Chapter Text
Macaque quietly hummed as he sketched on a piece of paper, a small monkey sitting on his head and admiring the view. The monkey whimpered under its breath, as if worried about something.
“I know, bud. I’m worried about him too,” Macaque sighed. He paused to stare at his drawing. “Unless you’re worried about where this art piece is going…” A messy portrait of Wukong waited to be finished on the piece of paper.
“Yeah, I don’t know why I’m drawing him either. I’m not very good at it either.” The sketch looked like that of a five-year old’s anime phase art—the eyes were big with sparkles inside them, anatomy pointy and disproportionate. Macaque crumpled up the paper and tossed it into a bush, where it rolled beside a rock. He glanced at the drawing on the rock—one of he and Wukong, each person made by themselves. He turned to the side.
“They might need my help, but—“ Macaque began to mutter again before a loud zip sound interrupted him, followed by panicked hollers and a crash. He glanced over at the group that had teleported in—MK, Mei, Pigsy, Sandy, Tang, and a terribly beat up Ne Zha. The monkey hurried off Macaque’s head and cowered behind him.
“You guys sure look rough,” Macaque gestured towards Na Zha before hopping off the rock and landing on his feet with a humph. “What the hell happened?”
MK began to guide Ne Zha towards the cabin. “Azure Lion and his buddies happened. You are familiar with the Yellow Tusked Elephant and the Golden Winged Great Peng, no?”
Macaque winced at the names and glanced at the sky, feeling the sensation of an impending doom. “Yeah, I knew them. Unfortunately.” Their relationships were bittersweet, and the trio was often provoked by Macaque’s leniency towards Wukong, even in his times of betrayal—though he had long since learned his lesson—and the way he often worked from the shadows, watching and waiting to act.
“Good. We can talk about that matter later, then. For now, we need to help them with their injuries,” MK suggested, leading Ne Zha in, the others following behind. Macaque eventually joined them after kicking his crumpled up drawing back into the bush.
“We shouldn’t have left. The Jade Emperor is—“
“Ne Zha, you could have died. We didn’t have a choice. We’ll be prepared to attack again, but first we need to fix you up,” MK interrupted the stubborn and self-neglecting male. “Your duty matters but so does your health.” He lowered his eyes at Ne Zha, who could barely even hold himself up without his support.
“Macaque, you’ll help us when we are prepared to battle again?” MK asked, hoped, as he gazed over at Macaque, whose face fell a little.
Macaque didn’t respond, rather he noticed a missing presence. “Did Wukong stay in the Heavens?” He glanced around, before his eyes fell on two pieces of a scroll dangling from MK’s waist. Macaque didn’t need to be told what happened–he knew. He couldn’t feel anything for it, either.
There had to be a way to get him out of there.
MK’s face fell as well, his weak smile finally crumbling. He crashed onto his knees, violently sobbing and heaving as he clutched the pieces of the scroll. “He’s stuck there, and it’s because of me. Had I not been so… slow! So flawed! Maybe if I had been a little more efficient, a little faster, he wouldn’t be trapped! How are we supposed to bring him back?” MK furiously scrubbed away his tears with his sleeves, trembling as each of the words spilled and there was nothing to bottle up anymore.
“Kid, don’t put the blame on yourself. How could you have possibly known that the Lion dude was bad news? We’re going to find a way out of this,” Pigsy reassured the fragile young male, wrapping an arm around him. “You need to rest. We will figure it all out soon, alright? You need to breathe too, MK.”
MK slowly rose from the abode’s floor, unable to feel secured by the statement but motivated enough to stand.
When Macaque realized everyone else was occupied with handling their own injuries and taking care of each other, he knew it was up to him to help remind MK who he was. No matter which mentor he was, he needed to be there for him–he needed to keep him from taking similar risks to Macaque. He needed to keep him from losing the people he loved most.
“Bud, come with me,” Macaque suggested, though he didn’t really wait for a response before a purple silhouette introduced a portal to them and they slipped through, joined by Macaque’s former monkey friend. They found themselves in front of the waterfall, which was currently sealed.
