Darkscythe Drake
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Worm/Sun Wukong crossover
🕑 Added 2024-08-09 22:54:19 +0000 UTCWill this be a oneshot or a full story? I dunno, but I saw the Black Myth Wukong trailer and the muse demanded I write. Will be posted on the sites sometime!
Come now, you surely must have heard of him.
Most know that he guarded the great monk, alongside his fellow disciples, to retrieve the sacred scrolls. For his actions, he was granted Buddhahood, and vanished into the mists of China. Others say that along the path, the imposter slew him and took his place, with none but the Buddha the wiser. Many say, that no such journey existed - a fable created for children and peasants by some lonely old monk.
Whatever the case, the story has long since ended. The monk ascended to the heavens, the disciples retreated to the earth, and the land itself forever changed by time.
Yet…
…could it be, that the tale didn’t end when the story should have?
All it took, as it had those millennia past…was a single stone.
-x-
Luo Peizhi brushed off the last traces of dust on the counter and wiped his forehead. A day’s worth of almost nonstop labor, now bore fruit. The store was clean, free of rubble, and ready for customers.
The man slumped and sighed, his elbows pressed on the counter. Who was he kidding? For the next few days, he would have to use the food stamps until the heat died down - literally. Last he looked outside, he could still see the fires. But that’s what one gets for working in Brockton Bay’s Asian district. No guarantees except for constant checks for ‘protection payment’. He still needed to check if he had enough left after the repairs.
‘At least they don’t demand too much. I could’ve ended up like Gao and his jewelry store. They’ll shake extra from him, even if his store got trashed.’
Luo looked around the shop and sighed, scratching his greying stubble. It wasn’t like there was anything here worth extorting; he hardly imagined Chinese kitsch and knick-knacks to be an attractive prospect for gang members, even for the more bizarre members of the ABB. Most people who came here did so on the Chinese New Year when he had banners, lanterns and other holiday memorabilia to sell. Most days he was lucky to sell more than a handful of lucky cat statues and some ‘authentic’ scrolls for teenagers to hang on their walls.
“It’s not like I can move anywhere else,” Luo mumbled. Since his father left him the store a few years back, it was his only source of income. The only other way he saw getting cash was by actively joining the gang, but he had enough principles to resist that urge.
‘That’s not even thinking about what a Chinese newbie would go through. Call themselves ABB and still think anyone non-Japanese is at the bottom of the pole, other than everyone else. I’d be lucky to survive the week before ending up at the bottom of the Bay.’
He lightly slapped himself to banish those dark thoughts. ‘No good thinking about it too much,’ he thought, heading to the storage room, ‘just get through it one day at a time.’
Luo opened the door, flicked the sole lightbulb on and groaned at the stack of boxes in front of him. He still hadn’t unpacked the new wares! Despite this, the thirty-ish man rubbed his hands together and began moving the boxes out of the room. He reached the last box - a wooden one, unlike the cardboard ones before it - and picked it up only to stumble at its weight.
“Shénme guǐ?” he muttered, groaning as he carried the box out of the room, careful to avoid toppling the shelves. With a mighty heave, he threw the box on the counter with a loud thump.
He took a moment to catch his breath as he stared at the innocuous-looking package. ‘I don’t remember ordering anything this heavy,’ he thought as he ran his hands over it and the red stickers slapped onto its surface, ‘or fragile. Did the shipping company give me the wrong order?’ He saw a sticker with his address printed on it, though it was addressed to his father. ‘Maybe it’s an order Dad placed that got lost in the mail and they remembered to send it.’
The excuse sounded flimsy in his head. His father, Ruzhong Peizhi, thankfully made sure to tie up every loose end possible before relinquishing Luo his store. How he had been able to juggle managing the store and taking care of his dying father for a year, Luo couldn’t remember, but his father died content, with his son at his bedside.
Momentarily lost in memories, Luo shook his head. Come to think of it, the company that supplied him his wares liked sneaking in odd things as a surprise. Why they did that, he had no clue, but it felt nice. Not to mention they were one of the few shipping companies that still sailed out of China after Leviathan’s debut. He was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to do that, but he never registered a complaint.
‘There’s no sender’s name. Where did this come from?’ he read the address on the label. ‘Lianyungang, Jiangsu?’
Luo examined the crate for a minute or two before deciding to bite the bullet. He grabbed a crowbar from the storage and pried the lid open. It took a couple of tries, but he soon peered inside and saw…
“...a rock?”
The shopkeeper blinked in confoundment at the object. A simple rock, shaped like a jagged oval, bigger than his head. No marks of any kind.
…he threw his hands up in the air and bit back a curse. Sure. A rock. Why not.
Why the hell would anyone send a rock!?
“Okay, I am not dealing with this shit today.” He grabbed the rock and lifted it from the counter. Strangely…the rock was warm. Were rocks supposed to be warm? Eh, it didn’t matter. He went outside and placed the stone right next to the front door. ‘At least it’ll look nice outside. A little of that zen garden vibe tourists like.’ If there were any.
