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Chapter Text

The night had settled deep over Flower Fruit Mountain, the sky painted in endless velvet darkness, stars spread across it like shards of silver glass. The mountain air was crisp and cool, carrying the faint rustle of leaves and the distant call of nocturnal birds. Inside the main hall of the mountain’s home, the night was softer, quieter—filled with the deep, steady rhythm of exhausted breathing.

Everyone had gathered after everything happening. The battle, the mending of the Pillar of Heaven, the weight of what they’d all endured—it had left even the strongest of them drained.

The living room was transformed into a patchwork of makeshift beds.

On the long couch, Mei lay sprawled out, her hair a tangled mess against a pillow she had stolen from who-knows-where. A soda can still sat half-finished on the table near her, as though she had fallen asleep mid-sip. Next to her, Red Son slept curled tight, his fiery hair dim and his posture rigid even in rest, as though he refused to show weakness even while unconscious. On the far end, Tang snored softly, one arm dangling over the couch, his scrolls tucked beneath his cheek like a comfort item.

Across the room, Pigsy had claimed the armchair. A blanket was thrown over him, tucked haphazardly around his shoulders. He snorted occasionally, adjusting his position with a grunt, before slipping back into heavy slumber.

Sandy, the gentle giant, had unrolled a massive sleeping bag on the floor, lying flat on his back. He looked oddly peaceful, his calm breaths perfectly in sync with the faint purr of Mo, who was curled up at his side.

Even Nezha was here tonight. Though he hadn’t planned to stay, he had fallen into rest quicker than expected. He sat upright against the wall, arms crossed, his posture almost statue-like. Yet the slight tilt of his head and the soft rise and fall of his chest betrayed his surrender to sleep.

And above them all, swaying gently in a hammock strung between two beams, was Wukong. Unlike the others, his golden eyes remained open, staring up into the shadows of the ceiling. He shifted restlessly, the hammock creaking under his weight. He exhaled slowly, long and tired, but the heaviness in his chest wouldn’t let him drift off.

He tilted his head, scanning the room. Everyone was here… except two.

His brow furrowed. MK and Macaque weren’t among them.

For a long moment, he just listened—to the quiet snores, to the hum of the night wind through the cracks of the home, to the faint heartbeat of Flower Fruit Mountain itself. Then something caught his eye: a sliver of light leaking out from under the kitchen door.

Wukong sighed softly, easing himself out of the hammock. He padded across the floor on light feet, careful not to disturb anyone. The wooden boards creaked faintly, but no one stirred. He placed a hand on the sliding door to the kitchen and pushed it open.

Warm yellow light spilled out, along with the faint smell of herbal tea.

There, sitting at the small kitchen table, was Macaque. He looked tired, his eyes half-lidded and shadows even deeper than usual under them. His ears flicked lazily as he cradled a steaming cup of tea between his hands. The steam curled up into the still air, trailing into nothing.

Wukong rubbed at his own face, stifling a yawn. “What are you doing at this hour?”

Macaque lifted his gaze sluggishly, his voice low and worn. “Couldn’t sleep. Made some tea.” He took another slow sip, his tail curling and uncurling at his side.

Wukong leaned against the doorframe, running a hand through his messy fur. His golden eyes narrowed slightly as he scanned the room again. “Have you seen MK? He’s not here.”

Silence fell. The two old rivals, bathed in quiet lamplight, locked eyes.

Finally, Macaque shook his head faintly. “Haven’t seen him. But…” His voice trailed off for a moment before he added, “…I heard the door open earlier.”

Wukong let out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging. “Of course.” He gestured toward the door with a flick of his wrist. “Come on. We need to find him.”

Macaque grumbled, finishing the last sip of tea. His ears twitched, but he pushed himself to his feet anyway. “Fine. But if this turns into a wild goose chase, I’m blaming you.”

The two slipped out into the night together.

They searched in silence, shadows and moonlight guiding their way. After several minutes of quiet wandering, they found him—MK—standing at the very top of the mountain.

The boy stood alone on the cliff’s edge, the wind tugging at his hair and jacket. He looked small under the endless sky, his gaze fixed upward, watching the stars. His shoulders drooped, heavy with fatigue, but his eyes were wide and restless.

“Kid,” Wukong called softly as they approached, his voice more concerned than scolding. “Why are you up? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

MK startled slightly, turning around. His tired eyes softened when he saw them. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t sleep, so I… decided to come here.”

Wukong and Macaque exchanged a look, both letting out the same sigh. Without another word, they moved closer and sat down on either side of him. The three of them sat together in silence for a while, watching the stars stretch endless above them.

Finally, MK broke the quiet. His voice was small. “I’m sorry.”

The words made Wukong’s brow furrow. He turned to look at him. “Bud, what are you talking about?”

MK sniffed, rubbing his arm. “You two… you both tried to stop me.” His voice cracked slightly. “And I didn’t listen. I…”

Macaque leaned forward, his expression softer than usual. “Hey. Don’t apologize. You didn’t have a solution at that time. None of us did.”

“Yeah,” Wukong added gently. “He’s right.”

“But I—” MK started.

“No buts,” Wukong cut him off, his tone firm but warm. “It’s okay. Look—we’re all here. Safe and sound. We saved the world. That’s what matters, alright?”

MK’s shoulders slumped as he exhaled, some of the guilt draining from his face. “Yeah… okay.”

The three of them sat together again, but this silence was different—softer, more comforting. A quiet that didn’t need to be broken.

Eventually, MK yawned, rubbing his eyes. “I think we should go back. I’m tired.”

Macaque yawned too, stretching his arms. “Well, you’re right about that. I really need some sleep… after taking some sleeping pills.” His voice slurred with exhaustion.

MK blinked at him in confusion. “Wait—you did what?”

Wukong turned sharply, his tail flicking. “Why would you do that?”

Macaque waved a dismissive hand, his words growing heavy. “Couldn’t sleep… so that was my only solution. Now come on, I’ll… shadow portal us inside.”

MK hesitated. “But aren’t you tired—”

Before he could finish, Macaque huffed and dragged his hand through the air. A portal opened where they sat, shadows swirling around their feet.

The three of them tumbled through and reappeared inside the living room. The portal spat them out directly into Wukong’s hammock, the net creaking violently as it tried to hold all three of them.

They landed in a heap.

Wukong groaned, adjusting himself as the hammock swayed dangerously. He whispered sharply, “That was dangerous, Mac. You could’ve dropped us anywhere, and we wouldn’t even know—”

But Macaque didn’t respond. His breathing was already slow and steady. The sleeping pills had done their work; he was completely out.

MK yawned, shifting against the hammock ropes. “I think he fell asleep,” he murmured.

Wukong sighed, running a tired hand over his face. “I’m gonna scold him when he wakes up. Good night, kid.”

“Night, dad,” MK mumbled back, his voice heavy with sleep.

Wukong froze, his eyes flicking down at MK. Was it the exhaustion making him hear things wrong? Or… had MK really said that?

The hammock swayed gently, carrying them deeper into rest. Wukong shook his head faintly, deciding he could figure that out tomorrow.

For now… sleep.

And with that, the mountain was silent again, every soul finally at rest beneath the stars.

It was just past eight in the morning when the stillness of FFM began to shift. The first to stir was Mei. She blinked slowly, sitting up from where she had been crammed onto the couch alongside Red Son and Tang. She rubbed her face with both hands, dragging the sleep away, then pushed her messy green hair back from her eyes. Her stomach gave a low growl, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since last night.

The living room around her was still heavy with sleep. Tang had slipped sideways, drooling slightly on the couch cushion. Red Son, even asleep, somehow kept an unnaturally stiff posture, though one leg had slipped off the edge of the couch. Pigsy was hunched in an armchair, a blanket over his belly, snoring softly. Sandy lay peacefully in his sleeping bag, like a boulder on the floor. Even Nezha, who hadn't planning staying, was perched in meditation but his eyes were closed in genuine slumber.

In the large hammock strung against the wall, Wukong, Macaque, and MK were tangled together. MK had dozed off sometime after being dropped back inside by Macaque’s portal; now he was curled against Wukong’s side, his head pillowed on his mentor’s arm. Macaque was slumped on the other side, completely knocked out, his tail hanging limply over the edge. Wukong, however, was still half-awake, his eyes fluttering open now and then before shutting again.

Mei sighed quietly and slid off the couch, tiptoeing toward the kitchen. Hunger won out over sleepiness. She opened the fridge, the cool air hitting her face, and scanned the shelves. What greeted her first was a full basket of peaches. She groaned softly, rolling her eyes.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered. “Of course. Peaches.”

Shoving the fruit aside, she spotted a carton of eggs. With a victorious grin, she pulled them out and set a pan on the stove. Soon the quiet hiss of cooking filled the kitchen. The smell of frying eggs began to creep into the air, warm and inviting.

Behind her, the door creaked and Wukong shuffled in, scratching the back of his head. His fur was ruffled from sleep, and he yawned so wide his fangs flashed. “What are you making?” he asked, his voice rough.

“An omelet,” Mei replied, stirring the pan. “Because all I could find in the fridge are eggs. Unless you want a peach omelet, which—gross.”

Wukong chuckled tiredly and plopped down in a chair. “Eggs sound fine,” he said, resting his cheek in his palm.

In a few minutes, Mei slid portions of omelet onto two plates and set one in front of Wukong. “Here. Breakfast fit for a king.”

“Thanks,” Wukong muttered, already digging in. Mei grabbed her own plate and joined him. The two ate quietly, the clink of chopsticks against porcelain the only sound between them. When they finished, Mei collected the plates and set them in the sink, rinsing them quickly.

Together, they wandered back into the living room. By then, MK was no longer in the hammock. He was sitting upright on the couch, rubbing his eyes awake, hair sticking out in every direction. The TV remote was already in his hand, and the screen flickered with channels flipping.

MK glanced over his shoulder. “Morning. What’s that smell?”

Mei smirked, crossing her arms. “That would be my omelet skills. There’s still some left in the kitchen if anyone wants it.”

That got Tang moving; he and Pigsy stirred awake and shuffled toward the kitchen with Sandy close behind. Nezha stretched gracefully before announcing he needed to depart, bowing slightly as he slipped out. Sandy also excused himself, while Pigsy and Tang muttered about opening the shop and headed off as well.

That left only four of them in the room. The hammock still cradled Macaque, unmoving, his breathing steady. He hadn’t budged since the night before.