“Oh.. I’ve got this,” MK insisted, though his remark was entirely disregarded by Macaque, who lifted a hand to the waterfall and opened it up again. MK’s eyes rose, and he could practically feel gears turning in his head. “You– you opened it.”
Macaque silently continued forward, the now curious and baffled MK. “You can’t just pull a stunt like that and provide no explanation! I thought… I thought only the Monkey King and I could open it!” he exclaimed, glancing back and forth between the open waterfall and Macaque.
Figuring Macaque would continue to lead on his inquisitions, he tried to think long and hard to connect any possible pieces. He recalled how in Macaque’s shadow play, Macaque was the warrior that felt as though he could not compare to the self-proclaimed hero of the story, Sun Wukong. Macaque, the moon, who fell short compared to the bright sun, Wukong.
“You two sure are secretive, aren’t you?” MK muttered, finally catching a slip of Macaque’s expression. Though MK was expecting a smirk or even a low chuckle, he instead received a rather grim look, as if he had something to hide. He recalled Macaque’s frequent mentions of death around the Lady Bone Demon, but he still felt as though something were missing.
“When you realize people aren’t who they put themselves out to be, you can easily shrink back into a shell. As if there were no trust shared to begin with.” Macaque’s voice was quiet, faint almost, and MK had to hurry behind him in order to pick up on what he was saying.
“Why is it that you can work up the guts to say confusing and indirect things like this, but you can never explain what happened? Why can’t you guys just try and trust us?” MK stepped in front of Macaque, the hurt on his face very apparent.
“Look, kid, sometimes you just can’t trust everyone.”
“Am I everyone? Am I, Macaque? What are you so afraid of?” MK began to holler, frustrated and desperate for an answer. He needed answers. The loss and distress was piling up and he was directing it all towards Macaque. “Why is it that you guys get to be so secretive about your emotions, your feelings, why can’t you just try to trust us?!”
Macaque turned his head away, too afraid to speak up. As if his throat were closing in on him, and there were slideshows flickering in his mind: the same images, over and over. He moved forward, pushing past MK. He needed to focus on what they were there for in the first place.
“Stop ignoring me! You, Monkey King, you all do! You don’t tell me anything. I’m not a child. You call me a kid, but we’re past that. I’m the Monkie Kid, and how am I supposed to be the Monkie Kid and avoid repeating the history you are all so terribly avoiding if you guys tell me nothing?! When will you learn that I am not just some kid you pick and choose what information to give away to me, this isn’t a holiday! This is the real world, and we will not keep it much longer if you continue to push everyone away!”
Macaque sighed. “Alright. You’re right. I suppose we do owe you an explanation, because you were dragged into all of this. Maybe I shouldn’t speak on Wukong’s behalf, though.”
“I’m glad you think that, because I just had a wonderful idea,” MK clarified, beginning to unhook the broken slip from where it hung on from his pants. Macaque flinched again, thinking of Wukong trapped in the darkness of the Scroll of Memory, constantly reliving everything he ever did wrong.
Less than a month ago, he would’ve felt amused by the fact Wukong was being reminded of his sins–what he’d done to Macaque. The abandonment. But now, he felt as though heart strings were being pulled at the idea of him having to undergo everything he regrets all over again. He shook his head, as if it would push away the thoughts that lingered in the back of his mind.
“Are you ready for this?” MK asked, enabling his gold vision to examine the broken scroll to see if it was still accessible–to their luck, it was. “I know you two aren’t necessarily… close, but your powers are very similar. You practically share the same powers as us, meaning we both will more likely be able to slip into the scroll.” MK reached out his hand, offering the bottom half of the scroll to Macaque.
Macaque stared at the piece for a moment before accepting the decision and reluctantly taking it from MK’s hand. He took a deep breath before using a shadow to lift the slip into the air, watching sternly as the slip began to glow as Macaque forced it to unlock itself. MK followed his lead,having been unfamiliar with the process, and the two were both sucked into the scroll.
