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The first thing Sun Wukong did after the two emissaries of Yama left, dragging the flame of his son’s soul along with them, was pick up his son’s body, shove their discarded staff into his ear, and return to the safety of his territory.
It infuriated him how short a trip it was. MK had been so very close to the edge of where Wukong’s kingdom began, so much so that he probably would have stumbled into it if he had been left alone, if fate hadn’t decided to be cruel.
His body was still warm in Wukong’s arms. The still-open wound that had taken his life still bled profusely despite Wukong’s attempts at healing, and it was steadily staining his clothes. He did not care.
His monkeys greeted him as he flew past before seemingly processing whom he was holding, if their frightened and concerned noises meant anything. Still, Wukong did not break his pace. He did not have time to tell each and every monkey what had happened, nor did he have the time to help them mourn. It would be for naught, either way.
After all, why let them grieve a person who would be returning shortly?
He’d made it home.
He kicked open the door so hard it embedded in his wall. He slipped inside and took in his small, dark hut. The only available space to lay MK down was either the floor or the couch, neither of which were suitable. Sleeping on the couch worked for Wukong occasionally, but his son deserved better. His son deserved perfection.
Without another thought, Wukong shifted MK into one arm and pulled out a strand of fur. Once the clone formed, he gently placed MK in its arms with the orders to hold tight to him. It cradled MK delicately to its chest, with MK’s head resting against its collar; if Wukong didn’t know any better, he’d say MK was sleeping.
(But he did know better)
Wukong quickly turned away and kicked the couch away. He pulled out some more fur and transformed them into a large bed and tons of pillows and blankets. He laid the largest, comfiest blanket down on top for maximum comfort. He piled the other blankets inside, arranging them so there was something of a border, and then he piled the pillows inside. He fluffed and shifted and fussed until his bed was transformed into the perfect nest for his son to rest in.
With his task completed to his standards, he turned back to his clone. It hadn’t moved an inch since it’d been given its mission, as expected. MK’s blood was still pouring out of him and dripping into a puddle at the clone’s feet.
Wukong went to it and took MK back. The clone stared blankly at him now that its mission had been completed. Wukong returned its gaze before allowing his eyes to drift down its form to the blood staining half of its torso, the trickles down its pants, the small pool under its feet.
It had been a long time since he’d seen the image of himself covered in blood. He remembered once feeling pride being blood-soaked, knowing he was gaining the strength and power he so desperately craved, knowing that everyone else knew that he wasn’t someone to be trifled with.
Now it made him feel sick.
With a quick flick of his hand, the clone disappeared, though the puddle of blood remained. He’ll deal with that later.
Wukong turned back to the bed and gently, softly, with all the care in the world, laid MK upon it. He slightly shifted him, making it so he was facing up. Wukong stood up straight, gazing down at his almost peaceful-looking boy.
And he stared.
He stared at his son’s slack, pale, empty face. He stared as the blood oozing out of the gaping hole in his stomach spread then slowed then set upon his skin, his clothes, the bed. He stared at the unrising chest, the untwitching fingers, the complete and utter lack of movement that was so very unlike MK.
He stared and stared and stared, having stood to think of his game plan and figure out how exactly he was going to retrieve MK’s soul from Diyu and revive him, but ended up losing every possible thread of thought with his precious, precious boy lying dead in front of him.
He did not know how long he stood there, still and silent. He vaguely recalled seeing a handful of brave little monkeys creep into the hut to see what had happened, snooping only so close until the smell of blood drove them away. They might’ve spoken to him, and he might’ve responded, but he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that when finally he returned to his body, the sun had set and he was alone.
He blinked slowly, his eyes dry and irritated. His face felt tacky, but he refused to think about why. His muscles were stiff and ached when he shifted. He must’ve been standing still as a rock.
The joke didn’t do anything for his mood, unfortunately.
There was a trilling noise coming from nearby. He looked around blankly for what could’ve been causing it, belatedly noting that was probably what had shocked him from his funk. After a moment of searching, he realized with an aching heart that it was coming from MK.
With shaking hands, he gently searched his kid’s pockets before finding the object in question: MK’s phone. By the time he got his hands around it, it had stopped ringing, but it was still lit up, showing a multitude of texts from his friends and a missed call from Mei.
“Love them… Tell ‘em, please?”
Grief punched Wukong in the chest, and he just barely held himself back from shattering the phone in his hands.
He stared down at the fragile glass with blurring eyes, at a loss of what to do. Telling MK’s friends what had happened wasn’t just the right thing to do, but was also MK’s last request. He wanted them to know he loved… that he loves them. But how can he look them in the eye and tell him he’d failed? How could he condense that horrible, horrible scene into a single sentence?
And… why would he? MK was coming back, after all. Why… Why worry them? Why cause them pain? MK would be back shortly and would be able to tell them himself how much he cared about them, and Wukong wouldn’t have to do it for him.
Another text lit up the phone and Wukong took a moment to read it.
From Mei: hey where are you??? answer your phone
Wukong swore quietly under his breath. He didn’t know how long it would take to get MK back. He didn’t even know how much time had passed since he’d left in the first place; time was always weird for an immortal being like Wukong.
After a moment of deliberation, Wukong slowly swiped his finger across the bottom of the screen. It opened without difficulty; MK didn’t even have a password. Wukong chuckled softly as he navigated to the messages app. He clicked on Mei’s and MK’s texts and saw a wall of increasingly frantic messages from Mei dating back to the day before, wondering where MK was and if he was okay. Wukong took a second to brush aside the guilt about what he was about to do, and then he began typing.
To Mei: omg so sorry got caught up with monkey king’s training he’s actually taking me on a cool trip to get me more intuned with my inner being and idk when i’ll be back sorry again
From Mei: god dude don’t scare me like that. and monkey king couldn’t give u more warning?? that's so inconvenient
Wukong smiled ruefully.
