Chapter Text
All he could smell was something sweet.
It was pungent in the way freshly baked goods did when coming out the oven, the smell of dirt and something akin to petrichor unmistakable. The smell was muddy, wet, yet in such a way that was freeing, a part of nature. It felt as though vines were intertwined with his arms and legs, wrapped gentle yet tight enough to keep him in place. The feeling of flowers blooming in one’s chest, petals grazing softly against his cheeks.
It was hazy and dream-like; the way it spun in the air, nearly tasting it on the tongue. There was the fragrance of something floral, with the faintest whiff of musk. A flavor that is utterly refreshing, pleasing, rejuvenating, and more.
Easy to appeal to the taste of one's mind, floating through the air like a calming, ocean wave.
Red Son nearly didn’t open his eyes. After all, he’s far too comfortable where he is, surrounded by the miscellaneous smells of flowers and shrubbery. Truly, he feels this is the most he’s ever let down his guard, and frankly, the last thing he wants to do is pass it up.
He didn’t have a choice, however, when a loud, blaring sound broke through his daze. Red Son jolts a bit in his blankets, eyes snapping open to glare begrudgingly at the piece of metal and screws. The small, red alarm clock continued to vibrate with a bell-like jingle, sputtering to a stop when Red Son lazily slaps his hand over it.
Red Son huffs, rubbing his eyes and catching the faintest smell of what seems to be lavender. He sits up quickly, eyes swiping from left to right, but he’s not outside in some forest, sitting on the grassy floors as it rains. He actually sat on his bed. In his room. Then he catches sight of a small thin stick of incense, a line of smoke wavering from its burnt tip.
For a short moment he watches in confusion as smoke drifts swirls, leaving a streak of gray through the air. Then his expression relaxes, his muscles losing their tightness.
He remembers now. Sandy said he seemed stressed the other day and offered Red Son the incense. Said it would help with his sleep and relaxation, and Sandy surely wasn’t wrong. The all encompassing scent of jasmine and lavender was like a thin blanket of comfort, nearly making his eyelids droop after waking.
However, he has work to accomplish, no matter how tired he may find himself. With knitted brows and a more determined expression, he lifts himself out of bed.
His clock read 7:30 a.m. as he tidies his blankets and sheets, meaning he wouldn’t be late for work at all. Not that being late was much of a concern when he has a put together routine in place. For as long as he can help it, he’s always strictly on time and doesn’t take tardiness lightly.
Pigsy often finds that trait worrying, reassuring Red Son that he wouldn’t fire him over something as small and rare as that, but Red Son likes to put his all into what he does, no matter how small. Besides, Red Son’s never been one to enjoy wasting people’s time.
It’s silent besides the shuffling of drowsy feet and the sliding of wooden drawers snapping open and closed. He lazily pulls out his uniform, a white button up, a white under shirt, and purple pants.
He ambles into the bathroom, locking the door behind him before turning the shower’s knob. He undresses, showers, then redresses. His long hair dries as the blow dryer buzzes, hair elegantly trickling down his back and shoulders. He grabs a hair tie, admittedly one of the few things he manages to lose, and habitually tugs his hair into its usual high ponytail. He moves on to his makeup, nothing crazy, but something natural and subtle.
He looks himself in the mirror, twisting his head in different angles to make sure every part of him is satisfactory. His eyeliner looks even, his hair looks dry and falls behind his head in gentle waves. A small smirk is seen on his reflection, and by inference, on his lips. He quietly leaves the bathroom, shutting off the lights before reaching into his fridge.
He pulls out an orange, sitting on the edge of his bed and letting his nails dig into the peel. It unravels easily, and Red Son takes his time eating each slice. The way the juices burst into his mouth brought a pleased look to his face. The incense still fluttered about the room and the mixture of citrus and lavender was oddly tranquil.
Today felt good. Almost suspiciously good, but who was Red Son to complain? This morning was peaceful, the birds singing sweet melodies, the honking of cars almost a distant tune through the walls of his apartment. There was nothing to complain about, especially once finishing his orange, throwing the peel to a nearby trash can.
He glances one more time at his clock before standing back up with a huff. It reads 8:20 a.m., and it seems he’s right on track. Taking his time, Red Son tidies up just one more time, making sure his uniform isn’t too wrinkly. He briefly casts a look at his reflection on the TV, only to do a double take when for a moment he could have sworn his eyes were yellow.
When he looks again though, nothing’s there. His eyes are the same, muddy brown they’ve always been. What he does see is that he lacks his glasses, and in turn lacks vision in the first place. With a tired grumble he rubs his eyes, quickly returning to his nightstand and retrieving his glasses.
