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Great Sage, Equal to Heaven and Above Brockton [Worm/Chinese Myth] Sotapanna 1.08
🕑 Added 2024-12-03 16:17:11 +0000 UTC“Dear Monkey King! He jumped to the bridgehead and employed the magic of water restriction. Making the magic sign with his fingers, he leaped into the waves, which parted for him, and he followed the waterway straight to the bottom of the Eastern Ocean. As he was walking, he suddenly ran into a yakṣa on patrol, who stopped him with the question, “What divine sage is this who comes pushing through the water? Speak plainly so that I can announce your arrival.” Wukong said, “I am the Heaven-born sage Sun Wukong of the Flower Fruit Mountain, a near neighbor of your old Dragon King. How is it that you don’t recognize me?” When the yakṣa heard this, he hurried back to the Water Crystal Palace to report. “Great King,” he said, “there is outside a Heaven-born sage of the Flower-Fruit Mountain named Sun Wukong. He claims that he is a near neighbor of yours, and he is about to arrive at the palace.” Ao Guang, the Dragon King of the Eastern Ocean, arose immediately; accompanied by dragon sons and grandsons, shrimp soldiers and crab generals, he came out for the reception. “High Immortal,” he said, “please come in!” They went into the palace for proper introduction, and after offering Wukong the honored seat and tea, the king asked, “When did the high immortal become accomplished in the Way, and what kind of divine magic did he receive?” Wukong said, “Since the time of my birth, I have left the family to practice self-cultivation. I have now acquired a birthless and deathless body. Recently I have been teaching my children how to protect our mountain cave, but unfortunately I am without an appropriate weapon. I have heard that my noble neighbor, who has long enjoyed living in this green-jade palace and its shell portals, must have many divine weapons to spare. I came specifically to ask for one of them.”
-Journey to the West, chapter 3
-x-
The staff shot forward and struck the fake lóng’s head.
His head reeled and Wukong spun around until his extended staff slammed right into the lóng’s chest. With the blow, he took flight down the street. In the blink of his eye, Wukong was under him and his leg struck his skull.
The lóng’s mask stood strong against his Cloud-Treading Greaves, but Wukong got his satisfaction as his foe broke through a lamppost. Regrettably, the lóng quickly regained his bearings, even as the lamppost fell on his head and the glass bulb shattered. The shards of glass raining on his head only served to stoke his fire, literally, which he proved by throwing twin fireballs in Wukong’s direction. The Monkey King simply somersaulted above them and landed on the tips of his toes.
He opened his mouth for a taunt but quickly vaulted back when the lóng charged him with burning fists. He was bobbing and weaving through the flurry of searing punches when the fake lóng let loose with a rising kick. Wukong leaned to the side as the flaming limb flew past his face, his nose wrinkling.
Did this man not wash himself?
Before his opponent could return to a neutral stance, Wukong shrunk the staff to fit in his palm and body-slammed the lóng in the abdomen. He’d barely gotten more than a wheeze out when he punched him three more times.
A sharp crack rang through the air with the last blow, asphalt screeching beneath the lóng’s heels as he struggled to remain upright
The Monkey King’s head tilted in curiosity, watching silver scales peel through the flesh of his foe. It didn’t escape his notice that they formed when he had first struck him, and they seemed to be slowly replacing the skin. It was as though a brush had painted them on with a single stroke, and they had come to life through the fleshy canvas.
‘A useful technique, to adapt to an opponent's attacks through direct contact. Bladed weapons would be useless unless one could cleave through the body with a single stroke. Hm, I bet I could do that, given the right blade.’
He unshrunk his staff, twirling it as he beckoned the fake lóng with a charming smile and a wagging finger.
‘But if the mountain stands strong, why not crack it open?’
A guttural sound rumbled from the lóng’s throat, his eyes flashing dangerously.
The sun descended, and crimson flames roared.
The incoming flame would’ve incinerated rock and steel alike, much less any unfortunate mortal. But even as he felt the heat pierce past his fur, the Monkey King only smirked. He spun his staff with the force of a storm, and a loud whistling pierced the roaring inferno. The fire parted like water before a rock, passing by his sides without even a lick of flame touching his fur. On and on it raged, yet Wukong held firm. Finally, the flame ebbed and the air shimmered before the false lóng, unable to hide his surprise. Ignoring his feeble protests, Wukong looked around and saw the attack’s vestiges had charred the road beneath him and the pavement beside him.
