felt as if all of Tibet bent beneath their weight.
Hina's fiery aura dimmed to a simmer, her molten hair framing eyes wide with reverence. She turned to him, her voice low but resolute. "Celestia herself has spoken… then this is no simple trial. This is fate."
Zumi gripped the staff tighter, golden eyes unwavering. "Then fate will bend to my will," he said. "Piece by piece, I'll gather her. Even if I must tear through Hell itself, she will return."
Somewhere in the unseen dark, the little girl's laughter echoed again—softer now, almost sweet. Not mockery, but approval.
The night over Tibet had not shifted, but the world around Zumi and Hina did. One moment, they stood in the monastery hall, golden lanterns flickering. The next, everything extinguished.
The silence was total. Not even breath seemed to belong in this place.
Then, from the void, came the creak of wings.
A shape emerged—thin, sharp, dripping as though carved from living ink. Her stockings clung to long, pale legs, her butterfly wings ragged, torn, and seeping darkness. Her eyes were hollow pools of violet flame, and when she smiled, it was the slow curl of something that had lived too long with fear.
She didn't speak. She only watched.
And the world around them shifted.
The floor beneath Zumi and Hina was gone—replaced by endless black water. The air was cold and wet, every breath stinging their throats with mold. In the distance, faint whispers began, thousands of voices calling their names.
Zumi tightened his grip on the staff. "This is her trial," he muttered.
The voices grew louder. Hina's molten aura flickered, her heat dimmed by the suffocating damp. She looked around, eyes narrowing. "They're not whispers," she said, her voice strained. "They're screams—screams swallowed by the water."
And then they came.
Hands—pale, slick, boneless—burst from the water's surface, clawing at their legs. Dozens, then hundreds, dragging them down into the abyss. The faces that surfaced were not monsters but people—men, women, children, their eyes wide in terror, mouths locked in eternal screams.
"Help us."
"Save us."
"Die with us."
Their words pierced deeper than blades. The weight of every drowned soul tried to anchor Zumi and Hina into the black.
Hina roared, flames bursting across her body, but the water hissed and smothered them, drowning the fire as quickly as it appeared. "Zumi—it won't hold!"
Zumi drove the staff downward. Golden light split the water, burning the hands away in a storm of sparks—but they reformed instantly, screaming louder, faces twisting into familiar ones.
The drowned wore the visages of people they had loved.
Zumi froze. Among the waterlogged faces was Gia. Then Nishiki. Then even Ana and Bia. They reached for him, their mouths opening with gurgling cries.
"You abandoned us."
"You let us drown."
"Save us… or join us."
The staff trembled in his hands.
Hina snarled, shoving forward, her magma-fire reigniting in violent bursts. She punched through the hands dragging her down, her scream tearing through the abyss. "They're lies, Zumi! This is fear—it's meant to break you!"
The fragment moved at last. Her body melted into shadow, wings tearing open as she rose above them. The ink dripping from her heels turned into chains, writhing serpents of darkness that lashed toward Zumi's throat.
The voices shrieked in unison. The water surged higher. The drowned pulled harder.
And then—
Celestia's voice rang in his soul.
"Zumi. This is the Trial of Terror. You must walk through fear, or it will claim you. Strike not with strength, but with truth."
His eyes snapped open. The staff of Sun Wukong pulsed—not gold this time, but violet flame, a resonance with the fragment's power. He spun it, not to kill, but to cut away the illusion. Each strike severed the faces, shattering them like glass. Gia dissolved. Nishiki vanished. Only echoes remained.
Hina slammed her fists together, magma exploding outward in a column of light. Together, the abyss cracked, the water boiling away into steam.
The fragment shrieked, her smile twisting. Chains lashed, wings split the air—but Zumi leapt, staff blazing, and struck her square in the chest.
The cemetery of water imploded.
When the world reformed, Zumi and Hina stood again in the monastery, panting, drenched in sweat but unbroken.
The fragment hovered before them, her body dripping blackness, her wings folding inward. Slowly, she bowed her head.
"You did not drown." Her voice was like silk over a razor. "Then you may have me."
She dissolved into smoke, and with a hiss, the second fragment sank into Zumi's chest.
[Celestia Speaks]
The Trial of Terror — Second Fragment Complete.
Reward: 2 of 5 Fragments obtained.
Three remain. When the fourth is claimed, the gates of Hell shall open. There, the final fragment must be pulled from the abyss by your own hand.
Zumi exhaled, tightening his grip on the staff. Two down. Three to go. And Hell itself waiting at the end.