Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

MK awoke uncomfortably warm and… Wet? 

with a groggy groan, he rubbed his face. His chin was covered in drool, but that was the least of his worries. He grimaced, blinking the blurriness from his eyes. He must’ve fallen asleep weirdly. His whole body was too warm and soaking wet, like he’d kicked off his blanket and rolled straight into a sauna. He must be sweating, there's no reason his bed should be moist, that's just nasty.

He sat up a little, swiping his bangs from his face, but they stuck stubbornly to his forehead. His shirt was plastered to him, not just with sweat, but…

“…Huh?”

He pulled his hand back and stared at the droplets running down his palm. Was he submerged in water? Because this definitely wasn't a mattress.

He looked around. Everything was hazy, and he swore steam was in the air. Yeesh, maybe he really was in a sauna. The place was tight, with the walls curving in on him. Above, there was a circular glow of light, like a halo. Faint red light pulsed beneath the surface he sat on, and when he leaned over, he realized with a jolt that he really was sitting in water. There he fell asleep in the bathtub again, or he was in some crazy new place. The heat slithered down his trachea, slowly suffocating him. He coughed and rubbed his eyes again, trying to make sense of the shapes around him. It was dim, but just enough for him to see a familiar face on the shiny walls.

Except… That wasn’t his face. Well, not really. His reflection stared back at him with wide, horrified eyes, mouth working silently as though choking on their words. And then, after realizing that speech was useless, they raised both trembling hands and pointed upward urgently. His reflection didn't match him. A shiver of dread ran up MK’s spine. His feet pressed to the glowing floor, hotter now. He was able to move around in the tight space, rising out of the sloshing water and hauling himself up toward the top, scaling the strange, smooth curvature of the walls. He slipped once, nearly falling back into the water, but caught himself against a groove, oddly shaped like a deep claw mark indention. Climbing was awkward. His reflection still pointed, still begged him wordlessly to look at the ceiling.

MK reached the top and shoved the ceiling. Nothing budged. He shoved again, teeth gritted. Nothing happened. He groaned in frustration, what mess was stuck in this time?

“Come on, come on-”

And then, he heard a voice from outside.

“…This was the best option we have.” Li Jing. MK recognized his voice from anywhere.

“Are you certain?” Another voice answered, muffled and frightened. “This feels a tad extreme. He’s just a boy-”

“He’s no ordinary boy!” Li Jing snapped. “You’ve seen it. The Harbinger of Chaos is a threat not only to the world, but to the very fabric of the universe. Would you prefer to gamble with existence itself?”

Murmurs rippled, uneasy and doubtful. MK strained his ears to listen.

“If Sun Wukong finds out-”

“He will never know.” Li Jing cut them off, firmly. “This will take care of it. There will be no evidence. Ironically, even the Great Sage and his all-seeing eyes will be blind to this. Tell me… Do you not think the Monkie Kid would agree, if it meant his loved ones would live in peace for eternity? If the cracks in reality vanish with his end? Even if proceeding with this resets our current cycle, it's better than the alternative.”

MK’s heart dropped. His chest squeezed so tightly he couldn’t draw in any breath. He didn't like where this conversation was going. They wouldn't-

“But has done nothing but help us…” Another voice quivered, suspiciously guilt-ridden. “It feels wrong.”

Li Jing’s reply was cold as iron. 

“I take no pleasure in it.” Li Jing replied with a strained tone of voice. “But even the mightiest heroes can fall. Once this is over, he'll be remembered as one. Missing, mourned, but someone that had done nothing wrong and achieved great feats. If I have to be the villain in his story, so be it. He will never have the chance to destroy the world, and I know he wouldn't want that to happen. If he was willing to give up his life to save this cycle, we must ensure it remains stable. This… What we're doing… It's for the best.”

Suddenly, the water beneath MK bubbled violently, the surface was popping and fizzing with angry hisses. He could feel the glow below intensifying. The red bottom had deepened into molten gold.

…No.

It can't be.

They… They couldn't do this! 

He knew this place. 

He knew where he was.

This was the Trigram Furnace.

His throat felt tight, as though the steam itself wanted to choke him. He was trapped. The curved walls shuddered faintly under his touch, and his own warped reflection rippled back at him, wide-eyed and trembling. They weren’t him, not really. His reflection still mouthed soundless words, frantic, then jabbed its finger upward again. Over and over. They had been so helpful and talkative last time he was here. Actually, how did Heaven find the furnace again? Hadn't it been lost?

“Stop, cut that out-” MK wheezed at them. His voice was squeaky and strained, and it hurt to get the words out. No wonder his reflection couldn't speak. But wait, did they or did they not have lungs? It doesn't matter, focus, MK! He pressed himself to the slick wall, craning his neck toward the ceiling, but it was just metal, a lid bolted shut. It was heavy, but MK never had problems lifting several-ton objects before. 

Outside, the voices carried on.

“Sir, what if you’re wrong?” someone asked nervously. “What if this… Sacrifice… What if it isn’t necessary?” 

“Would you rather wait until the Harbinger grows in power beyond control?” Li Jing was moments away from losing his temper, that much was obvious. “Would you wait for him to accidently to rip the seams of our reality apart? No, this is mercy. For him, and for us all.”

…Mercy?

MK’s stomach churned as a burning, acidic sensation creeps up his throat. His hands pressed harder to the ceiling until his palms slipped, stinging from the heat of the expanding metal. He swallowed against the dryness in his mouth. He wanted to shout and demand answers, but his voice wouldn’t come. 

Instead, he pressed his forehead to the wall, trying to calm the pounding in his chest. Don’t panic… Think. Just think, it'll be okay.

The water surged again, bubbles now cracking and popping at his ankles. He flinched and tried climbing higher against the curve. His reflection mirrored the motion. They moved differently, pressing its hands flat to the mirror-like surface. Their expression contorted in horror as though they already knew the inevitable outcome of this situation.

Despite his best efforts, MK’s breathing gradually grew shallow, every inhale scalding his lungs. The voices outside blurred together, arguing and debating, until Li Jing snapped at his advisors.

“The furnace will cleanse him! If all goes to plan, nothing will remain!”

MK knew all about the stories. This was the same furnace that the celestial realm had thrown Monkey King in before, hoping to separate pills of immortality from Wukong's body and kill him. This was the same furnace the Great Sage endured for forty-nine days before escaping, turning his eyes red. MK had never seen his mentor with red eyes, so he presumed, like in a few of the stories he's heard about Monkey King, he never had red eyes at all, receiving golden eyes instead along with the power of true sight.

But none of it mattered to MK right now.

Unlike when Wukong was in this situation… 

MK wasn’t immortal.

He clung desperately to the curved wall, even when his fingers slipped against the metal. The water below bubbled louder, glowing molten gold at the bottom, hissing with growing heat. He shoved again at the lid above him, grunting and panting. His arms trembled from the sheer force he exerted, but he got nothing. It didn’t move. His palms slid off with a squeal against the slick surface. He pressed himself as high as he could, sweat and condensation dripping down his face. He could hear his own heartbeat slamming against his ribs, louder than the muffled voices outside. 

He couldn’t stop the panic that boiled in his heart, more than the raging water below. It was hot, so very, very hot.

“HEEEEY! Let me out!” He shouted, slamming his fists against the wall. The sound rang back at him, hollow, and swallowed instantly by the steam. “I said let me out!”

His voice cracked. His fists hurt. He hit again anyway, over and over, screaming.

“I didn’t DO anything wrong!”

His reflection looked down at him in horror, mouth opening like they too wanted to shout for help. They couldn't feel the water as it sloshed against the sides they were projecting on. After all, they weren't real, just a magical illusion, forced to watch and unable to help.

“PLEASE!” He pleaded as he began to sob, riddled with terror. 

He slid halfway down the side. One of his ankles was splashed by another burst of boiling water that sent burning needles of incredible pain up his spine. He shrieked, quickly clawing back up the curve, limping from the burn as the heated water droplets trickled down a newly opened, blistering wound.

Outside, MK swore he heard Li Jing speak.

“…Ignore it.” Li Jing’s tone had wavered, genuinely strained and somber. MK froze with his mouth halfway open to yell again, surprised. “Do not listen. This is for the best… It'll hurt only for a moment. He doesn't have immortality, it'll be quick.”

“No, no, NO!” MK slammed the walls again, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached. “YOU CAN’T DO THIS!” 

Immediately after his brief outburst, his voice broke to more helpless sobs.

“Please don’t do this. Please don’t leave me here. I don’t wanna die… I don’t…”

His staff didn’t answer when he reached for it. His hand uselessly remained next to his ear, trying to grasp nothing but empty air. Try as he might, but he didn't feel even the faintest spark of power. His magic was gone, it had somehow stripped away. They had planned this. No wonder he couldn't move the lid. That realization hollowed him out worse than the heat. There was nothing he could do but beg.

As he laid his head on his hands to catch his breath, he realized that something felt off. Something tickled his chin and nose. He looked down… His hands weren’t his. At least, not the soft, human ones he wanted to see. Black fur, complete with claws glinting in the bright yellow and red light.

His monkey form.

A yowl tore from his throat as he jumped in place, caught off guard by the revelation, slipping a little. His reflection, still a human, looked at him with tears in its eyes, shaking their head.

“No…” MK whispered, trembling. “No, not this. Not now-”

He was suddenly hyper aware of his flailing tail. He screeched an animalistic cry, as his long tail skimmed the waterline. The brief touch burned. He flinched hard, scrambling to regain his grip on the sides of the furnace… 

But-

“NO!” his reflection screamed suddenly.

The wall seemed to drop out from under him.

In that moment, he was weightless, like in a lucid dream.

SPLASH!

…

…

…

…

…

For a solid five seconds, he felt nothing. 

His body was stunned by the shock of it, stuck in stasis. His eyes were closed, and all was dark. He couldn’t breathe. His ears filled with the muffled gurgle of bubbles simmering overhead, the sound strangely gentle compared to the echoing gurgles above His clawed hands floated aimlessly in the glowing depths, useless.

When he opened his eyes, searing, relentless agony exploded across his entire body at once. 

“-HHHHAAAAAAAAAAGH!” The underwater screech erupted from his lungs were distorted by the boiling water pouring down his mouth and scalding his tongue, a shriek that wasn’t human. His lungs spasmed as he gagged on boiling water. His body jerked upward in blind panic, bursting through the surface. His floppy bangs plastered to his blistering forehead as he threw his head back and screamed again.

“AHHHHHGHH- MAKE IT STOP- IT HURTS!” His voice cracked into another shrill scream, tasting blazing copper.

The water clung to his absorbent fur. His pelt was blistering. He could feel his flesh searing, swelling, cooking alive beneath his own hide. Every twitch of muscle made his nerves ache, like his whole body had been flayed and thrown into acid. He smelled it, too, the sickly tang of his own burned fur, and the copper-salt stink of flesh trying to slough away like tenderized meat. He thrashed madly, raking against the furnace wall. Metal screamed beneath him, sending sparks flying as his claws carved useless lines. He only managed to tear deep gouges into the walls right next to the others. His fingertips split open, bleeding and dribbling into the water below.

“LET ME OUUUT! LET ME OUT! PleaSe HeLp me… P l e a…” His voice cracked apart, like shattered glass from a mirror. Every inhale tasted like iron and smoke.

The water hissed and popped around him, louder than his own screams, louder than his frantic struggling heartbeat hammering in his ears. His fur slid off like butter in gruesome clumps with singed tips. Beneath, raw muscle was left bare, red, glistening, and twitching before the heat boiled it, too. It swelled and shrank as the powerful fibers split apart, snapping into pieces. The fat beneath bubbling like grease in a pan. White froth rose to the surface, causing the water to thicken, tinted with a murky haze that stung his eyes. He tried to scream again, but it was more of a howl, with wails tumbling out from between his teeth. His tongue blistered, swelled, and split. The taste of himself filled his mouth. Brine, blood, and shredded muscle.

He clawed for the surface walls again in an effort to climb to safety. He gasped and choked on steam that burned the sensitive lining of his throat. His reflection was gone, the metal walls were blurred by heavy condensation. There was no familiar face to watch over him anymore. He was alone. 

He scrambled halfway up the furnace, reaching for the halo of light seeping through the cracks in the lid. His body shook violently, the majority of his fur gone, and skin sweltered in places where muscle cooked down to the bone. For every shred that slid off, his magic fought to knit it back together, but it was slower than his normal healing ability. The moment fresh flesh sealed over, the boiling water peeled it away again.

Over and over.

Burn. 

Heal. 

Burn.

Heal.

He cried, louder and louder, until his voice had no words, only agony. His hands slipped against the slick metal, claws dulled and useless, and finally… He slipped and sank beneath the surface, suburged once more.

Down here, there was no sound but bubbling. No air. Eventually, his vision vanished. His eyes felt cold, like something was drawing from the sockets. His body still twitched, flinching at every wave of heat. 

There's no point, he was stuck here. 

So he let go.

This was it. 

This is how he would die, wasn't it?

…

…

…

…

…

…

…No, wait.

He's awake again.

But why?

He's not supposed to survive this!

Upon feeling the sudden onslaught of sensation, he broke the surface in an instant and let his pain be known to the world.

“AAAHHHHRRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

He roared, shredding his vocal chords into tatters. His claws tore at the walls again. Blood slicked the metal, mixing with the seething water.

“HHHH- HHHRRRGHHH- GHHHAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” He tried to beg for mercy, but couldn't form the words.

He slipped under again, fainting.

…

Conscious.

Agony.

His body convulsed as he broke the surface again to try another climb, but not getting far.

Faint.

…

Awake.

Pain.

He bawled some more, scratching along the furnace wall until his fingers bent the wrong way, ligaments and tendons weakened so severely, he was tearing himself apart.

Faint.

…

Awake.

Pain.

The cycle kept going. Each scream became weaker, and each breath harder. This wasn’t punishment, he wasn't supposed to suffer, right? This was supposed to kill him, so why didn't it? It was boiling him alive, again and again, while his weakened magic forced him to endure. This was worse than anything Diyu could create. He wished it could just be over with.

He.

Was.

Trapped.

His pajamas had long since burned away. He was too tired to fight, resorting to just keeping his head and throat above the waterline. Every time he thought it couldn’t get worse, his advanced healing would make everything repeat again. The water grew darker, thick with what he shed. Strings of flesh floated, charred scraps and pulped tissue rising to the surface, wallowing in his own filth, bone, and fur. Soon, the bottom glow was gone, smothered beneath the murk. He couldn’t see through it anymore. He could no longer see where the furnace ended. The light from above and below was gone.

He was too tired to scream or cry. The only sound left was his whimpering, with his occasional sobs echoing back against the curved walls, drowned out by the furious boil below. Whenever he fainted and came back up, he would weep whenever his head broke the surface. He was nothing more than a caged animal in pain.

Faint.

…

Awake.

Pain.

He wished it would just stop. 

When he woke up this time, he didn’t rise to the surface. 

Instead, he let his body sink, deeper and deeper into the murky dark. Then, he lifted his arm. His fingers pierced into his own chest, wriggling through his ribcage, which was as difficult as he'd thought it would be. Cartilage no longer connected ribs to sternum, leaving an empty space to slip through. He ripped free what he could, hot ropes of organs trailing through the water like sickly ropes. 

With shaking arms, he slammed them down against the furnace floor, desperate for the molten glow to devour them, to end the torture. However, his plan didn't work. His heart reknit itself, his lungs grew back, only to bubble and burst again in the heat. Teeth wiggled loose from gums before sprouting back, and his poor eyes burst, over and over. His magic chained him to an endless loop. Apparently, he didn't need blood flow or oxygen to remain alive. He didn't ponder what that could mean.

The bubbles grew fewer as the water grew thick with what he’d left behind, sinew and shreds of himself rising, breaking apart, drifting in the thick slurry. Each time bits of him broke off, they remained in the water. He kept growing somehow, adding more and more to the growing slush. The bottom glow had long since disappeared, smothered under layers upon layers of floating rot. There was no depth anymore, no top, no bottom, just a suffocating void of murky water and his own discarded pieces.

When he surfaced again, it wasn’t for air. His head tipped back, mouth open, whimpering. Crying helped ease the pain, if only a little. And still, every time he passed out, he woke again. The pain slammed back into him like a hammer. His body twitched, convulsed, tried to breathe through sobs that scratched his throat like glass.

There was no end in sight.

…

……

………

…………

……………

Time no longer made sense.

He had fainted and awoken too many times to count. How long had he been in the furnace? Minutes? Hours? His cries had finally faded. Hell, he didn't bother to bring himself to the surface anymore. He was exhausted and mentally fried. 

It wasn’t water anymore. It had the consistency of thick glue. Whenever he tried to move, it kept him from doing so, his body too weak and mangled to fight out of it. He gagged as something slick slid past his lips, a shred of himself, half-liquefied. He choked, thrashed weakly, but there was no strength left to spit it out. It melted on his tongue, coating his mouth in grease. Above him, the waterline was obscured. A bubbling layer of fat and flesh sealed the top, hissing as steam forced its way out. It trapped him under, including the heat. Below him, there was no bottom, thick with the remnants of himself. The molten glow that once flickered there had been swallowed up completely. Now it was just dark. The light from above and below had been snuffed out, but maybe that didn't matter, MK's eyes had long since been gone.

Rarely, he would feel a heart beating, before it vanished for another unknown amount of time. It was the only confirmation that he was alive at all. His body was no longer his. It sloughed, dissolved, reformed, and tore apart again. He couldn’t even tell where he ended anymore. He floated like carrion, ingredients in a witch's cauldron. 

With nothing better to do, he tried to remember the world outside. The mountain, the city, Tang's stories, Pigsy’s cooking, Sandy’s comfort, Mei’s laughter, Red Son's flustered shouting, Macaque’s teasing, and Wukong’s encouraging grins… But their faces always slipped away. Sometimes, though, he thought he heard them. Voices. Whispering. Laughing. Weeping. He couldn’t tell which.