Mei tilted her head toward him. “Shouldn’t we wake him up? It’s almost eleven.”

Wukong shook his head, stretching his arms above him with a yawn. “Nah. He said last night he took some sleeping pills, so he’s out cold.”

Mei frowned. “Why would he even do that?”

“Because he couldn’t sleep,” Wukong explained, his voice even.

Red Son folded his arms, flicking his crimson hair back. “Then let him be. Either he wakes on his own or later we rouse him. No sense wasting effort now.”

MK nodded, curling back into the couch cushions. “Red’s right. Just let him sleep for a few more hours.”

The four of them settled in front of the TV. Mei sat cross-legged on the floor, Red Son perched with stiff dignity at the edge of the couch, MK sprawled comfortably with the remote, and Wukong leaning against the arm of a chair, tail flicking lazily.

The room filled with the chatter of the TV. And in the hammock, untouched by all of it, Macaque remained fast asleep.

By the time the sun climbed high above the mountain , the air was warm and still, broken only by the calls of birds in the canopy and the rustle of monkeys leaping through the trees. Inside the living space, the morning bustle had thinned out. Mei had left with her bike a while ago, chattering about errands and insisting she’d be back later. Red Son had also excused himself, disappearing in a swirl of fire and dramatic cape flourishes, muttering something about “inventions not building themselves.”

That left the mountain unusually quiet. Only MK, Wukong, and the sound of the TV humming softly remained in the main room.

Macaque, however, hadn’t moved an inch from where he’d been all night. He was still stretched across the wide hammock, buried in a lazy sprawl of black fur and shadow. His chest rose and fell evenly, his head pillowed in the crook of one arm. Even the faint beams of sunlight filtering in from the entrance didn’t stir him. At some point, a handful of monkeys had crept inside, drawn to the sight of their elder slumbering. They piled onto the hammock beside him in a furry heap, nestling against his side, clinging to his tail, even curling up on his stomach. Instead of shoving them off, Macaque remained unbothered, lost to whatever deep sleep held him.

From his spot on the couch, MK watched the scene with a small frown. The glow of the TV reflected in his wide brown eyes, but his attention wasn’t on the screen anymore. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Okay,” he muttered, mostly to himself, “I think we should wake him up.”

Wukong, lounging across the armchair nearby with his legs hanging off the side, tilted his head lazily. His tail swished like a metronome. But he didn’t stop MK when the boy stood, padded across the room, and leaned over the hammock.

MK bent close, careful not to disturb the monkeys clinging to Macaque. “Mac? Wake up,” he said softly, giving the name a little upward lilt as if coaxing a child.

Nothing.

Macaque’s ears twitched, but otherwise he remained still. The only response was a faint wrinkle of his nose, like he was chasing a dream-smell that wouldn’t leave him alone. Then he exhaled heavily, sinking deeper into the hammock as though the shadows themselves held him down.

MK puffed his cheeks out and let out a long huff. “Okay,” he muttered under his breath, sounding defeated, “you can sleep two more hours.” He gave one last glance at the pile of monkeys snuggled against Macaque and shook his head with a little smile before returning to the couch.

When he flopped down, Wukong raised a brow. “So that didn’t work,” he said knowingly, his voice carrying the dry amusement of someone who’d already predicted the outcome.

“I know,” MK admitted, tossing the TV remote from hand to hand. “It’s like he took some kind of strong sleeping pills or something.”

Wukong smirked faintly, one fang showing. “That’s probably exactly what happened. You gotta let him wake up on his own, bud.”

MK slumped back into the couch cushions with a sigh. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I just… dunno, it feels weird leaving him like that.”

“He’ll be fine,” Wukong replied, stretching his arms overhead until his joints cracked. He gave a long, lazy yawn, then looked at the TV. “So. If we’re not waking him up, what do you want to do?”

MK perked up a little, suddenly energized by an idea. “Oh! What about we watch something?”

Wukong tilted his head. “Like what?”

MK grinned, leaning forward mischievously. “Have you ever watched My Little Pony?”

Wukong blinked. “…No. What’s it about?”

MK’s grin widened. “Ohhh, just wait. You’re gonna want to watch it again and again.” He grabbed the remote with a flourish and began scrolling through the menu until he found the brightly colored logo. With one dramatic click, the screen burst into pastel ponies and cheerful music.

Wukong squinted at the sudden explosion of pink and sparkles, ears flattening a little. “What… the heck am I looking at?”

“Magic, friendship, and ponies!” MK declared proudly, bouncing a little on the couch as the opening theme began to play.

The music filled the room, loud enough to cover the soft, steady breathing of Macaque, who remained unmoved in the hammock, a small pile of monkeys cuddled up around him, blissfully unaware of the pastel storm taking over the TV.

The day had melted into evening, the golden light of sunset fading into the cool blue of night. The shadows stretched long across the mountain, and the sky outside was painted with streaks of orange and violet. The crickets had begun their evening chorus, filling the stillness with a rhythmic hum.

Inside, the room was dim, lit only by the glow of the television screen. The cheerful colors of My Little Pony danced across MK’s face as he sat cross-legged on the couch, utterly absorbed. Next to him, sprawled across the larger couch in the corner, Wukong lay fast asleep, his head tilted back, mouth slightly open. His chest rose and fell slowly, his snores soft but steady, blending in with the background hum of the TV.

Across the room, Macaque finally stirred. He shifted in the hammock with a groggy yawn, blinking his eyes open for the first time since last night. The first thing he noticed was weight — three little monkeys piled on top of him, clinging to his arms and chest like furry barnacles. He sighed, shaking his head slightly, but didn’t bother to push them off. Instead, he rubbed his face with one hand and glanced around the room.

MK sat perched on the couch, enraptured by whatever bright cartoon was on the screen, his face illuminated in pastel pinks and blues. Wukong was very clearly out cold, completely unaware of anything around him.

Macaque yawned again, the sound low and rough from his throat. “...Star,” he called.

MK jumped, startled by the voice in the quiet. He twisted around quickly, eyes wide. “Ma! You’re up!”

Macaque adjusted his position, causing one of the monkeys to slide down his stomach with a soft squeak before scrambling back up. He stretched, grimacing as his joints cracked. “How long was I out?” he asked, voice hoarse.

MK scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Well… you, uh… kinda slept the entire day. It’s, um… it’s eight p.m. now.”

Macaque groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Wonderful,” he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm.

MK gave him a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Hey, if you’re hungry, Mei made an omelet this morning. I’m pretty sure there’s still some left. You can just heat it up in the microwave.”

That earned the boy a tired smirk. Macaque carefully disentangled himself from the monkeys, gently setting them on the hammock before swinging his legs over the edge. With a heavy exhale, he climbed down, stretching once more before padding toward the kitchen. “Thanks, Star,” he said quietly as he passed.

MK watched him disappear into the shadows of the kitchen, the clink of the fridge door and the soft hum of the microwave following soon after. He turned back toward the TV but kept glancing over his shoulder, waiting for Macaque’s return.

After a few minutes, the shadowy figure reappeared, now holding a plate in one hand and looking slightly more awake. He made his way over to the couch, setting the empty plate aside as he sat down next to MK. He leaned back, folding his arms, his tail lazily curling over the edge of the cushion.

“So,” Macaque began, nodding toward the screen, “what are you watching?”

MK grinned, eyes still on the TV. “My Little Pony.”

Macaque snorted, a quiet laugh escaping him. “That show again?”

MK whipped his head toward him, mock-offended. “Hey! Don’t act like you hate it. When you first watched it, you loved it!”

“I wouldn’t say I loved it,” Macaque replied with a smirk, lifting one brow. “But… sure.”

MK grinned wider, clearly taking that as a victory. “Ha! I knew it.”

Macaque shook his head and leaned back, letting the sound of bright voices and cheerful music fill the room. The two sat in a comfortable silence after that, the flickering colors of the TV reflecting in their eyes.

The only other sound in the room came from Wukong, who had rolled over on the couch in his sleep, snoring louder now. His tail twitched every so often, flicking like he was chasing something in a dream.

For the moment, everything was still and quiet — a rare, peaceful evening.

[END] 

Chapter Text

It had been two months since the Heavenly Pillar was restored, two months since the chaos of that fight had faded into something resembling calm. The world had quieted, but not completely. There were still scars, still moments of tension, still habits of looking over their shoulders.

And yet, at the dojo, that morning seemed ordinary.

The sunlight spilled through the cracks in the shutters, bright beams catching in dust motes that floated lazily in the air. It was already ten a.m., and the only sound inside was the steady, soft rhythm of Macaque’s snoring.

The six-eared shadow monkey was sprawled out on the couch like he had been glued there, one arm dangling toward the floor, tail draped over the edge, chest rising and falling with each deep breath. His face, usually sharp with suspicion or sarcasm, was softened by sleep. He looked comfortable — more comfortable than he’d ever admit to anyone else.

Then

Bzzzzzt.

The small buzz rattled against the wooden table beside him.

Macaque’s ear twitched. His snore hitched.

Bzzzzzt. Bzzzzzt.

He groaned, a low gravelly sound, and cracked one golden eye open. For a second, he seriously considered ignoring it. But the buzzing continued, stubborn and relentless, until finally he rolled onto his side and reached for the glowing rectangle.

He sat up with a grunt, blinking blearily at the phone in his hand. Why had he ever let Mei talk him into getting one of these? He hardly used it. The thing was nothing but noise and distractions. But Mei had insisted, “so you don’t vanish into the shadows without us being able to find you, Macky!” and somehow he’d caved.

The screen lit up with a flood of notifications. The group chat.

Why was he even in this chat?

He swiped through quickly. MK had spammed memes again. Tang had sent another wall of text about some “historical context everyone should read.” Sandy had posted blurry cat photos. Red Son had ranted in all caps about “WORTHLESS TECHNICIANS RUINING PERFECT ENGINES.”

And then, right at the bottom, the message that explained the buzzing:

Mei: meeting at the shop. everyone be there. 

Macaque exhaled sharply through his nose, shutting the phone with a snap. “Fantastic,” he muttered under his breath. His sweet, precious sleep would have to wait.

With a groggy shuffle, he dragged himself upright, padding across the dojo floorboards. He splashed cold water on his face, trying to chase away the heaviness of his drowsiness, and finger-combed his mane of hair until it looked halfway decent. He tugged his scarf back into place and rolled his shoulders.