‘These are potent flames. I recall very few lóng who showed such command over the element diametrically opposed to their nature. Fire is a tricky element to learn for sorcerers and spirits. One mistake and the consequences to both you and your surroundings are dire. I’ll give credit, fate has blessed this one with natural control. Of course, that brat’s mastery eclipsed anything a mortal could reach, especially this màopáihuò.’ He wrinkled his nose as the scent of char and ash permeated the breeze. ‘Fire always leaves such a mess. If I’m not careful, this Old Sun’s robes will be a nightmare to clean!’
He glanced at the lóng, whose eyes were glowing with both fire and utter rage.
‘After the one-thousand, three-hundred and fourteenth-time, the novelty starts to wear thin.’
He raised his free hand and fanned himself, gasping loudly while leaning on his staff. “My word, you didn’t have to be so rough! The winter air is chilly, ‘tis true, but you nearly singed my delicate fur! I understand maintaining a huŏkàng is meticulous work, but show some concern for your customers!”
The lóng roared savagely and charged him with arms aflame. ‘Ah, now that never gets old.’
They clashed again, the sound of ringing steel reverberating throughout the street. His foe was relentless, pushing forward like an avalanche. Even when Wukong struck him, whether it was his staff or his limbs, the lóng refused to falter and his scales grew. Flames had coated his limbs perpetually and the street was awash in red, as though a volcano had begun erupting beneath their feet. The lóng’s fires struck like scorpions, striking in a flash to smear their burning sting upon his skin. An impressive tactic that would have felled any normal warrior.
Alas for the lóng, Sun Wukong was never a normal warrior.
‘He’s no master of the fist, but a disciple of the wild. Raw, unbridled aggression with some hint of form. Combined with his iron scales and flames, it is little surprise how he maintained his rule.’ He caught a punch midair and pushed it to the side, letting the stream miss him by several hairs’ breadth. He wrinkled his nose again at the scent of smoke but pressed on. Digging into the limb with his claws, he unsurprisingly met resistance. ‘These scales grow harder as we fight, and that last blow would have punched through a mortal clean.’
As Wukong kept parrying the lóng’s blows, he didn’t miss the red light shining from between the scales’ cracks.
‘Ooh, is he trying a new trick?’
Before he could politely ask the lóng, a man came rushing out of his home in abject terror. Wukong quickly darted to where he had come from and saw a shop awning falling apart and devoured by a small wildfire. A ponderous look came over Wukong as he distracted the lóng, kneeing him under his chin where flesh was still spotted.
‘Ah, I suppose it would be inconsiderate for these folks’ livelihoods if their homes were destroyed because of this Old Sun’s carelessness. I doubt the màopáihuò cares…so let’s change that, shall we?’
He ducked under a haymaker and immediately shot upwards, grabbing the lóng’s neck. As his opponent let out a surprised gurgle due to the sheer force behind the grip, Wukong planted his staff on the ground, and with a mental nudge, it extended and shot upwards, carrying them high above the rooftops. Taking a moment to survey the landscape, Wukong looked around and spotted strange white bursts in the distance, next to flashes of light ranging across several colors of the autumn sky. The wind carried faint shouting to his ears, a dim cacophony of voices that were interlaced with commands and swears.
Before he could ponder this commotion, however, he cocked his head to let a fireball shoot past him. He quickly turned to the lóng and gave him the stare he gave to children who disturbed his after-meal nap.
“Now now,” he chided. “I was hoping a change of scenery would improve your attitude. Let’s see if that holds, shall we?”
The lóng violently shook in his grasp and started to curse, but in a split second, Wukong threw him in the air and shrunk his staff. He grabbed it like a club before jumping midair and swinging the staff at his opponent. He saw the lóng twist to face him and brace for the impact…then the staff expanded to the size and width of a tree trunk.
The smile on Wukong’s face exploded into a full grin as the weapon collided with the scaly body of the lóng and sent him flying east. The monkey quickly shrunk his staff and transformed into a swallow, taking flight and following the flaming trail in the sky.
‘Hm, was it too much?’ he thought, then shook his head. ‘No, he seems like a tough one. It’s not as though I threw him through a mountain.’