Once, he thought he saw his reflection again. But that's not possible, he couldn't see, he didn't have eyes. Still, he saw a pale, drowned version of himself staring back, lips moving silently in the darkness. He wanted to lean closer, desperate to hear what they were saying, but the skin slid from their jaw as their features began to melt, and the image broke apart. Maybe he was really starting to lose himself, and more than just physically. 

At some point, his thoughts changed. They broke apart into random sounds and noises that no longer had meaning. Soon, even memories collapsed, faces blurred until they were nothing but pale smudges. He couldn’t remember who he was begging for help anymore. He would sometimes see his own face, a hallucination, probably. Each time he saw it, it looked less and less human.

Sometimes he woke up and remembered the pain. Sometimes he woke and there was no sensation at all, only numbness so deep it felt like drowning in tar. Both were worse than dying. He stopped fighting his fate. Stopped reaching for the top. He was taught that there was always another way out… Not his time, and he tried everything at this point.

His mind drifted to somewhere else, a place without names or thought, where the only things left were hunger, terror, the instinct to bite and claw when cornered. He's never been the type to choose flight, anyways.

…

BANG!

…What was that?

BANG! BANG!

Something rattled him, no, it shook the entire furnace. Each hit was stronger than the last. Then, with one final, earth-splitting crash, the furnace tipped.

CRRRRAAASH! CRRRRAAANG!

The walls no longer held him in place, the slurry he had drowned in for what felt like eternity loosened as everything fell sideways. He was weightless for the briefest heartbeat.

The Trigram Furnace toppled.

The impact on the floor rattled through MK’s bones, a shockwave so powerful, he somehow felt it, even with his frayed nervous system. It struck the ground with an impact that cracked the heavens. 

POP!

The lid clattered aside, releasing a geyser of smoldering steam and smoke. The boiling slurry spilled free, cascading in a tidal wave of bubbles and discarded parts. Flesh, fat, and boiling blood splashed against the stone, spilling across the pristine marble floors. The heat was monstrous, carrying with it the stench of cooked marrow and charred meat, of death and rot.

MK spilled out with it. He struck the ground with a wet, fleshy smack, body sliding through the torrent like a dead fish in seafoam. The sudden open air hit him like a blade, stripping away the familiar cocoon of searing water. For the first time in what felt like eternity, no walls pressed in on him. 

…And it was silent. There was no roar of bubbling water, just the faint hiss of cooling metal and the trickle of boiling runoff puddling around him… And it was so cold. He couldn’t comprehend it. The absence of heat carved into him like knives, with every nerve ending screaming at once. He writhed, not from fire this time, but from nothing at all, the lack of stimulus somehow disturbed him. The chill sank into the exposed marrow of his bones.

Steam still poured from the toppled furnace behind him. The lid rolled across the ground, metal clattering as it came to rest, glowing faintly with residual heat. And MK, bare and mangled, was laid out in the wet, steaming ruins, unmoving and blinded. The furnace was open, and he was free from hell at last.

His body worked to reclaim what once was. First came the vital organs, all of which his magic kept safest, with his brain as the top priority. His organs were grotesquely exposed to the world. A heart pulsed into being with a sickening squelch, beating and pulsing with no discernible rhythm. Lungs and a trachea followed, expanding with the first desperate breath of air before collapsing again, strings of mucus clinging to their walls. His stomach tied itself into a knot, then split and reformed until the shape was correct, leaking bile that hissed on the floor as it did.

Bone snapped into place around the organs, white lattices forcing their way upward with loud cracks. Ribs locking into place as cartilage grew. A spine emerged from somewhere in the slush pile, slithering out like a snake to hold the newly formed structures together. Each vertebra slammed into the next. Limbs sprouted out from sockets and bones elongating, joint by joint. Tendons appeared, quickly pulled tight. Sinew stretched as ligaments tied themselves into knots around the skeleton. Muscle fibers slid over everything. They shuddered, spasmed, then locked. And then came the nerves, threading through flesh and piercing every inch of him. The moment they connected, MK’s body jolted. His jaw opened in a scream that no sound could escape yet. Pain ignited in every nerve ending as though he were being burned alive from the inside out this time. His fingers clawed at nothing, his chest heaved, his muscles spasmed under the lightning coursing through him. He had been unstimulated and trapped within his own body, all this sensation felt new and dangerous.

A thin layer of fat bubbled as skin crawled across his body next, sealing the twitching mess beneath. Enemies that were done, fur erupted from the surface, first in patches, then spreading into long, silky coats that shimmered against the light. His face pulled itself together last. Teeth sprung from gums, snapping into their sockets, a nose grew out from his empty nasal cavity. And finally, his eyes were recreated. They sprouted as wet spheres, blank and bloodshot, twitching in their sockets as nerves connected one by one. When his eyelids lifted, it was too bright, stabbed at the newborn nerves in his eyes like knives, flooding his brain with too much, too fast. He gasped sharply as his body curled in on itself, claws digging into hot, soft skin.

Sounds came to him. Someone was speaking, but it wasn’t speech to him, just more noise for him to deal with. He staggered on all fours to face this person. His fur stood on end, puffed up in spikes. Every draft of cold air against his damp pelt like a knife. He caught movement. A figure loomed in the unbearable white light, clad pink and gold armor. He could see the glint of metal clasped in their hands, it was a spear. A weapon made to hurt him. His vision sharpened just enough to catch it, and it was enough to send him over. His lips lifted, fangs bared in a ferocious snarl. His ears flattened, tail lashing as his whole body crouched low, ready to spring. 

The spear’s tip caught the light, too bright, stabbing at his still-tender eyes. He screeched, covering his face. Blinded again, he lunged. His claws swiped at the air between them. The person spoke again, hurried and alarmed. MK didn’t understand.

He only knew the spear was a threat.

This person was a threat.

The world itself was a threat.

And he would gladly tear it apart if it meant the pain stopped.

Chapter Text

The Monkie Kid had been missing for ninety-eight days.

Nezha was suspicious. MK was a shining beacon in this world, one who never strayed far from the center of trouble. He wouldn’t vanish without a cause, let alone remain gone for so long without a word. Even the Heavens had begun to murmur in concern, though their whispers were laced more with curiosity than care. MK was known to be a destructive force, known as the Harbinger of Chaos. Nothing good came from a name like that.

Nezha, however, truly cared. That was why the strange dream he had last night unsettled him so deeply. He did not sleep or even dream often, and when he did, his visions were not muddled with strange figures or cryptic warnings… And somehow, this one had been different. The visitor’s face was blurry, and their hair appeared to move and writhe like it had a mind of their own.

“Investigate the hidden chamber under the Jade Throne,” They instructed with a worried tone of voice, “Someone’s life depends on it, they're in grave danger. I cannot go by myself, so please, lend me your aid…”

A chamber under the Jade Throne? He hadn’t known such a place existed. But curiosity and unease had driven him, and now, he had snuck into the throne room early in the morning and had found it. The Jade Emperor was gone, so we're the guards, there was nobody here to stop him from finding it. The hidden chamber sealed, almost perfectly. It was a clever trick of walls and wards that even Heaven’s highest officials seemed ignorant of. He’d only found it by following the dream visitor's precise directions, teleporting through thick layers of divine protection that resisted him with every step.

And then, he smelled fire. Nezha gripped the spear and held his hand, the flicker of flames reflecting in his narrowed eyes. Before him loomed the Trigram Furnace, alive and lit once more… That should have been impossible. The Lady Bone Demon had destroyed it, everyone in Heaven had seen the wreckage she’d created after using it to build her monstrous world-ending mech. Nezha himself had heard it declared gone, nothing but ice and ruin. 

Yet… Here it was.

The fire beneath it glowed vividly, its heat hot against his skin. Someone had rekindled it, meaning that someone was currently using it. It must be Lou Zhu's doing, he's the man that owned it, after all. But what business did he have with it now, hidden away from every eye in Heaven? Why in secret? Nezha’s grip on his spear tightened. The stranger in his dream had been right. Something was very wrong here. He glared at the furnace for what felt like hours, pondering.

…

…

…

Could this be connected to-

No, they wouldn’t, not after last time.

He remembered all too well. He recalled the unease that had rippled through the Celestial Court when the Trigram Furnace was last misused. It had backfired horribly, specifically with the Monkey King. A being tempered in its holy water, granting him the golden vision of true sight, yet another power the celestial realm couldn’t control. The fallout had nearly shattered the balance between realms, and if it weren't for the Buddah putting a stop to Wukong's rampage, chances are, there would be nothing left.

Surely no one was reckless enough to try again. Lou Zhu wasn’t foolish enough to risk invoking that same disaster.

And yet…

His gaze lingered on the flames. 

Nezha’s chest tightened. The dream visitor's warning echoed in his mind, cruel in its clarity.

“Someone’s life depends on it, they're in grave danger.”

But who?

His first thought… MK.

…

No. 

His grip faltered on the spear. No, that was impossible. Even if Heaven had grown wary of the boy’s power, they would never do such a thing, not after everything MK had done, not after all he had sacrificed for them the entire world, and more he was willing to give up, but the timing obscured his reasoning. Ninety-eight days missing, vanishing without a trace. No one, not even Sun Wukong or the Six-Eared Macaque could find him.

And here, hidden away in the Jade Palace, the very instrument of Heaven’s most damning mistake burned anew. Denial warred with dread, but dread was winning. If this was true… If they had dared repeat history… He wasn’t sure if he was ready to know the answer. Lou Zhu wouldn’t do it, that man was wise, he wouldn't want to risk losing his beloved furnace again. Besides, he would want it in his workshop or hung back up in the throne room, not hidden away like this. He was too proud of it to hide it. If Lou Zhu wouldn’t have risked it, then who else would dare?

Nezha’s stomach turned as the inevitable answer formed. His father might. Li Jing had been acting as Jade Emperor in the court’s absence. He had always feared chaos, and feared threats to Heaven’s authority, much like their late relative, the Jade Emperor himself. MK was no longer just a mortal hero running errands for the Monkey King. He had grown powerful, probably too powerful in his father’s eyes, perhaps, more than enough to be seen as a danger. Even after fixing the Pillar of Heaven, there's a chance his father wouldn't forget.

Nezha clenched his jaw. His father would have the authority to command Lou Zhu, to order the furnace lit again, even without his knowledge. He could use it as a weapon of containment, or worse, as a crucible to burn away anything Heaven couldn’t control. Nezah stepped closer to the furnace, the light painting his golden armor in shifting hues of orange and red. Carefully, he leveled his spear, tapping the tip of the metal repeatedly. There were clicks and echoes of his own doing in response, nothing more. There were no cries, no hints of life trapped within. The silence almost made him doubt himself.

Almost.

“Someone’s life depends on it.”

Nezha’s hand tightened on his weapon further. He knew what his eyes saw, and yet the dream’s warning refused to leave his memory. There really was a hidden. Chamber under the throne room, there's no way the warning wasn't real in some way. If his father truly had a hand in this… If MK really was inside…

Before he could think further on how to handle the situation, something caught his eye. A strange substance was seeping from the cracks in the furnace lid, withering into the open air with no shape of its own. The stench hit him first, grimy and acidic, carrying a hint of decay that made Nezha gag. His stomach churned, his head instinctively tilting back to avoid losing his cool. It's not everyday a god would feel sick like this. He leaned closer, compelled to inspect more than ever. Carefully, he prodded at the edge of the lid. The substance resisted, sticky and pliant, but still bubbling in an eerie, foam-like swell that hissed as it met his weapon. Smoke wreathed around it, rising in pale puffs that carried an acrid, sickening stench.

Absolutely nothing about this was natural. Nezha stepped back, taking in the full scope of the furnace. He adjusted his grip, planting his feet firmly. The furnace had to be moved. There was no other way to see what had been done inside, the lid was too hot to touch, and he was not patient enough to wait. There was no other way to know if a life truly hung in the balance except to knock it over.

With a slow exhale, Nezha raised his spear, and swung.

BANG!

The furnace hardly budged. He had held back, he had to try again.

BANG! BANG!

It shifted off the fire by a few inches.

BANG!

Nezha swung his spear one final time, sending the furnace tipping off the fire with a groan, forcing it to over, and at last it slowly toppled over, shaking the marble tile beneath his feet. 

CRRRRAAASH! CRRRRAAANG!

The lid popped off with a deafening clatter, and Nezha recoiled as thick steam and putrid smoke shot into the air like a geyser. What poured out was… Indescribable. The mass of molten slurry tumbled over the edge, a grotesque mixture of bubbles, vague shapes, and unidentifiable matter. It was dark and chunky. Simmering fluids cascaded across the polished floors. The stench hit him like a hammer to the face, carrying the sickly tang of cooked marrow, charred meat, and decay.

And then… Right before his very eyes… 

Something began to move.

Nezha’s eyes widened in disbelief. What he thought had been inert, a lifeless blob of alchemical muck, was slowly shaping itself. He could hardly look away. Every instinct screamed to step back and run, but fascination kept him in place. The substance writhed, elongating as if it had a will of its own, and then it began to condense into a vaguely humanoid form. Nexah knew what he was seeing shouldn’t be possible. Nothing besides the Great Sage should survive that furnace intact, and he was partially correct. And yet, here it was, reforming, reshaping, clawing its way out of the sludge. The sheer unnaturalness of the situation left him watching with growing horror.

First came the organs, grotesque and slick, assembling themselves from most vital to least. He watched as a heart pulsed into being with a wet, sickening squelch. New lungs expanded, then collapsed, straining to take in air without all the muscles it needed to aid it. The stomach leaked bile that hissed as it met the water. Bone followed. White spikes pushed upward, snapping and locking into place. Ribs formed around the twitching organs as a spine slithering out like a snake. Limbs stretched from sockets, joint by joint. Ligaments snapped tight around the skeleton. Muscles rolled over the frame in layers, spasming, quivering, then locking as tendons braided the gaps. Threads of white lightning wired and weaved through the flesh, nerves grew and connected to the spine. The body jerked violently, shaking in place. Skin crawled into place, sealing the twitching, convulsing figure. Fur erupted next, silky and patchy at first, then spreading over the body in a smooth, shining coat. The face assembled last. Sharp teeth sprouted from swollen, bleeding gums into place. The nose cartilage blossomed like a flower bud before shaping out. Eyes sprouted, glistening wet and bloodshot, eyelids shutting over before completion.

And finally, their eyes opened. Nezha froze's grip on his spear tightened. The creature's gaze met his, blank, yet aware. Light stabbed into those poor eyes, too bright and sudden for them to withstand, flooding their mind with sensation. They screeched and covered their faces, digging their claws into their faces. Muscles spasmed violently, the whole form shaking from the intensity of essentially being alive again.

Nezah recognized that face, even covered and more furry than he remembered.

It was MK.

And yet… It wasn’t, not quite.

Nezha’s throat went dry. He could see the agony etched in every line of the monkey's newly reformed body. The furnace sat behind him, toppled and silent now, still smoldering faintly. The flames continued to roar in the background. For ninety-eight days, this altruistic hero had been trapped here, burned away into an unrecognizable heap. Nobody deserved that, especially not MK. Nezha’s hands shook. He wanted to help, but all he could do was stare, frozen between relief and terror, unsure if the Monkie Kid he had known still existed… Or if something else had emerged from that furnace. Something was terribly wrong.

MK was moving, staggering awkwardly on all fours. His fur bristled, spiking along his bare body, trembling under the cold drafts of the chamber, even standing next to the lively flames. MK’s movements were frenzied and animalistic. His unfocused gaze finally zeroed in on Nezah, and more specifically, his spear. Nezha could see the recognition flash in the hero's eyes… Or was it fear? He may not be an animal or demon expert, but even heroes knew that every instinct in MK’s body currently screamed at him that Nezha was a threat. The spear’s tip caught the light, stabbing into his still-sensitive eyes, and Nezha flinched at the intensity of the response. 

MK drew his lips back and plunged. Sharpened claws sliced the air between them, teeth bared, a feral snarl roaring as he soared. His tail streamed behind him as he charged. Nezha’s heart ached. MK didn't recognize him. The world itself was a threat to MK right now, and in this moment of terror, Nezha saw that MK possessed a willingness to tear everything apart. He kept his stance low with his spear in a defensive position, unsure whether to strike or simply hold still. 

MK was reborn, but the furnace had left more than measly scars behind like it had done with the Great Sage.

This time, it had left a monster.

They clashed. Nezah was forced to block MK's pounce. The monkey's teeth snapped for his throat, saliva dripping onto his golden armour in heavy plinks. The Lotus Prince parried, tossing MK off him with force. Four long claws skidded on the floor, screeching to a halt.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay-” Nezha started, holding his spear loosely in front of him. He wanted to help, not fight. 

But MK only hissed in response, arching his back. He grimaced, and it wasn't a smile, wasn’t even a snarl like a normal monkey. 

“Easy, now, easy…” He whispered. He lowered his stance, keeping the spear tip pointing away, hoping to seem non-threatening. 

Every tiny movement made MK flinch. Nezha realized with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the boy he knew, he was sure of it now. MK hadn't snapped out of it by now. He took a slow, careful step forward, then another. He lifted one hand off his spear.

“I won’t hurt you.” He said again, firmer this time. 

The monkey froze for a heartbeat, flattening his ears. The silence returned, broken only by the dripping water and the shallow, labored breaths of something that was both familiar and utterly unknown.

“It’s okay, MK… You’re safe now.” Nezha took another step forward, careful not to slip on the slick ground. 

He inched closer and closer with a singular hand outstretched, hoping to bridge the gap between instinct and recognition. For a second, it seemed like it might work. MK's breathing slowed slightly, his tense crouch loosening a fraction. Relief surged in Nezha’s chest, maybe he could reach him after all…

Is what he thought.