He looked around and took a quick breath. Night had fallen and the streetlamps had come on. The haze of the distant fires, courtesy of the latest in ABB escapades, had started to dim. He could see some lights from the neighboring windows, but no one was out. “I think I’ll open up late,” he mumbled, turning around. “Don’t feel like I’ll be getting more customers tomorrow.”
He closed the door and made his way up the stairs to his modest apartment. As he heated a pot of tea, his brows furrowed at the thought of that stone. He hadn’t upset anyone, to his recollection. He’d kept his head down, went about being a dutiful shopkeeper, and paid the ‘tribute’ whenever asked - despite the bubbling resentment at the punks who strutted about his store, threatening to break what little he had. Why would someone send a stone of all things?
In the end, he shrugged and went to bed. Not that it mattered in the end. A stone was a stone.
-x-
The moon rose and enveloped the bleak city in silver. Gangsters started to prowl, civilians hid in their homes, and the darkest corners of Brockton slowly stirred.
A veil of light bathed the stone outside the trinket shop. Silence reigned in that lonely street as the rock sat, unmoving. After all, it was naught but a rock.
But as hours passed, and the first motes of sunlight pierced through the clouds and touched the stone’s smooth surface…
…there was a crack.
-x-
Just before lunch, there was an update from Console. Annoying, but that was in the job description.
Armsmaster dismounted his motorcycle and headed to the cluster of squad cars. Police had already cordoned the area off and he spotted some uniforms escorting gangsters away into vans. The police captain turned to him and didn’t bother hiding his frown.
“What’s the situation?” the hero asked.
The captain grumbled as he pointed to the broken remains of the grocery store. “Some ABB punks decided to shake down the folks here for cash. Someone called 911 and when we got here, they were all…” he waved his hand at a body lying on the floor. “Like that.”
Armsmaster frowned as his helmet gave him a diagnostic on the fallen gangster. They looked to be in their late teens to twenties, as were most of the younger members of the gang. Heavy bruising all over, broken bones, even a broken leg. Alive, but beaten within an inch of his life.
“The owners?”
“Still inside. Shaken up, but otherwise fine.”
He turned to the captain and stared into his eyes through the visor. “Anything else?”
The officer bristled at his words. He had no time to waste on petty rivalries, and they were the ones who called for PRT help. He just happened to be patrolling nearby so he was the first to arrive.
“They’re in their fifties and the husband hadn’t the time to pull out his shotgun.”
Ah, so that’s why. He had already suspected, but best to eliminate any doubt. The armored hero gave the officer a curt nod and entered the store. The place was trashed; produce was scattered all over the floor, fridges were smashed and shelves lay toppled. Looking up, he saw that some of the lights had been smashed in. Sitting next to the register were the owners, huddled together under a blanket as the husband rubbed the wife’s shoulders.
The hero cleared his throat and approached them. The couple looked up and tensed, making him settle his frown into a more neutral expression.
“I’m Armsmaster of the Brockton Bay Protectorate. I’ve been told the men outside tried to rob you. Could you give me an account of what happened?”
The wife sent a worried look to her husband, who went silent for a moment. Then, the husband spoke.
“We were goin’ about our day when those punks came in. Said we were on ABB turf, so we had to pay so no one would ‘hurt our pretty little white-ass store’.” He scoffed. “We’ve been here for years and no one bothered us. We made sure to keep away from the gangs. I told ‘em where they could shove their threats and one of them started smashing the store. I tried to get my shotgun from under that counter, but they drew their guns and threatened to kill us if we stopped them trashing our store.” His voice dripped with vitriol at the absurdity of the statement, all the while Armsmaster kept his silence.
“They almost finished breakin’ everything here when…” the husband’s face scrunched up, hesitating. “Something crashed through the window and sent one of them flying.”
“Did you see anything in particular?”
The husband shook his head. “It moved too fast, like a big black lightning bolt. The other gangsters tried to get a jump on it, but I just ducked down and held my wife so we wouldn’t get caught. When we got up, it was all over. The punks were down, and whatever that thing was, was long gone. The cops showed up soon after and…here we are.”
The hero scratched his chin and hummed. Didn’t sound like any of the Wards, and there were no reports of vigilantes or Independents around here. But whatever that took the ABBs out, it was a cape, no doubt about it.
Eventually, he nodded. “Thank you for your time. If we have further questions, we’ll contact you.”
He left the store and headed to the prisoner truck, where the last of the conscious gangsters was loaded up. The uniforms that saw his arrival stepped back, not wanting to get in his way.
“You. What attacked you?”
The gangster gave him a wary look before he slowly replied. “We was just gonna scare the guy…then the others get whacked around like ragdolls. I shot the guy but he kept jumping all over the place. Fuckin’ balled up my gun like paper.”
‘Brute rating, possible Mover,’ he thought. “Any mask? Costume?”
Armsmaster saw the youth biting his lip and his eyes twitching. ‘Confused. Unable to properly summarize what has happened,’ his helmet relayed to him.
“...”
“Speak up. Don’t hesitate. What did they look like?” He then changed to a softer tone. “Your cooperation will be noted during your sentencing.”