To Mei: well u know monkey king.
From Mei: unfortunately
He had to admit it, that one stung a little.
To Mei: anyway i have to go now i'm not gonna be able to text at all where we’re going so i'll talk to you later
Then, after a moment of deliberation:
To Mei: love u
From Mei: lol love you too. See you when you get back and make sure that monkey doesn’t run you to the ground, if you come back a husk of a person I’ll kill him myself.
Wukong shut off the phone and gently slipped it back into MK’s pocket. He looked to MK’s face again.
It hadn’t changed at all in the hours they’d been here. Still so pale, so slack, so lifeless. It broke his heart all over again, and strengthened his resolve in what he had to do.
Unfortunately, he knew getting MK back wouldn’t be as simple as wreaking havoc in Diyu and shoving MK’s soul back in his body. Souls were delicate, they required a more precise hand. He didn’t know how long MK would last outside of a vessel once he was back in the material realm. Which meant Wukong needed an actual plan.
Which meant research.
A curl of indignance bloomed in his chest, but he quickly squashed it down. No matter how much he might despise researching via reading rather than action, he knew it had to be done. And if it was for MK? He would do anything.
He focused back in on MK. He leaned forward and gently brushed MK’s hair out of his face, gazing down at him with love and sorrow. He bent and brushed his lips against MK’s temple before pulling away and standing up straight, turning for the door as he did.
Then he was off toward the Cloud.
The two guardians standing outside the temple stared at him suspiciously as he hopped off his cloud and landed in front of them, an easy-going smile glamoured onto his face; he couldn’t muster up the energy to smile for real.
“G’morning, gentlepeople,” he greeted, his tone falsely cheerful in a way that was probably obvious. He did not care. “How’s the unlimited knowledge of the known universe treating you?”
“Is that truly you, Sun Wukong?” said the blue one; Wukong had never bothered to learn their names.
“The one and only,” said Wukong.
“What would the great Monkey King want with the Cloud?” asked the red one.
“Why, knowledge, of course.”
They gave each other a side-eyed look.
“That is not in line with our knowledge of you,” said the blue one.
Wukong gasped overdramatically, placing a hand over his chest to really sell his disdain. “What! So you would deny me the pleasure of expanding my mental horizons simply because I haven’t partaken in this wonderful collection in the past? For shame!”
They looked at each other again.
“Besides,” Wukong said after a moment, the energy it had taken to be even the slightest bit playful draining out of him immediately. “I’m signed up for your little service already, so you have no reason to deny me.”
They paused, then sighed in unison.
“Very well,” said the red one, and then both of them turned and the huge doors opened up.
“Thank you,” said Wukong before he began walking inside. Once he was just in the threshold, he glanced over his shoulder at them. “Oh, by the way, where’s your section on information about death? Call it morbid curiosity.”
The guardians were looking increasingly regretful about allowing him into their temple. The blue one reluctantly gave him directions to the sections that covered death and the realm of the dead, etc. Wukong thanked them and set off, the guardians’ wary eyes boring in his back as he did.
An unknown amount of time later—again, he’s bad at measuring the stuff—Wukong slammed his forehead into the table he was sitting at, causing the dozens upon dozens of books, scrolls, and tablets (both electronic and not) to jump at least a foot into the air.
How was it that in the place that holds arguably all the information in the world, he was unable to find even a single book on the correct way to resurrect someone?
He’s found books on the theories of souls and the science behind them. He’s found old scrolls depicting how to create a new vessel that reincarnated souls could be ushered into. He’s found a whole assortment of fiction depicting things called soulmates, and yet there’s nothing about retrieving a soul from Diyu and returning it to its rightful body.
Sure! It’s taboo! It’s unnatural! It goes against the order of the universe! But so were emails! And chores! Wukong would bet real money he’d be able to find those very things in this very temple! So why—?
He slammed his head a few more times on the table until he was shushed by a particularly brave knowledge attendant. He sighed and lifted his head from the indent he’d left in the wood and buried his face in his hands.
He didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
He wished it was as simple as just killing the people holding MK hostage. He wished he could just grab the flame of his soul and shove it back in his body. He wished he didn’t even have to go through this, wished he could just go to his son and hold him and cuddle him and never let anyone hurt him ever again for the rest of his life, wished he’d given him one of those gods forsaken peaches like his brain had been screaming at him to do since he’d first gotten attached, he wished—
He dragged his claws down his face, the pain grounding him and sending his spiraling thoughts to a screeching halt.
He breathed in deep and slowly let it out, following an old, old exercise that had been ingrained into his mind from days long gone and best forgotten.
Take a minute. Breathe. Think it through logically. Figure out what you can do.
It’s almost like he can hear the man’s voice.
So the Cloud didn’t have the information he wanted. That was fine. He could just find it elsewhere. Just think. Surely he could think of another place that had knowledge about this topic. Surely he knew someone that knew even an inkling about resurrection—
Wukong bolted upright.
Macaque.
Of course! How could that have slipped his mind? He’d get answers out of Macaque and then he’d bring MK back, and everything would go back to normal.
Old anger curled in the center of his chest at the idea of seeking out his once-friend, merging quickly with the rage he felt at the situation. Wukong stood quickly, knocking some of the books over in the process. The sound caught his attention and he stared down at the mass of information he gathered.
He paused as he considered it all; he wasn’t sure if he would need any of it now that he had Macaque to rely on (the thought of which made him gag). But he didn’t want all this time to have gone to waste…
Without another thought, Wukong plucked a hair from his head and changed it into a bag. With one big sweep of his arm, he shoved a good portion of the books, scrolls, and tablets into the bag before rushing for one of the attendants.
“Hey!” he called. “Do you guys do check-outs?”
Hours later, Wukong barged into Macaque’s dojo. Macaque startled, but by the expression on his face, it was due to the sound not Wukong’s presence. He probably heard Wukong coming.
