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Laying on the side wasn't convenient for a body adorned with armour, some parts awkwardly raised from the ground, and others painfully stuck to it. With its back facing the flaming star, the body created a bold shadow on the skyscraper's rooftop, the golden metal was dyed scarlet clashing with the diving sun's rays. The wind wasn't so forgiving high up there, its violent hits flapped the red cape attached to the armour wildly and cruelly tousled golden hair.
A warm, red liquid ominously seeped from under, no doubt coming from the upper abdomen which was recently pierced.
The naturally passive process of breathing was lost minutes ago, thorax muscles were struggling under conscious command, it laboriously expanded the chest cage, and with it the heavy metal the body wore, an attempt of taking air, thus, along with the sound of the fluttering red cape, was the sound of wheezing.
Once fiery and restless eyes were now a pair of dull orbs, and though they were pointed to the ground, one couldn't tell if they processed what they were viewing. They rose, bluish lips weakly moved, "I know you're here".
The spoken to wasn't up there, nor was he lingering around on the rooftop, but within the dying man's shadows. A pair of purple eyes appeared deep down inside the black, one was scarred, the other gleamed with an unreadable light, narrowed and sharp.
"What would you do with your very last breath?" They were asked once, each was just a little carefree monkey held between the loving hands of an adult, fur being groomed. Wukong's answer was loud, clear, and booming with confidence.
"I'm gonna tell the world I'm coming back!"
"You aren't coming back if it's your last breath!" Macaque vividly remembered protesting at his friend's thoughtless statement.
The Monkey King's eyelids didn't flutter even when the hazy pupils slid down to face forward, they still weren't looking where the black shadow spread on the ground. "...Macaque?" His voice was hoarse and dry, it came out following a distressingly dragged breath. Wukong was described with many colours, but never pale, every inch of his body was the definition of being alive, vigorous, and strong, his vessels distended by the flowing crimson red and his muscles bulged with power, yet the purple eye saw nothing of this at that moment, Wukong's fingers twitched, but instead of his movement resembling that of a roaring lion or an aggressive bear, it looked like dying fish.
"I beg of you…"
Vision grew darker and darker with the earth rotating away from the star. And in Wukong's unfocused, withering face reflected the faint purple light of a demonic eye, the shadows accompanying it morphed into existence, it took the shape of a dark monkey, he knelt on the ground right beside the sage, his fist was against the white flooring tiles, it brushed the disgustingly cold fingers of the king, and as if stimulated, they moved themselves to top it.
It was supposed to be a firm grip, but the once mighty Sage Equal to Heaven could only manage a pathetic touch. A pleading touch. The bloody mess from his wound grew larger, it tickled the edge of their joined hands.
Not a sound could be heard on top of the skyscraper except that of Wukong's cape and his wheezing, and no shadow crawled there other than theirs merging together into one. The black monkey had an unreadable gaze, his head loomed over, it blocked the red rays of a beautiful sunset from the king’s face.
Delicate orange hairs slid down to cover lifeless eyes, even when the simian, big knuckled black furred hand tried to half-heartedly swipe them back, they fell. Really, years of existence could flip the very core of your world upside down. What was once an unreachable, far-away divine light was now within that clawed grasp gasping for breath, vulnerable, helpless, and at the trickster’s mercy. Who would’ve thought?
“What will you use your very last breath for, Wukong?”
Were miracles known before a baby was born from rocks? They became clear no longer, not when the monkeys' life was so magical and full of unexpected turns. A miracle was Wukong himself, from when he opened his eyes, to the him now laying powerlessly in front of danger, for everyone thought the king was invincible. With this a fact one couldn’t blame Macaque (or every single simian who heard the little monkey’s answer at that time) for believing if Wukong said he was coming back, he would.
But life was ever changing, and like how those lips turned from the forever grinning in confidence lips to the chapped, blue ones the shadow was seeing. He couldn’t help but wonder.
Wukong was no longer recognizable with the smell of death.
There on top of an unknown, human built skyscraper laid the Monkey King in his last moment, he was a hero, a warrior, someone who changed history, one would ask, if he was all of that, shouldn’t he die surrounded by his beloveds, under their loving, tearful eyes and within their embrace?
Yes, yes would be the answer, but how miserable it was that the person who accompanied him in his deathbed was none other than his hateful, selfish nemesis.
Macaque was this cruel to let it be like that.
“I beg of you, Macaque…”
And that cruel, greedy black monkey wished for the king’s answer to be the same it was so many years ago.
“Take care of MK”
That was the last time Wukong’s chest rose and fell, as it deflated his hand topping Macaque’s fell on the bloody ground, it was soon engulfed by the big, warm one he was just trying to hold. But no matter how hard the demon pressed the bones, it wouldn’t move.
Between day and night, sky and ground, black and orange tufts of hair mingled together, a smooth forehead caressed the dead monkey’s temple, before rough, cracked lips planted a mournful goodbye kiss on it.
If Wukong said he was coming back like he would have if time didn’t change him, the demon’s own response would be the different one.
He wouldn’t protest.
The End.