In an explosion of movement, MK sprang, swiping his claws that left deep gouges in the stone beside Nezha’s feet. The movement was impossibly fast, so fast that Nezha barely managed to dodge backwards, feeling the air whistle where claws had passed inches from his legs.

“If it's okay, stop, wait!” Nezha shouted, but the sounds that emerged from the MK’s throat weren’t words, they were just shrieks and hisses that made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

The monkey lunged again, not aiming to attack, fighting back against a world he no longer understood. Nezha barely had time to raise the spear, not to strike, but to block, guiding the following swipes away from himself without hurting it. The monkey hissed and backed up a few paces. It crouched, ready to spring or flee. 

“MK-” Nezah said, but didn't get far.

He barely had time to register the first swipe. Claws and fur blurred past him, smashing into walls, tearing chunks of stone loose. Every strike carried the force of someone who had survived impossible pain and instincts sharpened to survival. The young god ducked, spun, parried, whatever it took to let the monkey’s momentum carry itself past him instead of trying to fight him head-on. Any blow could kill or maim MK, and Nezah just couldn't bring himself to try.

The throne room shuddered from the impacts as the two flew up from the floor. Sparks flew where claws caught steel, and the air cracked with celestial energy. Screeches erupted from the monkey's throat, echoing off the walls like a chorus of rage. Reverent courtiers and guards had retreated, kneeling or frozen in awe and terror. MK was a tempest, lashing out with everything he had, yet Nezha kept moving, matching instinct with his own incredible speed, dodging, redirecting, and avoiding each strike, but even that wasn’t enough. A sudden surge radiated outward from MK. Golden light poured off him, blinding and overwhelming, washing over everything like the light of the sun. Nezha’s knees buckled under the pressure, it felt like gravity had pressed down on him. He struggled to maintain his steady footing.

Then, faster than he could react, MK lunged again. Not with another swipe or cautious attack this time, but with unbelievable power. Nezha could only brace himself as the collision slammed into him like a battering ram. The gold and jade walls and pillars clattered as he was smashed through them. Pain exploded in every joint, but he had no time to register it. Air rushed past as he flew out of the chamber, flying out into the open air. After a moment, they both smashed into the ground of a nearby temple hard, each rolling to absorb some of the blow. Dust and rubble rained around them. 

Nezah's body ached, but his mind was clear. He looked up, already standing back on his feet. He was a trained warrior, he was going to act like it. Heaven could very well be in danger now. Somewhere in the temple, golden light blazed like a miniature sun. MK had also risen back on all fours, ready for another assault. Nezha knew, with a sinking certainty, that this wasn’t just a fight. He could be fighting against someone he could not beat, at least not without hurting them, and not without risking everything he was trying to protect. Then again, he might not have a choice anymore. He couldn’t fight him with full force, not now. By protecting his home, he'll be protecting the people here. It's what MK would want.

He ignited his wheels. Flame roared around the circular rims, hot and bright pink, licking the floor as he spun forward. The heat and speed were a shield, a weapon, a calculated risk. He had to reach MK before he destroyed anything else in the celestial realm, or worse, himself. The monkey shrieked again, backing away from the pink flames. Nezha surged forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat. He aimed for a glancing slice to the ankle and knocked the hero off balance, just enough to subdue him without harming him further. MK had somehow anticipated his attack in advance, raising his arms to block. Nezah quickly readjusted. Instead of using his spear to strike, he turned it sideways and he slammed into MK from the side, shoulder first, trying to use the momentum to knock the enraged monkey into unconsciousness. MK’s body rebounded against him. The golden light flared brighter, brighter than before, blinding Nezha.

He shrugged Nezah off him, and Nezah skidded to the side. He may be faster, but MK was much stronger. Although MK was slower, it was only barely. MK lunged again, faster than Nezha could track. He felt razor-sharp claws rake through his armor, down to his chest. Pain exploded where claws met his sternum. Nezha gritted his teeth, whacking MK's hands away, trying to minimize the damage, but MK retaliated. The monkey snarled and used his remaining momentum to grab the injured god, twirling around and flinging him at the temple wall.

Nezah crashed through the wall, columns, and statues, each impact echoing like thunder. Worse, he kept flying backwards, destroying buildings. By the time he came to a stop, splinters of wood and wisps of dust fluttered down from a smashed ceiling. Nezha’s body screamed. Cuts seared, ribs protested with every jolt, and a wet trail from his temple skimmed his lips, bringing a coppery taste with it. He couldn't give up, MK and the entirety of the celestial realm needed him to remain calm.

MK was blind with rage, eyes glowing with a harsh, blinding golden light, so bright his pupils were obscured. Nezah could only see the glowing eyes approach through the thick clouds of debris. The moment Nezah stood back up, they collided once more, smashing through yet another building. The wind tore at his hair, debris slicing past, but he kept his hands on MK, trying to steer their trajectory away from the residential areas. Nezha’s arms shook, every joint aching as MK pushed back on the spear. They tore through a pavilion and into a garden, shattering beams and sending gilded tiles and rare flora raining down. He tried reasoning with MK, shouting over the roar of destruction, trying to reach some fragment of MK buried beneath the rage and fear. 

“MK! Listen to me! It’s me, Nezha! You’re safe!”

But his words were meaningless. 

Then, in a fleeting moment between crashes, Nezha realized something.  

MK’s eyes didn’t have the same spark he remembered as the golden light faded and his pupils became visible once more.

This wasn't the familiar gaze of the kindhearted boy he’d fought alongside before.

They were no longer brown.

But instead…

…

Ruby red.

Crimson and piercing, both iris and pupils were devoid of any other color besides two bands of gold surrounding each, glimmering with emotion. It was then Nezah realized smoldering tears dripping down his face, clattering on the ground. And still, there wasn't any sign of reconciliation in the poor monkey's expression. Nezha remembered when Wukong had survived the Trigram Furnace centuries ago. He remembered when the Monkey King's eyes had changed color, no longer pure gold, but tinted with russet red. However, it was a dull shine compared to MK's new brilliant sheen. It must've had something to do with the length of time they each spent, or perhaps some kind of immortality. He still didn't understand how it was possible for MK to survive being boiled alive without a drop of immortality in him.

“MK… Look at me!” Nezah had to take a risk. Summoning every shred of focus he could muster, he pleaded. “Remember… Please… You've got to remember who you are! You're the most selfless, inspiring person I've ever met! Think of your family! They've been searching for you! They miss you! They love you more than anything!”

The monkey froze for a heartbeat, and the tension in his jaw eased ever so slightly. This was his chance, he had no choice but to try. He had to throw every ounce of himself into keeping MK from destroying what remained of the palace, and maybe, just maybe, reaching MK at last before anyone else could get hurt. The best outcome to this situation was MK snapping out of his haze, with Nezah surviving with nobody else getting injured.

But the universe had other plans.

A group of shimmering figures descended from the sky. Elite celestial warriors, weapons drawn in a tight formation, all surrounding the brawling monkeys and god. Even with helmets, Nezah could see how their expressions loosened in disbelief as they looked upon the enraged monkey holding down their god, pinning him to the ground.

“Fall back! Everyone, retreat!” Nezah commanded urgently. They had to get out of here! “He’s not in his right mind, he’s too dangerous!”

But the words barely left his mouth before the first wave of MK’s attack. The monkey lunged abandoned Nezah, now more concerned about the new enemies. The elite warriors didn’t stand a chance. Blades clanged uselessly against claws and fur. Their shields splintered like twigs under the force of each swipe. MK moved through the ranks, pausing only to pivot and strike again. Nezha watched as one warrior fell, then another. He could only hear screams of pain, and the unholy shriek of a creature that was once a noodle delivery boy. Blood splashed, sticking to MK’s furry limbs as he moved without care, blasting through the formations that were made to stop him. It was careless, it was nothing near to how MK normally fought. There wasn't a thought spared for mercy. Everyone was an enemy out to get him.

“STOP!” Nezah yelled at MK, catching his attention for a moment.

Nezha’s chest heaved as hair wheels threw him forward. He took MK by surprise, pushing them both off the platform and away from the army. They were both falling, but Nezah was alone, but he wouldn't be for long. There was no time to hesitate. 

Nezah was desperate. He knew what he had to do. He reached deep within himself, then expanded outwards, all the way to the one being who might have a chance at stopping this. A pink, hologram-like illusion shimmered into existence before him. Cross-legged and seated, Sun Wukong lifted his head and stared back. Even through the projection, Nezha could see that the King looked terrible. Exhaustion was etched into every line of his face. He was unglamored, with all his scars on full display. His fur was matted and unkempt. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. Nezah tried to ignore the celestial primate's unglamored eyes.

“Wukong!” Nezha yelled at the projection. “I'm in the celestial realm, we need your help!”

The illusion’s red eyes narrowed. Wukong didn’t flinch, glaring. The faintest curl of a smirk tugged at his lips, mocking and bored. He clearly didn’t want to hear it. Not from a celestial god, not now, not ever. His successor was missing, he didn't have time to help Heaven with their problems.

Nezha’s mind raced, desperation climbing with each second. 

“Please! This isn’t a drill, It's-” He was about to explain, about to tell the King that the threat was MK, but how on Earth was he supposed to break the news?

But before the words could form, he was ambushed, still falling. MK had recovered from the fall and was out for blood once more. The impact sent both of them tumbling downwards. Nezha caught one last glimpse of the projection before it dissipated. For the briefest heartbeat, the bored expression dropped. Wukong’s eyes widened with bafflement. His lips parted, as if all the air was knocked out his chest. He looked younger for that instant, stripped of all the years he's lived. More than that, the Monkey King looked afraid. That glimpse seared itself into Nezha’s mind as MK’s claws dug into his wrists, as their bodies smashed through layers of clouds, falling like meteors into the mortal realm below. The projection blinked out, leaving Nezha alone with a raging animal who wore his allies’ face.

Sun Wukong had finally found his lost successor. And in that stunned, terrified look, Nezha knew the Monkey King would move mountains, tear Heaven apart, burn the world itself if he had to, if it meant reaching MK. Nezah wouldn't care at this point. Heaven had done a great injustice to the young hero, and now, the monkey needed them.

Help was coming.

Chapter Text

Wukong sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of his hut, staring into the darkness. The light was off, and the late afternoon light barely filtered through the curtains. He wasn’t meditating, though to anyone looking in, it might have seemed like it. His mind had gone elsewhere, far enough that time had no meaning. He had been sitting here after searching for MK, and coming up with nothing. He'd searched cities across the world, scoured every mountain peak and forest. He'd even gone through Heaven and the Diyu with his eyes of truth, but to no avail. 

He never found any leads. MK was gone without a trace.

He failed. As a friend, as a mentor, and as a protector.

Light spilled into the cavern, stinging his eyes as his true sight was suddenly activated against his will. He squinted sluggishly, moving for the first time today. Even with his foggy brain, he recognized flame wheels, lotus-petal armor, and a long red ribbon. Nezha was astral projecting him, and he didn't look happy. In fact, he looked injured. Wukong saw the god's expression falter. He knew that Nezah saw his unglamored form in its full unholy glory. Every scar was on full display across his forehead, chest, and limbs. His faded ginger fur was matted and coarse. He probably had bugs crawling all over him after being stationary for several hours. He knew he looked wretched. He didn’t care.

“Wukong!” Nezha’s voice carried through the projection urgently. “I’m in the celestial realm, we need your help!”

Wukong couldn't help but scowl that spread across his face. He felt the old mask tug at the corners of his mouth, the faint curl of a mocking smirk. Bored, dismissive, annoyed, literally anything to hide vulnerability. Nezah had a kind heart, but Wukong had long since closed his. Help Heaven? He almost laughed. After everything? His successor was missing, and Nezha wanted him to lift a finger for the gods? No, he had no patience left for them. They allowed him to scour the celestial realm for the missing hero, but hardly much else. He had no incentive to help them now. 

“Please!” Nezah pleaded. “This isn’t a drill, it’s-”

The words snagged. Wukong leaned forward slightly to get a better look at the god. Were those… Claw marks on his armor? Before Nezah could finish his plea, Nezah was tackled. Wukong’s head snapped up as adrenaline shot through his veins. A blur of motion tore into Nezha’s side, sending them both careened downward. 

And in that split second, Wukong saw familiar fur, a tail, and a heart-shaped mask much like his own.

It couldn't be…

Can it?

His lips parted soundlessly as the projection flickered and shattered like glass dust in the wind. He stared at the emptiness left behind, heart thudding in his ears. For one impossible, devastating heartbeat, all of his exhaustion vanished as he jumped to his feet.

Wukong’s steps thudded against the floor, back and forth, back and forth. His tail lashed in agitation as he checked his dead phone for the fifth time before shoving it into his hoodie pocket. He needed to call the others. He needed everyone on this, but without a way to reach them, he was stuck in a loop. He felt drained after searching for MK nonstop for several weeks, even something as mundane as summoning his somersault cloud was difficult. He really should've kept his phone charged.

If it really was MK, why would he attack Nezha to the point of causing injuries? It was terribly out of character for MK! Was it really him? Wukong didn't know if he wanted it to be him or not. He continued pacing, yelling out curses and dragging his claws against his hut's wall, adding to the marks already there. 

The shadows along the wall quivered. They lengthened unnaturally, growing in size. A shape materialized from the darkness, already growling as soon as they came to fruition.

“Would you stop pacing?” Macaque grumbled with a wide yawn, stepping fully into the room. “I can hear your heartbeat hammering from halfway across the damn mountain.”

Wukong was startled, jumping in place before turning toward him, ready to snap, but he caught the exhaustion in Macaque’s eyes. If he thought his fur was bad, Macaque's fur was matted, sliced off in some areas. The shadow user's stance was heavy and slouching. Wukong knew Macaque had been searching perhaps harder than any of them. He was always gone before sunrise and returned long after dark. The dark monkey was always wearing himself thinner than he should these days. It was a miracle he was able to do this for so long in the first place. In fact, his horrid sleep schedule had finally caught up with him, and Macaque was forced to take a full day break now to sleep, including this evening.

“You…” Wukong hesitated, his voice softer than he expected. “…You’ve been searching nonstop, haven’t you?”

“Someone has to.” Macaque shrugged one shoulder, but the arrogant smirk he tried to wear didn’t hold. “Kid saved me more times than I deserved. I figured I owed him, y’know?”

Wukong nodded slowly, too worried to bicker. Of course, Macaque caught on. Wukong took up any chance he had to get on his nerves.

“Something's bothering you."

Wukong swallowed, his jaw working before he finally forced the truth out. 

“Nezha's astral projection asked for any help to defend Heaven against an attack.” Wukong said. “He was injured. Before he could explain anything… I think I saw MK attack him. They're heading to the moral realm."

“...What?” Macaque froze as his mangled fur rose down his spine. “You’re joking.”

“I wish that I was.”

Macaque’s tail stilled, The exhaustion didn’t leave his body, but he stood rigidly with just mouth agape.

“…No.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Not MK. He'd never fight against Heaven.”

“I know what I saw, Macaque.” Wukong’s fists curled at his sides. “It was him.”

“NO!” Macaque snapped as his tail lashed like a whip. “MK wouldn’t do that! You think he’d ever attack Heaven after so many have failed? After WE failed?" 

“You think I want this to be true?” Wukong snarled back, fur bristling. “I’d give anything for it to be wrong, but I know his face when I see it!”

“Oh, come ON, Wukong! You’ve been sitting here dissociating while I’ve been out actually doing something! I’ve been bleeding myself dry looking for that kid, and what the hell have you been doing? Sulking in your stupid cave, for days on end, talking yourself in circles-”

“Don’t you DARE!” Wukong roared as he jabbed a clawed finger toward Macaque. “Don’t you dare pretend you’ve been the only one who cares! I’ve been tearing myself apart every day, meditating to dig through my memories for some trace of him that I could've missed during my search!”

“Then get off your ass and DO something about it!” Macaque screeched back, pinning his ears pack. “Because if MK really is tearing through Heaven right now, we don’t have the time for you to sit here! I can't portal far right now, so summon that cloud, Wukong, or so help me, I’ll drag us both through the ocean!”

The air between them cracked. Both monkeys had their fur raised, teeth bared, and both of them shaking. Not with hatred, but with adrenaline and fear.

“I’m not losing him, Wukong, and especially not to Heaven, I still never apologized for what I've done to him.” Macaque’s voice wavered, though he still shouted. “You hear me?”

“...Neither am I.” Wukong exhaled. “I need to say some things as well.” 

The silence that followed was far louder than their screams. Both of them were trembling, two powerful celestial monkeys at their limit. Finally, with a high-pitched growl, Wukong lifted his hand while shoving the curtains aside, throwing open the window. As he settled on the sill, the somersault cloud burst into the cavern, blowing air and shaking the peach tree nearby, causing some of the ripe fruit to fall.

“Get on.” He said, unable to look Macaque in the eye.

Macaque exhaled, shaking, his claws flexing like he wanted to tear something apart. He climbed onto the cloud and hunched his shoulders. The moment Wukong leapt up beside him, the cloud launched out the cave before heading skyward, streaking toward the mainland. 

As the outline of Megapolis shimmered into view, the cloud slowed of its own accord.

“I’ll move the fastest.” Wukong broke the silence. “Since you're still tired, I’ll probably find him quicker if I'm the one to search. I'll find him while you gather the gang.”

“And when you do?” Macaque’s eyes narrowed.

“I'll send an astral project back to you.” Wukong said, meeting his gaze. “That way you can open a portal straight to me without wasting time.”

“…Fine.”Macaque grumbled. His fur bristled against the night wind. “Don’t expect much magic out of me, but I can still open a few doors.”

“That’s all I need.” Wukong’s claws dug into the cloud. “I’ll handle MK until then.