As Wukong stormed up to him, Macaque drawled, “What injustice have I done to warrant a visit from the Great Sage him—?”
“How did the Lady Bone Demon bring you back?”
Macaque laughed once, harsh and loud. “Wow! You really don’t pull punches, huh?”
Wukong narrowed his eyes, impatiently baring his teeth. “Tell me.”
Macaque crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t think you get to ask that, actually.”
“It’s a good thing you don’t get to dictate that, then, isn’t it?” Wukong shot back.
“Oh, so you’re going to force the knowledge from me? Gonna take my other eye?” Macaque scoffed. “Get lost, Monkey King.”
Wukong growled, his anger peaking as he was in the presence of this monkey, who had the key to getting his kid back and was willfully withholding it. If Macaque wasn’t the only one who could tell him about this, he probably would’ve left already. As it was, the next words tumbled out of his mouth without his permission, “MK is dead.”
Macaque paused, his arms dropping to his sides as his expression slipped into one of genuine shock and, to Wukong’s surprise, concern. “What?”
“MK is dead,” Wukong repeated, and it only felt a little like a lance striking through him to say, the shame and anger and sorrow that clung to that tiny, insignificant sentence almost palpable. “And I am bringing him back, and the only person I know who has done that is standing right before me. So! I ask again.” Wukong took a step closer, looking down his nose at the other monkey with glowing, angry eyes. Macaque shrank but didn’t step away. “How. Did she. Bring. You. Back?”
“... I don’t know.”
Wukong’s lip curled back, and he grabbed Macaque by the scarf.
Macaque instantly lifted his hands up, panicked. “Hey—I’m not kidding! She just came to me in Diyu and offered me a deal, and the next thing I knew I was waking up six feet under. Had to crawl out of my own grave. If you care.”
“I don’t,” said Wukong, which wasn’t true. It just wasn’t his priority right now. He’d always been a one-track mind kind of monkey.
“Of course not. Why would you?” Macaque almost looked hurt, but Wukong wasn’t in the mindset to care about that. This would probably come back to bite him, especially if MK ever got wind of it, but that was a problem for future Wukong. “If you’re looking for someone who understands the Bone Demon, then I’d suggest going after her lap dog.”
“He’s still around?”
Macaque rolled his eyes. “‘Course you don’t know. He was taken by the lotus prince back to Heaven to await judgment. Unsurprisingly, plotting to destroy the universe as we know it and remake it in another’s image makes one a danger to society. Even godly society.”
Wukong searched Macaque’s gaze for any hint of deception, if he was setting him on a wild goose chase to waste the precious time he had to get MK back, but he found none. Macaque’s half-lidded eyes were filled with manufactured disinterest and, breaking through via the crease in his brow and a shimmer in his eyes, a pain Wukong himself was feeling.
It seemed Macaque actually did care about MK.
Wukong nodded and released Macaque’s scarf. “Alright then. I’ll go see him.”
Macaque took a step back, letting out a quiet breath. “Yeah, okay. Have fun with that. Leave me alone.”
That was fair. Wukong nodded again and turned to leave. He made it to the door before pausing again, considering. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said, and surprise was painted clearly over Macaque’s face. “I’ll bring him back.”
“... Okay,” said Macaque.
Wukong turned forward and walked out without another word.
Getting into Heaven was surprisingly easy, all things considered.
Ever since the Journey, Wukong was technically allowed to come and go as he pleased, but that didn’t mean everyone who spent their time up there actually enjoyed that, nor did it mean Wukong himself actually liked being there. At the time, he had just accepted his new position and bounced. Nobody had even called his name as he zipped past the gates and back to his mountain paradise.
Still, even after everything that’d happened, Wukong still half-expected the guards at the gates of Heaven to block him simply on principle. He wouldn’t exactly put it past the officials to decide Wukong needed special permission to join the elite among the stars, as it were, since he had so rudely rejected the clearly obligated offer of his own temple among his peers. However, the guards had simply given him a wary look and allowed him in without question.
It honestly took him off guard a little; he’d been expecting some amount of resistance, and yet here he was, leisurely walking towards where he remembered being held all those centuries ago when he himself had been on trial. Not enough time in the mortal realm had passed, he thought, for any real progress to have been made on deciding the Bone Demon’s assistant’s fate; he was probably still being held while the court argued about what to do with him.
Now, admittedly, they probably wouldn’t just let him waltz in to interrogate the guy. He had the position to simply exist in Heaven without any consequence, but actively interfering with an ongoing trial was probably above his station, especially since he was fishing for information that would probably revoke any good standing he had with the people here. Not that he cared.
MK was ten million times more important to him than any relationships he had up here.
All this to say that Wukong needed to be sneaky.
Luck seemed to be on his side today because he managed to avoid catching the direct attention of any other celestials. He’d had to dodge out of the way of a few traveling couples or groups, but either they didn’t see him or didn’t give him the time of day, a fact that would have insulted him in the past but now was a blessing he cherished.
He was coming upon the building with the holding cells. He gave it a cursory glance before turning on his gold vision.
There were guards on the inside, both patrolling and keeping watch. The only enchantments he could make out seemed to be on the cells themselves, not in the surrounding building. Not even the front door had an alarm set up. An oversight perhaps on Heaven’s part, but once again a blessing for Wukong.
There was also a surprising amount of people inside cells, both demon and celestial. He was really out of date on the current Heavenly Drama, apparently.
Not that he really cared about those demons. There was one specific person he was looking for and—
There he is.
At the very back of the building, in one of the isolated cells that Wukong himself had been housed in while Heaven prepared to execute him, was the Lady Bone Demon’s assistant. As far as Wukong could see, he was tied up and seated on the ground, that annoyingly uncanny grin of his still stretched across his face.
Perfect.
