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Summary
Macaque's eyes widened in unbelievable terror as Wukong raised his weapon, turning it in his hands, “No, no, no please. St-op. Stop. Forgi..ive me,” his words were drowned out by a raspy coughing fit, blood mixed with other fluids from his body came pouring from his mouth, stopping his prayers mid-sentence. “Peach-es, please. I was wrong, no mo-ore.” When Macaque saw the man on top of him nod in satisfaction at the sight below, tightening his grip on his staff. He started to plead harder, the tears coming faster than before.
Wukong raised the weapon as high as he could, the sun somehow shining brighter. All he could see was a black shadow outlined in a beautiful gold, a wreath of light beaming off his headpiece. All he was granted was one final look before the last thing he heard was a ghost of Wukongs voice, “You have lost the right to call me your own."
“Wukong no, STOP, please no, no, n..o, WUKONG! I be-g of you Ple-”
CRUNCH