“Don’t think about doing anything stupid, Wukong. If you think you can handle him on your own, you’ll just make it worse. We'll do this together, we all care about him, don't you forget it.”

Wukong opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again, followed by a curtain nod.

“Together.” 

Macaque jumped off the cloud as they grew close to solid ground, falling into the shadows like a pool of water, glancing back once before vanishing for good. The cloud stilled, leaving Wukong alone above the city. 

“Hang on, bud.” The King muttered under his breath.

Wukong began his solo search, skimming over the city, golden eyes darting down every alley and street. He could sense MK's aura somewhere nearby. Then the air itself shook. Wukong snapped his head at the disturbance. On the horizon, beyond the city’s edge, the sky was often illuminated by pink and blinding golden flashes like a cloudless thunderstorm, thunder without sound.

“...MK?” Wukong gasped.

Without hesitation, he spurred the cloud forward, shooting toward the desert. The flashes grew brighter, hotter, until even the air around him scorched with power. As a shockwave passed through him, he shut his eyes and split his focus. His consciousness traveled behind him. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted with surprised celestial monkeys staring back at him.

“Already?” Macaque blinked up at the sudden projection. “I thought you’d still be combing the whole city.”

“Didn’t need to.” Wukong gritted his teeth as a powerful gale nearly threw him off the cloud. “He’s outside the city, tearing the desert apart with Nezha!”

Macaque hissed a curse under his breath, whipping his head toward the side, briefly talking to someone off to the side before he glanced back at Wukong. 

“…That fast, damn, okay, I’m nearly done here. Give us a few minutes to gather, and we’ll shadow a portal straight to you.”

“Make it quick!" Wukong’s jaw was tight, his voice ragged with urgency. "I'll help Nezah hold him off until then!”

With one last nod, the illusion flickered out and Wukong continued the race. The cloud streaked across the darkening sky, winds whipping Wukong’s fur back as he crouched low. His mind was louder than the roar of the air.

He had options. 

He could dive in alone. When it came to his powers, MK was his responsibility. No one else could match him in a fight the way Wukong could. He was immortal, unbreakable in ways the others weren’t. If anyone could take on MK’s fury without a scratch, it was him. In fact, if anyone could wrap their arms around the kid and drag him back from the brink, it had to be him.

But the others would never see it that way. They’d call him reckless and selfish, charging in without a plan as always. And maybe they’d be right. He had a bad habit of taking charge of every situation and taking the brunt of it, for better or worse. But Wukong also knew there was a hidden well inside MK, something vast and terrible that even he, the Great Sage, barely understood. He wanted to keep MK safe, especially from the people who cared about him the most. But he also knew he couldn’t lose their trust. Not now when everything hung by a thread. It wasn't like he was able to stop MK from walking into the Pillar of Heaven, he needed backup. He pressed a hand against his chest. They were a team. If he pushed them away again just because he's scared, he’d lose more than just their trust. This wasn't the kind of situation to go off alone. For once, he needed to live up to the title of Intelligent Stone Monkey. 

The horizon cracked open with another blinding streak of pink and gold. The desert sand kicked up in a violent story under its light. Wukong gritted his teeth, making his jaw sore from doing it for the past hour. He descended down to the battlefield. Nezah, bloodied and battered, stood his ground with a tenacity that bordered on suicidal. His lotus armor was fractured, shattered into jagged pieces that barely clung to him, each movement leaving trails of blood across the glassy desert floor. His defenses crumbled one after another, detonating like fireworks every time they were shattered. Not once did he switch to an offensive stance, but kept himself defensive.

And then there was MK.

He looked nothing like the bright apprentice Wukong knew. 

His body was a weapon now. Dark fur bristled in the wind, every strike precise and lethal. His teeth flashed in a gruesome snarl, eyes shining gold, spilling out light that scorched Wukong’s vision. He’s also naked, even if fur covered everything. It looked like MK didn’t even know he had no clothes on. He was acting on instinct, nothing else.

But then Wukong's eyes caught the worst detail.

Blood, and so much of it.

It smeared MK’s body, painted his claws, flecked his fur in dark stains that clung stubbornly like sticky glue. It wasn’t all Nezah’s either. The stench of it carried on the air, acrid and sharp, too much for one opponent to account for. It was impossible to tell if at least some of it was from MK.

“No…” Wukong cried and his heart stuttered.

He has to be possessed, or cursed, under some kind of influence, something, anything! MK wouldn’t do this! MK wouldn’t revel in tearing down Heaven, and absolutely wouldn’t wear blood like war paint. Not willingly, not without being forced. Wukong’s knees nearly gave out. His claws dug into his palms until they pierced skin, the only claws in the universe capable of doing so. 

He had to stop this fight.

“MK, LOOK AT ME!” Wukong roared as he descended rapidly from the sky.

The desert cracked beneath their feet as mentor and successor collided, sand whipping into winds around them. Wukong's call still rang in the air, but it hadn’t reached the kid’s mind. MK's glowing eyes didn't diminish as he flexed his claws, ricocheting uselessly off the King's pelt. Even if MK's attacks weren't the same, their position mirrored the day on the Pillar of Heaven, when they’d fought for real, student against master. The memory stabbed through him like a blade, but he forced himself to in the present. This was nothing like that fight.

MK swiped again, sparks danced off of the Great Sage's stone body that couldn’t be pierced. MK snarled in frustration, trying to jab harder, but the result was the same.

“Kid, it's okay-” Wukong grunted, catching the next blow on the flat of his palm before shoving MK back, throwing him off balance. “You can’t hurt me!”

MK didn’t listen. His breathing was ragged and uneven, whining every so often. His movements were uncoordinated and tears slipped from his glowing eyes, as if the power was harming him. 

“Sorry, bud.” Wukong’s hand shot out, quicker than MK could react. His fingers brushed the trembling fur of MK’s ear. “I know that I gave this to you to keep, but I'm gonna borrow it for a bit.”

MK snarled at a sudden tug in his ear and tried to bite his mentor’s hand, but Wukong had already gotten the weapon. The staff appeared in his grip with a snap of golden light. He twirled it once, planting the end hard enough to quake the sand. 

“Alright then, if you’re this far gone… Guess I’ll just have to distract you the old-fashioned way.”

They continued to fight. This wasn't MK, this was an animal that believed it was cornered. Wukong recognized the alarm and warning calls MK let out every so often, frightened monkey signals he’d never heard from his student before. Wukong prayed that this wasn't permanent… What could have happened to him to-

In the middle of their fight, MK stumbled, clutching his face with a pained screech, shaking his head. Wukong turned around and realized that the setting sun hung low on the horizon, a harsh, burning disk of light directly behind him. Wukong’s heart leapt. The glare! It was blinding MK, giving him the perfect opening! Using the sun as cover, Wukong dashed forward, ready to strike while remaining unseen. 

But just as he neared, MK lifted his head.

And Wukong thought he felt all his immortality leave his body.

Ruby red eyes locking with his own, frightened and in immeasurable pain.

The pieces clicked together immediately in Wukong's mind. 

He finally understood what had happened to MK.

…

Oh.

…

No…

Before Wukong could come to terms with the new information, MK recovered quicker than he anticipated, and he retaliated. His fur ignited with power unlike anything Wukong had ever seen besides his own. The little monkey lunged, faster and more furious than ever. Wukong's feet slammed against the ground as he lifted the staff at the last second, managing to block most of the strike… 

But a streak of pain seared across his cheek, an unfamiliar sensation.

…What?

He hadn’t felt pain since the Journey through the tightening spell from the golden fillet around his skull, or from the flames of the Samadhi Fire. And before that, the Trigram Furnace had scorched his eyes. Long before even those, the sensation had vanished after he’d claimed his first source of immortality.

Here he was with his cheek split open, hot blood trickling down into his fur, soaking and dripping off his chin fur in thick drops.

Impossible.

Wukong’s eyes snapped to Nezah. The young god stood wide-eyed, horror etched across his bruised and bloodied face. Even he hadn’t expected this, staring wide-eyed at Wukong's face. MK lunged again, forcing Wukong back step by step. He met each strike with the staff, but every impact hit harder than the last. Sparks burst with each clash, ringing out with deafening cracks of energy. MK’s shrieks threatened to burst his eardrums.

“MK!” Wukong winced, bracing against another flurry of blows that threatened. “I know it hurts, close your eyes!”

MK didn’t listen. His claws slammed against the staff, nearly knocking it from Wukong’s grip. Wukong’s arms trembled as he locked the strike, blood still dripping from his cheek. This is beyond dangerous now. If MK could wound him, then the others… They didn't stand a chance, there's no doubt.

“Bud, whatever you’re seeing is not real!” He pushed MK back with a surge of force.

But MK crouched low again, ignoring his words. His lips peeled back, red eyes glowing like a dying star. Wukong’s grip on the staff slipped with every clash. His arms ached, his cheek still burned from the wound. He couldn’t die, but MK could hurt him. He wasn’t used to the sensation of pain anymore after the journey ended. Every slash dug into him in ways he hadn’t felt in centuries, throwing him off balance. Like Nezah before him, Wukong chose restraint. He stopped trying to overpower MK and instead distracted the young monkey. He had to trust the others to show up. He hated relying on anyone when they could easily get hurt, but if MK could draw blood from him, then no single hand could bring him back, not even Wukong's. Everybody needed to be here. Jangles better have something up his sleeve.

The desert wind whipped around them, carrying the crackle of MK’s unnatural power, until a sudden blur struck from the side, sending him away from Wukong. The Monkey King gasped, blinking away the stray grains of sand from his eyes. Macaque was here. He slammed MK aside, knocking the boy sprawling and giving Wukong a second to breathe. Shadows darted across the sand dunes as portals appeared one after the next. Out came Pigsy, Tang, Sandy, Mei, Red Son, and behind him his parents, who had decided to come to help after hearing the situation.

“MK!” They all screamed his name. The raging monkey demon froze for the briefest moment before charging to meet them head-on.

MK lunged, and immediately Pigsy shoved forward, defending himself with his rake. His son’s claws screeched across metal, sparks flying as Pigsy grunted under MK's immense strength. It was a miracle he was able to hold him back at all.

“Not today, MK!” He snorted, bracing his legs against the sand. 

Before MK could tear through, Sandy’s massive fists came in from the side, knocking MK sideways. MK skidded, growling, and whipped around toward Sandy, only to be met by Mei’s jade blade. She dove between them, parrying a strike.

“Oh no you don’t, Monkie Man!” She cried as sweat dripped down her chin. “You’re not getting past me!”

MK wriggled away, breath snarling in his throat, and darted toward Tang, the one without a proper weapon, trembling with an old spell book clutched in his hands. MK’s claws gleamed as he zoomed across the dunes. Tang wasn't ready to perform any spells, so squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. To his luck, Red Son’s flames surge, intercepting MK's war path. Fire roared, pushing MK back. 

“Coward’s move, Noodle Boy!” Red Son shouted. “You’ll have to go through me first!”

MK screamed, quickly writhing away from the heat that seared his overly sensitive eyes. Hurt… It HURTS! He spun around toward Princess Iron Fan, hoping to find an opening, only for her to swing it sideways, creating a wall of wind so strong it sent sand blasting into his face. 

“Compose yourself!” She ordered with a commanding sneer, although her expression did not match her harsh voice.

MK stumbled as DBK’s shadow loomed behind him. The giant roared and swung both his fists down, not to kill, but to slam the ground and knock MK off-balance. The earth trembled and sand sprayed. MK hit the ground hard, rolling to his feet with a furious screech, angry that he hadn't landed a proper hit in a while. In desperation, he leapt at Wukong next. That was a mistake. The Monkey King met his strike head-on, staff spinning with terrifying speed. Every blow MK landed was parried and countered.

“That's all you got, bud?” He muttered under his breath, his voice steady even as blood still dripped from his cheek. “You’ll tire yourself out before you hurt us.”

MK howled and slashed harder, but before his claws could rake across Wukong’s chest, a shadow grasped his arm. Macaque materialized out of his shadow, reaching out from behind to grip both of MK’s wrist. 

“Focus, kid!” He snarled, yanking him forward with a jerk.

MK did everything he could to escape the hold, but Macaque didn’t flinch, even when claws tore through his shoulder. After a while of struggling, he shoved MK toward the others. Pigsy was there again as MK hit it like a meteor, but this time he bounced back, straight into Sandy’s grip. The blue giant caught him by the waist, locking his arms. 

“Easy, MK!” Sandy’s calm voice was steady as a rock, but MK thrashed violently. Sandy grunted, straining to hold him.

“Now!” Mei shouted. She darted in with Red Son at her side, both striking in tandem, throwing sand and flames and light to block his sharp senses. MK broke free of Sandy with an ear-piercing caterwaul as sand and heat reached his eyes, but before he could hurt his friends, Iron Fan’s wind shoved him aside again.

Every time he moved, every time he tried to choose a target, someone was there. Pigsy’s rake, Tang's wisdom,Sandy’s fists, Mei’s blade. Red Son’s fire, Iron Fan’s wind, DBK’s strength, Macaque’s shadows, and Wukong’s staff. The fight turned into a game. They took turns keeping MK occupied, and the moment they began to tire, someone else would fight in their place so they could recover. However, MK couldn't catch a break. His snarls grew weaker, his breath more shallow, and his swings slower. Sweat and blood streaked his dark fur, lungs heaving with exhaustion. Still, he fought like a wounded animal cornered in a cage, unwilling to stop. The circle around him never broke, avoiding each nip and jab.

“MK!” Mei yelled again with tears in her eyes. “We’re not leaving you!”

“You never quit before, so don't give up now!” Red Son bellowed as he stood next to his parents.

“You may be a little thief, but you're no villain!" DBK’s deep voice shook the battlefield.

“Ive seen monsters, you're not one of them!” Iron Fan called.

“Snap out of it, kiddo!” Pigsy roared.

“Remember the stories! You’re the hero who saves people!” Tang tried a new tactic.

“You’re stronger than you know!” Sandy added.

“I'll all be okay!” Macaque spat.

“Come back to us, MK.” Wukong whispered, meeting MK’s furious red eyes with his own.

MK’s arms trembled as he raised his claws again, but his body was tiring quickly. Every breath rattled, and every movement dragged. And as he swiped one last time at Wukong, but his claws missed completely, falling limply to his sides.

“Kid… you’re not scaring us, do you hear me?” Wukong swallowed back a sob. “You’re still a part of our team. You’ll come back like always, I know you will.”

MK staggered. His fingers twitched like he wanted to attack again, but his legs gave out beneath him for a moment, forcing him to stumble and catch himself. The furious growls that had shaken the desert minutes ago were breaking apart, becoming frustrated, pained whimpers.

“MK?” Mei whispered as her blade trembled in her hands.

He wobbled again, nearly collapsing forward, before forcing himself upright with another wet hug. He struggled to remain standing, swaying with hooded eyes. Everyone backed off, awaiting his next move.

“Easy…” Wukong said softly, stepping forward, lowering his staff. “Just a little longer, it'll be over soon.”

“…Hold up, something ain't right here.” Pigsy caught something strange, squinting at MK’s face, then to Wukong's. “Why the hell are both your eyes red?”

Everyone turned, startled, even as MK stumbled again, swiping weakly at the air. Wukong flinched as well, feeling eyes on him suddenly. Pigsy wasn’t done. He jabbed an accusatory hoof at him. 

“Don’t play dumb, you stinkin’ fleabag! I saw it. MK’s eyes are red! Yours are too! And why is it different? Only your iris is red, your pupils are gold! How come MK's is entirely red? What's going on here?”

For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then, Tang gasped. His face went pale. His hands clutching the old spell book held so tightly it nearly tore several pages.

“…Oh, no. Oh, that’s… Not possible… Unless…” He trailed off, horror dawning in his eyes.

Macaque’s head whipped toward Wukong, his fur bristling. He didn’t say his thoughts out loud, but his sharp intake of breath said it all. Wukong remained silent. His jaw clenched, golden pupils locked on MK. It was obvious what happened.

And then, Nezah, limping, armor cracked and stained red instead of pink, stepped forward. Even so, he straightened his back, forcing his words out steady.

“…I know what happened. I'm the one who found and freed him.”

Everyone turned toward him except Wukong.

“The Trigram Furnace.” Nezah clarified. Every syllable felt like smoke on his tongue. “It was hidden away in a hidden chamber beneath the Jade Throne. I… I had a bad feeling when I saw it, so I knocked it over. MK was there. I barely recognized him. I have no words to describe what I saw. I wish not to speak of it further. He attacked me the moment his body healed itself.”

Silence dropped. The only sound was MK’s rough breathing and the shuffle of sand under his feet as he swayed unsteadily in the center of the group. His striking ruby eyes blinked faintly, as if he was fighting to come back and remain awake. His jaw slackened, and a sound came out of his throat that was more sob than growl.

They continued their battle to tire MK. Even Nezah, battered and barely standing, jumped into the fray. They were all helping, but MK didn’t thank them. He didn’t even see them. He kept thrashing and snarling. The others tried to box him in. Mei and Macaque coordinated with quick strikes, Sandy spread his arms to cut off his escape, Pigsy waved his rake to keep his attention, Tang chanted spells that tried to form into chains, but MK kept breaking them. 

Red Son used his flames to circle around the monkey tightly, trying to form a cage of flame to pen MK in. At first, it worked. MK froze inside the circle, teeth bared, pupils shrinking against the harsh light. But then… He cried. The firelight painted his fur in orange and gold. He was confined. It was blazing hot, searing his skin. It felt too much like confinement, like his previous prison. He yowled in pain, covering his eyes.

The tiniest glimmer of gold sparked in his black fur.

“...Oh no.” Macaque gasped, realizing a tad too late what was about to happen. “NO! Don’t-”

MK’s body flared his golden light as he threw himself through the barrier. The flame cage flickered out like blowing out a candle. In a blur, faster than anyone could react, MK shot straight for Red Son.

