Sun Wukong continued to fly using the cloud somersault at speeds that are truly beyond human comprehension. And he eventually saw something coming up as he sped across the horizon. It was a figure in a green hoodie with shark-like teeth, human in appearance and long white hair. Monkey smiled, "Well hello Wasabi." Wasabi smiled back: "It's been some time, Wukong." Up close, Wasabi looked exactly as Wukong remembered—and not at all. The hoodie was frayed at the edges, stitched with sigils that looked like they'd been chewed by time and spat back out. His long white hair drifted upward instead of down, as though gravity had filed a restraining order against him. When he smiled, those shark-like teeth gleamed with a humor that was both friendly and predatory.
"Well," Wukong said, resting Ruyi Jingu Bang across his shoulders, "last time I saw you, you were trying to sell enlightenment as a street food."
Wasabi chuckled. "And you ate three servings, complained about the aftertaste, and still asked for the recipe."
"That's because it tasted like lies and chili oil," Wukong said. "A dangerous combination."
They hovered there, two figures suspended between worlds, clouds passing beneath them like forgotten thoughts.
"It's been some time, Wukong," Wasabi repeated, but softer now. "You've changed."
Wukong raised an eyebrow. "Everyone says that. Usually right before they try to seal me in a mountain again."
"This isn't that," Wasabi said. "You're quieter. That should worry me."
Wukong's grin flickered, just a fraction. "I learned that shouting at the universe doesn't make it listen. Sometimes it just shouts back."
Wasabi nodded slowly. "Ah. You've started hearing echoes instead of applause."
They drifted closer, until the air between them felt… dense. Not hostile—attentive. As if reality itself were eavesdropping.
"You shouldn't be here," Wukong said at last. "This corridor sits between three cycles and a broken promise. Even Buddhas avoid it."
Wasabi shrugged. "I was never good at following signage. Besides, you're here too."
"I'm passing through," Wukong replied. "You're loitering."
"Fair." Wasabi's eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in calculation. "So tell me, Great Sage Equal to Heaven—are you still equal?"
Wukong laughed, but it was a dry sound. "Equality is a young monkey's obsession. These days I settle for honesty."
"And what's the honest verdict?"
"I lose more fights than I used to," Wukong said. "I win fewer arguments. And when I look at gods now, I don't wonder how to overthrow them—I wonder what broke them."
Wasabi's smile faded. "That's not regression."
"No," Wukong said. "It's fatigue."
They sat on nothing together, legs dangling over the void. For a while, neither spoke. Silence stretched—not empty, but layered, like sediment.
"You know," Wasabi said eventually, "there was a time when you terrified the heavens because you refused to mean anything. You were chaos without ideology. That scared them more than any demon king."
"I remember," Wukong said. "They kept asking what I stood for."
"And you said?"
"I stood," Wukong replied, tapping the staff on his shoulder, "wherever I pleased."
Wasabi laughed again, sharp and fond. "Now look at you. Carrying meaning like it's a burden."
Wukong glanced at him sideways. "And you? Last I heard, you were dissecting realities for fun. Selling philosophies that dissolve after purchase."
Wasabi's teeth showed again, but there was something tired behind them. "I learned something ugly. Truth doesn't like being packaged. It rots faster."
"So you stopped selling?"
"I started listening," Wasabi said. "Turns out most worlds aren't wrong. They're just unfinished."
Wukong considered that. "Unfinished worlds make the worst demands. They want heroes instead of carpenters."
"And you?" Wasabi asked. "What do they want from you now?"
Wukong looked down, past the clouds, past the layers of existence. "They want me to be a symbol again. Rebel. Trickster. Weapon. Proof that heaven can be mocked."
"And?"
"And I'm tired of being proof," Wukong said quietly. "I'd rather be a question."
Wasabi studied him for a long moment. "That's dangerous."
"Everything worth doing is," Wukong said. "Including staying the same."
The void shifted. Somewhere far away, something enormous turned in its sleep.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Wasabi said.
"Yes," Wukong replied. "The story tightening."
Wasabi sighed. "Then we don't have long. When the narrative starts pulling threads, it hates loose ends like us."
Wukong smiled again—this time, sharp, familiar, bright. "Good. I was worried it had forgotten how annoying I am."