Then, with one last resigned sigh, he stepped into the corner of the room, let shadows coil around him, and slipped into the dark.

The familiar scent of broth and sizzling oil greeted him as he stepped out of the shadows and into Pigsy’s Noodle Shop. The lunch rush hadn’t started yet, but the air was still warm with cooking smells, the counters wiped down, the sound of clattering dishes in the back.

And sure enough — everyone was already there.

The big back table was crowded:

Mei sat front and center, practically glowing with excitement, hands flat on the table as if she couldn’t wait to spring her news.

MK leaned beside her, curious, brows raised, clearly ready to ask a dozen questions.

Pigsy stood with his arms crossed, apron still dusted with flour, already looking suspicious.

Tang lounged comfortably, sipping tea like he’d been waiting forever.

Sandy smiled warmly at the end of the table, his massive form hunched a little to fit in the space.

Red Son sat stiff-backed, arms folded, tapping his fingers impatiently, clearly only here because Mei had dragged him.

And, of course, Wukong — leaning back in his chair like he owned the place, balancing on the back two legs, tail flicking lazily as he smirked.

Macaque slipped into a chair at the far end, his expression unreadable. “Alright. I’m here. What’s this about?”

Mei clapped her hands together immediately, eyes sparkling. “Perfect! Now that everyone is here…” She darted a look at Macaque as if daring him to object. “…I have plans.”

MK tilted his head. “Plans? What kind of plans?”

With dramatic flair, Mei leaned forward. “I gathered you all here because, get this a brand-new bar just opened in the city! And I was thinking…” Her grin widened. “Why don’t we all go this afternoon and hang out there?”

A small silence followed her announcement.

Wukong was the first to speak, smirking. “Aren’t you a little too young to drink, spark plug?”

Mei immediately slammed her palm on the table. “Excuse you! I’m not underage! I’m twenty-five.”

Macaque, without missing a beat, muttered, “Still too young.”

“Agreed,” Wukong hummed smugly.

Mei groaned loudly, throwing her hands into the air. “Ugh, you two sound like cranky old grandpas!”

MK stifled a laugh into his sleeve. Sandy chuckled under his breath. Even Red Son smirked slightly.

“Okay, fine,” Mei continued, pointing a finger at the two monkeys. “Age comments aside, the point is… we are still going. So” She swept her gaze across the table. “Who’s with me?”

Tang leaned back, grinning. “Well, what could go wrong?” He turned to Pigsy, eyebrows waggling.

Pigsy sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But you’d better not drink too much.”

“Noted!” Mei chirped, flashing him a peace sign.

MK raised his hand in a big thumbs-up. “I’m in!”

Red Son sighed but eventually gave a curt nod. Sandy smiled and said warmly, “Count me in.”

Wukong waved a hand casually. “Eh, why not. Fine by me.”

Then all eyes turned toward Macaque.

Mei leaned in with that mischievous grin of hers. “What about you, Macky? What do you say?”

Macaque’s ear flicked at the nickname. He gave her a long, withering stare. For a moment, it looked like he might outright refuse.

But finally, with a slow exhale, he muttered, “…Fine.”

“Yes!” Mei nearly leapt from her chair, fist-pumping the air in victory. She almost knocked her tea over but caught it at the last second. “Then it’s settled! We all meet this afternoon, and we are going out. Now…” She grinned at them all. “Let’s get back to work. The afternoon is waiting for us!”

Her words hung in the air like a promise.

And indeed — the afternoon was waiting.

It was midday at the dojo.

The light had shifted from the soft, sleepy glow of the morning into a stronger, golden brightness that filtered in through the cracks of the shutters. The air inside was still, quiet enough to hear the faint creak of the wooden beams whenever the breeze passed outside.

On the couch, Macaque sat hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees, chin resting in one hand. His tail twitched idly against the cushions, betraying the fact that his thoughts were not calm.

He stared at the floor for a long time, ears tilted back slightly, before sighing.

The problem wasn’t the outing itself — he could deal with noise if he kept his distance from the loudest parts of the bar. He could disappear into shadows if things became unbearable. That wasn’t what made his chest feel tight.

No, the real problem was the drinks.

He knew how this went. He had centuries of experience. No normal alcool, not beer, not cider, not wine did anything to him. He could down two whole bottles of wine and barely feel the edge of a buzz. Everyone else could laugh, relax, stumble a little on their way home… but not him.

It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to be the only one sitting stiff, sharp, aware while everyone else let loose.

Macaque exhaled through his nose and leaned back into the couch, one hand coming up to rub his face. His claws scraped lightly across his cheek.

But then a thought sparked.

There was one solution. Something he’d tucked away and not considered for a long time. Someone who could get him what he needed — a stronger kind of wine, the kind that didn’t come from the human world, the kind that actually had a chance of cutting through his unnatural tolerance.

If he had that, he wouldn’t need much. Just a small amount, enough to blur the edges, enough to make him feel… normal.

The decision made, he reached for the phone Mei had bought him. It sat on the low table in front of the couch, screen dark. He picked it up reluctantly, holding it like it was a chore. With a thumb swipe, the screen lit up, reflecting faintly in his golden eyes.

He scrolled through the contacts — a list he barely ever used. Most names were from Mei’s interference, MK’s insistence, or Sandy’s “for emergencies.” But there, near the bottom, was the name he was looking for.

He tapped it.

For a few seconds, he just stared at the blinking cursor in the message box, ears tilted back, unsure how to even phrase it. Then, finally, his fingers began to move.

The message was short. To the point.

When he was done, he hit send, then tossed the phone back onto the table with a quiet clack.

Now came the part he hated: waiting.

He leaned back, arms crossed, and let out a long sigh. His ears twitched, picking up the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. Time seemed to crawl, every second dragging out too long.

Then buzz.

His ears flicked, sharp, and he immediately reached for the phone again. The screen lit up with a reply. His contact had answered.

Macaque’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smirk. He typed something back quickly, fingers moving with less hesitation this time. Another exchange. Another buzz. The deal was sealed.

He placed the phone down again, slower this time, and leaned back into the cushions with a low exhale. All he had to do now was wait until afternoon.

Waiting… the one thing he hated more than noise.

He let his head loll back against the couch cushion, eyes flicking toward the TV remote resting on the armrest. With a resigned grunt, he picked it up and pressed the power button.

The screen lit up the room with flickering light. He didn’t even bother to choose carefully — just flipped through channels until something random appeared.

Some cartoon. Some sitcom. The sound filled the silence, and for once, he didn’t mind the distraction.

Until then, he would speed the time watching TV, letting the minutes crawl toward the inevitable afternoon.

It was now afternoon, the hour when the sun outside had begun to dip toward the horizon, spilling warm light across the streets. The others had kept their word and followed Mei’s idea, and soon enough, they found themselves walking through the doors of the new bar that had opened downtown.

The place was lively, buzzing with music and chatter. Inside, neon signs glowed faintly along the walls, casting streaks of blue, pink, and violet across the space. A large dance floor stretched across the middle, already packed with people moving to the beat of thumping music. To one side was a karaoke stage, where a group of strangers were currently howling into microphones, their off-key voices swallowed by laughter and claps from the crowd. The counter bar was lined with stools, polished bottles gleaming in the back shelves under dim golden light.

The group scattered naturally.

MK, Mei, and Wukong went straight to the dance floor, swept up in the rhythm. MK was bouncing wildly, his hair flying as he threw himself into every move with boyish energy. Mei matched him beat for beat, laughing loudly as she spun, her braid whipping through the air. Wukong, of course, danced with a cocky flair, smirking at the younger ones while occasionally showing off a spin or a smooth step just to prove he still had it.

Meanwhile, Tang, Sandy, and Pigsy claimed their places at the counter, flagging down the bartender. Tang was already going on about which wines and spirits he wanted to try, leaning far too eagerly over the menu. Sandy’s booming laugh rumbled as he settled onto a stool, his massive frame making it creak. Pigsy simply sighed, muttering something about keeping an eye on Tang before he ordered the entire bar dry.

Macaque, on the other hand, had no interest in dancing or crowds. He claimed a small table in the corner, tucked away just enough to give him space. His golden eyes scanned the room before finally settling on the glass in front of him. A glass of wine.

He lifted it, swirling the liquid lazily, then sipped. The taste was fine, smooth, warm, but ordinary. It wasn’t what he wanted.

Glancing to make sure no one was watching, he let a shadow ripple across his palm. A small portal shimmered open beside his leg. He slid his hand inside, the space between dimensions bending to his will, and felt the familiar cool glass of the bottle he’d stashed earlier. He pulled it out just enough to tip the neck into his glass and pour a splash of its contents in. The liquid darkened slightly, glowing faintly for just a second. Then he slipped the bottle back inside, sealed the portal, and leaned back.

He raised the glass again, sniffed the edge, and finally drank.

Yes. That was what he wanted.

Just as he was beginning to relax into the taste, Red Son appeared, muttering under his breath. His crimson eyes scanned the room with disdain as he sat down heavily in the chair opposite Macaque, clutching his own half-finished drink.

“It would’ve been better,” Red Son grumbled, “if this was much stronger.”

Macaque arched an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, with a small sigh, he checked that no one was watching and cracked open another portal. He pulled the bottle partway out and, without a word, slid it across the table toward Red Son.

Red Son blinked in surprise, eyeing the bottle. His sharp expression softened into curiosity. He reached for it, tilted it to inspect the label — though it wasn’t one a mortal would recognize, and then sniffed at the rim.

“Wait a second,” Red Son muttered, eyes narrowing. “Where did you get celestial wine?”

Macaque leaned back, his tone cool and dismissive. “That’s a secret. Now quit asking and just pour it in your glass. But don’t tell Wukong. He’ll want some too.”

Red Son let out a dramatic huff, as if offended by the secrecy, but obeyed. He tipped a generous amount into his glass and swirled it, watching the faint shimmer of starlight dance across the liquid’s surface. Then he sipped. His eyes widened slightly, heat rushing into his face.

“Now that,” Red Son said, setting his glass down with force, “is strong wine.”

Before Macaque could respond, Mei, MK, and Wukong came bounding over from the dance floor, still buzzing with energy. Mei flopped into a chair and grinned at the two sitting in the corner.

“Hey, guys! You sure you don’t wanna come to the dance floor? You could lose some of that energy instead of brooding in the corner!”