“WATCH OUT!” Mei screamed as she and the others were thrown backwards from a shockwave.

The fire demon had no time to raise his guard. One second he was standing, the next he was flat on his back as MK’s weight forced his spine against the ground. Claws dug into his shoulders as powerful jaws clamped down on his neck. The sound was horrible. Long teeth sunk into flesh, digging in, popping something along the way. Red Son’s eyes went wide, as his airway sealed shut. He tried to scream for help, but only a strangled gurgle came out as he began to choke on his own blood. His hands pulled MK’s fur, his own fire sparking uselessly from the lack of oxygen in his lungs where it normally fed off of. His face paled quickly, either from blood loss of suffocation. His legs kicked, then slowed and his movements weakened.

“SON!” Princess Iron Fan shrieked, accidentally dropping her fan. DBK bellowed and surged forward, but they were too far away.

Red Son’s pupils rolled back. He went limp beneath MK as blood slid down his throat. Mei was the third person to react. She launched herself forward, faster than lightning, and slammed shoulder-first into MK with every ounce of dragon strength she had. The impact ripped MK off Red Son, sending both of them tumbling. Mei scrambled up immediately, sword raised in defense.

Not long after, Red Son woke up and gasped like he was saved from drowning, clutching his shredded throat. Blood gushed between his fingers, hot and steaming. He coughed repeatedly, sending drops of scarlet spattering across the grains of sand. He was getting air, a lot, but just enough to save himself. He slammed both hands against the wound. A desperate flare of heat followed as he cauterized his own torn flesh. Combined with his fast healing, he repaired what should've been a lethal wound for anybody else. The rancid stench of burning blood filling the air.

“No, no, no! My baby!” Princess Iron Fan dropped to her knees beside him, eyes wide and terrified, hands above over his scorched wound. Demon Bull King knelt at his other side, his massive body shaking as he gently lifted his son to a seated position.

Red Son gagged, spit more blood, inhaling a full breath at last.

“I’m… Fine-” He rapsed before dissolving into another coughing fit, dispelling the last of the liquid in his trachea.

MK pushed himself up with frightening speed. His mouth dripped scarlet liquid, the fangs in his maw were no longer white. Red Son’s parents remained crouched protectively over their son. Neither dared move. Their entire focus was on keeping their child alive. They couldn’t fight like this. That's three less fighters against a superpowered simian.

“I got him!” Mei panted when her turn came up. She raised her jade sword again and she charged, swinging with all her might.

MK’s head jerked toward her like a predator spotting its next prey. He intercepted the strike, camping his claws around the blade, not caring when the sharp edges sunk in the meat of his palms. The jade screeched as it cracked under his grip, then shattered. Shards littered the battlefield. Before Mei could recover, MK was on her, jabbing his claws into her side. She gasped as they slammed past her armor and to her flesh. His hand shot out, seizing her right arm and bending it backward with a sickening crack. Her draconic roar rumbled the ground as she fell to her knees.

Sandy barreled forward, forcefully knocking against MK’s side hard enough to knock the young monkey off-balance. He planted himself over Mei like a thick blue wall. He didn't like fighting, but his friends needed him. MK was too fast. His claws slashed across Sandy’s broad chest, leaving long, deep gashes. Sandy stumbled, and MK seized the opportunity, slicing Sandy’s calves open again with another brutal rake.

“Good thing… Mo’s on the ship.” Sandy wheezed, teeth gritted.

“Pigsy, HELP!” Tang screamed when he made eye contact with MK. His trusty khakkhara slipped from his hands, useless. His words slurred, leaving him incapable of casting any more spells. His eyes widened in horror as MK stalked closer.

“Don’t worry, he's not getting past me.” Pigsy grunted, stepping forward like between Tang and their son. He blocked claw after claw with his rake, his forearms, his body, whatever it took. Every slash landed with a terrible thud or tear, but he didn’t back down.

“MK, please, cut it out!” Tang’s voice cracked, the tears streaming down his cheeks, his words stumbling so hard he couldn’t string a single coherent sentence together. Pigsy fell back against him, and his hands trembled against Pigsy’s back, powerless.

Nezha limped into the fray to stand beside the duo, though his legs shook with every step. He planted himself at Pigsy and Tang’s side.

“I’ll stand with you.” Nezha said, raising his spear.

MK was slammed against Pigsy’s defenses again and again until the chef’s knees nearly buckled. Nezha sometimes threw himself between them, trying to buy Pigsy a few precious seconds to rest. Pigsy was readying for another strike when-

WHAM!

Something massive struck MK from the side, sending him flying across the field. He rolled several times before coming to a crouched halt. The ones who had hit him stood together now. Sun Wukong, golden aura similar to MK's crackling around his fur, and Macaque, his shadows rising from the ground as he grabbed his spiked cudgel from the darkness. They were all that was left standing.

“It’s time for plan B.” Wukong exhaled. He really didn't want the battle to come down to this. 

“We stop him.” Macaque’s ears pinned back. “No matter what it takes.”

They lunged together. MK snarled, intercepting Wukong’s staff with a hand, only for Macaque’s shadows to seize his leg and yank him down. Wukong swung, but MK rolled out the way. When he got back up, they tossed him back and forth, blows traded in quick succession. Wukong’s strikes slammed into MK’s chest, Macaque’s shadows wrapped around his arms, dragging him into his cudgel. Chains shimmered around them again and again, golden ones from Wukong and shadows from Macaque, but MK tore through them like paper, roaring in fury. He hissed and writhed, but every time he got away from one celestial primate, the other was there. They were trying to incapacitate him, but that only left them open, their attacks were slower and less lethal, even as he was being tossed around like a ragdoll, MK was able to form a plan of his own.

Still, something was happening. MK was panting harder, similarly to before the power surge. Blood leaked from a dozen new wounds, this time, his own. Numerous cuts were across his arms, his side, a deep gash along his leg. For the first time, he looked distracted. Pain was slowing him down, inhibiting his ability to fight back. Their plan was working. 

Even if it tore their hearts out. 

Wukong gritted his teeth, jutting his staff into MK’s abdomen and hurling him toward Macaque. Macaque caught him with a swing of his own weapon… But MK’s eyes had been tracking something.

He caught sight of Macaque’s face, specifically his left side. The dark monkey was facing him a certain way. Somehow, MK figured out that Macaque’s right eye must've been impaired or useless in battle. MK’s instincts seized on it, ready to exploit said weakness. He waited for the perfect opportunity, for a moment where the golden monkey was too far away to stop him. The next time Macaque closed in, MK was ready. 

Macaque didn’t realize until it was too late. Four claws carved deep into his face and across his left eye, slicing deep. 

He screamed.

Wukong froze mid-swing, horror etching every line of his face as he watched his old friend saunter back, hands flying to his face. His shadows dissipated instantly, flickering before collapsing into nothing. Blood ran between Macaque’s fingers, thick and endless, pooling on the ground as he hunched over in agony.

“MACAQUE!” Wukong screeched. He dropped his staff to catch Macaque before he could fall over, cradling him against his chest.

The dark monkey gasped as blood poured down both sides of his face now. Both eyes were ruined. Wukong looked up. Two pairs of red eyes connected. MK blinked at his own hands with an empty expression.

“Macaque! Stay with me, dammit, stay with me!” His voice cracked, thick with panic.

He pressed his hand against Macaque’s leaking face, desperate to stop the intense bleeding. The dark fur beneath his fingers was slick with thick clots. Macaque hissed as his body shook. One ear moved faintly toward Wukong’s voice, but his hands still clutched helplessly at his eyes. For the first time since his return, Macaque looked small in Wukong’s arms. He was permanently blinded, and in a position the Monkey King had sworn he’d never let happen again.

A low-pitched snarl rumbled from Wukong’s chest. His eyes, gold and red, snapped toward MK. The kid stood there swaying and wounded, blood dripping from his claws, his face still frightened and furious, but there was a brief moment of hesitation. He stood in place, looking around for his next target, catching his breath.

Wukong wanted to tear MK apart and hold him close at the same time. The mere thought of hurting the kid made him flinch. This was going too far.

“Enough is enough." Wukong growled. He laid Macaque carefully against the ground, brushing his warrior's shaking hand down. “Nobody else is getting hurt but me. I'm having him focus on me and only me. Find a way to stop him while he's occupied.”

He picked up his staff. His grip shook with rage and fear. He couldn't imagine what MK felt.

“I’m ending this.”

The others reacted instantly.

“What?” Pigsy barked, limping forward despite the deep claw marks. “You’ve fucking lost it, Wukong! Look what he just did to Macaque, you can’t take him on alone!”

“He’s right!” Mei snapped, clutching her broken arm tight to her chest. “You can’t just run in without a plan, you’ll just make it worse!”

“...Fool.” Red Son hissed quietly.

“Monkey King… Please.” Even Tang spoke up. “Don’t make this mistake again.”

“I agree with them, you should know better by now.” Nezha, though pale and bleeding heavily, gave a sharp shake of his head. “Charging in without a proper plan won’t save him!”

“NO! You’re all falling apart!” Wukong roared, gaze sweeping across them, his staff pointing at each in turn. “Pigsy, you’re bleeding out. Mei, you can barely move. Sandy’s got a hole in his chest, Red Son was seconds away from death, Nezha's actually half-dead, Tang can’t even cast a spell anymore, and Macaque-” 

His voice broke, and he clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. Everyone was quiet when Demon Bull King ventured from his son and wife to lift his blinded sworn brothers from the ground. Wukong’s healed cheek caught the last light of the setting sun. The wound had already knitted itself shut, not even a scar left, but everyone had seen it. They’d seen the impossible mark MK had left on somebody that was supposed to be impenetrable, and that was the most terrifying fact of all.

Wukong was right. They couldn’t take much more of this… But could he? He was immortal, he shouldn't be able to die no matter what MK did. For goodness sake, he's lost his head and managed to regrow it. He should survive just fine.

Wukong’s staff dragged against the sand as he rose to his full height, his golden mane bristling in the desert wind. Although it had healed, his cheek still burned faintly from where MK had cut him, the phantom sting reminding him of just how strange and unpleasant the sensation of pain was. Wukong walked toward his student, step by step.

“MK!” He called out.

The other monkey didn’t respond. He crouched, like a predator waiting to strike. Those ruby eyes nearly glowed in the setting sun touching the horizon. Wukong twirled the staff once, planting it into the ground with a solid crack. 

“It’s just you and me now, bud. You're only gonna hurt me from now on, got it?”

With his fur on end and tail tucked between legs, MK let out a warning screech, a sound Wukong knew all too well. It's an alarm, a desperate cry to stay away. He ignored MK's warning and shot forward. MK met him head-on. Staff clashed with claws, sparks flying, the shockwave rattling the sky and earth.

“C’mon, bring it on!” Wukong grunted as his hands got dangerously close to MK’s snapping fangs. “I know you’re in there!”

MK screeched again, raking his claws across the staff hard enough to send vibrations down the multi-ton rod of metal. Wukong leaned forward suddenly, pressing his forehead to MK’s, ignoring the enraged growls that followed.

“If you want someone to feel your pain-” His voice dropped into a snarl, gold and red flashing in his eyes. 

“Then take me!”

Wukong couldn't help but scream as both of MK’s claws sank deep into his sides, hot blood spilling into his fur. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been able to hurt him like this. Despite it, his arms locked tighter around MK, refusing to let him go.

“Kid, it hurts!” He hissed through bared teeth. “Do you really want this?”

But MK wasn’t listening. He was an animal, enraged at being trapped, terror and fury mixing in his yowls. His claws slashed over and over, leaving ugly red lines in Wukong’s flesh. Then-

Cr- Cra- Crack- POP!

White-hot agony exploded in his joints as MK bit down on his elbow joint, grinding until something popped. Wukong howled, his staff clattering aside for a moment as his arm bent at an unnatural angle. Now with only one hand holding him, MK tried to bolt, easily shaking the other monkey’s grip. Wukong’s tail lashed out, snaring MK’s ankle and yanking him down hard. MK hit the ground with a thud. He whirled and lunged straight back at Wukong in retaliation.

Wukong braced himself as MK slammed into him, driving him onto his back. A mini sandstorm kicked up as Wukong skidded against the grains, the air knocked from his chest. Wukong lifted his staff just in time. MK’s jaws snapped down on the iron like a bear trap. His fangs sank and slid across the metal, crunching and splintering parts of it in his mouth as though it were bone. Sparks shot out as his teeth scraped across the legendary weapon, shrieking like nails on stone. Just like with Red Son, the kid was trying for his throat, pinning him down, trying to overpower and kill his mentor.

“Not… Letting… You… GO!” Wukong grunted, straining as MK pressed his whole weight down, wrapping his tail around his successor's waist.

Their faces were so close Wukong could see blood dripping from MK’s gums and golden power rushing through veins under skin. His claws lifted from the staff and dug into Wukong’s shoulders, sinking all the way through muscle until they scraped bone. Pain exploded again, white-hot and unbearable. Wukong’s teeth bared in another scream.

MK caterwauled as his body shuddered with unspent power as he bit down harder on the staff. Wukong realized that MK's power surge was painful to him, which only made him more determined to stop it. The metal groaned and warped between his fangs, sparks spitting from his mouth as his claws dug into Wukong’s sides before sneaking into his abdomen, ripping it open with a loud squelch before yanking entrails out, tossing them aside as he dug deeper. The abandoned organs wriggled on the ground like snakes. Wukong couldn't feel anything but agony. 

The King's fur was already soaked red, sticky warmth liquid soaking into the sand beneath his body. He clamped his jaws shut to stop himself from screaming again, chest heaving rapidly as MK’s claws finally slipped past his armor. The sound of fabric, metal, and flesh tearing at once was obscene.

“ARGH! Kid, please-” Wukong gasped, though the plea was strangled, choked on blood.

MK’s claws drove deeper. The Monkey King writhed beneath him, every muscle seizing with each fresh gouge. Wukong felt them catch in the empty space between ribs, wrenching them apart with brute force. Each movement sent shuddering vibrations up his spine, the pain so foreign it blurred his vision.

Then, horrifyingly, MK found his way inside. He abandoned biting the staff and plunged his muzzle past the splintered bones, into the pulsing heat of Wukong’s chest cavity. Wukong wailed as he felt the frantic, fluttering beat of his own heart moments before MK’s jaw closed around it. 

With a harsh yank, MK ripped his heart free.

Time slowed. Blood sprayed in the red sky, splattering across MK’s fur and muzzle, dripping hot and heavy over Wukong’s face. He was still alive and breathing. His body convulsed, every muscle spasmed, but his body refused to quit. Immortality was a curse as much as a gift in moments like these. MK crouched above him, trembling, holding that still-beating heart in his mouth like a dog with its favorite toy. His face, cheek fur, and bangs were caked in red. His ruby eyes glared down, his lips peeled back in a snarl as if daring Wukong to do something about it. The Monkey King coughed violently, thick clots and chunks of blood pouring from his mouth. 

“Told you…” He wheezed a defiant laugh as he met MK's gaze. “You can’t get rid of me… That easily.”

The others were shocked. Mei had her hand over her mouth. Tang trembled, unable to even form words at all. Pigsy clutched him close, eyes wide with disbelief. Nezah and Sandy prayed. Red Son’s parents stood shielded over their son, even when Red Son tried to peek through. Macaque shuddered every time he heard Wukong's screams, burying his torn face in DBK's thin purple fur.

Nobody dared intervene. If MK could tear the Monkey King’s heart out, what chance did any of them have?

Wukong was alive, and to MK, that should've been impossible. Prey should die without such a vital organ. As MK sniffed around, Wukong forced a sound past his bloody throat. Not words, he wasn’t sure he could make them, but he managed to squeak out a soft coo. It was shaky, wracked with pain, but it got MK's attention. The growl in his throat wavered, dwindling. He sniffed some more, drinking in the scent of blood and life, more confused than ever. The tip of his nose made its way to Wukong's face. MK squinted his eyes, watching carefully.

“Thaaat’s it, bud…” Wukong coughed, forcing the coo again, even as blood filled his lungs. 

His shaking hand lifted until it found MK’s blood-slick knuckles. MK got startled at the touch, instinct flaring, but he didn’t strike. It had the opposite effect. His red eyes widened, glittering wet, locked on Wukong’s.

“That's right, I'm a friend.” Wukong whispered softly, dragging his fingers across MK’s hand. “I don't want to hurt you anymore. You’re safe. You hear me? You’re safe...”

MK just stared. His breath hitched as his limbs shook. The feral screeches finally stopped. The young monkey only made small whimpers and chirps, as Wukong cupped his face. His touch was warm.

The sun was just about down and the stars glistened overhead. And then, from up above, one star seemed to gradually grow brighter until it was possible to ignore. MK didn't notice. Wukong briefly diverted his attention to watch it, wondering if he was hallucinating. But no, the star overhead pulsed brighter, drawing every pair of eyes toward it. It flashed, spilling an intense radiance down in a streak of fire, until the light manifested into spears, banners, and golden armor. Soldiers. Heaven's army descended with a dreadful elegance, their formation clean and merciless. Their armor clinked in perfect unison as they landed. Wukong cursed under his breath, still clutching MK, who was glancing around with bristling fur, still calm. 

Wukong's body was only half-healed, he couldn't move when he spotted a familiar face with an even more familiar weapon. Erlang Shen was here with his hound, and it could only mean one thing. The god's hand shot out, diamond snare flashing as it streaked through the air with a high-pitched whistle. It wrapped around MK in the blink of an eye, binding tighter the more he struggled. MK shrieked as he plopped down against his mentor, taken by surprise. His limbs kicked against the binds, trying to slice them, but the divine net only shimmered brighter, searing against his skin. He collapsed onto Wukong’s chest, voice breaking into a series of frantic calls. Piercing chirps, squeaks, wails, and cries echoed across the desert. 