Wasabi grinned back, all teeth and quiet resolve. "So. Old friend. One last conversation before the universe interrupts?"
Wukong twirled his staff and stepped back onto the cloud. "Make it a good one. I don't like repeating myself across incarnations."
A girl with pink hair showed up. "Wasabi, who are you talking too." Wasabi laughed, "Sorry Wukong, this is Arcane, she's one of my co-workers." Arcane began to blush when she saw Sun Wukong. She thought to herself: "Oh my god, that guy is so cute, I don't think I've ever been in love before."
Wasabi smirked: "Hey Wukong, show her your true form." Sun Wukong smiled: "Ok if you insist." He turned into his true form and then reverted back. She nearly pissed herself. Wasabi reacted by laughing hysterically, "Jesus, that is too good." Arcane told Wasabi to shut up. But inwardly she was even more in love with Sun Wukong saying to herself, "What a man. He's not even afraid to show his true colors to a beautiful girl."
Arcane's knees were still shaking when Wukong settled back into his familiar shape, the clouds knitting themselves beneath his feet as if nothing monstrous had just stared straight through her soul.
He tilted his head, genuinely concerned. "You alright? I forget sometimes what that looks like from the outside."
Arcane swallowed hard, forced a breath, then laughed—too loudly, too fast. "Y–yeah. Totally. I mean. Sure. Why not. Giant cosmic monkey king beyond morality. Nothing I haven't seen before."
Wasabi wiped tears from his eyes. "You handled that better than the last intern. He screamed for three timelines."
Arcane shot him a glare. "You didn't tell me he was that."
"I said he was authentic," Wasabi replied. "I didn't say he was OSHA-compliant."
Wukong crouched slightly so he was closer to eye level with her, tail flicking lazily behind him. There was no menace in the gesture—just curiosity. "You didn't run."
Arcane blinked. "I… wanted to. But it felt dishonest."
Wukong's smile softened, something ancient and approving passing behind his eyes. "Good instinct."
Wasabi raised an eyebrow. "Careful. Compliment her and she'll start asking questions."
"I already have questions," Arcane said quickly, then froze. "I mean—sorry—sir—uh—Great Sage—"
"Monkey is fine," Wukong said. "Most names are just hats anyway."
Arcane laughed again, steadier this time. "Okay. Monkey. Why show me that form at all? You didn't have to."
Wukong straightened, resting his staff against the cloud like a walking stick. "Because Wasabi asked," he said simply. Then, after a beat, "And because fear tells the truth faster than politeness. You were afraid—and you stayed."
Wasabi's grin faded into something more thoughtful. "That's rare these days."
Arcane frowned. "Is it?"
"Most people love the idea of truth," Wasabi said. "They just don't like its face."
Wukong nodded. "Especially when it has too many teeth."
Arcane glanced at him, then surprised herself by meeting his eyes without flinching. "You're… different from the stories."
"The stories are right," Wukong said. "They're just incomplete."
That word again. Unfinished.
The void rippled, the pressure deepening, like a held breath stretching too long.
Wasabi glanced around. "We're almost out of time. The narrative's starting to notice this isn't a sanctioned crossover."
Arcane stiffened. "Wait—what do you mean narrative?"
Wukong laughed softly. "She hears it now. Good. That saves explanations."
"Hey," Arcane snapped, half-panicked, half-excited, "I did not consent to cosmic awareness."
"No one ever does," Wasabi said. "It's implied."
Wukong stepped back onto the cloud fully, staff spinning once before settling. "I should go. If I linger, heaven starts sending paperwork. And armies."
Arcane blurted out, "Will I ever see you again?"
The question surprised all three of them.
Wukong paused, studying her—not as a girl, not as a mortal, but as a becoming. Then he smiled, slow and genuine.
"If you keep choosing honesty over comfort," he said, "we'll cross paths. Worlds like that attract trouble."
Wasabi snorted. "And him."
Arcane nodded, heart pounding. "Then I'll try."
Wukong dipped into a half-bow—casual, irreverent, but sincere. "That's all anyone can do."
The cloud somersault tightened beneath him, coiling like a thought ready to leap.
"Take care, Wasabi," Wukong said. "Try not to sell the ending this time."
Wasabi smirked. "No promises."