Macaque rolled his eyes, sipping from his glass again. “Nah. Maybe later.”

But Wukong’s nose twitched. He sniffed the air once, then again, ears flicking. His gaze zeroed in on Macaque’s drink.

Without warning, Wukong reached across the table and snatched Macaque’s glass right out of his hand.

“Hey! What the—” Macaque snapped, reaching for it.

Wukong sniffed deeply at the contents, his expression shifting into intrigue. “This is celestial wine. Where’d you get it?”

Macaque yanked the glass back, scowling. “None of your business.”

Mei leaned forward, tilting her head curiously. “Wait, wait, what’s the difference between celestial wine and normal wine, anyway?”

Red Son chuckled smugly, raising his glass. “You see, the normal kind only gets you drunk depending on how much you drink. But celestial wine? One sip and it’s stronger than a whole bottle of mortal wine. It makes you much drunker, much faster.”

MK’s eyes lit up, his voice eager. “Oh! Can I try?”

Macaque nearly choked on his drink as he shoved his glass further away. “No.”

Red Son added, with a smirk, “What he means is that you’re too young to drink celestial wine. The normal stuff’s harmless for you, but this?” He lifted his own glass. “This is for adults only.”

Wukong leaned in again, grinning. “Come on. Now I wanna try it too!”

“I said no,” Macaque growled, gripping the glass tighter.

Just then, Macaque’s phone buzzed against the table. Mei, without thinking, leaned over to peek at the screen. Her eyes widened and she read aloud, “Hey Mac, Nezha texted — says if you want more wine, just let him know.”

Wukong gasped dramatically. “So that’s where you got it from!”

Before Macaque could defend himself, Wukong lunged for the glass again. The two monkeys grappled over it, their scuffle spilling them both onto the floor.

Pigsy, Sandy, and Tang, drawn by the commotion, wandered over from the bar counter. Pigsy stopped dead at the sight of the two immortals rolling around on the floor fighting over a glass of wine. He pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan.

“Alright, what happened now?”

Mei, sitting at the table, pointed helpfully. “Mac has celestial wine and won’t share with Wukong.”

In the background, MK had sidled up next to Red Son, his eyes glued to the shimmering drink in his glass. When Red Son wasn’t looking, MK stretched a hand toward it, fingers twitching. Just as he was about to grab, Red Son slapped his hand away with a sharp glare.

“Hands. Off.”

MK grunted in frustration, pulling back with a pout, but didn’t dare try again.

Meanwhile, on the floor, Wukong let out a triumphant laugh. “Got it!” He yanked the glass free of Macaque’s grip, hopped up, and downed it in one swig before Macaque could stop him.

Macaque groaned, rubbing his face as he stood. “Unbelievable.”

He summoned another portal with a flick of his wrist, reached in, and pulled out the whole bottle, placing it firmly on the table before shutting the portal again.

Wukong’s eyes sparkled. “Wait… you have more?”

“Yeah,” Macaque said flatly, “and I’m not sharing.”

The night wore on. Hours slipped by. The bar grew louder, the music rowdier. One by one, members of the group began to leave. Sandy excused himself early, his deep laugh fading into the night as he waved goodbye. Pigsy left later, grumbling as he carried a completely sleeping Tang slung over his shoulder.

By now, the corner table was a scene of chaos. Macaque was too drunk to care if Wukong snatched the bottle anymore, so he let him drink freely. Wukong, of course, was equally drunk, laughing too loudly at his own jokes and nearly toppling his chair twice.

Red Son had long since succumbed, slumped forward on the table, fast asleep with his cheek pressed to his folded arms. His glass was empty, abandoned.

MK and Mei were tipsy, cheeks flushed, words slightly slurred, but not nearly as far gone as the monkeys. Mei checked her phone, blinking at the time.

“Okay,” she said, pushing herself upright, “it’s late. We should get going. MK, you and me carry Red Son home.”

She turned to the corner where Macaque and Wukong had been sitting — but the chairs were empty.

“Uh… where did they go?” Mei asked, scanning the bar.

MK rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Oh. Mac just teleported him and Monkey King out of here, like, a minute ago.”

Mei groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Great. Just great.” She shoved her phone back into her pocket and nodded toward Red Son. “Alright, MK. Help me get Red up. We’ll deal with the monkeys later.”

The night air at FFM was quiet, filled with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant rush of waterfalls. The stars overhead burned sharp and clear, scattered across a velvety sky. In the middle of this serene setting, the peace was broken by laughter—loud, unrestrained, and slurred.

Macaque and Wukong stumbled through the entrance of the hut, practically leaning on each other for balance. Their cheeks were flushed, their eyes heavy-lidded, both still under the heady influence of celestial wine.

“You think the others will notice we’re gone?” Wukong snickered, his tail flicking lazily behind him as he kicked the door shut with his heel.

Macaque chuckled, his laugh low and rough from drink. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He grinned, swaying slightly. “Not like they could stop us.”

That set them both off again, laughter bubbling out of them until Macaque lost his balance entirely. His foot slipped on the wooden floor, and he tipped sideways—only for Wukong to catch him firmly by the arm.

The laughter died down into silence as they steadied. For a moment, their eyes met, golden against golden, the drunken haze softening everything else around them. The warmth of Wukong’s hand on his arm lingered, grounding, even as their balance wavered.

Wukong’s grin softened. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned in closer. His breath fanned across Macaque’s lips, the distance between them narrowing until only the smallest sliver remained.

Macaque hesitated only a heartbeat before closing it himself, tilting forward until their mouths pressed together. The kiss was soft at first, uncertain, tentative—both tasting faintly of wine.

But then it deepened.

Wukong’s hands slid upward, threading through Macaque’s long, silky hair, tugging lightly as if testing how much he could push. Macaque allowed it, his body easing into the touch, the warmth sparking something under the alcohol’s fog. They broke apart only for breath, lips still tingling, golden eyes still locked.

Before Macaque could say anything, Wukong dipped his head lower, nuzzling into the curve of Macaque’s neck. He lingered there, inhaling, before pressing his lips against the skin.

Macaque grunted, low and surprised, but he didn’t push him away. Both drunk, both lost, he let the contact linger, his head tipping back slightly.

A ripple of shadow pooled beneath them, born from Macaque’s instinct as much as his will. A portal opened on the floor, swallowing them up gently. When it snapped shut, they were no longer in the hut’s entryway but sprawled across the familiar bed in Wukong’s room.

The two of them stared at each other again, breath mingling in the dim light. Wukong’s gaze was sharper now despite the alcohol, burning with hunger and something else—something almost vulnerable.

Macaque smirked faintly, even as his pulse quickened. “Are you that desperate for me, Peaches?”

Wukong answered not with words, but with another kiss, hotter this time. Their mouths clashed with more urgency, teeth and tongue meeting in a drunken rhythm that left them both gasping between breaths.

“I’m gonna wipe that smirk off your face,” Wukong muttered against his lips.

Macaque chuckled, tugging him closer. “I’d like to see you try.”

In a swift motion, Wukong shifted, pressing Macaque down against the mattress, his body pinning him there. His hands roamed, trailing down the lines of Macaque’s body, mapping out curves and scars with rough affection. His lips broke from Macaque’s mouth only to scatter along his jaw, brushing hot against his throat.

“Pretty,” Wukong whispered, almost reverent.

Macaque scoffed lightly, though his blush betrayed him. “You’re a sap.”

Wukong’s laughter rumbled low, the sound vibrating in his chest. It wasn’t loud—it was intimate, intimate enough that it made Macaque’s ears burn purple.

Slowly, teasingly, Wukong began to undo the layers of Macaque’s clothes, dragging the fabric away with deliberate patience. Macaque mirrored him, tugging impatiently at Wukong’s robes until they were both stripped down, skin meeting skin, the warmth between them intensifying.

They kissed again, slower this time, sweeter, as if the wine had dulled their sharp edges enough to let tenderness creep in.

Wukong leaned down again, but instead of Macaque’s lips, he went for his neck. This time, he didn’t just kiss—he sucked and nipped, leaving dark hickeys that trailed along the skin.

A soft moan slipped from Macaque’s throat before he could stop it, muffled against Wukong’s shoulder.

Wukong stilled, pulling back just enough to look at him. His eyes widened, caught in awe at the sound, at the sight of Macaque beneath him, flushed and beautiful in the low light.

“Why are you staring?” Macaque muttered, turning his head to the side.

Wukong smirked, brushing his thumb across Macaque’s cheek. “Because I’m looking at a piece of art in front of me.”

Even drunk, Macaque’s face deepened to a darker shade of purple. He scowled lightly. “Don’t say things like that.”

Leaning closer, Wukong brought his mouth to Macaque’s ear, his voice dropping into a husky whisper. “Don’t be shy, Mihou. It’s the truth.”

He nibbled at the edge of his ear, making Macaque groan low in his throat, his hands fisting in Wukong’s robes.

And then

(skipping to morning 😃)

The morning at the mountain was quiet, serene. Sunlight filtered gently through the cracks in the wooden shutters, laying warm strips of gold across the floor. Outside, the mountain’s monkeys were already chattering faintly in the distance, but inside Wukong’s bedroom, there was only silence—broken now and then by the steady rhythm of two beings breathing in sleep.

On the bed, tangled in the sheets, Wukong lay with his arms loosely wrapped around Macaque, his face buried in his fur. Their clothes were scattered across the floor, stark reminders of what had happened the night before.

For a while, the room was calm, undisturbed, until a low groan slipped out from Macaque. His ears twitched as his eyes cracked open, golden irises hazy with sleep and the lingering fog of celestial wine. He blinked blearily, disoriented at first, until he became aware of the weight around his torso.

Something—someone was hugging him.

Macaque’s brows furrowed. He turned his head slightly, and that was when he saw Wukong, asleep beside him, his face relaxed in a rare moment of peace, tail curled loosely around Macaque’s waist.

Confusion prickled in Macaque’s chest, followed by a sudden, unwelcome clarity as memories from last night surged back in broken flashes—laughter, wine, lips meeting, the press of hands, the heat of skin against skin. His eyes widened.

“Shit…” he muttered under his breath. He sat up abruptly, dragging a hand through his hair, his chest heaving as though he could somehow shake the memory away. “We really were that drunk…” he huffed, his voice tight, “to do… that.”