He kept flying until he came to a shoreline filled with boats, but not the carved wooden barges and k’un-lun po he had seen traversing China's great rivers and oceans. No, like almost everything in this city, they were forged of metal. Decaying giants of steel floated along the coast, looking like a miserable mockery of the city’s glass spires. The waters were murky and muddy from their corroded blood, and the salty scent of the sea carried rust under its gentle flow. The coast bordering it was just as derelict, with metal houses, metal boxes and scrap-filled lots scattered around. The winter clouds, obscuring the sun, cast the area in a greyish veil, seemingly robbing it of all but a scant sample of colors. It painted a tragic tale, a wordless lament of what no doubt had been a point of pride to this city.
Which was why it was the perfect choice for Wukong. He had flown by this desolate shipyard several times over the past few days and had marveled at the bizarre scene, which was how he also knew that no mortal came here. A crude but suitable arena, at least for this purpose.
‘Had the Tang Emperor discovered that ships could be forged like this, no army on the seas could challenge him, save the Dragon Kings below the waves,’ Wukong pondered as he gazed at the sight. ‘Not just the ships, but even one of the cars I’ve seen speeding down the roads would be crowned an imperial chariot. Though I admit, I would like to try riding that red one. So much speed in a machine!’ The trails of smoke and dust drew his attention and he flew toward a lot filled with empty crates and scrap. Naturally, they were metal. ‘What is this obsession with metal these mortals have? It’s as though they seek to isolate themselves from nature instead of harmonizing with it.’
He transformed back and landed in the lot in front of the smoking pit. From within the burning haze, he saw shiftings of shadows and mass.
“Alas, I must forgo indulgence for a while…” he mumbled. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and opened them again - and the world was awash in gold.
And just like with Glory Girl, a colossal apparition hovered before him. The fractured glass shards that enveloped its form flickered in and out of existence, appearing both massive and tiny in and shimmering all colors of the rainbow. The stars shone through the daylit sky and the space around it cracked. At its center, the spirit’s form kept shifting with the viscosity of molten metal, yet it flowed with the smoothness of a river. No shape seemed to take permanent hold, but here and there he spotted serpentine features, cycling between limbs and appendages both bestial and demonic.
‘This one is much more active compared to the other ones. Glory Girl’s was a twisted bodhisattva, but this is more akin to a statue whose artist has yet to decide on a consistent form, with some features of a lóng. Is it controlling the mortal, or are the mortal’s delusions influencing its shape?’
As the lóng’s form became clearer through the crater, Wukong focused on the tendrils feeding into his skull. They pulsated with rapid light, traveling back and forth between the mortal and the apparition at speeds he hadn’t seen before. ‘If what I observed these past days is true, strong emotion fuels this connection, and what better example than rage?’
Out of the smoke stepped his foe, utterly clad in gleaming scales from head to toe. They had grown into spikes, bristling with heat, and had torn through whatever scraps of cloth he wore, leaving them hanging by threads. Red light and haze were shining through each crevice, and his mask had seemingly fused with his face - or had his face morphed into the mask’s likeness? He stepped forward and the earth cracked beneath his clawed feet, his looming stature towering above Wukong.
‘So, the change extends beyond merely his skin. A rather slow transformation, all things considered. Intentional or a result of inexperience?’
He tilted his head at the false lóng, who regarded him with a hatred as strong as the flames enveloping him.
“Feeling better now?” Wukong called out, his raspy voice the picture of innocence. “Those shrimp soldiers and crab generals of yours won’t see this Old Sun knock those shiny scales out of your body. A brute you may be, but every opponent deserves a smidgen of dignity before their humiliation.”
The sound emanating from the màopáihuò would have made armies tremble. Past the line of human rage, Wukong had heard yaoguai with equally fierce bellows.
“I will take my time with your corpse, monkey,” he spat. “No one beats me. I am Lung. I rule here. And you will beg for death.”
Crescent waves burst forth, fire so potent it rent the earth asunder. But even they couldn’t break the Ruyi Jingu Bang. Bursting forth, the lóng spun and swiped, and thus began their dance once more. The monkey was a fluttering leaf, and the lóng a raging river. Punches, kicks and blows were once more dodged and blocked. Every fence and obstacle Wukong leaped over, his opponent ran through or blasted. The monkey jumped atop one of the giant metal boxes and waved.
“Is all that haze clouding your eyes? Show me something original!”
The false lóng roared and grabbed hunks of metal from the ground. Engulfing them in flame, he threw them with cracks of thunder. Idly watching them punch through the box, Wukong somersaulted high as the silver mass of scales collided below him. He cocked back the fist, and just as the lóng looked up, he shot down and felt steel give, and twin crashes rang out through the air.