Wukong looked around for any observers and, finding none, quickly turned into a bug. He flew his way towards the front doors of the building and easily slipped through the crease and inside. It was almost scary how easy it was to traverse the building and get to his destination. He had half a mind to tell Heaven to update their stupid security, especially if it was this way everywhere; if the rowdiest celestials among them could sneak in unnoticed, who knew what kind of dastardly tricksters would be able to steal Heaven’s secrets.
He slipped under the door and inside. The whole room was just as he remembered it; no windows, no accommodations, just a cold, stone room that would drive even the most patient person crazy with boredom. Not even the door itself had a window.
Which meant Wukong felt all too comfortable transforming back to his original form, eyes glowing with righteous anger and half of a snarl curling his lip.
“Why, if it isn’t the Monkey King,” said the Bone Demon’s lap dog. His voice was the same lilting thing it had always been, though Wukong could hear some surprise ringing under his words. “Come to gloat about your victory over my lady? Beat a poor defenseless demon while he’s down?”
“As fun as that sounds,” Wukong began, and the other raised an eyebrow at the dark, rumbling tone he possessed, “I’ve got a couple questions for ya.”
“And what makes you think I’d answer anything you asked of me?” He laughed. “No matter how good a dog you’ve been for Heaven, I don’t quite believe you’d be the one to send to interrogate me on why, exactly, I’ve done the deeds I have. As if it weren’t obvious. Unless—“ And here there was a strange pitch that entered his voice that caught Wukong’s attention. He couldn’t quite identify it yet, but he let it bounce around in his head for analysis while the other continued speaking, “you’re my executioner?”
Having let the insult roll off his back, Wukong huffed a laugh. Baring his teeth, he said, “Not even Heaven is cruel enough to have me play executioner. A pity, truly.”
“I see.” Was Wukong crazy, or did he just see the guy… relax? “In any case, I sincerely doubt you’ve anything of value to me that would make it so I would offer any sort of answer to you. You’re not exactly in my good graces, Your Majesty.”
Wukong hummed, amused. “It’s funny you think I don’t have ways of making people talk.”
“What ways?” laughed the other. “Torture? As if anything you could do to me would be half as painful as watching my lady be ripped from her destiny. You’ve nothing on me, Sun Wukong.”
Wukong narrowed his eyes, once again picking up a strange note in the guy’s tone. Clearly, there was something Wukong could do that he didn’t want, but Wukong had yet to figure it out. What could it be?
He’d been reacting strangely at the thought of Wukong being there to kill him. Was he afraid of death? Strange, considering the company he used to keep. Unless he’d been around for so long he never thought he’d have to deal with it? He reeked of the Bone Demon’s magic, and considering his devotion to her, it seemed he’d been at her side for millenia. But with the Bone Demon dead and gone, would he not wish to join her? Or to be free of an existence without her by his side? His entire purpose had been destroyed by the very staff Wukong held in his ear, so why would he cling to life—?
Realization struck, and Wukong gave a wicked grin. “Nothing I can do to you, hm?”
LBD’s assistant stilled. “… Yes. That is correct…”
“You know, it’s interesting you say that.” Wukong’s tone had become nonchalant, almost teasing. He lifted his hand and idly slipped MK’s his staff from his ear, grinning wider as the other’s eyes fell upon it. “Side note: did you know Heaven is actually fairly lenient when it comes to punishments?”
“Now that’s a laugh,” replied the other. “Especially coming from you.”
Wukong hummed. “Now I know how it looks, believe me. But look at the facts! Celestials have been turned into animals, they’ve been banished until they repent, they’ve been locked away until they’re useful for a glorified delivery mission. But there are worse things. They could have been tortured for all of time, having their spleens eaten every day. They could be cursed with futility, like rolling a stone up a hill; truly the worst of them.” Wukong slammed his cudgel down, all faux mirth drying up as he stared down at the other with glowing, angry eyes. “There’s death.”
LBD’s lap dog narrowed his eyes and grit his teeth.
Wukong bared his teeth back. “So you see, there is something I could do to you, unless of course you answer my questions.”
“… You’re bluffing.” The grin came back, though it was fractured and nervous. “You wouldn’t act in a way that would upset Heaven, you despise dealing with their bureaucracy—”
Wukong kicked him in the chest. He let out an oof noise and then wheezed as Wukong stepped on his sternum, pressing most of his weight down. Wukong then pointed his cudgel in the center of his face.
“Well, sure,” said Wukong nonchalantly. “I’m sure they’d be pretty pissed if I took their kill out from under them. But I’m sure I’d be able to get them to believe I simply wished to take matters into my own hands after everything your lady did to me and the ones that belong to me. I’d get little more than a slap on the wrist. Even if they wanted to, I don’t know, send you to the Ten Kings to serve out some kind of sentence or what have you, either way, they’d be rid of you! So it’d be a win-win! Only…” He pressed his foot down harder. “It’d be a loss for you, wouldn’t it?”
He glared up at Wukong.
“After all, you’re betting on their mercy, aren’t you?” Wukong surmised. “You know severe punishments are always mitigated down to some kind of penance, which means you’d be left alive, if enslaved. And that is at least something in the grand scheme of enacting revenge on the ones who took your lady away from you. Am I right?”
The other growled, and Wukong’s grin widened to an almost feral degree.
“Good! I’m glad we understand each other then.” Wukong pressed the tip of his cudgel against the other’s cheek, earning him a grimace. “So here’s how this is gonna work. You tell me how you resurrected Macaque, and I won’t kill you!”
“... Why do you want to know?”
“Ah ah ah!” Wukong dug the cudgel further into the other’s cheek. “No questions! Just your little ritual and I’ll leave you here to rot.”
The lap dog’s soulless eyes stared up into Wukong’s, silently debating his options no doubt. Wukong didn’t move an inch, letting the weight of his cudgel rest threateningly against him.