He stared down at Wukong, who was still comfortably asleep, hugging a pillow now that Macaque had moved. The sight only irritated him further. Without much patience, he reached out and shook him.

“Wukong. Wake up.”

The Monkey King groaned, stubborn as a child, and mumbled into the pillow, “Five more minutes…”

Macaque’s eye twitched. “No, idiot. Wake up now.”

Another groan. But this time, Wukong slowly peeled his eyes open, blinking against the morning light. His gaze flicked around the room lazily until it landed on Macaque—sitting up, hair a mess, blanket pooled around his hips.

And then it hit him.

The bed. The state of their clothes on the floor. The fact that he, too, was naked beneath the blanket. And most of all—the sudden rush of memory from last night that came back in full, unrelenting detail.

“Oh… shit,” Wukong muttered, dragging a hand over his face.

Macaque pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging his temple as if trying to ward off both the headache from the wine and the headache that was this situation. “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

The silence between them stretched uncomfortably until Wukong finally spoke again, voice rough but defensive. “This is all your fault.”

Macaque’s head snapped toward him, incredulous. “My fault? How the hell is this my fault?”

“If you hadn’t brought celestial wine,” Wukong shot back, pointing at him accusingly, “none of this would’ve happened!”

Macaque scoffed, throwing his hands up. “Oh, so now it’s the wine’s fault I apparently let you kiss me first?” His tone was sharp, but his ears burned purple. “Fine—maybe it’s partially my fault. But what do we do about this?”

Wukong groaned, flopping back against the pillow dramatically. “I don’t know! But we sure as hell aren’t gonna tell the others we… we—” he gestured vaguely between them, ears flushing gold, “did that.”

Macaque crossed his arms tightly, glaring off to the side. “Fine. We don’t bring it up. Problem solved.”

“Exactly.” Wukong nodded firmly, though his face was still gold. “And we are never, ever talking about this again.”

Macaque leaned back, letting out a long exhale. “…Good. Then we’re even.”

The agreement hung between them like a fragile truce.

Eventually, Macaque shifted, tugging the blanket off. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get my clothes back on and forget this ever happened.” He swung one leg off the bed—only to immediately collapse to the floor with an undignified thud.

“Ow!” He groaned, bracing himself on his arms, his tail lashing irritably behind him. He tried to stand, only for his legs to tremble under him. He sank back to the floor, scowling. “Great. Fantastic. My legs are sore.”

He turned his glare onto Wukong. “This is your fault.”

Wukong, still sitting on the bed, rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. His golden eyes flicked away, refusing to meet Macaque’s. “...Sorry about that.”

Macaque groaned again, dropping his head into his hands. Between the hangover, the soreness, and the sheer awkwardness, he knew this morning was going to be hell.

[END] 

Chapter Text

One month later, the morning in the woods was unusually warm and still, the air heavy with the scents of moss and wildflowers. Sunlight filtered down in dappled shafts through the canopy, painting shifting patches of gold on the forest floor. The only sounds breaking the quiet were the swish of staff strikes, the occasional grunt of effort, and the faint scolding voice of a certain shadow monkey perched on a high branch.

In a wide clearing, Wukong and MK stood facing one another, staffs clashing in a rhythmic sparring session. MK’s brow was furrowed, his movements sharp but slightly rushed, while Wukong’s strikes were smooth and precise, his golden fur catching the light with every swing.

“Too slow, bud!” Wukong barked, deflecting a strike and pushing MK back a few steps.

“Wait, wait—what about this?” MK swung again, his stance wider this time, clearly hoping it looked more like what Wukong had demonstrated earlier.

From across the clearing, Macaque lounged lazily against the trunk of a tree, one leg dangling from the branch he’d claimed as his seat. His tail flicked idly behind him as he watched the training session with half-lidded eyes.

“Better,” Macaque called down, voice smooth and faintly teasing, “but your grip’s still too tight. Loosen your hands or you’re gonna cramp up before you even land a good hit.”

MK paused, blinking up at him. “Like this?” He adjusted his grip and raised his staff again, waiting for approval.

Macaque tilted his head, studying him. “Closer. At least you don’t look like you’re strangling the thing anymore.”

“Oi,” Wukong grunted, intercepting MK’s next swing, “don’t listen too much to him. He’s just trying to distract you.”

“I’m helping,” Macaque shot back with mock offense, his smirk giving him away. “Maybe if you didn’t bark orders like a drill sergeant, the kid wouldn’t look like he’s about to pop a vein.”

That earned him an irritated flick of Wukong’s ear, though MK was too busy laughing to notice.

On the surface, everything seemed normal—sunlight, training, playful banter. But while Macaque’s mouth quipped, his mind was elsewhere, tugged in directions he didn’t want it to go.

The chaos inside him was restless again. He could feel it gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, whispering in voices he didn’t recognize, words he didn’t want to hear. It came in waves: sometimes a faint murmur in the background, other times a deafening chorus that left his skull aching.

And it wasn’t just in his head anymore. It was showing.

Sometimes when he opened a portal, it didn’t shimmer in its usual deep purple glow. Sometimes it flashed an ugly dark orange, unnatural and jagged around the edges like a tear in the fabric of the world. He hated it. Hated the way it looked. Hated what it meant.

At night, when everything was quiet and the moon was high, the whispers grew worse. They spoke of power, of surrender, of tearing apart everything he still cared about. He didn’t want to listen. He tried not to. But the longer it went on, the harder it became to block it out.

He needed answers.

He needed to find that snake wannabe Medusa, the one who had brushed against this chaos before. That snake knew something, and Macaque was determined to corner him and drag the truth out. Because he couldn’t keep living like this, teetering between exhaustion and bursts of unnatural energy, caught in a cycle he couldn’t control.

Macaque exhaled sharply, dragging his claws lightly along the bark of the branch beneath him. He wasn’t even sure if the others had noticed the changes yet. He hadn’t told them. He couldn’t—not until he had something solid, not until he figured out how to rid himself of it.

But before he could sink too far into his spiraling thoughts, a sound slithered through the woods.

A whisper.

Soft, faint, but distinct.

“Mihou.”

Macaque stiffened instantly. His breath hitched, his ears swiveling toward the sound. That wasn’t the chaos. It didn’t feel the same. This voice was different—colder, sweter and clearer, with an edge that sent a chill down his spine.

Slowly, carefully, he turned his head toward the trees behind him. The forest stretched out in shadow and sunlight, nothing out of place. No figure, no movement. Just leaves rustling in a breeze.

His claws flexed against the bark. For a long moment he stayed there, waiting, listening. But the voice didn’t come again.

Macaque let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand down his face. “Great,” he muttered under his breath. “Now I’m hearing things that aren’t even the chaos. Perfect.”

He forced himself to look back toward the clearing. MK was still practicing, determination etched on his face, while Wukong circled him with a mix of critique and encouragement. They hadn’t noticed his lapse. Good.

Shaking his head, Macaque leaned back against the tree trunk, arms folded across his chest. He told himself it was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him, worn thin by the whispers, the exhaustion.

Still, his tail twitched restlessly, and his gaze lingered longer than usual on the trees behind him.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone was watching.

The midday sun was high, its light spilling through the wide glass windows of the city’s arcade, but inside the air was dim and buzzing with color. Neon lights blinked across the rows of machines, their screens flashing with animated explosions, racing cars, and pixelated characters jumping across obstacles. The room was filled with the low hum of machines, the occasional triumphant cheer from kids, and the constant rhythm of electronic jingles.

Mei was in her element, bouncing from one arcade cabinet to the next with a wild grin plastered across her face. Right now, she had her hands tightly gripping the joystick of a mecha battle simulator, her eyes locked onto the flashing screen as she mashed the buttons furiously. Her dragon energy practically radiated off her as she shouted at the screen:

“C’mon, c’mon, one more combo and I win!”

Red Son stood beside her, arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed, though his eyes betrayed a spark of amusement as her mecha delivered a final strike and the screen flashed VICTORY! in bold letters. Mei pumped her fist in the air and spun around dramatically.

“BOOM! That’s how you do it, baby!” she cheered, before immediately dropping in another token and starting a new round.

Red Son shook his head, muttering under his breath, “You treat every game like it’s a world-ending battle.”

Mei glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, smirking. “Hey, every battle counts. Besides,” She jabbed at the buttons with one hand, shooting him a pointed look. “At least I know how to actually go after what I want.”

Red Son blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” Mei said, eyes narrowing playfully as she dodged incoming attacks on screen. “We’ve been circling this for years now. When are you gonna tell MK?”

The words made Red Son’s posture stiffen instantly. He looked away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “It’s… it’s not that simple.”

Mei groaned and let her character take a hit, slamming her hand against the buttons. “Yes it is! Just tell him. ‘Hey MK, I like you, let’s be a thing.’ Done. Easy.”

Red Son ran a hand down his face. “Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds? I can’t just blurt something like that out.”

“Why not?” Mei demanded, finally pausing the game and turning to him fully. “You’re acting like confessing to him is some apocalyptic event.”

“Because there’s never a good time!” Red Son exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “Every time I think I’ve found the moment, something interrupts. Or he’s busy. Or—” He faltered, glancing down. “Or I overthink it and the moment’s gone.”

Mei stared at him for a second, then let out a long, dramatic sigh. She dropped the joystick and crossed her arms. “Red, you’re making excuses.”

“I am not making excuses,” he snapped, though it came out weaker than he intended.

“Yes, you are. You’re scared he’s gonna reject you.”

Red Son’s eyes flashed as he straightened. “I am not scared!”

Mei raised a brow. “Then why are you still here playing chaperone instead of out there telling him how you feel?”

“He’s training right now,” Red Son muttered defensively. “With Wukong. And Macaque’s just… hovering, like always. I’d be intruding.”

Mei leaned against the cabinet, smirking knowingly. “So what? Interrupt them. MK’s not gonna tell you to leave. He likes having his boyfriend around.”

Red Son’s blush deepened, and he looked away. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Not yet,” Mei shot back immediately.

Red Son groaned. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re hopeless,” she replied, poking his arm. “But lucky for you, I’m here to help.” She put on her ‘strategist face,’ tapping her chin. “Okay. If blurting it out is too much for you, then start small. Ask him to hang out. Just the two of you. Not training, not group stuff. Just… you and him.”

Red Son hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I… could do that, I suppose. But no. It feels too forced.”