Between his yowls of fear, MK’s sounds changed into desperate, confused cries for his parents and his family. His voice rose into the helpless keening of a cub cornered by a pride of hungry lions. Wukong’s newly regrown heart hurt more than when MK had ripped the other one out. His breath came ragged, every movement sending jolts of white-hot pain down his slowly mending chest cavity. But his arm, half-numb and stiff, still moved. With all the gentleness he could muster, he draped it across MK, pulling him in.

“Shh… Shhhhhhhh…” He soothed in a tone he used to soothe newborns cubs. He ignored the spiders inching closer spires and weapons raised.

MK trembled violently, tears cutting paths down his filthy face, spasming with fear. He kept chirping for help. He buried his face in Wukong’s chest, sobbing like a child. The celestial army remained tense. Even the most disciplined warriors shifted uncomfortably as they looked at Wukong, bloodied and battered. The sight of the Monkey King in such a state made their normally unwavering resolve falter. It was unsightly and seemingly impossible.

“Great Sage.” Li Jing stepped forward from behind Erlang. “Heaven’s higher court has been wrecked… And there’s been massive loss. Soldiers and citizens… Lives have been taken. We need to-”

“I'm gonna stop you right there.” Wukong cut him off with a cold growl. “We need to talk, Li Jing. About the Trigram Furnace and what happened to MK!”

“We’ll talk after everyone’s wounds are treated.” Li Jing replied cautiously, avoiding Wukong’s burning gaze. “After all, the injured need treatment.”

Wukong’s ruby-gold eyes narrowed with restrained anger. He remembered too clearly the scalding pain of the furnace. His own eyes had turned red from its searing heat. And now… MK had to have gone through it, too. The thought of his kindhearted successor burning in boiling water all alone ignited a storm of rage that no amount of restraint could fully temper.

Nezah remained further away from his fellow celestials. He did not meet his father’s eyes. He didn't have proof, but he's sure Li Jing had orchestrated this, intending what he thought was a quick, merciful death. If it was him, he had severely underestimated MK's healing power. Li Jing’s gaze dropped, the guilt in his eyes unmistakable. He had acted with the best of intentions, at least in his own mind, but the consequences were catastrophic. MK had survived, permanently scarred and undoubtedly traumatized.

The Great Sage didn’t try to argue for once, nor did anyone else. 

They knew nothing would ever be the same.

Chapter Text

MK drifted in and out of consciousness. His head felt like it was full of smoke, his body weak and sore in a way he’d never known. The blanket around him was thin and cold against his aching skin, offering a surprising amount of comfort. The air smelled of herbs and candle wax. He tried to move, but didn't get far. The dizziness never left, dragging him back down into the plush pillows of the little nest he was in.

When he opened his eyes, the world was sharper than he remembered it.

The hut creaked. Shadows of dream catchers and drying herbs swayed on the ceiling beams. It took him a while to recall where he was. This was Monkey King's hut. He helped build this room, he was the one that made these dream catchers. It was all he could remember. His memory was fractured at the moment. He recognized various smells in the room. On the sides of the nest were several pieces of clothing. His beloved yellow-orange jacket was here, alongside three red scarves with their own scent, a chef's garb, a green letterman jacket, multiple sets of prayer beads, and various unopened gifts wrapped in gentle, matte colors. The beige walls smelled of fresh paint, and everything too colorful had been cleared out. Di. dark blue lights glowed on the ceilings, the only dash of color outside of the nest.

Even with the comforting environment, no matter what, he couldn't shake the feeling of being too hot. He felt small, being submerged, smothered, and cooked alive. He groaned, blinking away the sensation. A pitiful whine slipped out of his throat. He didn’t even mean to, but he felt scared. Was nobody here? The sound was weak, but it was all he could manage to get out. His throat was too dry for words, but his eyes remained fixated toward the door. 

And when he heard quiet footsteps approach, the door opened moments after. MK blinked slowly, but he swore he wasn’t hallucinating. Nezha entered the room, and sat in a chair next to his bed. That wasn't even the craziest part. He donned a ridiculous polka-dot jacket and black denim jeans, with his pigtails down and black hair draped around his shoulders. It was so… Normal? The god was wearing regular mortal clothing and had his hair down. It was definitely odd. 

MK coughed weakly, throat rasping, and managed a shaky greeting.

“H… Hello…”

“Hello, MK.” His voice was tired but warm. He pulled a chair closer and sat, posture slouched and loose. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, like he’d been carrying an impossible weight and was finally setting it down. The overhead light remained off, the blue light was more than enough.

MK’s lips twitched, and with what little energy he had, he raised a trembling hand to point at Nezha’s jacket. 

“...Why?”

“Because, well…” Nezah followed MK's gaze, and huffed an embarrassed laugh. “I’ve left Heaven’s court.”

MK’s brow furrowed faintly. He wasn’t sure he heard right. Nezha must've noticed his confusion and leaned forward, folding his hands. 

“They’ve done something unforgivable. I will not be a part of it any longer. I’ll remain what I was born to be, and that's the god of children. But their wars, their orders, their punishments… Their executions … I’ll have no part in them from now on. I'll be staying in the mortal realm with you and your family.”

MK’s heart stuttered. That was new. His throat worked, but no words came out. All he could do was stare. Nezha smiled faintly at his expression, though his eyes were tired. 

“Shocking, isn’t it? But after everything… I would rather stand here, in Wukong's ridiculous little hut dressed in polka dots than sit one more day among them”

Nezha studied him for a long moment, looking a bit too long at his eyes. 

“Do you… Remember anything?”

MK's throat ached. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, frustrated that it was hard to speak. He had no idea how he got in this bed, but had vague memories of something else. Heat, crushing weight, a coppery taste, and a pain so terrible it made him be left with phantom pain. He shivered and whimpered

“...Hot.” He wheezed. “C- Curved wall. Bad taste. Burn. No breath. T- Too long…”

Nezha’s eyes darkened, but his expression remained calm. He nodded slowly, as if MK had spoken an entire coherent sentence.

“...I'd imagine so.”

MK flinched at his words, though he wasn’t sure why. He pressed his eyes shut, shaking.

“Scared.” He admitted. “...What happened?”

Nezha froze, filled with dread. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, absentmindedly fingers flexing against his knee, then abruptly stood. 

“I’ll… Be right back.”

Before MK could ask more, Nezha slipped out the door, MK resumed checking out his surroundings. The warmth from the thick pillow neat pressing in on his body wasn’t comforting. It trapped his body heat. He hugged the cooling blanket tighter around himself, but it only helped for a second. His arm brushed against something soft, and when he glanced down, he saw dark fur all along his body, complete with a tail. He stared at it for a long while, expecting to freak out a bit, but it never happened.

Outside, muffled voices rose. Some concerned, some hushed. MK’s ears twitched. He recognized them. The gang, his family, all crowded outside this room. His chest ached. He wanted to be home. He wanted to help out in Pigsy’s kitchen, visit arcades with Mei and Red Son, and listen to Tang’s weird fun facts. He wanted to sip tea with Sandy while Mo laid on his lap. He wanted to spar with Monkey King and banter with Macaque. He wanted to hug them all, hold them so tight and never, ever let go.

So why was he so nervous?

The door opened again. Nezha stepped back inside, and behind him, Wukong entered. The Monkey King closed the door gently, sealing away the noise outside. For a beat, none of them spoke. Wukong’s glamor was gone. Sad, weary eyes met MK’s. Gold pupils glimmered against rings of deep red, watching him.

“Hey.” Wukong said softly, lowering himself onto his knees beside MK on the bed. His voice cracked on the word, but he didn’t try to hide it. “You have questions, right?”

MK nodded.

“Alright…” Wukong sighed, readying himself. “Ask me, bud. I’ll tell you.”

MK shrugged beneath the cold blanket. He didn’t know where to begin.

“That's okay.” Wukong inhaled deeply. “I’ll start. You’ve been gone for ninety-eight days. And during that time… Heaven did something terrible to you.”

MK’s fingers and tail twitched. He didn’t interrupt, but he suddenly felt hot and slick with sweat.

“Nezha freed you, but, by then, you were already hurt.” Wukong paused, picking his next words carefully. “You lashed out and destroyed parts of Heaven. You must understand that it wasn’t your fault…”

Wukong didn’t mention the lives lost. MK didn’t need to know. Perhaps in the future when he was in a better mental state, because Wukong knew it would get out eventually. MK needed a safe space to cool down, and needed the support of his family when it was time to tell him everything that happened. The cliff notes would have to do for now.

“Nezha fought and distracted you.” Wukong said quietly, nodding his head toward the god at his side. “Until the two of you ended up in the mortal realm, battling in the desert away from civilization. We came to help out the moment we could. We all wanted to calm you down, no matter what.”

MK started, unblinking. He couldn’t find words, but his heart ached at the thought of everyone fighting to restrain him. Was everyone okay?

“We got you to relax, and you've been out for a week since then, unconscious and recovering.” Wukong said, softer now. “Everyone’s been patching themselves up while taking care of you. You’ve had more hands looking after you than you probably realize, even some of your older opponents came to help out. I got to see some old faces stop by, past friends and enemies. Heck, I got to see someone I haven't seen in centuries. Let's just say I got to shake the hand that I've… Well… I kinda pissed on before, heh. No matter what, we've been here the whole time, bud.”

“…A week?” MK squeaked. “You stayed?”

“Of course they did, bud. You’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

“Did anybody get hurt?” MK asked his first big question.

Wukong flinched and looked away briefly, sharing a glance with Nezah. MK’s heart began to race upon seeing their reactions. He already knew the answer. Wukong sighed. He really didn’t want to do this, but keeping silent would be worse. He should hide everything from MK, even if he wasn't sure if the younger monkey could handle it right now.

“The gang is alive, do you hear me?” Wukong rested a firm hand on MK's shoulder. “First, Nezha got hurt pretty badly." 

He didn’t elaborate, images were flashing in MK's head, and he didn't know if they were real or not. 

“When the fight came to the mortal realm, it got worse. In order of events…” 

Wukong hesitated, grimacing. Nezah nudged the Monkey King, urging him on. Wukong uncharacteristically shivered.

“First… Red Son’s neck was bitten… Mei's arm broke… Sandy got slashed up…. And Pigsy had more wounds than I could count. But due to his efforts, Tang was the only one that came out unscathed."

MK’s head was shaking before Wukong finished. He wanted to hide away forever. His mentor was careful to manage his words to make it seem like these were accidents, but MK sure didn't feel that way. 

“As for me, I volunteered to take you on myself.” Wukong’s voice grew even softer. He barely looked up, but kept his hand on MK's shoulder. “You managed to hurt me in ways no one should’ve been able to. You gave me injuries that should’ve been lethal… But I’m still here, and I'm all better. Immortality’s good for something.”

The reassurance fell flat, because MK stared at him, horrified. He was able to actually hurt Monkey King? How? As if this conversation couldn't possibly get worse-

“But Macaque...” Wukong closed his eyes. “Although he got hit once, got the worst of it. Unlike the rest of us, His injury couldn’t be healed properly.”

Before Wukong could explain further, a sudden knock rattled the door. All three of them jolted, snapping their heads around at the noise. 

“Really?” Macaque came through, ears pinned with a scowl. “You started without me?” 

“I didn’t know if you even wanted to s-” Wukong started, but cut himself off quickly with a guilty expression.

“...See him?” Macaque wrinkled his nose with a smirk. “Uh-huh. That’s funny.”

MK was confused by the exchange, but then his eyes caught something that knocked the breath out of him, causing him to gasp in horror. Thick white bandages wrapped around Macaque’s head above the bridge of his nose, covering his eyes entirely.

Wait. 

No. 

No, no, no.

MK knew Macaque was already blind in his right eye.

That left only one conclusion.

“N- No... I didn’t-”

If he was fully aware of his surroundings before, he wasn't anymore. He was instantly in a strange, lucid state. He felt lightweight, like he was floating. His body tingled, like the air in the room had thinned, that or he couldn't breathe. Wukong's hand never left his shoulder, squeezing tighter. 

“Kid!” Macaque was across the room in a flash, the irritation gone from his voice. He crouched low, reaching out, careful but urgent, steady hands finding MK’s shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay, I'm fine.”

MK shook his head with eyes wide, tearing up as he tried to wrench himself away, choking on his own saliva. 

“NO! It’s my fault, I- I-”

Macaque tightened his hold ever so slightly. MK’s vision blurred, but even so, the white bandages stood out. His claws dug into his own arms, and Wukong quickly grabbed MK's hands with his tail. Macaque leaned in closer, lowering his forehead toward MK’s, landing a hand on his other shoulder.

“It’s not what you think. Stop running in circles up here-” He tapped lightly against MK’s temple. “And listen to me.”

MK’s breaths were faster, shorter, until it felt like his chest might collapse in on itself. His nails scratched at the blanket, then at his own arms.

“I- You can’t… Both… BOTH eyes!” His voice cracked as words stuttered as sobs broke through. “You’re blind… BLIND! Because of ME!”

“Shhhhh-” Macaque cut in quickly. “Listen to me. Look at me… Well, try and look at me. I'm fine.”

“You’re not!” MK didn't realize that he bared his teeth. “I ruined your-”

“MK.” Macaque’s tone dropped suddenly. “I can still get around just fine. My magic can tell me where things are. And when that’s not enough,” He flicked one ear with a sly smirk, “These pick up everything. I've started to learn echolocation. I’ll be fine. I don’t care about my eyes, I care that you’re okay. You’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

Wukong, sensing the perfect moment to do so, gently guided MK into a half-hug, with the other half facing Macaque. Leaning against the two other monkeys, MK’s sobs slowly faded into hiccups. His trembling slowed, and his breaths steadier. The room was quiet for a long moment, only the sound of MK’s occasional chitters and chirps.

Nezha coughed into his fist and glanced at Wukong from his chair, pointing at MK's eyes. Wukong suppressed a whimper. He hadn’t wanted to speak of it yet. He wanted MK to rest a little longer now that he was awake, to heal before piling the truth onto his back like a mountain… But he knew keeping it back would only make things worse later.

“MK…” Wukong was oddly quiet. MK, still half-buried against him and Macaque, blinked at him through wet lashes, red pupils wide and hazy. It was unnerving to see MK possess that crimson shade. “I'm guessing that you want to know what really happened when you were gone.” 

Wukong hesitated. He wanted to tell him everything and nothing at the same time. But lying was worse. It was always worse. He was done lying to MK.

“You vanished one night. We looked everywhere, but as it turns out, you were taken, and Heaven locked you away… They put you in the Trigram Furnace, the same one they threw me in.” He couldn't help but growl at the memory. “Ninety-eight days. That’s how long you were missing for, and how long you've been trapped inside. Twice as long as me…”

MK didn't react. He felt devoid of emotion. Was he actually awake? This didn't feel real. Wukong squeezed his arm when tears welled up in both their crimson eyes.

“They’re scared of you as the Harbinger of Chaos and tried to… To…” Wukong had to pause and wipe his eyes. “You survived an execution. And when you broke out… You weren’t yourself.”

The silence was incredibly loud. Macaque’s hands began to stroke over MK’s back. Nezha sat forward, elbows on his knees. His lips parted once, as if he might try to soften the blow, but he shut them again. This wasn’t his place. Wukong’s eyes lingered on MK, searching desperately for any signs of life, but his successor's face stayed blank. With a shaky exhale, Wukong plucked a strand of fur from his head and let it transform a polished mirror in his palm. He angled it toward MK.

Discolored eyes stared back at their owner. MK gasped, but returned to silence afterwards. His breathing stuttered once but settled back down again into that eerie, unnatural calmness. 

“C’mom, say something.” The mirror trembled in Wukong’s fingers. “Please?”

Still nothing. MK just kept staring at his reflection, unblinking, as if the longer he looked, the less real it would all become. His fingers clenched weakly into Macaque’s hanfu, but he didn’t seem aware of it. Nezha knew this silence. It definitely wasn’t peace. It was the moment right before the disaster. He had experienced the exact same feeling when he discovered who had done this to MK. Emptiness and disbelief right before an explosion of emotions. Any second now, MK would-

Scream.

It was loud enough to rattle the wooden walls and make the oil lamp gutter. The mirror shattered in Wukong’s hand. Glass rained down across the floor before poofing into hair. MK clawed at his own face, wanting to rip the color from his eyes, sobs and wails breaking between shrieks.

“STOP! Macaque grabbed both of his wrists before MK's claws could make a mark, holding tightly despite the kid’s thrashing with shadow earmuffs over his head to dampen the screams from his sensitive ears. “Don’t do it, you’ll only hurt yourself! We don't need another blind monkey, dammit!” 

Wukong’s ears rang from the wails. He reached forward, then froze halfway. He’d caused this. Every time he tried to help it only made things worse, didn’t it?

“MK!” Nezha stood up and rushed to the bedside. “Deep breaths!”

But MK couldn’t. He bucked against Macaque’s hold, tail lashing wildly, eyes burning. The tears in his eyes amplified the pain tenfold. 

“AAAGHHH- GET IT OFF! GET IT OUT!” He screeched, hoarse from crying. “IT BURNS!”

Macaque’s grip didn’t waver even as MK’s claws tore shallow lines into his forearms, holding him closely, comforting him with physical touch. He knew MK had always craved it, even if he often denied it. MK’s screaming faltered into harsh sobs, his chest heaving like he’d run for miles. His eyes squeezed shut, tears leaking out the corners before dripping onto the plush mattress like salty rain.

Wukong swallowed, finally daring to reach forward. His hand shook as he cupped the back of MK’s head, fingers tangling in sweat-damp fur. 

“You’re not a monster.” He whispered. “You’re better than me.”

Upon meeting the other pair of red eyes, MK ceased his crying. He wasn't the only person to go through this. His mentor understood his pain.

The door burst open.