With that, Sun Wukong vanished—not forward, not away, but elsewhere, leaving behind a wake of unsettled reality and the faint scent of ozone and peach blossoms.
Silence returned.
Arcane exhaled shakily. "So," she said, turning to Wasabi, "is everyone you work with like that?"
Wasabi grinned. "Oh no."
That was somehow worse.
Sun Wukong closed his eyes he remembered a particular event. He remembered a group of cannibalistic humans that him and Wasabi were about to fight. These savages were about to fight them.
Sun Wukong closed his eyes and let the memory return in full color, full sound, full scent — the way only an immortal mind remembers. Time did not blur for him. It waited, preserved like a trapped insect in amber.
The wind of that day had smelled wrong.
Not like earth. Not like moss. Not like rain.
Like iron.
Like cooked flesh.
The forest had been too quiet.
Even the insects had abandoned it.
Wasabi walked beside him, silent for once — a rarity that Wukong noticed immediately. Wasabi's ears twitched beneath the brim of his travel hat, picking up distant sounds long before mortal senses could.
"They're watching," Wasabi murmured.
Wukong did not open his eyes, even then. He walked with his staff balanced across his shoulders, hands resting lazily over it.
"Of course they are," Wukong replied. "Hungry things always watch before they bite."
"You're awfully calm about being dinner."
"I've been dinner before. Didn't take."
Wasabi snorted. "You are impossible."
"And alive," Wukong added.
They reached the clearing — a wound in the forest where trees had been hacked down with crude tools. Bones hung from rope lines like grisly wind chimes. Skulls carved with symbols rotated slowly in the breeze. A cooking pit smoldered at the center, blackened stones encircling a spit.
Something large had been roasted there recently.
The smell confirmed it.
Human.
Wasabi's hand moved to his blade. "We're late."
"No," Wukong said quietly. "We're right on time."
A drumbeat began.
Not from one direction — from all directions.
Dull. Hollow. Bone on hide.
Figures emerged from the tree line — first five, then twenty, then more. Painted in ash and blood, wearing patchwork armor stitched from cloth and skin. Their eyes were bright with feverish devotion, not mere hunger. This was ritual to them. Celebration.
A woman stepped forward — tall, scarred, crowned with antlers wired into a skull helm. She smiled with too many teeth filed too sharp.
"Travelers," she said warmly. "You have walked into blessing."
Wasabi whispered, "I hate when they say that."
Wukong tilted his head. "Do you bless everyone with hanging rib cages?"
"They are honored," she said. "They live within us forever."
"Ah," Wukong nodded. "You're philosophers."
The tribe hissed.
The antler-crowned leader studied him. "You mock sacred hunger."
"I mock bad table manners."
The drums intensified.
Weapons raised.
The circle tightened.
Wasabi shifted stance. "Plan?"
Wukong yawned. "Stretch first. Fighting tightens the shoulders."
"You're serious?"
"Always stretch."
The first spear flew.
Wukong did not look.
His staff flicked backward and knocked it from the air with a lazy tok.
Then everything moved at once.
They rushed.
Screaming. Foaming. Frenzied.
Wukong shrank his staff to needle length and tucked it behind his ear — then stepped forward empty-handed.
Wasabi blinked. "You're unarmed?"
"Temporarily bored," Wukong replied.
The first attacker lunged — Wukong sidestepped and tapped the man's forehead with one finger. The attacker froze mid-charge, eyes crossed, then fell over stiff as a statue.
Pressure point.
Second attacker — wrist twist, elbow break, gentle push — unconscious before hitting ground.
Third — Wukong caught the club, sniffed it.
"Unwashed. Disappointing."
He spun it, disarmed the wielder, used the club to vault — landing behind the next three, sweeping their legs in one motion.
Meanwhile Wasabi was considerably less gentle.
Steel flashed. Precision cuts. Non-lethal when possible, but decisive. He fought like a calligrapher writing in motion — efficient, elegant, final.
But they kept coming.
Too many.
Too fearless.
"They're drugged," Wasabi called out.
"No," Wukong replied, flipping over a charging brute. "They're convinced."
"Of what?"
"That this ends well for them."
The antler-crowned woman raised her arms — chanting now. The tribe's frenzy sharpened. Veins bulged. Movements grew faster, stronger, sloppier.