Mei groaned again, dramatically dragging her hands down her face. “Red, listen to yourself. You’re making it harder than it has to be. Just—ugh! Okay, here’s the plan. You’re gonna tell him you love him when the timing feels right, when nothing is on fire, and when you’re not overthinking yourself into a spiral. Simple. Clear. Got it?”

Red Son huffed, clearly annoyed but unable to argue with her logic. “…Great. It sounds great,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Glad I could help,” Mei said brightly, turning back to her game and slamming another button, her mecha firing rockets across the screen.

Red Son stood beside her, arms still crossed, but his mind was far from the arcade now. He replayed her words over and over in his head, and though he’d never admit it aloud… maybe she was right.

It was nearly afternoon, the warmth of the day beginning to soften as the shadows of the trees stretched long across the clearing. Training was finished now, and MK sat cross-legged in the grass, animatedly talking about something. Wukong was standing a little ways off, nodding along with a smirk at his student’s energy.

Macaque stood right beside them, arms loosely folded, golden eyes flicking between the two—but he wasn’t really listening. Something had been gnawing at him all day, an odd tension deep inside his chest, like a hook pulling him toward the treeline at the far edge of the clearing. He shifted uncomfortably, glaring into the woods, but the feeling wouldn’t leave him.

He clenched his jaw, trying to shake it off, but the sensation only deepened. Macaque let out a low groan and shut his eyes tight.

MK blinked and turned quickly. “Mac? You okay? What’s—” 

When Macaque opened his eyes again, they weren’t their usual golden shade but glowing violet, a shimmer of unnatural light. His body stiffened, gaze locking onto the woods like he couldn’t look away. Something was calling him—he didn’t know what, but it was strong.

“Mac—” MK started again, but before he could say more, Macaque slipped down into the ground, swallowed by shadows.

“Wait! Where did he go?!” MK shouted, springing to his feet.

Wukong stood quickly, his expression sharp though not surprised. “He kept staring into the woods. Something’s pulling him.” He whistled sharply, summoning the Nimbus with a swirl of clouds. “Come on, bud. We have to find him before he does something stupid.”

MK climbed on without hesitation, and together they sped off into the forest, the golden cloud weaving between branches until they spotted him.

Macaque stood in front of a jagged rock face, his shadowy form half-hidden in the gloom. His violet eyes had dimmed back to normal now, though the tension in his body remained. Before him yawned a cavern entrance, dark and uninviting.

When he sensed them behind him, he didn’t turn. “You followed.”

“Of course we did,” Wukong replied, leaping off the cloud. He landed with his arms folded, tail twitching. “You ran off like a lunatic. What’s this about?”

Macaque didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the mouth of the cave, jaw clenched. Finally, he sighed. “…Something’s in there.”

MK frowned. “Something? Like… what? It’s just a cave.”

“Not just a cave.” Macaque shook his head, voice low. “I don’t know what it is, but I feel it. Wrong. Strange.”

Wukong followed his gaze, golden eyes narrowing. “You feel weird about it?”

Macaque let out a breath. “Yeah. Weird.”

“Then why are we standing out here?” Wukong smirked tightly. “Let’s see what’s got you twitchy.”

They stepped inside together.

The cave swallowed them in damp chill, walls beaded with moisture that glistened faintly in what little light trickled in. Their footsteps echoed in the silence, the air thick with stillness. At first it was nothing but stone and shadows.

Then the passage split, two dark holes yawning in different directions.

Macaque stopped and studied them, shoulders tense. That strange pull was weaker now, but it hadn’t vanished. Just a whisper of it lingered, curling under his skin.

“You two go that way,” he said, nodding to the left. “I’ll take the other.”

MK immediately shook his head. “What? No, we shouldn’t split up.”

“Bud, it’ll be fine,” Wukong said, steady hand resting on the boy’s shoulder. “He can handle himself.”

“But still—” MK began.

Macaque cut him off with a short huff. “Always can. Always do.” He turned toward the right tunnel, muttering the last words to himself.

MK bit his lip but finally called, “Just… be careful, okay?”

Macaque lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave without looking back. “Always.”

The tunnel narrowed as he went deeper, the air colder, heavier. The chaos inside him stirred, whispering in its harsh, ugly voice: “Leave. Get out. Don’t go further.” 

He ignored it.

The tunnel opened into a wider chamber, and his breath caught. The walls glittered with strange crystals, their jagged shapes glowing faintly in swirls of pink and orange, almost like living veins. The colors pulsed faintly, wrong and alive.

Macaque’s stomach twisted. He took one step closer, and then. 

Cold.

An unnatural chill slammed into him, sinking into his bones. His muscles locked up, his body suddenly too heavy to move. He struggled, but invisible weight pinned him where he stood.

Then he heard it. 

The voice.

“I never left.”

Macaque’s heart lurched. That voice—he knew it. He knew it too well.

“No,” he rasped. “That’s… not possible.”

But the cold deepened. Frost began to snake across the floor, jagged ice crawling over the stone, reaching toward his feet. His panic spiked.

“No!” he shouted, forcing his body to jerk backward. His knees buckled, and he crashed to the ground, gasping, breath coming too fast.

The voice came again, closer this time. “I never left.”

This time it felt like an answer, a direct response to his denial.

Macaque squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown it out, to shut the sound away—but then hands grabbed him. Strong hands, solid and warm. He panicked, thrashing to get free. 

“Macaque!”

A different voice. Real. Urgent.

“Calm down, it’s us!”

His breath hitched. Slowly, he cracked his eyes open. Wukong was crouched right in front of him, holding his shoulders, MK just behind with a terrified expression.

“What?” Macaque croaked.

“We heard you screaming,” MK blurted. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Macaque turned his head. The crystals still pulsed faintly, colors shifting in the dimness. He muttered under his breath, “Shit…”

Wukong let go, stepping back to give him space. “What did you hear?”

Macaque pressed his fingers to his temples, breath ragged. “…Her.”

“Her?” MK echoed.

“The Lady Bone Demon,” Macaque said.

MK’s jaw dropped. “What?!”

Wukong’s eyes narrowed. “Bud. You know she’s gone.”

“I know that, you idiot,” Macaque snapped, his voice tight, fraying at the edges.

MK leaned forward. “Did you… see her?”

Macaque shook his head. “No. But I felt her. She was here.”

MK turned quickly to Wukong, desperate. “That’s not possible, right? She’s gone. She has to be gone.”

Wukong’s face was grim, unreadable. “…She’s gone,” he said at last. But there was hesitation in his tone.

Macaque pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly but steadying fast. His eyes burned with certainty. “Gone. But not gone enough.” He turned toward the way out, jaw tight. “We need to tell the others.”

MK hesitated. “But… what if this was just—just a trick? A false alarm?”

Macaque spun on him, eyes flashing. “I know what I heard, kid.”

The silence that followed was heavy, the hum of the crystal was the only sound in the cavern.

Night had settled heavily over Flower Fruit Mountain. Outside, the jungle hummed with crickets and the distant call of night birds, the sound of the waterfall a soft constant in the background. Inside the main hut, the air was thick with unease.

The room was dim, lit only by a few lanterns and the faint glow of the moon filtering through the open windows.

Mei sat cross-legged on the rug, her phone in her lap, brows knit together as she tried to piece everything into sense. Red Son occupied the old armchair, one leg crossed over the other, his expression sharp but thoughtful. MK sat on the couch beside Wukong, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie, and Macaque leaned against the opposite armrest of the couch, arms crossed tightly over his chest, gaze turned toward the floor as if staring at something only he could see.

“So,” Mei finally broke the silence, her voice unsure but pressing, “you just heard her. That’s it?”

Macaque’s golden eyes flicked toward her. His voice was low, carrying a weight that immediately silenced any lingering doubt. “It wasn’t like that,” he said. “I didn’t just hear her, I felt her.”

Mei frowned, leaning forward slightly. “But… did you actually see her?”

His jaw tightened. “I think—” He shook his head sharply. “No. I couldn’t move. I was frozen in place. So, no.”

Mei exhaled and leaned back, tapping her nails nervously against her phone screen. “Okay, this… doesn’t make any sense.”

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only when Wukong finally sighed and leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. “Look. Why don’t we just go back to that cave in the morning? You said yourself you had a weird feeling about it.” His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp, betraying the weight he was trying not to show.

MK nodded quickly, looking between them. “Yeah, that… that makes sense. If something’s there, we’ll know for sure, right?”

Macaque’s expression shifted—something between frustration and exhaustion—as he exhaled through his nose. “Maybe.”

From the armchair, Red Son, who had been uncharacteristically quiet until now, finally spoke up. His voice was measured, but the underlying sharpness made everyone turn toward him. “I think we have two questions that all of us need answered.”

He raised a hand, ticking off the first with a finger. “One: who, or what, brought her back?”

Another finger lifted. “Two: was she ever truly dead in the first place?”

The questions lingered in the air, chilling in their simplicity. No one moved, no one spoke. The crackle of the lanterns and the steady thrum of the waterfall outside only made the silence heavier.

MK shifted uncomfortably. “That’s…” He trailed off, unable to finish, his gaze darting nervously toward Macaque, then Wukong.

But there was no answer.

The sharp buzz of MK’s phone on the table startled everyone. He jumped slightly before snatching it up. The screen glowed against his face as his eyes scanned the message, and the color drained from him.

“It’s… it’s from Nezha,” MK said, his voice tight.

Everyone leaned forward a little, waiting.

MK swallowed hard and read aloud, “The Mayor escaped from prison. The guards don’t know how. Be careful—I have a weird feeling about this.”

The room went still again, heavier than before. Mei’s eyes widened, her hand tightening around her phone. Wukong’s expression darkened, tail twitching. Macaque’s gaze flicked toward the window, pupils narrowing. Red Son’s jaw clenched, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face.

The two threads of dread—the whispered echo of the Lady Bone Demon and the Mayor’s sudden escape—hung over them like a storm waiting to break.

And none of them knew what was about to come next.

The abandoned building was silent but for the faint drip of water through cracks in the ceiling and the whisper of wind slipping through shattered windows. The walls were dark with age, lined with peeling paint and creeping moss, but in the center of the broken room stood a figure who seemed untouched by decay. Lady Bone Demon stood at the window, her back to the Mayor, her pale form lit silver by the glow of the moon above.

She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She simply stared upward, as though the moon itself had fallen into her grasp.