Plunged into a city of darkness, MK viewed the more unfamiliar monochrome environment around him. When he had originally gone into the scroll with Mei to find Wukong, there was more color and less of an impending doom sort of feeling. He felt more as though he were being watched and more alone. Not having his best friend to experience the mysterious realm with him took more of a toll on the way his surroundings affected him. He felt more aware, as though he needed to watch every inch of his perimeter–not because he wanted to but because he needed to.
–
On the contrary, Macaque found himself surrounded by an unsettlingly familiar setting, and he turned around to see a much younger Wukong drawing on the rock outside of the shack that was once shared by the two of them. His eyes followed Wukong’s relaxed and optimistic eyes as they watched younger Macaque while he approached him from inside the shack.
“You’re such a talented artist, Wukong,” the younger Macaque praised Wukong as he plopped beside him. The black haired monkey held onto his own markers and began sketching a self portrait, one posed similarly to Wukong’s.
Wukong leaned over, having never really had an understanding of personal space—not that Macaque minded, the closeness was comforting—face hovering above Macaque’s shoulder. “Your art style is always so funny to me.” Wukong snickered a little, regretting the remark when he noticed the discontent on Macaque’s fav. “Not in a rude way. It’s just a little, um, silly!”
“Right,” Macaque muttered, focusing back on his drawing. He began to color inside of the sharp and pointy lines, his coloring just as aggressive as his lineart.
Despite the fact Macaque drew very messily, almost like a child, watching him feel passionate about that arts felt very mesmerizing to Wukong. He leaned against Macaque’s arm, watching as he continued to color. Eventually they were joined by a few monkeys, who also found spots among Macaque specifically.
“Is me being occupied with art an invitation to lay on me?” Macaque asked with a small smile, not directly to Wukong, but to him and their monkey friends in general. Contradicting his remark, he held the monkeys anyway, even if it meant scrapping the art for now. He joined Wukong, who was lying on the grass.
“You don’t need to keep it up,” Wukong whispered, reaching over to stroke a piece of Macaque’s hair. “It’s just us.” He picked up one of the monkeys and scratched it behind the ear, a small smile appearing on his face as the monkey relaxed and grinned with him.
Macaque sighed, looking over at him sadly. “Are you sure?” Though Wukong didn’t look at him directly, Macaque felt something soft wrap around his tail. He glanced at the ginger overlapping his own dark fur, before he exhaled a little and shut his eyes.
When he opened them again, his originally dark fur had lightened into a pale white color. Before getting a chance to even look at Wukong, he felt his fluffy arms wrap around the un-glamoured monkey.
“You’ve seen my fur, like, a hundred times. Still the same reaction, huh?” Macaque cleared his throat and turned away. His statement was rather hypocritical considering how embarrassed he got even though Wukong did the same thing every time—play with his hair, and with enough convincing, his ears—and as always, Macaque was flustered by the reactions Wukong gave him.
The present Macaque stared silently as the two younger versions of him and Wukong laughed and comfortably laid over each other. Soon enough, he turned away when he felt his left eye beginning to tear up. His right eye felt just as pained, but the tears in that one were all dried up.
Macaque shook his head. “This isn’t what I’m here for,” he muttered. So much for playing the warrior MK sought out from him. His hands balled into pained fists, his nails piercing the rough skin on his palm. Maybe this role really wasn’t the one for him, maybe MK was wrong all along. It simply didn’t feel right, didn’t fit him.
Without experiencing the guilt he always had, the sense of dissatisfaction that acting as the bad guy had always burdened him with, he felt as though he were doing something wrong. It was discomforting, almost, not feeling a sting of anguish or self-pity. He didn’t know what he was without his flaws, without acknowledging where he fell short and projecting it onto the heroes of these stories. He dropped his palms, which were now covered in barely noticeable nail marks he had left, and they fell to his sides hopelessly. He turned away from his past memories, proceeding away from his haunting past life—literally and metaphorically—as he did with everything, turning a blind eye to the things that scared him.
“Macaque?”