MK flinched. His head snapped toward the sudden flood of light and noise. Mei stood in front, her right arm bandaged and in a sling, eyes wide and wet with worry. Behind her crowded Pigsy, Tang, Sandy, and Red Son, each of them pale and stiff from the scream that had shook the entire hut and broken all the windows. They all froze at the sight inside the room. MK’s fur bristled. Macaque’s hands were still locked around his wrists. Wukong’s hand stayed on his head, steady but trembling.

For a heartbeat, nobody breathed.

“MK?” Mei's lips twitched.

MK opened his mouth. He wanted to answer her, say her name, tell her he was okay, ask if she was okay, but what came out was a broken string of sounds. High-pitched and jumbled, like the nonsense chittering of a newborn cub.

“Ah… Da… Ba- Mmh- Eeh?” His throat strained, but no words came. He was babbling like a tongue-tied toddler. 

Pigsy’s face fell. Tang covered his mouth, muffling a sob. Sandy’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned from blue white. Mo was on his shoulder, tucked in the crook of his neck. Even Red Son, usually so proud and arrogant, had messy hair and cracked glasses. Thin bandages were wrapped around his neck. MK’s eyes darted from face to face, panicked. Why couldn’t they understand him? Why couldn’t his mouth form the right words? 

He hated how they looked at him. He reached a hand toward Mei. She took a half-step forward, then froze. Fear, or maybe shock, it held her back. MK whimpered at her hesitation. He'd never hurt her… Never…

Macaque tightened his hold, pulling MK’s head back against his shoulder before he could start crying again. Macaque bared his teeth and faced the doorway. 

“He’s trying his best.” Macaque snarled at them. “Don’t just stare at him. If you're gonna stand and gawk, then leave.”

The group shared uneasy glances.

“No.” Mei whispered. She stepped into the room despite the quiver in her knees “We’re not scared of him. MK wouldn’t hurt us.”

“She’s right, that’s our boy.” Pigsy gave his son a shaky smile, though his black eyes glistened. “Doesn’t matter what he looks like, or what’s happened. He ain’t a monster.”

“Yes, he's back in his right mind.” Tang lowered his hand from his mouth and nodded, tear tracks still fresh on his cheeks. “You’re still you, MK.”

“You came back to us, little man.” Sandy crouched by the doorframe. “I can't wait for us to all hang out again.”

“Mrrrrow!” Mo yowled.

“I refuse to be frightened of someone who means this much to these people.” Red Son crossed his arms tightly over his chest, looking away for a second before his voice slipped out quieter than anyone expected. “…Or to me.”

MK blinked through the tears. He hiccupped softly, his incoherent words quieting as he stared at each of them in turn. 

“Hear that, bud?” Wukong’s hand passed over his head, playfully ruffling fur. “They’re not afraid of you. None of us are. You’re still family.”

They kept their distance. Even as Mei’s arms twitched like she wanted to dive forward and hug him, she stopped herself. Wukong had warned them earlier that it was best that MK didn’t feel enclosed. The air in the room was already heated with too many bodies, and the chill needed to stay. For MK, excess heat would probably be suffocating now. Wukong knew from experience.

“No one’s gonna crowd you.” Wukong reassured him. “You’ve been through enough. We’ll give you space, we love ya, kiddo.”

MK’s watery eyes darted toward the doorway. His friends and family stood there, aching to move closer, yet holding themselves back for him. Seeing their restraint along with their endless patience, it struck his core with tremendous sadness and guilt. So when they began to say goodbye and leave the room, MK wished he could speak and apologize. 

Eventually, the room was empty. Macaque and Nezah left, too. Wukong lingered the longest, his hand on the doorframe as though he were afraid of leaving MK alone. With one final glance, the door clicked and closed. The hallway outside was quiet, too quiet. MK realized that he could hear outside. No one moved at first. 

“...He looked like he wanted to say something.” Sandy whispered.

“Of course he did.” Macaque sighed. “He always has something ridiculous to say.”

“He shouldn’t have to have gone through this at all…” Pigsy rubbed at his eyes with the back of his arm, grumbling.

“He's back.” Tang placed a careful hand on his partner’s shoulder. “And we'll be here for him.”

Mei suddenly threw her arms around Red Son, catching him completely off guard. He stiffened, but for once, he didn’t resist and push her off. He just let her cry into his shoulder while he glared at the floor.

“He’s gonna hate himself for a while.” Wukong finally spoke, voice raspier than usual. “But we’re gonna have to remind him every day… That none of this was his fault.”

The group nodded, each silently swearing to remind their little hero as often as they could from now on. They walked further away, muffling the last echoes of his family’s voices. The hut was quiet again. MK blinked through the dim blue light, his chest aching with each shallow breath. 

He took time to look around some more. His eyes landed on something familiar. His trusty water bottle, dented from too many falls off delivery routes, sitting proudly on the bedside table like it had been waiting for him. His fingers scrambled for it, clutching it tight with his claws. He unscrewed the cap with trembling hands and chugged the whole thing as ice cold water spilled at the corners of his mouth. His throat hurt, but the drink soothed him enough to steady his breath. There was no food, which was probably for the best. His stomach already felt queasy, he would have to start eating slowly. He placed the empty bottle back on the nightstand before curling back into the blankets.

Sleep wouldn’t come, so he just… Laid there.

And thought.

He shouldn't have.

But he couldn't help it.

He buried his face in the blanket, muffling the sudden whimpers, but it was useless. Tears spilled anyway, soaking into the fabric as he trembled beneath it.

He hurt them. 

They're scared of him. 

He ruined everything. 

He’s dangerous. 

He’s-

MK shook his head sharply, as if he could rattle the thoughts out of his scrambled noggin. The blanket crumpled in his claws until the seams tore. 

“Stop-” He sobbed to no one. “Please stop…”

He wished someone would come back. Even though he thought he didn’t deserve it. Even though he knew he didn’t. He wanted someone’s voice, someone’s hand on his, anyone to tell him he was still here.

Anywhere but… There.

He didn’t remember much from the furnace, but the moment he let his mind drift, they surged up like wildfire. It was too hot. The smoke melted him from the inside out. He’d tried to scream, but his voice had already been burned away. His skin cracked like scorched glass, and the heat wrapped every nerve, pulling screams from his disintegrating body.

He remembered pounding at the metal walls until his fingers clenched split. The world was nothing but gold and red and white and pain. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t move. 

He was going to-

MK jerked upright with a gasp, his chest heaving as sweat trickled down his temples. The room warped around him, flashing in the blue lights. He shoved the blanket away, his hands shaking violently.

“Too hot…” He shivered. “Too hot too hot too HOT-”

His tail lashed, knocking the empty water bottle onto the floor. He didn’t notice. His body trembled. He pressed his palms to his arms, half-expecting the fur to slip off beneath them.

“It’s gone.” He tried to remind himself. “It’s gone, it’s over, you’re safe, you’re safe…”

But no matter how many times he said it, the furnace roared behind his eyes, and the heat refused to fade.

He never felt safe anymore. 

He decided that he needed to walk around. He wasn’t trapped, not in the furnace, not in this bed. He couldn’t bear to stay lying down another second. He needed something cold. A shower, maybe. He was in Monkey King’s hut, right? There had to be a shower somewhere. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the motion making him dizzy for a moment, but he forced himself to steady. The floor felt solid under his feet. He won't slip. It's not curved. It's cold. With slow, careful movements, he slipped out of the cozy room.

One step at a time.

One.

Two…

…

There were voices down the hall.

He froze, startled. His family. They were still here. For some reason, that thought made his chest ache more than it soothed. Curiosity surged, and before he knew it, the idea of the shower was gone. He crept forward, soft as possible, his tail lifted to avoid brushing the floor. He wasn't used to being in this form, he had to pay extra attention to the extra limb. Eventually, he grabbed his tail and held it in his hand. Macaque’s hearing could catch a pin drop if he wasn’t careful. He waited until he heard Macaque’s voice to move and freeze whenever he stopped talking. The closer he got, the clearer the voices became. He pressed himself flat against the wall just outside the doorway, listening. He knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but… Nobody was telling him anything. He wasn’t a baby. He could handle it. 

He held his breath and peered around the edge of the wall. 

Wukong was pacing. Macaque sat near the low table, his head bowed, the candlelight flickering over the bandages that wounded around his head. Sandy had Mo on his lap, petting him gently. Tang and Pigsy sat together, murmuring to each other, while Mei looked like she was trying not to cry again. Red Son looked out of place, but paid no attention.

They weren’t talking about him, not directly. They were talking about how to keep him comfortable.

He found the group gathered in the next room. The air smelled faintly of medicine and damp cloth, with undertones of noodles, rain and peach blossoms. They were sitting around a small table, bandaged and exhausted. Everyone had covered up some kind of injury except for Tang. He was the one taking notes, dutifully jotting down instructions from Wukong.

“…He needs to stay cool, that's the most important thing." Wukong was saying. “No heat, no room-temperature baths, not even warm food for now unless he asks for it… So that means no hot noodles for now.”

“He’ll hate that.” Macaque grumbled under his breath.

MK’s eyes widened slightly as he leaned closer, the cool wall pressed to his shoulder. Keep him cold? He frowned, touching his arm. His skin was still too warm to the touch, uncomfortably so. Maybe that’s why the air in his room had been kept so chilled. It was for him.

“What about when the fever breaks?” Sandy asked. “He’ll need something to help him sleep after that.”

“He shouldn't react badly to medicine, especially if it helps him feel better.” Wukong replied, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “Just… Make sure he rests. Keep his room dark and cold. If his temperature spikes again, use the ice water.”

“Ice water?” Red Son frowned. “Isn’t that a little extreme?”

“You didn’t see what happened in the furnace.” Wukong said flatly, glancing warily at the fire demon. “I won't ask you to keep away, but be mindful of your powers. He doesn’t need warmth right now, not even a spark.”

“What about you, Macaque?” Tang inquired softly. “You can’t even see right now. You should be resting too.”

“I can see just fine, just not with sight anymore.” Macaque huffed. “I can care less about sleep right now.”

“I just…” Mei suddenly whispered, catching everyone's attention. “I wish we could’ve helped him sooner.”

“And Nezah took the first step.” Wukong nodded at the celestial in his living room. “We all helped, don't forget. “We’ll just have to take care of him together. He’s still healing, inside and out. We can’t rush this.”

MK’s chest ached hearing that. His claws dug into his arms like it could himself from trembling.

“Anything else we should know?” Red Son sounded oddly subdued.

“Keep the lights dim. Don’t push him to talk yet. When he’s ready, he’ll come to us. And until then…” Wukong paused, looking toward the hall, right toward where MK hid, though he didn't see him. “We make sure he knows he’s safe.”

MK’s breath caught in his throat. He pressed closer to the wall, trying not to let the sound that wanted to escape slip out. They can't find him here.

“Then it’s settled.” Macaque sighed heavily. “We take turns watching him. I’ll start tonight.”

“You sure you’re up for that?” Pigsy asked.

“Yeah.” Macaque tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk curling his lips. “Even blind, I’ll know if he tries to sneak out his room.”

MK felt his stomach twist at the thought of them needing to watch him. Babysit him. Make sure he didn’t hurt himself, or worse, anyone else. How pathetic was that?

“And what of Li Jing?” Wukong spat, the name spat out like a curse. The sudden change of conversation made MK's hackles raise. 

The room went quiet for a few seconds before Nezah spoke.

“He’s still in Heaven.”

“...Still?” Pigsy grumbled, incredulous. “After everything that bastard did?”

“Watch your tongue, even with magical barriers around us, you never know who's listening." Macaque hissed, though the venom in his own voice made the warning meaningless. “Go on, Nezah. What happened?”

“There was… A hearing.” Nezah sighed, wringing his hands. “From what I've heard, a celestial council meeting. They acknowledged what happened to MK. Everyone knows it now. But the court… They voted to keep Li Jing in the same position. Apparently, removing him would ‘disrupt the divine hierarchy.’ That was the final straw, and I left.”

Wukong slammed his hand down on the table. The sound cracked through the room like thunder.

“Disrupt the hierarchy? SERIOUSLY? He nearly killed my successor!”

“Fuckin’ frustrating is what it is.” Macaque snarled. His fingers twitched toward the table as if to steady himself. “And Heaven just looked the other way. Of. Fucking. Course.”

“They didn’t just look away,” Nezah's hands gripped his sides. “They agreed with him. A lot of them still believe MK’s existence is dangerous. To them, what Li Jing did was… Precautionary.”

“Precautionary?” Mei yelled, making Red Son jump next to her. “That jerk tortured him! He burned him alive! That’s not precautionary, that’s-”

“-Exactly what they’ve always done.” Wukong cut in. “Fear first, reason later.”

MK pressed a shaking hand over his mouth to stop the noise that had been building in his throat. His pulse raced. The mention of Li Jing alone made his body tighten, his fur bristling from neck to tail. His claws dug into the wall behind him as flashes of memory quite literally bubbled to the surface

Searing heat

Suffocating

Red light and darkness.

The feeling of drowning.

Choking on himself.

He forced a shaky breath through his nose, but it came out as a small whimper. 

“They didn’t strip him of his title, then?” Sandy’s voice rose next, soft as always, but tense with anger. 

Pay attention, MK.

Get a grip.

“No,” Nezah said, “He’s filling in for the Jade Emperor temporarily, that was the original plan since his death. They say it’s to keep order, but I'm not so sure about that anymore. This isn't the first time he's gone after MK or Wukong unprovoked.” 

“Of course.” Mei scratched at the cast on her broken arm. “Of course Heaven would rather have a literal torturer on the throne than admit they were wrong.”

“Cowardice dressed in jade.” Macaque snarled.

Wukong stayed silent for a moment, tail lashing and lips lifting. 

“If they think any of us will let this stand, they’ve forgotten who they’re dealing with.”

“...Wukong.” Macaque dropped his anger at a sudden realization. “Wait, you're not actually going to-”

“No.” The Monkey King rose to his feet with a strange grimace spreading across his face. “I’m not storming Heaven again, you can relax. But I will make sure Li Jing knows exactly what it feels like to live in fear. There's worse fates than getting kicked off his shiny little seat.”

MK took silent, deep breaths. They had his back. Monkey King wasn't about to do anything reckless. Don't panic yet. Listen. 

“We can’t start a war, too many lives have been lost already.” Wukong said in a cunning manner, it always came when he was thinking three steps ahead. The rare Great Sage knowledge was shining through. “But we can make him bleed where it matters. We can ruin his reputation and sabotage him.”

“I see…” Macaque’s voice was a rough whisper. “We should expose his wrongdoings to the mortal realm since the celestials want this to keep quiet. We should also search for proof he was the one that ordered the furnace to be lit. He may have left a paper trail.”

“We can also gather allies.” Nezah added. “There are those in the celestial bureaucracy who resent him. There's other candidates for the role he fills. If we can find somebody who actually deserves it, I'm sure many would be willing to switch sides. The majority does not approve of what happened, especially without their knowledge."

“I already have enemies who think I’ll explode the world for a minuscule grudge.” Wukong humorously laughed. “I'll be noisy again to force their attention away from MK. I'm the real threat, not him.”

“And protect MK, above all.” Red Son finally grabbing in. “Perhaps we should keep him out of the public eye until this is settled. If they want a scapegoat, they’ll try to use him. I'm familiar with celestial politics. No matter what, we will make sure they can’t touch him again.”

“We must also take care of the Trigram Furnace.” Wukong tapped his claws on wood. “If they were able to rekindle it in secret once, they could do it again. We should find Lou Zhu and make sure it’s locked, dismantled, or under watch. If Heaven insists on having a dangerous toy, we make sure no one can hide it ever again.”

“We also need to remember why we do this, revenge without purpose just becomes cruelty.” Nezah reminded them. “We want safety for MK and everyone else. There's many innocents that pose potential threats to Heaven, it doesn't mean they'll do anything, percussion be damned.”

MK’s fingers curled against the wall until his claws dug grooves into the wood. He wanted to stand and say that he didn’t want them to, that he didn’t want revenge even in the small, surgical way they described. Revenge was worthless to him. He just wanted to be with them… 

But when he imagined Li Jing walking free, unmarked and untouched…

“Once this starts,” Wukong instructed, “We will keep it clean. No killing, and no plans that can be traced back to us. We let the truth do the work and only step in where we must to shield each other. Patience is key.”

MK wanted to be angry.

He wanted them to storm the gates and tear the Jade Palace down with their bare hands. But the sound of their careful plotting settled into him like a bandage. They would not be satisfied with empty apologies. They would not let Li Jing sit comfortably on the throne. They would make him understand fear, the way MK had been made to understand heat. 

…No.

Stop it.

He didn't want that.

Get. A. Grip.

Those were just thoughts, it doesn't mean he wanted them to come true. 

MK’s hands clenched at his sides. He’d heard enough. Every word of the conversation made the walls feel like they were closing in. Back to bed, forget the cold shower. 

He quietly started to step back, intending to leave before he overheard something else he didn’t want to know.

“There… Were other things.” Then Nezha spoke, his tone uncertain. “Rumors, mostly. About my father.”

MK stopped on his tracks.

“Rumors?” Wukong lifted a brow.

“After MK escaped, before any of you could find him, my father tried to recapture him and ordered Erlang Shen to catch him. He wanted to finish what he started. A different method this time, one he hoped would actually work.”

“You mean he still tried to kill him?” Pigsy barely held back his fury. “After everything?”

“It’s only hearsay, so don't take my word too seriously. Erlang was the one to tell me this, actually. I'm not sure whose side he's on, he's always been hard to read.” Nezha said quickly. “Heaven covered it up before it could spread. I only found out because one of the guards told me in secret. Li Jing saw MK’s escape as a humiliation.”

MK wobbled on his feet. He couldn’t breathe. He stumbled back a step, back pressed against the wall. MK barely heard them as they continued to talk. No no no no… He didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want to remember. His body ached until he felt sick.