Hopping away from the crate, the Monkey King idly checked his fingers. ‘Hmm, those scales are indeed tough. I think one of my nails might be chipped, and after I found this lovely paper to clean them with. Reminds me of cheap-grade celestial steel. Do they replace his skin or merely coat it?’
He looked up as the side of the crate tore open and the flaming visage of the lóng stepped through. Sporting a taller physique and a small tail, he looked around until his eyes landed on Wukong, whereupon his flames climbed and melted the steel.
“You think I’m a joke!?”
Searing bolts flew and burning metal was swatted.
“You think I’m weak!?”
A smaller box, bigger than a car, was hurled. With a quick swallow transformation, Wukong flew around and turned back, watching it explode and rupture the nearby huts.
“I fought Leviathan! I built my turf here and killed everyone who stopped me! I sent heroes back in boxes!”
More waves came, riding a carpet of crimson. The staff rose high and Wukong braced, right as the lóng met him head-on. Twin battering rams struck the monkey and sent him rolling. With a grunt of mild annoyance, his staff spun as a red-hot stream flooded him once more. Black smoke soon filled his vision, and a light cough escaped his lips. The lóng rampaged with the ferocity of a bull, the burning hunks of rock in his hands seeking their furry target, not satisfied with cratering the ground and reducing walls to liquid.
“THESE ARE MY SUBJECTS! MY WOMEN! MY MONEY! AND I WON’T LET SOME FUCKING MONKEY PISS ON EVERYTHING I’VE -ack!”
A tail around his burning neck cut him short, and he felt a breeze under his skin as he was spun and struck, sending him through hut after hut…right into the very crater he first formed.
“A paper lantern that floats high is nothing but hot air,” Wukong remarked, strolling into the lot as the false lóng slowly rose, his scales rippling across his skin and his fire dancing above it. “You spout names and deeds as if they were golden ink upon the scroll of your life, but the scroll is charred and worn, meant to crumble at the slightest gust of wind. Has that fire burnt up everything of value inside, leaving only hate and steel? As for what you believe are my opinions…”
He smiled and tilted his head, baring his fangs impishly. “Why would this Old Sun make such lies to what is clearly an obvious truth?”
A torturous creaking emanated from the lóng’s fists. More flames gathered around his arms from seemingly nothing, heating the air until the glow seemed to warp his visage. The apparition’s tendril flashed with even greater frequency as the glass shards enveloping it seemingly vibrated in place.
He raised his arms up and with a volcanic howl, slammed them on the ground. A wave of pure crimson exploded around him and violently rushed toward Wukong. The inferno spared nothing consuming both metal and stone in its newfound hunger.
As for Wukong? He merely took a step back, and let his spirit go.
What was once flesh, cloth and fur was now an ethereal mist. Even the Ruyi Jingu Bang he held had turned wispy and cloudlike. The raging flames passed by him harmlessly, not even tickling him.
The wave fizzled out, and Wukong stepped back. The lot was completely scorched, and the bits and pieces of metal scattered around were reduced to molten slag or even ash. The superheated air had cloaked everything outside the lot in a wavy mirage. The lóng snorted fire from his mouth and roared again, charging to Wukong’s spot and rapidly punching the wispy monkey.
‘How fortunate that’s not really me,’ Wukong smirked as he observed his opponent attacking his facsimile. The copy had leaned on its staff and kept smirking at the lóng as he rained blow after flaming blow, only for each one to pass through without a hint of harm. Wukong himself was no longer in the same spot and circled the lóng, unseen and unheard. ‘He can rage as he pleases, but it will prove futile. A cloud is like the arrogant scholar: he thinks himself full of substance when he is full of nothing but air.’
As the false lóng, blinded by fury, kept attacking, Wukong paced around him and looked at the apparition hovering above him. Its form had begun taking a more consistent shape, with giant claws and a tail that blended with the shattered sky above. One instant it seemed to coil above the mortal, and another instant its head - or what passed for it - loomed over the very city, crowned with a halo of cosmic flame and the rest of its body swallowed by the heavens. The glass shards imitated rattling scales, further distorting it. The tendrils now resembled rushing waterfalls of kaleidoscopic light, flowing in and out of the mortal’s skull.
Wukong clicked his tongue as the apparition kept morphing and shattering, unable or unwilling to stay in permanent form. Both fascination and confusion warred within him, and he took a silent yet calming breath before observing the source of much of his ruminations since he arrived in Brockton Bay.