Hearing his name caused him to flip around instantly, a spark of hope having been lightened. However, the scenery was no longer the cheerful environment that younger he and Wukong had created; rather, there was a crackle of lightning in the sky and a sudden downpour of rain. He didn’t even know it could rain in the Scroll of Memory. What vision appeared in front of him now was not anything cheerful; in fact, he watched as the crowned Wukong charged at an enraged and envious Macaque, their clashes synchronizing and matching.
After ping-ponging back and forth, Macaque was finally driven into the ground by an unrelenting Wukong. Macaque winced, his heart dropping, when he realized that this had been his death. He watched as younger him flailed and resisted Wukong’s force to no avail, his eye gushing blood.
Macaque had to bring a hand up to his right eye to remind himself that the illusion in front of him was something from the past. Yet, when he drew his hand he could still remember the chill that went down his spine when he first saw the trickling of blood down his hand and cheek. Wukong in front of him, still persistent in his fight but appalled by his own capabilities. Macaque’s eye on the ground, as if watching as the final strings left of their relationship were being snipped, one by one.
Directly in front of him, past Macaque was thrown across the sand, clothes roughed up and torn. Wukong stood above him before delivering one final blow to his face, knocking him clean out.
Macaque backed up, watching as Wukong slowly walked away. The memory faded. Perhaps the scroll only showed him what he remembered, though it was shown clearly and accurately to what had actually happened. Had Macaque’s feelings interfered with the illusion, then it would probably have appeared much more aggressive. And Wukong would have been laughing, but he hadn’t heard anything of the sort from the Monkey King when he dismissed himself from the battle.
Macaque released a long sigh, convincing himself to move forward, move on. A shadow portal spawned beneath him and he dropped into it, vanishing into the darkness of the purple-outlined shadow.
–
MK felt as though he had been walking, searching, for hours. He had not faced a single illusion, a single person, since he entered the scroll. He didn’t know where Macaque was. He didn’t know where Wukong was. Everything was slowly closing in on him, and he didn’t know how many more mental jabs he could handle.
Suddenly, there was a laugh. It echoed across the skies, seeming to bounce off the cracked rocks of the ruins MK stood on. He knew this laugh, the one that never stopped haunting him since he first heard it.
“Hello, MK.” The Spider Queen’s voice sent an unsettling chill down MK’s spine. He slowly turned, watching the Ink Spider Queen continue to laugh, at him and all of his struggles. Her voice, her screams, all of it had torn him through terrorizing nightmares and frights since her passing. Since she fought, not only for him, but for all of humanity.
“You again. Come back to intimidate me into giving up?” MK suggested weakly, his voice betraying him and shaking as he spoke. And suddenly, the Ink Monkey was gone, laughter trailing wherever they moved. MK turned, checking every direction, trying to discover where they had gone.
“Like how you gave up on me?” Spider Queen’s voice whispered from behind him, and he fell frozen in place. Everything flooded back into his mind, her screams, her tears, her pain. Over and over. MK fell to the ground, his knees contacting the rough surface and delivering a sharp pain up his leg. He could shut out many things, but this was not one of them.
“Maybe if you’d been a little stronger, kiddo, you could’ve saved her,” Ink Wukong insisted, resting a reassuring hand on MK’s slumped shoulder. MK understood fully they were not actually real, but the words still felt like stabs to an open wound. The Ink Monkey was only proving what they once foretold, that they knew MK more than he knew himself. The shapeshifter only proceeded to prove that, demonstrating how MK only understood failure.
“But you weren’t strong enough.” Ink Macaque broke into hysterical laughter; MK felt the water in his eyes, felt his throat drying up. It stung, it hurt to breathe. He was being suffocated by his weaknesses, by the things that led him to failure. His vision was bulging from the tears in his eyes, and it blurred as they continuously streamed down his face.
“Stop, please! Stop this!” MK threw himself to the ground, covering his head with his arms. Hiding. He felt as though he were being forced into a small hole, a grave that was waiting to be filled. Waiting to be covered up and forgotten about. His voice cracked and breath hitched as he cried and gasped, desperate for air, desperate for forgiveness.