Behind her, the Mayor shifted impatiently. His thin hands wrung together, gloved fingers twitching with the excitement of one who had waited too long in silence. The shadows seemed thicker here, as though even the night dared not draw too close. Finally, unable to bear the quiet, he bent slightly at the waist, his voice a thin whisper that dared not disturb her more than it had to.

“My Lady… now that phase one is done… what are we going to do now?”

The words hung in the stale air, swallowed by the ruined walls.

For a moment, Lady Bone Demon did not respond. Her pale head tilted, only slightly, her gaze never leaving the moon. When she spoke at last, her voice was cool, measured, sharp enough to cut through the silence.

“The game,” she said, each word slow, deliberate, “has just begun.”

The Mayor’s eyes gleamed. His lips twisted upward in anticipation, but he said nothing.

LBD shifted just enough for the edge of her face to catch the light, but her eyes remained fixed on the moon. “And this time,” she continued, softer now, almost thoughtful, “I am not playing nice.”

The Mayor’s grin widened further, teeth flashing in the dim.

Her hand rose, palm open as though cradling the sky itself. For a moment, it looked as though she held the moon in her hand. Her fingers twitched ever so slightly, poised to close.

“I will take everything and even the moon away,” she whispered. Her tone was calm, but the venom beneath it made the air colder. “So suddenly, so completely… that not even the sun… not even the stars… will notice.”

Her words lingered, settling deep into the shadows of the ruined hall.

The Mayor drew in a sharp breath, shivering with delight at the thought. His grin became a trembling smile, his eyes locked on her with reverence. “Ah… yes. That’s what we are counting on, aren’t we, my Lady?”

At last, LBD turned toward him. Her face was as smooth and expressionless as carved porcelain, but her faint smile carried the weight of something far more dangerous. She took a slow step forward, then another, the ruined floor groaning under her feet.

“Indeed, dear,” she said softly, her eyes flashing pale in the moonlight. “That’s what we are counting for.”

And then she turned back to the window once more, the moon still shining down, her hand hovering in the air as though she could pluck it from the sky whenever she wished.

[END] 

Chapter Text

Morning sunlight spilled gently over Flower Fruit Mountain, sliding down the stone ridges and breaking through the trees, making the ocean below glitter like glass. Though the day was already late—closer to noon than morning—the air in the mountain’s inner hut felt thick, heavy, as if the sunlight couldn’t quite chase away the weight of the night before.

Inside, Wukong and Nezha stood opposite each other, their voices low but sharp with tension.

“So…” Nezha said, his arms folded, his tone clipped as always. “He just heard her voice. And that was it?”

Wukong exhaled, long and tired, running a hand through his mane of hair before answering. “Yeah. That was it.” His voice carried the sound of someone repeating himself for the third time, someone who wasn’t sure if he wanted to believe the words or not.

Nezha’s eyes narrowed. His gaze flicked toward the floor for a moment before returning to Wukong. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would she be back?”

Wukong’s tail gave a restless flick behind him. “And why would she break the Mayor out of prison?” he countered.

For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, the quiet between them humming with the weight of questions neither wanted to voice aloud.

Finally, Nezha broke it, his voice quieter this time but edged with suspicion. “I don’t think she did it. The guards didn’t see anyone. Plus the door had a seal. It could only be unlocked with a key.”

He paused, then added with deliberate weight, “And the key was with me. The whole time.”

Wukong’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing. The silence stretched, long enough that the sounds of birds outside the hut seemed suddenly loud.

“Unless…” Nezha muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Wukong’s ears twitched, picking up on the tone immediately. “Unless what?” he asked, his voice suspicious.

Nezha’s gaze sharpened, and when he spoke again, his words were slow. “Unless they had another key.”

Wukong made a short, confused sound, half scoff, half growl. “Another key?”

Nezha’s expression darkened. “Unless they had the key. The one that unlocks everything.”

Wukong barked a humorless laugh, shaking his head as though the very thought was ridiculous. “That’s impossible. That key is in the treasure vault. Safe. Hidden. And I would know if someone was there.”

His confidence was sharp, almost biting. But Nezha didn’t flinch. He simply tilted his head, eyes narrowing further. “Do you have any other idea, then?” he asked calmly.

Wukong’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.

Nezha let the silence stand for a heartbeat, then changed the subject. “Where are the others?”

The Monkey King gave a sharp exhale through his nose. “MK and Macaque are back in that cave, trying to find something—anything. The others are at Sandy’s, coming up with a plan in case LBD tries something.”

Nezha nodded slowly in understanding. “Then the best thing to do,” he said at last, “is to see if the key is still in the treasure room.”

Wukong groaned, tipping his head back and rubbing at his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered. “If it’ll bring you to ease.”

The two of them left the hut together, the path to the treasure vault echoing with the sound of their footsteps. The cave was deep within the mountain itself, the air cooler there, and the stone walls lined with carvings from a time long past. Torches burned faintly against the gloom, their smoke curling in the still air.

When they entered, the sight of the vault was almost overwhelming: rows of golden weapons, ancient scrolls sealed in lacquered cases, relics gathered over centuries. Each shelf and pedestal seemed to hum faintly with power.

Nezha let out a slow breath as his eyes scanned the countless artifacts. “This,” he murmured, “is going to take a while.”

But Wukong shook his head. “Nah. I know exactly where I put it.”

With that, he strode across the room, tail flicking with impatience, weaving past spears and blades until he reached a low shelf against the far wall. He crouched, his hands moving aside smaller boxes and trinkets until he pulled free a plain wooden box, worn but sturdy.

“See?” he said, shooting Nezha a sideways grin as he turned the box in his hands. “Still here.”

Nezha crossed his arms, his face unreadable. “Open it.”

Wukong rolled his eyes but flipped the latch with a flick of his claw. The lid creaked open. He tilted the box toward Nezha with a cocky smile.

“See? It’s still—”

His words cut off mid-sentence. His grin faltered.

The box was empty.

Wukong froze, his golden eyes wide, his ears twitching back in disbelief. Slowly, he lowered his gaze into the box as though the key might simply be hiding beneath nothingness.

“…What,” he muttered under his breath. His voice was sharp, small, dangerous.

“It’s not in there,” Nezha said evenly, his arms still folded.

Wukong’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

“It’s not in there,” Nezha repeated, his tone unchanging.

Wukong looked back down at the box, then back at Nezha. “But—I would know if someone was here.” His voice was strained, the words tumbling out fast, defensive. “I would know.”

Nezha exhaled slowly. “Okay. Maybe if we calm down, we can think of another way to approach this.”

Wukong slammed the lid shut with a sharp crack. “And what would that be?!” His voice echoed in the vault, bouncing off the stone walls. He held up the empty box as if it were mocking him. “The key is gone. Someone was on the mountain. Someone was in the vault. And I didn’t know about it.”

His hand trembled slightly before he lowered the box, his jaw clenched so tight the muscle jumped in his cheek.

Nezha’s gaze softened only a fraction. He sighed, almost under his breath. “…Everything is getting kind of bad. And we don’t know how to fix it.”

The torchlight flickered, shadows dancing across their faces as silence settled between them again—heavier this time, colder.

And the box remained empty.

It was late midday, the sun hanging high outside, though its light barely reached into the depths of the forest cave. Inside, the air was cool and damp, carrying that faint mineral that clung to stone. The walls shimmered faintly with embedded crystals—pink and orange veins pulsing with a dim glow, their light flickering like fading lanterns. Shadows stretched long across the uneven ground, giving the cave an uneasy stillness.

MK and Macaque had been moving slowly through the chamber, their footsteps crunching on loose gravel. Every corner they checked looked the same: jagged rock, crystalline glimmers, silence. Nothing else.

MK prodded behind a large rock with his staff, lifting it carefully aside. He squinted into the space behind it but found nothing but dust and cold stone. Straightening, he looked back at Macaque and asked cautiously, “So… having any weird feelings?”

Macaque paused where he stood, eyes narrowing as they scanned the crystals. He let out a low, weary sigh. “No. Nothing.” His voice echoed faintly off the walls, heavy with resignation. “…But it’s best we take a look.”

So they kept searching.

MK frowned, determination sparking. His golden aura flickered, and in a flash, he shifted into his monkey form. His fur bristled softly in the glow, ears twitching, tail swaying for balance. Monkey senses were sharper—better hearing, keener smell. Maybe it would help.

He sniffed at the air, pressed his ear against the wall, climbed lightly onto a ledge to examine a cluster of crystals. Still, there was nothing—no voices, no strange pulses, no hidden passages. He dropped back down, landing lightly on his feet, and tried another corner. Nothing.

After a few more moments, MK sighed and shimmered back into his human self, shoulders drooping. He looked back to see Macaque already lowering himself onto a wide stone ledge, his arms resting heavily on his knees. The older monkey rubbed at his face, clearly exhausted. His tail flicked lazily across the ground as he muttered, “I don’t think we’re going to find anything here.”

MK’s chest tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he crossed the space between them and sat down beside Macaque. Without hesitation, he leaned gently against his shoulder, a solid, grounding presence in the cavern’s eerie quiet.

The silence between them was thick, broken only by the faint drip of water echoing from somewhere deeper in the cave. The crystals’ glow painted them both in shades of pink and orange.

After a long pause, MK finally spoke, his voice soft but steady. “…Are you scared?”

Macaque’s eyes flicked toward him. He let the question hang in the air for a moment, then gave a short, humorless huff. “…Of her being back?” His voice dropped lower, quieter. He stared down at the ground, fingers curling loosely against his knees. “…Yeah, I’m.”

The admission hung heavy in the still air.

MK blinked, then swallowed and nodded slowly. “…Yeah. Me too.”

Macaque shifted slightly, letting himself lean back against MK, their shoulders pressing together. For a moment, neither of them said anything more.

Then MK straightened a little, his voice firmer now, carrying a spark of determination. “Don’t worry, Mama. We’re going to find a way out of this mess. We always do.”

For a heartbeat, Macaque didn’t move. Then, unexpectedly, a low chuckle slipped from him. It was short, a little rough, but genuine. He allowed his eyes to close for just a moment, breathing easier than before.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, leaning just a little more into MK’s presence. “We always do.”

The two of them stayed there, shoulder to shoulder beneath the faint glow of the crystals, their quiet words echoing in the empty cave. Whatever came next, at least they weren’t alone.