‘Those tendrils are intriguing, it almost looks like it’s…drinking from the màopáihuò. Hmm, so combat fuels these apparitions as much as strong emotion does, or perhaps the emotions created from combat? The ones I observed almost confirm the former, but this is the first mature one I’ve seen up close since Glory Girl. Hmm, perhaps I should have spied on those so-called heroes more closely. If only the food here wasn’t so tempting!’ he drooled at the memory of the queer food and drinks he had sampled. The cup of red ice, which the vendor had called a slushie (what a funny name!) was sweet unlike anything he had tasted, and he had downed the whole cup when the cold had seeped into his brain. He would discover that the people of Meiguo put sugar into nearly everything, and he meant everything. Sugar was common even back in the Tang Empire but was far more widespread here.
‘I admit, I don’t dislike it, but earthly flavors are more to my taste. Though I wouldn’t ever turn down a sweet if offered!’
He shook his head and refocused on the ever-morphing phantasm. The lóng under it had taken to pounding the ground beneath his misty copy, leaving red-hot craters where he hit. ‘I’ve no doubt that the apparition is feeding the mortal his powers, or at least empowering him further, though I am skeptical about the latter. The city’s tainted qi almost eliminates the notion of sorcery. But for what purpose? And how do they form this connection with mortals? By now I’m almost certain the mortals know nothing about them.’ He stepped closer to the lóng, letting more fire pass through him with no effect. ‘It bears resemblance to possession, except the mortals’ wills remain their own. A form of blessing? Gods and spirits have blessed unknowing mortals before. There’s also the wisps to take into account. From what I’ve observed, they reacted whenever their linked mortal showed stress, be it borne of anger or sadness. They could be a lesser tier or a less mature form. But if the wisps are caterpillars and the apparitions are butterflies, then what are the cocoons?’
Wukong looked upwards, gazing at the crystalline fragments surrounding the apparition. His eyes narrowed as his mind cycled through the myriad of questions he’d conjured. There were many unknowns to deal with, and he wasn’t quite sure how to approach the whole matter.
‘Maybe I should leave this matter alone, I’m the last monkey to be judging on appearances…but these apparitions do not fit into any conceivable order in creation, above or below, and demons have very twisted ideas when it comes to creation.’ His gaze drifted to his trusty staff and he clenched it tightly. A stray idea had started to worm into his head, and he looked back and forth between the apparition and his staff with growing intrigue.
‘I wonder…none of these apparitions saw me as I saw them, but I was on the mortal plane. In this state, however, I walk the lines of the heavenly and material realms. So, can they…?’
He took a few more steps and kept staring at the fragments flickering in and out of existence. A large one floated directly above him, fluctuating in size from large to massive.
‘Master would scold me for this recklessness, but I must solve one line of this grand riddle if I ever hope to solve the rest.’
He raised his hand, reached out, and the tips of his claws scratched the -
Cosmos wheeling by.
Worlds of grey decaying.
Mandalas of creation forming and unraveling, in the center a locus of black.
Fire and cold colliding and vanishing, fading out of existence.
Chaotic forms, unbound by order soaring through the void.
Stars raining upon earth, seas of swords and blood.
A wheel spun by endless arms a thousandfold.
The stars warping and radiating, strings and drums playing a concert of pandemonium.
The drums stop. The stars thrum. Their coronas flare and their cores dim. They wheel and turn, opening like countless eyes, witnessing a new light ETERNAL -
A crash rang, and the world was no longer gold or wispy. Wukong found himself standing with his staff extended and back in corporeal form. The false lóng was several paces away, stumbling and shaking his head. Had he performed a Cloud Strike?
He blinked and stared intently above the lóng, where the apparition still lurked, hidden from him and the world without his Golden Eyes. Now, only the spires graced the horizon.
‘By the Four Realms and Six Paths…what did I just witness?’
The sound of stamping feet caught Wukong’s attention and he raised his staff to block a metallic slam that rang throughout the scorched lot. Fire washed over him and he looked up to meet the blazing eyes of the lóng. Three heads taller he stood, his bulk increased and burning spines decorating his arms and back. He breathed heavily on the monkey’s face with puffs of smoke flying into his eyes, conveying the hatred of a thousand years into one stare. The snout stretching from his face seemed, for a scant moment, to truly resemble the faces of those fierce spirits from ages past, who ruled the sea and skies along the gods.