“When will you stop being so weak, kid? You have the Monkey King’s powers!” Macaque’s voice surrounded him, as if it were everywhere at once. “Don’t you want to prove yourself to be a good successor? You’re throwing his legacy to waste.” The Ink Macaque yanked MK up by his hair, staring down at the vulnerable young male as the tears streamed from his eyes. With each stab, MK’s flaws were slowly seeping through his wounds, opening themselves to the Ink Monkey.
“Kid, why can’t you just learn from your mistakes?” MK locked in place, instantly looking up at the Ink Pigsy, seeking some form of comfort. But just as everyone else, PIgsy showed himself only as a figment of MK’s failures, inky black blood drawn from the deepest fears of MK’s mind.
“Pigsy?” he asked hopelessly before receiving a hard blow to his cheek. His face contacted the cemented ground, and he felt his mind drift off a little. His eyes duplicated his surroundings, his visions gradually trailing after each other, taunting the weak male. The Ink Monkey morphed into MK now, hovering over the dawdling delivery boy.
“Night night, MK.” MK glanced one final time at the Ink Monkey before they delivered a rough kick to his face, snapping his woozy vision into one engulfing darkness.
–
When he flipped onto the other side of the portal, Macaque was greeted by a table where the Brotherhood once sat, and his heart sank. As usual, Wukong was goofing around and dramatically explaining stories which one would hardly be able to perceive as true. But it was, and Macaque always believed the tales Wukong told.
He watched as Wukong told younger Macaque empty promises that Macaque would desperately cling onto, anticipating that one day they would come true. Macaque felt the same rush in his chest that he had when it happened, but the sensation was like needles poking at him. He could feel that same fulfillment Wukong once gave him, a sense of belonging he once spent so long venturing for.
Except what Macaque felt now stung. He knew the truth, knew what younger him didn’t–the reality behind Wukong’s lies. Had he not been so easily deceived, perhaps he wouldn’t have broken entirely. Perhaps he would have grown from his former dependence on Wukong.
Macaque’s depressive thoughts were disturbed by the sound of wind screaming, a soaring progressively inching towards him. He turned and was met by a familiar face–one he would have preferred to not see. Wukong’s face was scrunched up with anger, though the scars on it showed the Scroll of Memory had really taken a toll on him.
They hit the ground with a crash, and the memory of the Brotherhood’s celebration vanished behind them. Macaque grunted when his back impacted the stone beneath them, quickly kicking Wukong off him. He found it humorously unfunny how the person he had risked entering the scroll for was trying to kill him. Again.
“You’re not another vision,” Wukong stated, not to Macaque but just to whoever would listen. He seemed as though he had just been awakened from a long, torturous nightmare. His eyes drooped a little as he eyed Macaque, as if still processing the fact he was the real Macaque.
“Bravo, sherlock! Who would’ve thought?” Macaque remarked, lowering his eyes at the other monkey. “Seems like this scroll is really getting to your head, huh?” He laughed, but Wukong didn’t seem receptive to Macaque’s provocations. Well, if he were listening, he lacked any sort of reaction or response.
“Why are you here?” Wukong dropped to the ground, too drained to fight but also too weak to move much more. The movement shocked Macaque, considering Wukong was practically dropping his guard completely. He shifted into the shadows, slipping over to where Wukong was and emerging behind him.
“So you’re really going to assume I’m not here to harm you or make things worse?” Macaque leaned over, head tilting sideways as he stared at Wukong. Up close he could see the scratches on his face and a very faint scar at the top of his entire head, one that seemed like something that had been imprinted in it.
“You would’ve already done that if it were what you were here for,” Wukong stated quietly, his voice strained. He glanced at the displeased shadow user, cautiously watching as Macaque sat down as well, keeping some distance between the two.
“The kid brought me with him,” Macaque admitted, accepting that he couldn’t toy with Wukong’s head right now. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t really want to. Where was the fun in striking down the weak?
“MK is here?” Wukong asked, even though the answer had just been directed to him. His face brightened at the thought before a little. “There’s no way you don’t have some sort of ulterior motive, a scheme to bring us all down. What are you hiding?” He craned his body entirely now, staring down at the male across from him.