Magic.
Primitive — but real.
Wukong sighed. "Fine."
He plucked a hair from his arm and blew on it.
Thirty Wukongs hit the battlefield at once.
The cannibals hesitated — just long enough.
The clones moved like mirrors in a storm — staffs appearing in their hands as if reality had suddenly remembered they were armed. Blows landed in synchronized thunder. No wasted motion. No cruelty — just overwhelming correction.
Bodies dropped.
Weapons shattered.
Drums stopped.
Silence reclaimed the clearing.
Only the antler-crowned leader remained standing.
She did not look afraid.
She looked… relieved.
"You are the storm," she whispered.
"I've been called worse," Wukong said.
She spread her arms. "Then eat me, Sky Demon. Complete the circle."
Wasabi grimaced. "Nope. Not doing that."
Wukong studied her eyes — not madness, not hunger.
Devotion.
To something deeper in the forest.
"You're not the top of this food chain," he said.
Her smile widened.
The ground shook.
The cooking pit collapsed inward — not down, but away — revealing a vertical tunnel lined with teeth.
The earth was a mouth.
Wasabi jumped back. "That's new."
A breath rose from below — hot, wet, cavernous.
The tribe leader laughed. "You came to fight us. We were only the invitation."
A shape moved in the depths — enormous, coiled, pale as fungus. Multiple jaws unfolded like flowers of knives.
"Ah," Wukong said softly. "Now we're at the main course."
The creature surged upward — a burrowing god, or something that wanted to be. Its body was ringed with grinding plates of bone. Half-digested armor and bones clung to its hide.
Wukong's clones vanished — reabsorbed in a blink.
"Wasabi," he said calmly, "try not to get eaten."
"That is always the plan."
The worm-god struck.
Wukong expanded his staff to pillar size and jammed it crosswise into the creature's open jaws — halting the bite inches from them. The impact split the clearing like thunder.
Wasabi ran up the staff like a ramp, driving his blade into the creature's eye cluster. Black fluid erupted.
The monster shrieked — a sound like mountains grinding.
The antler-crowned woman dropped to her knees, ecstatic. "It feeds! It feeds!"
"Not today," Wukong said.
He grew.
Not metaphorically.
His body expanded until he stood taller than the trees — fur like burning gold, eyes like twin suns. He grabbed the creature behind the jaws and pulled.
The ground cracked open as he ripped half its body free from the earth.
Wasabi shouted up, "Showoff!"
"Always," Wukong replied.
He spun the monster once — twice — and hurled it across the horizon. It landed somewhere far away with a fading boom.
The forest exhaled.
The antler-crowned woman wept with joy. "We are chosen. We are spared."
Wukong shrank back to normal size and looked at her for a long moment.
"No," he said gently. "You're done."
He tapped the ground with his staff.
Roots surged upward and bound the remaining tribe members — not crushing, not killing — just holding.
Wasabi sheathed his blade. "Mercy again?"
"Correction," Wukong said. "Mercy is when they learn."
"And if they don't?"
Wukong smiled slightly.
"Then I visit twice."
The memory faded.
Sun Wukong opened his eyes in the present.
The wind around him now smelled clean — but distant echoes of that iron scent still lived somewhere in his mind.
Wasabi's voice — from the present — called out behind him:
"You're doing that memory thing again."
"Yes."
"Good one or bad one?"
Wukong stood slowly and lifted his staff.
"The kind that reminds you," he said, "that monsters rarely think they are monsters."
He started walking.
"Come," he added. "I smell trouble ahead."
And he smiled.
Not kindly. Not cruelly.
Just eagerly.
Sun Wukong remembered him having a discussion with Lupus and Hermes about how criminals had been treated in their empire and how they would continue to be treated. The rapists, pedophiles, murderors, sex traffickers and others were being hanged, murdered and beheaded; liquified in some cases. Sun Wukong stated: "These affairs should continue. We need to put the fear of God in them and if nothing else to satisfy the masses by executing the criminals." Lupus laughed: "We've killed more tribal savages, me and my daughter just yesterday." Hermes nodded and said: "Those who spare the wicked by making them live out their lives in prison only do so to massage their ego it is not because they care whether they live or die."