The image was shattered like glass. He lurched over and was forced away, clutching his stomach. Wukong retracted his staff and put out the flames on his robes with a wave of his hand. His mind was racing with the fury of the Samadhi Wind as the images hovered in his mind, but he had a more immediate matter to deal with before the situation could unravel.
Meditation and contemplation could come later.
“Well, this has been fun, but surely you can do more than stain my robes? The ash adds a veil of character I admit, but it’s rather smelly.”
The lóng’s response was silence. Then, a comet at lightning speeds, with such force the ground beneath him burst.
In other words, the pace of a snail.
Wukong swept his staff upward and knocked him high. With the motion of a stirring chopstick, he rapidly jabbed the lóng’s abdomen over and over. He tried to recover, but the Monkey King hopped back and his staff shot out and rammed the lóng on the chin. As he stumbled back, Wukong dashed forward and spun the staff around, striking him all over before twirling and smashing him again. The màopáihuò forced himself to stand and struck forward with twin punches, with Wukong dodging both blows with such grace a shadow seemed to stay behind him. The lóng opened his mouth to roar, so he shot his tail out and wrapped it around his face before bringing it closer and smacking him on top of the skull. The Monkey King threw his staff up, stepped closer and unleashed a flurry of rapid punches on metal skin, each fist encased in stone and struck with the force of a thousand. Dazed, the lóng shook his head to recover, but Wukong spun his arm and uppercutted him so hard he almost fell over.
Casually twirling his staff, Wukong watched as the lóng struggled to get up, swelling with flames that burst through every crevice of his body.
“I have heard of your ‘exploits’ from the people, màopáihuò. How you rule this district with an iron fist and a hook of fear. When you first revealed yourself, I laughed, expecting more than an empty name. For a moment, I even held out hope. But this?” he shook his head and sighed loudly, coloring his voice with pure disappointment. “The thunder may rumble loud, but the rain proves to be a drizzle. I would consider you pathetic, but that would have to make me…consider you.” He looked him up and down with exaggeration. “Which is proving more of a hassle than this whole bout. Let me spare you the embarrassment and knock you out, so you may retain what little pride you have.”
The màopáihuò responded by crossing his arms and releasing twin crescents. With two swipes of the Ruyi Jingu Bang Wukong cleaved through them, his expression placid before morphing into a fully-fanged grin.
As he stared into the lóng’s burning eyes, he spotted that oh-so-delicious glimpse all his enemies had.
The dawning realization that the anthill they saw on the horizon, had become Mount Tai. And they were mere earthworms to his feet.
“All right then.”
Blow after blow came, and his foe barely held up. The staff spun like a whirlwind, striking every part of the metallic skin. Wukong advanced without pause, wielding the staff with all the centuries’ worth of skill he had. Every moment the staff did not strike, stone limbs did, shattering steel and moving through flame. The blows grew stronger and stronger until scales had flown off the body and dents had started to form. Yet even still, the màopáihuò’s fire didn’t quench. He was stunned and woozy from the blows, but the light kept pulsating and his form seemed to grow.
Then, Wukong reached out and grabbed the man by the throat. “Still, this was somewhat enlightening, and because this Old Sun is merciful, I will give you one more chance. I do hope you are no faker…”
With a mighty heave, he threw the man up and jumped high, expanding his staff and then striking the man past the lot and the coast. He leapt midair and appeared right above him, just in time to see the utter confusion in his opponent’s eyes. A confusion that turned to shock as Wukong raised his staff over his head and the grin threatened to split his face open.
“Because every lóng knows how to swim!”
With a single stroke, he brought the staff down.
Leaping again to the edge of a nearby boat, Sun Wukong watched as the burning form of the false lóng plummeted through the air and into the murky water with a loud splash. A great steam plume rose from the splash zone as an orange hue lit up the water. The spectacle remained for a few seconds before slowly dimming and blending with the iron blood in the liquid beneath him.
Minutes passed, and the steam had faded. The faint bubbling that blossomed upon the surface had ceased. The glow of the lóng’s flames had vanished, subsumed by the murkiness of the sea.
‘A false one he may be, but he is tough for a mortal. At least his ego shall feast upon a nice meal of humility, fish and rice!’
Wukong nodded with satisfaction and reclined, only to quickly right himself back up. He looked over his shoulder and frowned at the steep incline of the boat, leading straight into the sea.
“Hmm, not a suitable spot for resting.” He looked around and spotted a hill to the west, overlooking the coast. He jumped off the boar and leapt through the air, landing on the lush grass. Once he landed, he turned to face the decaying docks and sat down.