“Wow, do you just always have to assume I’m out for your blood?” Macaque snarled at him, staring at his hands as he fiddled with them and pinched at his fingers subconsciously.
“Of course I do! Besides, it’s almost as if all you do is try to sabotage us!” Wukong exclaimed, his voice slowly ascending in tone. Macaque’s sudden innocent act itched at him, drove him on guard.
“Yeah? Well, which one of us is the killer?” The words slipped from his mouth before he could think twice, and a silence dawned on the two men. Macaque didn’t need to apologize, and he didn’t need to take it back—but he didn’t need to say it, either.
Or maybe he did, and maybe the remark needed confrontation. The entire situation did, really. After going a long minute of silence, Macaque glanced over at the ginger monkey, taken aback when he witnessed the tears swimming down his cheeks.
“Look, I know I’ve messed up a lot. This scroll has done more than enough to show me such.” Wukong clutched onto his knees tightly, squeezing his nails into the cloth and feeling them pinch his skin.
“Is that seriously all you have to say? What, is that what you told yourself when you walked away from my dead body?” Macaque stood up again, too frustrated to bother staying in one place. He continued anxiously scratching his nails against his palm. Face scrunched up and beyond irritated, Macaque glared at the guilty male.
“Your… what?” Wukong felt as though he were blanking out. The words echoed again and again in his mind. “This isn’t another one of your tricks or acts, is it?” He realized how stupid the question was, no matter the sincerity, and instantly regretted asking.
“Oh, so now you don’t remember, Wukong? Perhaps this will help,” Macaque scoffed, his tone dismissive and pained by the fact Wukong didn’t even remember killing him. He summoned two shadows and portrayed the accurate scene of their battle, the one the scroll had revealed to him.
However, when Macaque glimpsed at the sitting male, Wukong expressed only terror and dread. Once the scene ended, Wukong did not flinch or even continue to cry. It almost seemed as though his face paled. It was even beginning to hurt Macaque to bring up.
“You weren’t supposed to die… I thought,” Wukong’s voice trailed off. “I thought you were unconscious. I thought it would keep you from initiating another fight, keep you from misunderstanding what was going on again.” He stared at his trembling hands. It was all beginning to pour out now, and there was no stopping it.
“Oh, so I was the one misunderstanding? I don’t even care that you killed me, you still left! It doesn’t matter what happened in the end, because you still consciously left, whether you tried to kill me or not,” Macaque rebuked, his own feelings beginning to clash as well. Everything was slowly crawling back to him, like a spider to its web. Gone only long enough to return with more problems, more pain.
“I didn’t leave you on purpose! I didn’t leave any of you on purpose! What would give me reason to? You seriously think I would just cast you aside? The Brotherhood aside?” Wukong rose, legs wobbly as his feet met the ground.
“No. I never thought you would, and that’s exactly why it hurt so badly.”
Wukong’s face fell. Macaque won the final word on this one.
“It was the power, was it not? The feeling of being superior to everyone else? That sounds a bit like you, doesn’t it, Sun Wukong?” Macaque’s fingers rolled into a fist.
“I don’t think you’re seeing the situation as what actually happened,” Wukong commented quietly, weakly, and unsure of his own confidence. All traits he considered frail in a person, and he had never once imagined he’d appear as that person.
“Oh, is that so? How about you enlighten me, then? I would love to hear the truth behind the thought process that has haunted me since it happened.” Macaque could feel his eyes trying to water, fighting to break free from his eyes. He shoved the tears back down, stifling them as bets he could.
“I never forgot about you, or the Brotherhood. I didn’t forget about us, our promise. I was going to get the journey over with then come back, so I could have my debt paid and ensure that you all were safe! I—“
“Wukong, get to the part where you tell me why you did it,” Macaque interrupted, voice softer than before; he was gradually grasping an understanding of Wukong’s perspective, though he was a long distance away from forgiving him.