The afternoon sun spilled lazily across the harbor, turning the water into a rippling sheet of gold. Sandy’s boat bobbed gently with the waves, its familiar creaks and groans filling the quiet air. Inside, the scent of tea and spices drifted faintly from the kitchen where Sandy, Tang, and Pigsy were finishing their break, their muffled voices carrying in low bursts of conversation.

In the main lounge, Red Son sat on the floor beside the couch, knees pulled up and arms loosely resting against them. His crimson cape pooled slightly around him, and his usually sharp posture was subdued, his head bowed just enough that the glow of his hair wasn’t as bright as usual. His gaze was distant, locked on the wooden floorboards as though searching for answers in the lines of the grain.

The muffled clink of ceramic cups announced Mei’s approach before she stepped out of the kitchen. In each hand she carried a mug, steam curling from the rims. She spotted Red Son immediately and padded across the room, her green jacket swishing softly with each step. Without a word, she lowered herself to the floor beside him, their shoulders almost brushing, and handed him one of the mugs.

“Here,” she said gently.

Red Son glanced at the mug before taking it, his claws curling around the warmth of the ceramic. He let out a long, quiet sigh, his gaze sinking into the amber liquid inside. “Looks like it will never be a good time…” he muttered, voice heavy.

Mei raised her own mug, blowing across the surface before taking a small sip. She tilted her head toward him, her expression soft but firm. “Hey. Don’t lose hope. You’ll tell him eventually.”

Red Son gave a humorless little huff, shaking his head. His eyes stayed fixed on the tea, the steam fogging faintly against his cheek. “…How am I supposed to tell him when there’s always something going on?” His voice cracked just a touch, frustration leaking through. “Like right now—we have to come up with something in case LBD tries anything.”

Mei frowned slightly, her fingers tightening around her mug. She shifted so she could meet his eyes, her voice quiet but steady. “Maybe… maybe you could tell him when all this is over.”

For a moment, Red Son didn’t answer. His jaw tensed, and his eyes flickered down to the floor again. Finally, he let out another sigh, heavier this time. “…I don’t think this will be over soon.” His tone carried both certainty and weariness, like someone who had already been preparing himself for a long road.

The words seemed to hang between them, too heavy to push aside.

Mei leaned sideways until her shoulder brushed against his, resting there lightly. She let her eyes drop toward her tea as she muttered under her breath, “We just have to hope… that none of us will get hurt.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it was filled with the quiet creaking of the boat, the muffled talking from the kitchen, and the soft lapping of waves against the hull outside. Red Son stared into his tea for a long while, then lifted the mug and took a small sip. The warmth spread through him, though it did little to chase away the knot in his chest.

He didn’t reply to Mei’s words. He didn’t need to. His silence carried his thoughts loud enough: When will all this be over? He didn’t know. But deep down, one thing felt certain—this wouldn’t end soon.

Back in the cave, the air hung heavy and still, the faint shimmer of the pink and orange crystals casting a dim glow across the stone walls. MK and Macaque were still leaning against each other, shoulders pressed together, neither of them eager to move. The silence had stretched comfortably between them for longer than they realized, but reality tugged at them all the same.

Macaque finally exhaled, breaking the quiet with a low sigh. His voice came out rough with fatigue. “Ready to go back?”

MK shifted, pulling his gaze from the crystals to look at him. For a heartbeat, he considered suggesting they stay longer, but he knew Macaque was right. “Yeah,” he answered softly.

They pushed themselves upright, slow from weariness, and Macaque raised a hand. With a flick of his fingers, a shadowy ripple spread beneath them, and a portal opened on the cave floor. The shadows curled like smoke, then swallowed them whole.

In an instant, the damp cold of the cave was replaced by the warm, familiar air of Sandy’s boat. The hum of conversation from the others filled their ears, the wooden floor steady beneath their feet.

Mei, who was lounging at the edge of the couch with her phone in her lap, immediately sat up straighter. “There you guys are!” she exclaimed, relief lacing her voice before it turned into a scold. “Why did you take so long?”

Tang leaned over from his spot on the couch, curiosity bright in his eyes. “Did you find anything?”

MK rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between the others. “Yeah, we searched for a while… but didn’t find anything.”

Before anyone could react further, Wukong cleared his throat, the sound sharp enough to pull everyone’s attention. He stood near the center of the room, golden eyes narrowed with unease. “Now that we’re all here,” he began, his tone more serious than usual, “I’ve got some bad news.”

Across the room, Nezha—who was leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed—lifted a brow. “Just tell them,” he said flatly.

Wukong inhaled deeply, shoulders tensing before he spoke. “The Skull Key is… kinda gone.”

The words hit the group like a stone tossed into water. Every face turned toward him, each expression carrying its own mixture of disbelief and alarm.

Pigsy squinted at him from the kitchen doorway, voice sharp with frustration. “What do you mean gone?”

Wukong ran a hand down his face, ears twitching. “Let’s just say… someone was on the Mountain. And I didn’t know about it.”

Pigsy’s shoulders slumped, his hand pressing firmly against his forehead. He groaned, exasperated, and muttered, “Great. Another problem.”

Sandy, standing nearby, placed a massive hand on Pigsy’s back, giving him a reassuring pat that made Pigsy wobble slightly.

Red Son, sitting on the arm of the couch, folded his arms and huffed. “Well… it could’ve been worse.”

Mei turned her head sharply, narrowing her eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Red Son shrugged, his expression caught somewhere between defensive and thoughtful. “I don’t know. All I’m saying is that it could’ve been worse.”

Sandy stroked his beard slowly, nodding. “Maybe we can come up with something else.”

Pigsy snapped his head around, his voice rising. “With what? We have no idea what LBD is planning!”

MK stepped forward quickly, raising his hands as though to push the tension back. “Don’t worry, Dadsy. We can come up with something in no time.” His optimism rang clear, even though a nervous edge clung to his words.

Against the wall, half-hidden in shadow, Macaque leaned heavily with his arms crossed. He looked drained, exhaustion etched into the sharp lines of his face. Searching the cave had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment—before he felt Nezha’s gaze burning into him.

His eyes snapped open, and he tilted his head toward the other. “What?”

Nezha didn’t blink. His tone was blunt as ever. “You look like shit.”

Macaque’s eyes narrowed, and he pushed himself off the wall just enough to gesture vaguely. “Well, you try to sleep last night when you know a homicidal bone demon is back and she broke her puppet out of jail.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, sharp enough to cut.

Nezha’s expression didn’t change. “I was just saying. No need to act like that.”

Macaque huffed and rubbed at his temple. “Could this be any worse?” he muttered, mostly to himself.

Nezha straightened slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, don’t jinx it.”

Rolling his eyes, Macaque shot him a withering look. “Shut it.”

Nezha raised his hands innocently. “Didn’t say anything.”

The room fell into uneasy quiet after that, the weight of too many unanswered questions pressing down on them all. The Skull Key was gone, they have no idea what LBD is planning, and the cracks in their certainty were beginning to show.

It was night once again. The moon hung high, its pale light filtering through jagged cracks in the stone ceiling of a place far from Megapolis. Now, deep underground, a grand lair spread out like the ribcage of some ancient beast. Frost crept across the walls, glittering in sharp, crystalline patterns. A heavy chill sat in the air, each breath visible as faint mist.

At the center of the lair sat a throne carved entirely from ice. Its jagged edges gleamed under the dim, eerie glow of enchanted torches that flickered blue instead of gold. Upon it, Lady Bone Demon rested with regal poise, her long, skeletal fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. Her hollow eyes were half-lidded, as though she were lost in thought, calculating moves within a game only she could see the full board of.

She hadn’t set foot in this place for a long time. The lair felt like an echo of a power once hers, waiting patiently for her return. Now, seated once more upon the frozen throne, she admitted silently that it was far more fitting than that crumbling abandoned building. Here, the walls themselves whispered allegiance to her. Here, the cold bowed to her will.

Her silence stretched long, unbroken, until the shuffling of footsteps across icy stone cut through her thoughts. The Mayor approached, as dutifully hunched as ever, his hands folded neatly in front of him. He waited for the right moment before daring to speak, his voice slippery with devotion.

“My Lady,” he began, inclining his head. “If I may ask… when is phase three going to begin?”

For a moment, the Bone Demon did not respond. Her fingers stilled against the throne, and she tilted her head, as though tasting the question in the air. Then, slowly, her voice unfurled, low and cold, echoing off the frozen walls.

“Soon, my dear. But we are still currently in phase two.”

Her words lingered, trailing like smoke, and she exhaled a faint sigh that turned to frost before her lips. She lifted her gaze toward the moonlight spilling faintly into the lair, her tone sharpening with a mix of impatience and clarity.

“I just need to restore my energy. And when I am done…” her eyes narrowed, and her lips curved into the faintest smile, “we can begin phase three.”

The Mayor tilted his head in curiosity, leaning ever so slightly closer. “And… why can’t you do that like this, my Lady?” His question was respectful, but eager, his crooked smile threatening to break through.

The Bone Demon’s hollow gaze fell on him, sharp and deliberate. “Because,” she said, each syllable precise, “I will need the Samadhi Fire.”

The words hung heavy in the frozen chamber, their weight enough to make even the ice groan softly.

The Mayor’s brow twitched upward. He let out a soft, amused chuckle. “Ah, the girl,” he mused. “She’s gotten quite good at controlling it, hasn’t she? But we won’t get close.” His voice carried both admiration and disdain, as though the idea of the girl mastering something powerful was simultaneously impressive and irritating.

“I know that,” LBD replied smoothly, her tone as steady as the ice that surrounded her. “Which is why I am not going to be the one going after her.” She paused, and her gaze sharpened further, a flicker of cruel delight dancing in her expression. “And neither will you.”

The Mayor fell silent immediately, his grin widening ever so slightly. He knew where this was going. He had walked this path with her long enough to recognize the steps before she even took them. His heart quickened in delight, and though he did not speak, his silence brimmed with approval.

The Bone Demon leaned back against her throne, her skeletal fingers curling against the ice, her voice lowering to a whisper that still managed to fill every corner of the lair.

“I will need my champion for that.”

Her eyes glowed faintly with dark light, as though she could already see the one she wanted right here. The Mayor’s grin widened to a wicked smile, his sharp teeth flashing in the torchlight. Every word from her lips was a promise of chaos, and he relished every moment of it.

[END]