The gangster finally relented, exhaling sharply. “Fine,” he spat. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. And I swear up and down, I know what I saw. It was a…”
“...”
Armsmaster blinked. For a moment he thought his helmet’s audio sensors were fried.
Because there was no way he heard what he just heard.
“...what?”
-x-
“For your sake, leave out nothing when you speak to him.”
The junior thug nodded as he tried to ignore his shaking legs. To think that when he first joined, he wanted to be here, to be acknowledged and seen by the top of the ABB…
It had to be the crack he was on at the time, what was he thinking!?
The door opened and he was pushed into the room. Scrolls and paintings from all over Asia, all in perfect condition, lined the walls. The floor was built like an old Japanese home, covered with tatami mats, dirty and bloodstained. Combined with the red lights, the room felt more like a gateway to hell. Considering who was sitting seiza before him though, it was fitting.
The dragon himself, flanked by his loyal demon.
He knelt and bowed before the absolute ruler of the ABB. To do anything less was to invite an early end.
“Speak.”
He wet his lips. “With the new turf we took from the Merchants, some of the boys said to us all the shops were up for grabs. Kanada-san took us and-”
“I know how you got there,” growled the tattooed man. “I know all in my territory. If Kanada wasn’t in the PRT’s hands, I would have torched him myself. What I want you to tell me is who dared attack my turf!?”
His roar made the thug quake as he prayed to whoever was listening that Lung had a modicum of patience. “It-it happened so fast…one moment we were doing business as usual and showing those white trash their place, then suddenly -” he smacked his fist and palm together. “It thrashed the place with us. Started throwing everything in the store and even one of the others at us like fucking darts. Another junior shot it, but I think he missed or the bullet didn’t hit, and just balled up the gun and threw it away.”
“Hmm…and this wasn’t one of the Wards?”
He shook his head. “Don’t think so. Didn’t look like any of them, and there wasn’t a big TV announcement for a new one. But it was definitely a ‘he’. No bitch is that hairy. I got away while it used Kanada like a baseball bat, and then I heard the cops coming, so I came here.”
The room was devoid of any sound but the tapping of Lung’s fingers. Every tap seemed to still his heart, as though they were the ticking of a clock signaling his fate.
“...describe him to me. Every last detail. We must know who it was that attacked one of our own and pay retribution in full. Only then will this newcomer learn not to cross the dragon.”
The thug took a deep breath and began recalling every detail he could. He knew his life hung in the balance…but with every word, he felt his chances drop ever lower. Because even in a world of capes and supermen, the description he gave sounded utterly insane.
“And I swear by every whore in the ABB that this is the truth!”
-x-
The rice cooker chimed and Luo gently opened it, inhaling the scent and letting it fill his body with warmth. That machine had proven worthy of every cent for the last year, and the bowl of rice never failed to cheer him up. Business was slow, as he predicted, so he woke late. Not even the brand-new rock could attract people to his shop.
Luo rolled his eyes at the thought. Was he truly that desperate, to rely on a rock? No matter, right now, his food was the priority.
Piling on two spoonfuls of rice with the heated stir-fried beef with veggies - a skill he had to master in his apartment’s meager kitchen - on his plate, he allowed himself to relax. Putting the steaming wok to the side, he placed his meal on the table and pried open the wooden chopsticks.
‘Here’s to another day.’
The rice was nice and soft, the beef was cooked just right, and the peppers, onion and carrots were slathered in the rich sauce. A family secret, to the envy of his few friends.
“I say, this is quite the meal you made, kind merchant!”
Luo nodded at the compliment. “Thank you. I made sure the rice was fresh and I-”
He froze, the chopsticks still in his mouth.
When did someone come in?
He slowly turned his head to the sound of chewing, his very body protesting against the action that could lead to pain…or death. And in Brockton Bay, there was a contest on which was worse. The fact that this intruder spoke perfect Mandarin somehow made it worse.
At the sight of the intruder, however, the fear morphed into shock and total befuddlement.
It was seated cross-legged on the windowsill, garbed in a set of blue-and-brown baggy pants and a robe-like shirt, leaving its chest bare save for the belt around its waist. The clothes looked like something out of a period drama his family used to watch. But what really made him drop his food was the furry tail hanging out his pants and the bulbous mouth and chin, crowned with a mane of reddish-gray hair, scarfing down a bowl of his food.
A few seconds passed, with the stranger finishing the last pieces of food before reaching for the wok and eating everything there in one quick gulp, uncaring of the heat. He wiped his face with Luo’s sole towel and met his terrified eyes.
The stranger flashed a toothed grin at the stupefied man. “That was quite enjoyable! So many years of meditation, and I awake to this! Tell me, do you know anything about this fabulous city? I took a walk earlier and there was so much to see! Mortals have learned much from the heavens to create such machines! And the people were so kind, though some of them kept trying to hit me. How rude, no courtesy at all, not even a declaration!.”
As it rambled on, Luo Peizhi begged his ancestors, Scion, or whoever was listening that the neighbors did not hear the chattering from his window.
Because the last thing he wanted to do today was explain to the gangs and the police just what was a goddamned talking monkey doing in his room!?