The other sighed, and Wukong knew he’d won. “Alright, then, Your Majesty. You drive a hard bargain, but I know a fair deal when I see one.”
Wukong’s grin widened. “Glad we could come to an agreement.”
After he left the holding cells, he beelined his way for the gates. He almost managed to get there unnoticed, but unfortunately, a familiar voice called out to him.
“Wukong?” He froze and slowly turned toward it as Nezha came flying his way. “What are you doing here?”
Wukong forced an easy-going smile on his face; now that he had all the means to bring his son back, he wanted to stop at nothing to get it done as soon as possible. “Nezha! Oh, you know, just checking in on the progress of the Lady Bone Demon’s assistant’s trial.”
Nezha raised an eyebrow. “Really? You care about that?”
“Yep!” Wukong laughed. “Though I do have a suggestion!”
“And what is that—”
Wukong stepped closer, his face going dark and his smile falling off his face. “Tear the guy apart until there is nothing left.”
Nezha startled, taking half a step back in surprise.
Wukong slipped his mask back on his face. “Anyway! I’ve got some errands to run, was so great seeing you, okay, byyyye!”
He blasted off without another word.
Now armed with the knowledge and materials he needed to properly bring his son back to life, Wukong returned to Flower Fruit Mountain to set up the ritual before he would storm Diyu. Despite everything, he was feeling surprisingly hopeful about the situation. He didn’t think too much time had passed, which meant he had nearly accomplished his goal in record time and no one would even be the wiser—
Wukong stepped up to his hut and immediately gagged. His hands dropped the bag of materials and scrolls before covering his nose and mouth from the horrid smell that hung over his home. Having been hit with it so suddenly, Wukong had to actively keep himself from heaving up stomach acid.
He was halfway through thinking what the hell is causing this smell? when realization struck him clear over the head and he burst inside, dread and horror twisting up his gut.
The door cracked against the wall and he gagged even harder again; the smell was much worse in here, hitting him like a wall. He squeezed his nose tighter and moved in further, desperate to prove what he knew was true wrong, because he didn’t want to believe it—
“No!” he cried as his eyes fell upon the body in the nest. The sight broke what remained of his heart, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away.
MK was rotting.
His skin had turned a horrible, splotchy, dark red color, and from the holes in his face, there were since-dried streaks of some disgusting green liquid. Flies buzzed around the room, concentrated all over MK’s body, and to Wukong’s further disgust, he had a clear vision into the hole in MK’s stomach, where dozens upon dozens of maggots fed upon his flesh. He could practically hear the skittering and munching of the bugs as they moved and ate and grew. The hole in MK’s stomach had practically tripled, likely due to the bugs that feasted upon him. His body seemed to have half-deflated as well, and to top it all off, MK’s face looked just the same as Wukong had left him, peaceful and calm.
Wukong fell to his knees and heaved. There was nothing in his stomach, hadn’t been since this whole tragedy had begun, but that wouldn't stop his body from revolting. His throat burned as stomach acid pushed up through his esophagus and out of his mouth, splattering upon the floor of his home. He gagged and spat and heaved some more, the smell of sick and rot sending him over the edge several times over.
Tears fell from his eyes unbidden as he did, and soon he gathered the energy to drag himself out of his hut, where the smell was less potent. He hastily closed the door with his tail and gripped the sides of his head, pulling and tearing at his fur.
“Fuck!” he yelled. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
How could so much time have passed? He would have sworn it’s only been a day! Or two… But still! Where had he gone wrong? Was he at the Cloud longer than needed? Did it take that much time to find Macaque? Had his trip to Heaven to demand answers and the subsequent hunting for necessary ingredients done him in? Was it all three? He didn’t know! He didn’t remember! It was all just a big stupid blur and now his kid was rotting away in his home and everyone would know just how horribly he’d messed up, and this wasn’t how this was supposed to go at all!
He tugged harshly on his fur and squeezed his watering eyes shut, his breaths coming in quick gasps.
Okay, okay, calm down. He could fix this! Maybe–Maybe the spell worked on rotted bodies! It worked on Macaque after all, and who knows how long he was dead for before LBD offered him a deal? So it was probably fine, right?
But—there was always the chance Macaque was rescued immediately, right? Meaning his body hadn’t had time to decompose completely, and who’s to say celestial primates rot the same way mortal humans do anyway? Maybe mortals rotted quicker! And when the spell went into effect, MK would be brought back into a rotting corpse!
Panic started to swirl in his chest.
Okay—Okay, so what? He just needed to get MK a new body, then, right? And then he could perform the spell and put MK’s soul into his new body and then he would be alive again!
That vaguely rang a bell—maybe he picked something up from the Cloud.
He quickly began rummaging through his bag, throwing the unimportant documents, tablets, and scrolls to the side until he finally found what he was looking for. It was an old, old scroll depicting how to create a vessel for reincarnated souls. And—if he was being fairly literal about it—wouldn’t MK classify as reincarnated? He died and then came back! So all he had to do was create the body, free the soul, cast the spell, then move the soul into the new body just in case the old body was rendered useless. Easy peasy, right?
He was calming down at least. The world was slotting back into place almost; all it needed was MK’s presence to fully lock it in. He hadn’t completely messed things up! It was salvageable! Maybe he was lucky and MK’s friends had completely bought the training excuse and weren’t worried for him in the slightest. He had yet another game plan, and nothing more would get in his way—
King, King!
Trouble!
Bad!
Wukong was immediately overtaken by his clamoring monkeys, screeching frantically.
“Whoa, whoa, guys! Calm down, tell me what—”
Dragon attack! Dragon!
Wukong could think of only one dragon who would want to come here.
He whipped toward the entrance to Water Curtain Cave, seeing easily that the seal was still up; only himself, his monkeys, and MK would be able to come inside.
