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Sixer stared as it beaded along the human's skin, red and vibrant against the dull colors of his world. The People... the people wiped it away without a second thought.
Inconsequential.
But to Sixer, that small bead of red was everything.
The people reached for the broken half of the Disobedience Stick, angry sounds falling from their mouth as they shook their wounded hand. The stick having broken against Sixer's body and scraping them with a shrapnel piece of the wood seemed only to have increased their anger as they kicked at splinters in the dust, not seeming to notice as Sixer brought himself first to his knees and then to his feet.
Sixer was as tall as the trainer now, he realized, as he stood the way they stood. The forbidden way, the way that they'd beat him down to his hands and feet for. Red blood dripped through his fur, as vibrant as the people's, his pooling blood mixing with that single drop upon the ground, and he realized that that deep red was the most beautiful color he'd ever seen.
The trainer froze when they turned to face Sixer, and Sixer watched as their features twisted with fury. But their scent, unlike their expression, did not lie as a smoky smell rose from them instead of the sharp sting of anger.
They were afraid.
The people were afraid... of him.
The gods he had feared all his life... were afraid.
The people raised their hand, dull teeth flashing as they bared them, and Sixer's tongue ran across his own teeth. Sharper. Bigger.
The trainer brought down the broken half of the Disobedience Stick, stained with years of Sixer's blood and the blood of so many others, and for the first time in his life Sixer did not cower.
It hit hard against the palm of his hand as he caught it before it could land. His eyes lingered on it, where his hand lay so close to the people's. Five fingers, just like his. But where their nails were dull and groomed, Sixer's were sharp and jagged. Slowly, he turned his eyes to meet the people's, face to face, eye to eye.
Panic stared back at him.
Their language tasted crude and unfamiliar on his tongue. Back when he would parrot their tongue, he knew no meaning for any of their sounds. Now, despite how they had tried to beat the sound of language from his throat, he knew meanings to some of the sounds.
Raspy and dripping with hatred, Sixer spoke to the people for the first time in their way.
"I... am.. god."
The people's eyes bulged. Their grip dropped from the broken half of the Disobedience Stick, but Sixer's did not.
Monkeys fight with claws and teeth.
But that day, the Six-Eared Macaque beat the people to death with its own damn stick.