After he settled into the lotus position and placed his staff on his lap, Wukong sighed and dragged a palm over his face. Exhaustion filled his mind, and it was not from the false lóng’s blows.
‘Of all the possibilities that could have sprung from this bout, whatever it was I saw was far from anything I might have divined.’ He gazed at the coastline and the city and drummed his claws on his staff. He tried to remember the vision, but the details were hazy. ‘The images…they were beyond mere sight and sound. Even now, as I try to recall them, the details grow muted, with only the sensations remaining. What was that? A vision?’ He frowned. ‘If so, is it one of the past or the future? Hmm, it all went by so fast…gah, none of it makes sense! There is no pattern, no understanding! The symbols, swords, stars - what do they mean!? And the last one…’
He stroked his chin. The last image remained the most distinct, and he had a niggling suspicion as to what it meant. ‘Did it see me? Did they all see me?’
That was an uncomfortable thought. Regardless of what that vision meant, it confirmed something for the Monkey King: the apparitions were not a natural part of the world. They were something new, something…other.
‘Heh. Look at me, who had witnessed the true forms and splendors of heaven and hell, who stood before the Buddha himself on his palm, chewing my nails like some simpering maid!’ He scanned the skyline again and returned his hand to his lap. ‘Every riddle here leads to another. If this Old Sun truly has drawn the apparitions’ attention, I need to be careful. I do not know what their nature is, and I have no idea how they - or the mortals they have bound themselves to - will react.’
He looked up at the sky, where streaks of sunlight pierced the grey clouds. ‘What are they? What is their objective? And most importantly…how did they come here without drawing the ire of the Celestial Court? Questions I find myself asking again and again.’
He surveyed the city again, spotting flashing red-and-blue lights scattered around. He had learned they were the local police, this land’s version of a city guard. Did his fight draw them in, or had the minions decided to act in their leader’s absence?
Either way, he had no desire to deal with them now. More important matters required attention.
Taking flight on swallow’s wings, Wukong soared away from the ruined dock. As he flew above the district, he noticed the streets bare again, no thanks to those ne’er-do-wells under the màopáihuò’s banner. Yet even a snub-nosed rodent could have smelled the fear permeating the air. More than once he saw a glimpse of a mortal peering from windows and cracks, only to quickly retreat into the confines of their homes, away from the chance of death and despair.
‘If you hide from the problem, you hope the problem disappears into the ether. Heh, good to know another thing that hasn’t changed. At least I ensured the màopáihuò would not throw his tantrums near their homes.’ Wukong flew past the willow tree, its leaves waving in the afternoon breeze. The park remained tranquil and unchanged, an island of stability in the district’s sudden tide of chaos. ‘I wonder how young Thao and his sister are doing? Their mother hasn’t returned with them since last time. Hm, I do not know where they live…’ he mentally shrugged. ‘I’ll have to remedy that in due time.’
Finally, he arrived at the familiar store of his new friend and host. His circle, while appearing faded to mortal eyes, remained as strong as ever. As it should, for it was made by the prized student of Subodhi - as long as certain people didn’t disregard his instructions. However, judging by the relative intactness of the street, the circle had yet to be tested. Transforming back into his handsome self, Wukong entered the shop and was greeted by the ringing of a small bell and the startled yelp of the shopkeeper
“Peizhi-xiansheng!” he exclaimed in his native tongue. “A fine day to you!”
“A-ah, Wukong, good to see you too.” The shopkeeper looked him up and down as he walked and leaned on the counter. “What happened to your robes?”
Wukong looked down and frowned. “Bah, an unfortunate consequence of putting an errant màopáihuò in his place. A shame, these robes are very comfortable.”
“Màopáihuò…?” Peizhi muttered confusingly before giving him a worried yet wary glance. “Wait, was that why when I called my friends, they said something about a gang riot?”
“A gang - oh, you mean the shrimps and crabs!” Wukong chuckled and shook his head. “As relaxing as the thought is, this one was marginally stronger. In all the excitement, I forgot to address them.” He turned to Peizhi with a curious stare. “Are your friends well?”
“Um…yeah, mostly.” He took out his phone and rapidly pressed it. “They’re shaken up, but that always happens when the gangs go wild in Brockton.” He tapped more and frowned. Wukong took notice and leaned back, staring at the glowing screen. On it was a picture - a painting created with a push of a button. Wukong was delighted when he had first heard of it, especially when every one of those phones seemed to possess one. Such a novel and ingenious concept! A pity for painters, though Peizhi had told him the craft remained.