Wukong sighed, relaxing. “Don’t worry, kids, the seal is still up. She won’t be able to—"
And, as if the universe simply wanted to spite him, he heard the telltale sound of the seal opening and the waterfall splitting in two.
Huh. MK must’ve changed the seal.
“Fuck—” Wukong immediately leapt to his feet and whipped toward his door. He didn’t have a lot of time to do anything complex like his waterfall, but he could at least seal it up to bar any passage (hopefully including the smell, which he’ll have to address in a moment when he didn’t have an angry dragon about to darken his doorstep).
Quickly, a familiar golden spell circle appeared on the door before fading from view shortly after, and he let out a breath of relief.
“Monkey King!”
The relief vanished.
Wukong spun around, attempting to appear inconspicuous. Mei was a near-flaming force to be reckoned with, the Samadhi Fire burning footprints into his nice clearing floor as she came stomping in.
“Heeey, Dragon Pony Girl, what brings you here?” Wukong called as she stopped dead in the center.
She glared up at him, fists clenched tight at her side. “Where is he?”
“Gonna have to be more specific, kid—”
“Don’t even fucking play with me right now, Monkey King, where is he?”
Wukong cleared his throat. “Didn’t, uh, didn’t MK tell you? Took him on a, uh, little training trip. Learning…” Shit, what’d I say— “… important Monkey King things, you know how it is—”
“For three weeks?” Mei demanded.
Wukong blinked, panic constricting in his chest, before he forced out a laugh. “Damn, uh, it’s really been that long? Man, you, uh, you know what they say! Time flies when you’re having fun…”
She glared harder, her fists clenching at her sides. “Let me see him.”
Wukong cleared his throat. “No can do, little missy.”
He really needed to stop with the pet names, they just seemed to make her angrier. “And why not?” she growled.
“Can’t break his concentration!” Wukong said. “Yep, the uh…” It suddenly came to him. “Inner peace! The inner peace thing is real hard to nail down, and he’s been doin’ so good, and you wouldn’t want to disrupt that, would you?”
“I don’t have to talk to him,” Mei compromised, starting to walk forward again. “Just let me take a peek inside and maybe I’ll let you off the hook for keeping him from me—”
“Nope!” hissed Wukong again, stepped forward a few paces. The movement startled her to a stop. “Nope, can’t do that either, because…. He’s not even here!”
She narrowed her eyes. “Then why are you here?”
“Came to grab more stuff,” Wukong lied easily. “Was just about to rush back; what a coincidence that we managed to show up at the same exact time here.”
“Well then take me to him—”
“Again!” Wukong interrupted, beginning to get a bit impatient. He closed the distance between them and started leading her towards the waterfall with a hand around her shoulders. “No can do! Can’t break that concentration, no sirree, but when he takes a break in the next, I dunno, few days or somethin’, I’ll make sure to tell him you visited.”
“Monkey King—”
“I will not budge! Not when he’s so close to a breakthrough, I’m sure he’ll tell you all about it when he’s back, so don’t even worry about being left out.”
“I’m not worried about that—”
“Perfect! Then you can live in peace until MK’s done with his—”
Mei suddenly ducked under his arm and used her Samadhi Fire to practically teleport to his door. Wukong cursed and shot after her.
She was pulling on the door, frantically calling MK’s name. The spell circle appeared over it, and she gave a ferocious growl. She unsheathed her talons and started scraping at the door, and that was when Wukong made it to her.
He wrapped his arms around her middle and jumped back, yanking her bodily away. She thrashed and howled, demanding she be let go.
“Mei! Mei, calm down! He’s not in there!”
“Why the locking spell?!” she hissed, kicking and attempting to escape.
“I’m a paranoid guy!”
“I don’t believe you!”
“It’s the truth!”
“No it isn’t! Give me my monkey back!”
“I—I can’t yet.”
Mei growled. “Why not!”
“He’s just busy!” Wukong tried to meet Mei’s eyes from over her shoulder, wanting to plead with her directly. “Please, Mei, he’ll be here soon so just—”
“Stop lying to me!” With a burst of fire that singed Wukong’s fur, he was shocked into dropping her. She landed on her feet and pushed away from him, rounding toward him with a fire in her shiny eyes. “Tell me where the fuck MK is!”
“He’s just—away!”
“That’s not a fucking answer!”
“It’s the only answer I have.”
“I told you to stop lying!”
“I’m not!” Wukong cried, the word cracking down the middle like he’d taken a chisel to it. Unable to meet her eyes anymore, he dropped his head and curled up protectively, bringing his hands up to grip the greasy fur on the sides of his head. “MK is fine, he’s just gone away for a little bit, but he’s going to be back and things will go back to normal.”
(This startled Mei, shocking her from her anger-fueled rampage. She’d never seen the Monkey King curled up like he was, had never heard him sounding so frantic, so desperate. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.)
“He’s just taking care of something and then he’ll be back and you guys can go to your arcades and your races and he can work at Pigsy’s again and he can complain about my stupid lessons but still do them because he’s a good kid who tries so hard to do well and I’m so stupid proud of him that I can’t contain it sometimes—”
(As he rambled, Mei finally saw him as he was. She took in his rumpled, stained clothes, his greasy, unkempt fur. When she’d been right up next to him, she’d been too preoccupied to care, but he smelled like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. His cheeks seemed shallower than she remembered, and there were great bags under his tired, sad eyes.)
“And we won’t have to think about it ever again! So leave me alone and let me get back to work so MK can come back and everything can be okay again.”
(He looked like he was falling apart.)
A hand touched his shoulder and he jolted, jerking away like a skittish animal.
“Monkey King,” Mei murmured, all her anger completely evaporated. She struggled for a moment, unsure which observation she could use to get him to stop and trust her. “... You’re shaking.”
Wukong paused, then removed his hands to look at them. Sure enough, they were trembling violently; in fact, his whole body was shivering, like he’d been caught in the snow for too long, or like he was holding back a terrible secret.