He’s still being hunted? After all that? After everything he’d already endured?

His hands trembled uncontrollably. Then his shoulder knocked against a hanging picture. It was a photo of himself back when he first started to train with Monkey King. The frame clattered softly against the wall before falling off. Glass shattered on the ground near his feet. 

Silence fell in the main room. MK held his breath. 

“...Who’s there?” He vaguely heard Macaque’s voice through the ringing in his ears.

MK stifled a gasp as chairs scraped against the floor. Every sound in the house was sharpened painfully in his heightened state.

Okay.

NOW was the time to panic.

MK went rigid. His mind blanked out. He didn’t even breathe. Maybe if he stayed still, maybe if he didn’t make a sound…

“MK?” Someone called softly.

He's not here, go away!

In fact, he didn't know where he was. 

The walls were too close, the air too thin. The smell of smoke hit him and suddenly it wasn’t smoke, it was molten metal, hot blood, burning skin and fur. His pulse hammered in his head.

Footsteps approached. He couldn’t tell whose. Everything sounded like it was underwater.

Run.

That was the only thought left. 

Just run.

Don't let anyone catch you. 

He can't go back. 

RUN!

He stumbled back, nearly tripping over his own feet as his body took over before his mind could. Hands reached toward him, but he couldn't tell if they were real or imagined, he didn’t know, and he flinched away violently, nearly tripping over himself.

“MK!” It was Mei’s voice, panicked.

He couldn’t hear her or see her. Everything was just light and heat and noise and smoke and water and-

He wailed and staggered again, slamming against the wall. The shock made him shiver, but it also made him aware, briefly knocking him out of his frenzy.

He wasn’t in the furnace. 

He was in a hut.

He wasn’t burning.

It was chilly.

Get a fucking grip, MK.

He pressed himself flat against the wall, trembling, wide-eyed. His fur bristled in every direction. His breathing was harsh and ragged like an exhausted, cornered animal.

“…Okay, there you go.” Macaque said quietly, holding his palms open, trying not to scare him further. “Don’t move too fast.”

MK started to slowly slide down to his knees. His gaze moved between the figures gathering in the doorway, shapes that might have been his family, or it was his brain making them up and this was some really lucid nightmare. 

He didn’t know.

“MK,” Wukong crouched down, “Do you hear me? It's safe here…”

Safe?

The word didn’t make sense. He's been hearing that a lot lately. It bounced around in his skull, meaningless. He wanted to believe it, but his body wouldn't.

“No…” MK's voice cracked on the word, barely audible. “He’s still here… He’s still… He’ll…”

“No one’s coming for you again.” Nezah said firmly, forcing the words to sound like truth. “Not while we’re here, do you understand?”

MK didn’t answer. His gaze darted toward the nearest door. The instinct to flee was overwhelming.

“Kid?” Pigsy said softly, taking one step closer. “Don’t run-”

But it was too late.

MK bolted.

He didn’t remember running. 

One moment, his heart was hammering against his ribs, the next, he was back in his room, shoving himself beneath the cold cooling blankets. He burrowed deep, curling in a tight ball. His pulse thudded against his knuckles. The blankets smelled faintly of herbs and floral soaps. Not smoke, not metal, not copper. 

Slowly, the shaking in his hands began to fade. His breathing evened out. The pounding in his chest softened into a tired, predictable rhythm. He didn’t know how long he stayed there, buried in the cocoon of blankets, but eventually, his thoughts started making sense again.

Oh… 

He got caught and ran off.

It was quiet now. 

MK blinked toward the open doorway, expecting someone to be there and hovering, but there wasn’t. No one even peeked in. The hallway was empty. He swallowed, hesitating. He didn't like this. He tried to call out, but what came out wasn’t words. It was a soft, breathy sound, a half whimper, half trill, and very monkey-like. It startled him, making him jump slightly. He didn't know he could make those sounds.

There was an immediate response.

“Are you doing alright, MK?” Wukong slowly poked his head in the door, hiding a worried expression and failing badly. 

Ah, so they followed him. MK was sure he could hear multiple sighs of relief. They’d just stayed out of sight, giving him space. On any other day, they would crowd him and ask if he's okay. Not this time. He didn't mind, though, he very much appreciated the gesture.

They loved him.

MK pushed himself upright and out the blanket. His fur still bristled faintly, but the air was cool and he no longer felt the need to turn tail and flee. Now that his head was clearer, he could hear hushed, anxious voices from just beyond the doorway. 

“You guys can come in.” He faintly chuckled, his voice raspy but more like his usual self. “I’m not gonna bite.”

“You sure, bud?” Wukong tapped the doorframe with a single claw. “You’ve had a rough-”

“Yes, I'm sure.” MK interrupted softly, pulling his blanket tighter but smiling for the first time since waking. “I’m comfortable seeing everyone.”

That seemed to break whatever hesitation they’d been holding onto. They slowly filed in, careful not to crowd him too quickly.

Red Son and Mei both perched at the foot of the bed, not touching the little neat in the center. Sandy, being the largest, remained near the door. Pigsy stood in front of the blue giant with Tang beside him.Wukong and Macaque stood closer but still kept a respectful distance. Mo was the most confident out of all of them, hopping down from Sandy's shoulder and curling up next to MK's thigh.

“Sorry you had to hear all that, kid.” Macaque was the first to mention what just happened. “We were just-”

“Trying to protect me, did I get that right?” MK huffed with a semi-playfull eyeroll. “I shouldn’t have eavesdropped anyway. I would be lying if I said it wasn't on purpose, but, y'know, stuff happens.”

MK sat more upright despite how much his body wanted to collapse back into the cold bedding. His hands gripped the blanket at his lap, claws latching the silky fabric as he glanced between everyone. 

“So…” He tilted his head. “Are you all gonna tell me what actually happened, or do I have to sneak around again?”

“You shouldn’t be worrying about that, kid.” Pigsy shook his head. “You need to rest.”

“Resting doesn’t mean I suddenly turned stupid.” MK replied, trying not to sound defensive but failing just a bit. “I know something’s wrong. I heard you guys talking about Li Jing. You said he’s… Still in power?”

A long silence filled the room. No one wanted to be the one to answer him. Mei fiddled with her pants, and Red Son cleared his throat. Everyone figured and shuffled awkwardly.

“We might as well tell him.” Macaque mumbled under his breath.“He’s not gonna drop it now.”

“The truth is…” Wukong grinded his teeth. “Heaven covered most of it up. Li Jing’s actions and what he did to you, it’s not common knowledge. To most of the mortal realm and a lot of the credentials, he’s still seen as some loyal general filling in for the Jade Emperor.”

“Correct.” Nezha growled bitterly, very unprince-like. “They rewrote half the records, changed testimonies, and silenced anyone who tried to speak out. It’s basic politics. Heaven’s trying to keep the image of control intact, no matter who gets hurt by it. The destruction might be blamed on Wukong or Macaque, considering how there were many eyewitnesses that saw a monkey. They don't know you're one, even after you restored the Pillar of Heaven. Li Jing made sure to hide that information as well.”

“MK.” Wukong said before MK could react. “You didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is on you.”

“I know…” MK said, his voice cracking slightly, “But it doesn’t make this any less messed up.”

MK’s gaze swept across everyone. They were all injured in various ways except for Tang and Wukong. Macaque obviously had it the worse. His head was tilted slightly toward MK. Both his eyes were covered in clean white bandages that didn’t hide a faint discoloration beneath. He looked calm, composed even, but MK could see the faint tension in his posture, and the little flicks of ears and tail.

“I…” MK breathed winced. “I… I did that. I still can't believe it.”

Everyone shared uncomfortably glances and Wukong reached toward him, but MK flinched back before he could touch him. 

“No, don’t touch me-” He stammered, holding up a shaking hand. “I remember now. Not everything, but… I hurt you. Almost all of you. You were trying to help, and I just wanted to tear everything apart. I didn't see anything, I just… I was so scared. Everything was red and dark and it was so hot and-” 

He took a deep breath before staring at his claws, the same ones that had torn through people he loved.

“I could’ve killed someone.” 

MK was too busy staring at his hands. 

He didn't see the alarmed, guilty expressings everyone held.

They couldn't tell MK the full fatality count yet.

They all swore to keep quiet for now.

“You didn’t choose to do it.” Macaque lifted a hand in front of MK as an offering, and he took it. “We’ve all made our peace, so you need to start trying to as well.”

“But…” MK stared up at him with glistening red eyes. “You lost your sight because of me.”

“I’ve lost worse, beats dying anyday.” Macaque chuckled darkly. “And besides, I can still hear everything, so I’d say I’m managing fine.”

“I’m still sorry.” I looked down again. “For everything.”

“Then focus on getting better.” Macaque smiled, somehow looking straight at MK. “That’s all any of us want.”

MK stayed quiet for a long time after that. His throat still hurt when he spoke, so he took his time before whispering, 

“I… Overheard something else.”

Everyone stiffened.

“You were all talking about how he might try again, that he probably already did.” His composure faltered for a second, but he forced himself to continue. “I heard that before I ran off. I didn’t mean to, sorry...”

Again, no one spoke right away. The silence stretched until MK began to regret saying anything at all. Then Wukong sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. 

“Don't worry about that.” Nezah said quietly. “We’re handling it.”

“Yes.” Macaque added, brushing his tail against MK. “You’ve got enough to deal with. Let us take care of the rest.”

“So it’s true then ” MK looked between them all, frowning. “He really hasn’t stopped. Hah… I should’ve known better than to think it was over...” 

“Hey,” Wukong leaned closer, “Look at me.”

MK lifted his gaze.

“You’re not alone.” Wukong nodded. “If he even tries again, he’ll have to go through me and everyone else in here. If they dare, they'll learn exactly what happens when someone threatens our family.”

“I guess that’s fair.” MK weakly laughed. “Still feels weird letting you all fight for me, though.”

“You’ve done enough fighting for us for a lifetime.” Wukong’s hand settled on MK's free hand. “Now it’s our turn.”

“...Okay.” MK smiled for the first time in over one hundred days.

Another stretch of silence.

Red Son had been fidgeting for a while now, arms crossed and expression rapidly switching between annoyance and nervousness. Everyone else had been speaking softly and keeping their distance, while MK leaned back against his pillows, quiet but visibly calmer than before. 

And every time the room went quiet, the demon prince got more and more restless.

Then, without warning, Red Son blurted out what was on his mind. 

“Alright, this is ridiculous!” Everyone jumped. Red Son pointed at MK, words spilling out faster than his brain could stop him, or at least lower his voice. “You look miserable, and this entire atmosphere is suffocating. I am not one for sentimental gestures, mind you, but considering the circumstances, perhaps… A group hug would be… Beneficial!”

“Woah.” Mei's jaw dropped. “Red Son, are you seriously asking for a hug-”

“Not that I’m insisting, of course! It's entirely up to the Noodle Boy!” Red Son cut her off as his voice climbed in pitch. “If you’d rather not, I completely understand! You’ve been through quite a lot, and personal space is a delicate matter. I’d never presume we’re close enough for such a thing! And if you’d rather hug someone else first, or not at all, I wouldn’t take offense! Not that I’d-”

“Red Son.” It was the only warning MK gave.

Red stopped his rambling after catching a mischievous glimmer in the monkey's eyes. MK stared at him for only a second more before suddenly lunging forward, wrapping his arms tight around the demon’s middle. Mei squeaked as she was dragged into it next, her broken arm carefully tucked away between them. 

“You’re right, everyone is totally talking too much.” MK sniffled as his eyes watered. “Everyone… Shut up and get in here!”

Red Son had no snarky retort. His hands remained in the air of uncertainty for a moment before settling gently on MK’s back. Mei was crying again before she even realized it, pressing her face against MK’s shoulder. Sandy joined next, his huge arms sweeping around all three of them. Tang and Pigsy came after, quieter but no less emotional. Even Nezha, who was more adverse to touch, couldn’t resist stepping closer, resting a hand on MK’s hair. Wukong and Macaque leaned in, one from each side, sneaking their tails around the youngest monkey.

They surrounded MK, pressing him in, but it didn’t hurt.

 He felt... Safe. 

It was the meaning of that one word that had been spoken to him countless times. Warmth radiated through the circle of arms, fur, and fabric. His breath stuttered with sobs. Tears soaked the fur on his face as he clung tighter, laughing and crying all at once.

He couldn’t move, but he didn’t want to. He’d missed this, and missed them. He cried, and no one tried to stop him. 

He didn't want this to stop. 

And it was warm.

Warm.

And he didn't care.

Right now, he craved it.

When it finally broke apart, no one said anything at first. They must've seen MK's tired expression and silently nodded to each other. 

They began to leave, one by one. Each wished him well, promised they’d see him tomorrow or later that day. Rest, and don't worry. 

Yes, it was all okay now.

Safe, safe, safe.

And soon, the room was quiet again.

All except for Wukong, who lingered near the doorway, peeking back one final time.

“Hey, uhh… Can you stay a bit?” MK perked up, holding up a hand. “There’s one last thing I need to ask.”

“Of course, bud.” Wukong also perked up, closing the door before stepping further in the room. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Wukong sat next to him, while climbing in the nest and touching their legs. MK fiddled with one of the many pillows, his claws idly tracing the thick seams before he finally spoke. The Great Sage looked expectantly at his successor.

MK right to the point while he still had the courage.

“Do you think he was right?”

Wukong felt like his heart got ripped out for a second time. The question hurt him more than any weapon could. MK was staring down at his hands, fur bristling in anxious tufts. His tail was wrapped tightly around his waist. He'd gone silent.

“Right about what?” Wukong inquired, though deep down, he already knew.

“About me.” MK winced. “The Harbinger of Chaos. Everywhere I go, something terrible happens. I mess things up, or something breaks, or someone gets hurt. I wasn’t even supposed to exist until the end of the cycle. I was thinking, maybe… Maybe he wasn’t wrong for wanting to stop me.”

“MK.”

“I mean, think about it! One person versus the safety of the universe. It’s obvious, isn’t it? If I disappear, will things get better? He was just doing what was necessary!”

Wukong’s face darkened. His teeth grinned together, sending out high-pitched vibrations from behind his peeled lips. 

“MK.” He said. “Don't ever say that again.”

MK blinked up at him, startled.

“I’ve met people who cause chaos for the fun of it. Hells below, I'm guilty of it. Li Jing isn’t one of them. He’s someone who’s so afraid of what he can’t control that he’d rather destroy it. You’re not the embodiment of chaos, MK. You never were.”

“Then what am I?”

“You're the Harbinger of Change. Chaos and order need each other. One builds, the other breaks, and both make room for something new. Change is scary, but it's not always bad.”

“But I hurt so many people!” MK stared at him as silent tears slipped down his cheeks. “I'm not dumb, I know I did more than destroy some old buildings in Heaven. I'm right, aren't I?” 

“...Yes, you are.” Wukong admitted with a sorrowful tone, brushing aside a stray strand of hair from MK's face. There's no point in hiding the truth if he's already figured it out. “And you’re gonna carry that with you for a while. But that doesn’t make you evil, or dangerous, or some curse on the world, alright? Li Jing doesn’t understand that, and he never will. But I do. And so does everyone else outside this room.”

MK leaned against him then, resting his chin on Wukong's shoulder and burying his muzzle in his fur. He was so warm, like he had been coddled within the confines of the very sun itself.

He wanted to stay like this forever.

Where the heat was still pleasant.

But there's something else he needed to check.

One last question.

“Hey…” MK breathed in, then out. “When this stuff happens to you… Like how you got your Golden Eyes of Truth after the whole furnace thing. I keep thinking maybe something like that happened to me, too?”

“The gang and I already talked about that a little a while ago. Nobody knows for sure yet.” He shrugged, patting MK's head. “It could be possible, though, considering you were there for twice as long as I was. Stuff like that doesn’t happen without leaving a mark.”

…A mark, huh?

Wukong had gained more than true sight power. He’d also changed in other ways. His unglamored red eyes were a result of the furnace’s heat.

A permanent mark, and a constant reminder.

“You really have red eyes.” MK pointed out respectfully. “I thought the stories were exaggerating, I didn't think you'd have glamor on. Why did you take it off?”

“Ah, you see,” Wukong coughed into his fist, thrown off, “It fell once I began to neglect refreshing the spell. It wasn't on my mind, and I never found a reason to hide it again. Hey, if those celestials are scared of my eyes, it's absolutely worth it for you!”

MK smiled as Wukong noogied his head. He hadn't realized that his hair had been tied up by his red bandana the entire time until now. He had a grin on and was enjoying the physical contact, though his mind was already elsewhere. 

Once they settled down, MK lifted his chin with newfound determination.

“I want to see mine again.”

“You… Want to see them?” Wukong rubbed his arm. “Your eyes?”

“Yeah.” MK nodded. “I’m not scared. Whatever I look like now… It’s still me. I want to see my face. I won't freak out at my reflection this time, I promise.”

Slowly, his mentor plucked a hair off his head and summoned a pristine mirror rimmed in gold.

“Are you sure?” He hesitated before handing it over.

“I’m sure.” MK took it gently from his hand.

MK took a deep breath and lifted it closer.

His eyes were once a dark brown, nearly black. Now, they seemingly glowed faintly like embers deep within a forge. He could see fury reflected back at him. Hatred had taken root, not for his friends, not for Heaven, but for the man who had done this. The false Emperor who thought he could take fate into his own hands and kill him. 

There's no more fear.

His reflection was no longer stuck in a panic, urging him to flee.

No.

Only blistering wildfires remained.

There would be justice. His family would make sure of it. He would make sure of it. Whatever had been taken from him, whatever scars remained, this sight would remind him to keep going, a permanent reminder of cruelty.

He stared into the mirror, but his breath was steady.

He could see himself, and he will never forget the vivid color glaring back.

Ruby Red.