“Those cars belong to your city guard, correct?” he asked, pointing at the phone.
Peizhi nodded. “Yes, they’re cop cars. They’re surrounding a building that Oni Lee blew up. Eight people died, two of them old-timers.” His frown turned sorrowful and he sighed. “The heroes tried to stop him but he disappeared.”
“Oni Lee…” Wukong rolled the name in his mouth, and his nose wrinkled. “I have heard that name mentioned once or twice. I assume he is a prominent member of this gang?”
“He’s Lung’s second-in-command, and just as vicious.” The screen changed as he tapped and he showed the Monkey King another image, this time of a man wearing the mask of a demon, with red skin and sharp white teeth.
Wukong peered closer, his red eyes staring at the grainy image and he hummed. “A false yaksha…but no matter. If the màopáihuò was no challenge, then he shouldn’t prove difficult.”
Peizhi’s head shot up quickly, the worry on his face multiplying tenfold. “Are-are you going after him?” he asked.
The monkey laughed and gently waved. “No need to concern yourself, my host. I might enjoy a good fight, but I do not seek trouble at every single instance.” His smile thinned and he stared up at the ceiling, flashes of the earlier fight flickering in his mind’s eye. “I…have other matters to contemplate.”
“Like what?”
Wukong stroked his hairy chin for a few moments before answering. “My recent fight has given me insight into some…intriguing revelations. If I wish to clear my befuddled thoughts, I must decipher their meanings.” He turned his gaze to Peizhi, whose confusion was inscribed in ink upon his face. Speaking of…
“Do you perchance have a scroll or a scrap of paper I can write on?”
The shopkeeper, while startled at first, looked under his counter and pulled a small square block topped with a hard blue paper. Taking it in his hands, Wukong lifted the blue paper to reveal layers and layers of white paper, each one marked with blue lines. “What fine paper! So thin and white! Was this also made in your factories?”
“Um…yes, I think so. It’s just a notepad, I keep a pack around.”
“Notepad…well, this certainly beats a rolled-up scroll!” Wukong exclaimed and flipped through the pages. Giggling at the action he flashed Peizhi an even brighter smile. “Many thanks to you, my friend!”
The man blushed and averted his eyes. “N-no problem, it’s just a notepad.” He reached for a thin blue object lying next to the machine that held the shop’s money - a register if Wukong recalled correctly. “I’ve also got a pen so-”
“What’s a pen?”
Peizhi startled for a moment, seemingly lost. “It’s a…writing tool.” He pulled out a small blue cylinder and pressed its cap, whereupon a point came out of the other end. A slight whiff told Wukong there was ink inside.
“The tool already holds the ink? Useful, saves the need for a stone. But no need,” Wukong cut him off. With a flick of his wrist and a flash of light, his staff fit neatly into his palm and had sported a thin brush tip, soaked in ink.
Peizhi flinched at the little feat of magic but soon slowly nodded. “Uh…sure.”
Wukong gave him a quick bow and returned to the notepad. Taking the brush in hand, he began to quickly scribble inside it, his thoughts slowly trickling from his mind and onto the paper.
‘Whatever the vision I saw meant, I must get to the bottom of it, and these apparitions are key. I do not know their intentions, but what I saw did not bode well. Like the sculptor forming his creation from rock, I shall chip away at the secrets and mysteries until the truth is cast before me and the heavens. Know mine enemy as I know myself, and only then shall I win a thousand more battles. Heh, so much excitement!’
And so Sun Wukong kept writing and pondering thoughts of spirits, food and battles. Wherever this road would lead, he knew not. One thing was as sure as the rising sun though, he had a feeling it would prove an equal of one of his journeys.
‘Heh, Peizhi-xiansheng has that look Master Tang had! The wide eyes, the paling of the face and-’
The chicken choked on his feed as his device fell upon wood.
“YOU FOUGHT LUNG!?”
‘Oh, what fond memories!’
Comments
Cosmic Garou
Monkey see = Monkey do
Anonykor
*Slam glass on ground* Another!
GoT779
Feel weird that wukong was shocked by the worms, but I figured he was like woah something new but he stronger then the entities right
Kevin Valentin
Dude showed that the dragon was merely a carp and now he meets a glasses wearing golden cicada
Lindsey Brown
Ohh Monke gonna meet a Taylor!??!