He saw another hand grasp one of his own, and he looked up at its owner, barely able to process the concern and worry in Mei’s eyes. He turned the emotions over in his head, trying to parse out how she could look at him like that after all he’s done to her and her family, and the only way he’s able to process it is by concluding that all her worry was for MK, who was still missing, according to her. Surely there was no room in her heart for the person who couldn’t seem to stop hurting her best friend. Surely there was no room there for the one who’d murdered him.
“What happened?” she asked, gripping his hand tightly. It was grounding and precious, and it burned through his body.
Wukong ripped his hand away and turned, hunching further in on himself. “I—nothing, he’s fine, I’m fine, everything’s—”
“Monkey King—”
“No, really, he’s—” He stared down at his hands, now suddenly blood stained and horrid. He gripped them into fists, trying to ignore the phantom warmth of MK’s blood coating his fingers and claws. His voice came out choked and wet. “He’s just not here, he will be later, after—after training is done, but he’s okay, he’s—"
“Wukong,” she interrupted, still so quiet and gentle. “Please.”
He slumped, and his resolve shattered.
“… He’s dead,” he whispered, so very quiet. He heard Mei suck in a breath, and he shook his head, continuing, “Some demons got him on his way to training. They got the drop on him, or something, and he called me, but I–I didn’t make it in time. He was too far gone by the time I was aware. He’s dead. I let him… I let him die.”
There was silence. Wukong didn’t want to look at Mei, didn’t want to see the return of her anger, to feel the force of her love-fueled rage directed onto him when he knew already. He knew he’d messed up. He knew he should’ve protected MK better. He knew he’d failed the one job he’d left himself, watching over his precious, beloved son whom he loved with all his aching, scarred heart. But soon, after the quiet stretched on and no fiery vengeance was leveled at him, Wukong glanced at his son’s best friend.
And all he found was pure and simple heartbreak.
Her eyes were wide and overflowing with tears as she just stared at him. She probably hadn’t fully processed it yet, and he was sure the anger would come in time. He’s sure she’ll level the full wrath of the Samadhi Fire down onto him, and he would let her, because it was the least of what he deserved for failing his boy so, so completely.
Then he remembered his plan and how the Fire was one of the few things that could kill him, and if he was dead then he would be of no help to MK at all.
“But it’s fine,” he rushed on. “I–I have this plan, and I’m going to bring him back. I’ve been working on it all this time, and I know it’ll work because it’s been done successfully before. He’s dead now, but he’ll be alive soon. I’ll fix it.”
“Wukong…” Her voice was soft, broken, and he rushed to console her with the details.
“I’m even gonna get him a new body! I’ve been taking too long so his old one is unusable, but I’m sure he’ll like what I’ll design for him. It’ll be perfect!”
“Wukong—”
“And don’t even try to talk me out of it, because it’s not going to work—”
“Wukong.” Her hands landed on his shoulders and he startled. Her eyes were wide, wet, and worried. Her mouth was a pursed line, and he could feel her hands trembling from where she held him. “... I wasn’t going to.”
“Listen, it was an accident that took him from me and I’m going to correct—” Wukong blanched. “Wait, what?”
“I’m not going to talk you out of it,” she repeated. “In fact, I want to help.”
“What?” Wukong was floundering. “No, no, I can’t let you help.”
She frowned. “And why not?”
“What I’m doing goes against everything Heaven stands for,” he said. “I can take whatever punishment they try to dish out, but you—”
“Would do anything for MK.” Her voice hardened, as did her eyes, so much so it gave Wukong pause. She looked about ready to whip out her dragon blade and make it so nobody could tell its color was green. She clearly wasn’t just talking when she’d said before that she’d kill for MK.
“… You really want to do this?” Wukong asked.
“Of course,” she said without hesitation. “He may be your successor”—son, he mentally corrected—“but he was my bestie first. You’ve been sharing him with me, not the other way around.”
Wukong barked a laugh, a strange pull stretching the muscles in his face. It took him a moment to realize he was smiling, real and true. “Well, Dragon Pony Girl,” he sighed. “I suppose I don’t have much choice in the matter, do I?”
“You do not.” The fire glowing in Mei’s eyes had dimmed now that Wukong was accepting of the situation. Her smile was wobbling a little, like it was hard for her to keep it up, and Wukong sympathized; his was falling already too.
After a moment, he whispered, “Why aren’t you angry?”
“Oh, I am angry,” she said, and he winced. “I’m angry that MK was killed. I’m angry you hid it from me. I’m angry that you didn’t let me help and that you lied.”
He dropped his eyes away, rightfully ashamed. He’d known from the beginning it wasn’t right, but he didn’t know how to explain to them all what’d happened. He’d thought fixing it would be quick, that they wouldn’t even miss him. That he wouldn’t even miss him.
“But.” Mei’s voice drew his eye again, surprised that there was an addition. “I don’t blame you.”
His eyebrows drew together, confused. “… Why?”
She gave him a crooked smile. “It was some stupid demons that got him. They’re the ones that messed with the wrong monkey. I have no doubt you tried everything in your power to keep him here. You didn’t kill him.”
He might as well have. “... Even so—”
“We may have had our fair share of tension between us ever since shit went down with LBD, but I know you care about MK.” She laughed a little. “Hell, you’re trying to go against the natural order of things just to bring him back! And that alone tells me just how much MK means to you, even though I knew beforehand. You may think you’re slick, but once we got to know you, you’re as easy as a book to read.”
Wukong severely doubted that. He brushed past it. “I was expecting this conversation to go a lot different.”
“Yes, well, that’s what happens when you make assumptions and don’t just communicate with people,” she sassed. “Now, what’s this about needing to get him a new body?”