“When we infiltrated the Celestial Realm to overthrow the Jade Emperor, obviously, we failed. I surrendered in order to ensure that you all could escape. I knew you guys wouldn’t understand. I was forced to… submit to the monk Tang Sanzang. Surely you understand I would’ve escaped, but…”
“But what?”
Wukong clutched onto himself, a shiver running down his spine. He could still remember the tight compressions, the terror he felt as the circlet was lowered onto his head. He could hear the prayer, feel the crushing embrace of the crown that labeled him a disciple and protector of Tang Sanzang. He reached up and grazed his fingers over where the mark would be without his glamor, the scar reminding him of how many times he failed on that journey.
Before he knew it, he couldn’t seem to inhale or exhale properly. He shook his head a little, the prayer repeating in his mind incessantly. It was all he could envision now–Tang Sanzang standing above him, Wukong’s kneeling body trembling as he was crowned the beginning of another life, another version of him. Just thinking of the circlet gave Wukong a migraine, and he couldn’t stop panting when he remembered the excruciating pain. He could hear his screams of horror every time the circlet secured around his head.
Suddenly, he wasn’t breathing; he didn’t need to, but the way he couldn’t stop inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling. It sent him into fight-or-flight mode, and threw him on edge. Everything around him was blurry, out of sight. It was just him and his thoughts. Alone.
An abrupt and soft sensation captured his face and he looked up, and there was Macaque. “Wukong, breathe. It’s okay. You’re safe.” The words were difficult to process; they felt unreal. Gradually, Wukong began to breathe steadily again, creating rhythm with his inhales and exhales.
“In, out. Good,” Macaque reassured him, the action still feeling feverish and unreal to Wukong. Either way, he followed the pattern as Macaque guided a normal breathing pattern. “In,” Macaque would drag out the word for three seconds before repeating the interval with “out.” When Wukong finally calmed down, it was just them again. Silent. He couldn’t hear his thoughts anymore.
“I’m sorry I never considered how serious what happened was… given your reaction, at least.” Macaque wiped Wukong’s tears with his thumbs before quickly retracting his hands when he realized what he was doing. He cleared his throat and lifted his scarf a little, hiding his face beneath it and ruffling the smooth material between his fingers.
Wukong felt his face, felt the warmth, before he rubbed the rest of his tears. “Even after all of these years, haha, can you imagine I wouldn’t have thought to keep a script prepared?” He laughed, seeming to almost entirely brush off the conversation, once again slapping on his facade of Mr. Positive.
Macaque turned, facing the foggy air that hung at the end of the mountain they were on. “We need to find the kid.”
Wukong stepped up to the ledge, enabling his gold vision. He scanned the distance and the area buried behind the fog. There, he saw a small figure on the ground. His vision flickered. The golden vision vanished and reappeared, repeating until he disabled it completely. He rubbed his eyes. His vision fuzzed out, and it was hard to see anything now without squinting. He glanced over at Macaque, who seemed more like a blob than a monkey.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Macaque approached the ledge beside him.
“Huh? I’m not looking at you like anything!” Wukong announced. “Anyway, he may be hidden behind the fog. I think I saw someone there, but no promises it isn’t another… memory.”
“Then let’s go. Are you gonna use the Nimbus Cloud?” Macaque eyed Wukong, recalling the last time he had seen him so roughed up, the time he exerted all of his powers into stealing the Map of the Samadhi Fire.
“What’s wrong? Don’t know your way through the fog?” Wukong bluffed. In reality, his powers were significantly diminished when the scroll was broken in two. He shuddered as he remembered the sensation it gave him; it felt as though someone was shredding him in two. His stone heart, cracked in half and removed from his body.
“Right…” Macaque gave him a side stare, eyeing him up and down. He understood fully that Wukong was stalling, but he decided not to interrogate. They had already done far too much talking and not enough searching. Either way, Macaque did not know how much longer he could handle speaking at all.
He gestured for Wukong to come over, summoning another shadow portal when he did. They slipped through it, and Macaque had subconsciously gripped onto Wukong’s sleeve while they emerged into the darkness.