Wukong winced. “Ah… I didn’t realize this whole mess would take so long, so I didn’t think to preserve his body, so it’s…”
Mei glances at the door, at the locking spell still in effect. “I see.”
Wukong cleared his throat. “But, again, don’t worry. I found a spell in my research that tells how to create a new body for reincarnation. All we need to do is follow those steps to create the vessel, then we can go about retrieving his soul.”
“And after that?”
“Yet another spell that’ll bind his freed soul to the body. Piece of cake, really,” said Wukong.
Mei huffed. “Of course you would think bringing someone back from the dead would be easy.”
“Well, when the hard stuff has already been figured out, it is.” Wukong gave her a playful glare. “I’ve been doing nothing but researching and tracking down leads these three weeks, and you show up after all that’s done to snag half the credit.”
“Not my fault I didn’t even know there was research to do and leads to track to stop my bestie from being dead.”
“Fair enough.”
Mei nodded. “Alright, so the body?”
“Well,” began Wukong. “I don’t have anything sketched out just yet because I had just gotten back from getting materials for the revival spell when you showed up, but I was thinking… something kind of like…” He slowly pointed a finger at himself, giving a nervous grin as he did.
Mei softened and murmured, “Yeah. He’d love that.”
Wukong relaxed, relieved she agreed.
“In fact,” she began as she reached for her phone. “I think I have the perfect template for us to work off of.”
After another trip around the world gathering supplies for MK’s body (a stone and paint and flowers and herbs) and the subsequent building of said body using MK’s own designs from both his video game avatar and his sketchbook (with Wukong and Mei having quite the conversation regarding certain parts of MK that made Wukong realize he and his son were more alike than initially thought), it was time.
The body was made, the ritual was ready, and now all that was needed was the soul.
“Last chance to back out,” said Wukong.
The two of them were standing in front of a literal gateway to hell. There were many ways to descend into the Underworld, the most common one being dying, of course, but Wukong in his long life had found many different backways in that he only ever used if he needed advice from the Ten Kings—or if he wanted to cause mischief.
“As if,” Mei replied, heaving her sword onto her shoulder. Her tone was light and teasing, but her eyes held a dark heaviness that Wukong was sure he replicated. It had been a long time since he’d tasted real bloodlust, and he couldn’t be sure if that was even what he was feeling, but he knew he couldn’t wait to get the ones blocking him from his son out of his way, using whatever means necessary.
“Alright then.” Wukong nodded.
Together, they plunged into hell.
As much as Wukong wanted to barge his way through hell, carving a path straight to his son, he and Mei both knew that was the wrong move to make. There was no doubt that they could survive such an onslaught, but since they were breaking the laws of… everything, really, they knew they needed to be as quiet as possible. The less people who knew they were there, the less people who would get in their way when the time came to save MK. It was better this way.
It was as easy as the first time to sneak their way through Diyu, almost laughingly so. One would’ve thought they’d have improved their security after millenia, but Wukong supposed there were only so many people capable or even willing to break in. He’d almost call it a blessing of sorts; one of many that have graced his path to righting this wrong. It’s almost like the universe wanted him to bring his son back.
Regardless.
Wukong followed the familiar thread of power through Diyu like string through a maze. They dodged patrols of emissaries and snuck their way through corridor after corridor. Wukong shapeshifted this way and that, used spells to glamour Mei away from the eyes of their enemies, and held back the urge to simply sprint for where his son was held captive and unconscious. He couldn’t wait to regale MK with the tale of his rescue when the time came. He could almost picture the look of awe and gratitude that would encompass his son’s face as he was told.
Heaven above, did he miss that kid.
They made it to the soul distribution. This was where the countless souls of people who were between lives were kept and stored until they could be stripped, molded, then ushered into their next life. The tenders of these souls were everywhere, constantly rushing between the shelves to organize or collect.
Luckily for Wukong and Mei, these tenders weren’t interested in them at all. They cared for nothing but their work and thus—as long as neither of them got in the direct path—ignored the dragon and monkey bee-lining it for their lost hero.
“Here,” murmured Wukong as the string of power finally led them into one of the rows of shelves. They made it a handful of steps in before stopping abruptly at the out-of-place figure standing before them.
Standing in front of the jar that Wukong was positive held MK’s soul was your average, run-of-the-mill ox-headed emissary. Except, Wukong recognized this one. And moreso, he recognized Wukong.
“I see you are here to make good on your promise,” the emissary said.
“Are you surprised?” Wukong asked, ignoring Mei’s curious glance.
“No, I suppose I’m not,” the emissary sighed.
Wukong lifted the staff, aimed it between their eyes. “Step aside.”
“I cannot allow you to do this.”
“If you value your life, you will move.”
The emissary met Wukong’s glare head-on, his eyes full of pity and sorrow.
“I won’t say it again,” Wukong hissed. “Move.”
“I cannot move no more than you can lower your weapon.”
Wukong growled. Behind them, in the corridors they’d left behind, there was a commotion.
“Wukong,” said Mei urgently.
“I warned you,” Wukong said.
“I know.” The emissary nodded. “And as I told you before, if this is how my end is written, then so be it.” As Wukong raised his staff high, the emissary’s eyes fell shut. “I hope you can find peace.”
His blood splattered against the shelves of souls. By the time the commotion made it to where MK’s soul had been stored, a jar was missing, two intruders had retreated, and the body of a respected emissary was left growing cold.
“Are you ready?” Mei asked as she and Wukong knelt on either side of MK’s two bodies.
Wukong had yet to look up from the jar containing the flame of his son’s soul. It was flickering warm and strong, casting a blue light upon Wukong’s face. It had been a long three weeks, but finally, finally, his son was within grasp. All they needed to do was perform two rituals and then he’d hold his son once more. He’d be able to tell him he loved him without the horrible memories attached.
“Yeah,” murmured Wukong as he finally tore his eyes away to set the jar aside and prepare himself for the ritual.
It was time.