When he puts them back on he quickly looks back at the television screen, frowning as brown eyes stare back at him still. With a sigh he shakes his head, glancing back at the alarm clock again.
He’s wasted five minutes over a simple trick of the eye, how unlike him.
With his mood dampered, he leaves his apartment and heads down the stairs. The once distant sound of dishes and silverware clanging together grows closer as he approaches the restaurant below, and upon stepping inside he’s greeted by two familiar faces.
“Red…” Tang is the first to acknowledge him as he enters, peering over his bowl as he takes a long sip.
“Good morning.” Red Son replies, giving him a brief glance. He focuses more on the supply closet he opens, however, pulling out a broom and dust pan and quickly getting to work. The ambient sounds of kitchenware clinking together goes silent, the clobbering steps of Pigsy stopping by the counter with a grunt. Red Son continues to sweep, not lifting his head.
“Hey Kid, sleep well?”
“Much better than before…” Red Son answers, putting together a small pile of dust and dirt. “The incense Sandy lended was helpful…”
“That’s good to hear, I was worried…” Pigsy huffs, sounding relieved as he turns back towards the kitchen. Red Son smiles subtly as the pig demon returns to his cooking, the steamy sounds of boiling water filling what would have been silence.
Tang places his bowl down on the counter, readjusting his glasses. “It’s lavender, right? I've heard stuff like that helps with sleep, yeah?”
“Yes…” Red Son nods, sweeping the dirt into the dustpan. He walks across the room to a trash can, dumping it out. “And I suppose it’s true. I feel like I had an odd dream, though…” Red Son frowns a little but returns to sweeping.
“A dream?”
“I can’t remember it, I doubt it was important…” Red Son shrugs it off, though he sweeps the floor with more vigor.
“Aw, that’s too bad…” Tang sighs, leaning back against the counter. “Maybe it could have held a hidden message?” Red Son lifts his head from the floor to give Tang a disbelieving look, making the scholar snicker to himself. Pigsy approaches from behind the counter, glancing between Red Son then Tang with amusement.
“Oh? You mean all that dream analysis crap you read off of magazines back in college?”
“P-Pigsy!” Tang sputters, grabbing his bowl of noodles defensively. The broth nearly sloshes out of the bowl with the speed he brings it to his chest, making Pigsy snort out in laughter. Tang holds his chin high, expression tight. “Of course not! When I read all that back then I knew it was baloney!”
“Mhm… That’s not what you were saying when–” Tang placed his bowl down to quickly clamp his hands over Pigsy’s mouth, whipping his head back to Red Son with a nervous chuckle.
“W-what Pigsy is meaning to say is that there are some instances where a dream may mean something, but obviously not all! Especially if it’s coming from some magazine! Haha… ha… ha…”
There’s a beat of silence where Red Son glances between Tang and Pigsy. It’s almost funny the way Red Son could easily picture Tang interrogating Pigsy as he glances back into some outdated magazine, comparing the contents to Pigsy’s lousy dream as though it held any meaning of that sort.
“Sure… sure… I’ll believe it…”
As Tang flushes in embarrassment and Pigsy takes this as a chance to swat his hand away. “Hey Kid, there’s a couple deliveries needing to be done by now. If you could?”
Red Son continues to snicker as Tang slumps into his seat, taking a defeated sip of his noodles. Red Son nods, not wasting a second in dumping out the remaining dust. Pigsy plops a few plastic bags onto the counter when Red Son returns, Red Son grabbing them by the handle. He’s careful when he slides them off the counter, watching as they sag by his side.
“Now stay safe, won’t you?” Pigsy’s voice rumbles more gently, giving him an expectant look.
“When am I not?” Red Son replies with a smirk of his own, turning away towards the door. “I’ll be off now! Don’t kill Tang while I’m gone…”
“Wha? Why would I kill…?” Pigsy glances back at Tang, the scholar frozen in place as Pigsy's eyes land on him, leaning over the counter and trying to inconspicuously refill his bowl. Red Son hears Tang’s anxious chuckle as he leaves out the door. Pigsy’s hollering is heard from a couple yards away, Red Son watching as birds flutter away in panic.
Red Son can only smirk to himself, oddly prideful to have the two old friends bickering while he’s off. He wouldn’t call himself instigative, but it’s always fun for him to light the smallest fire, only to watch it burst in a wild explosion. Though perhaps that’s because whatever Pigsy and Tang have going on isn’t very serious. He should know, they’ve been like this all his life.
Besides, he’s not really one to talk. Mei used to jokingly call him an angry ball of fire, and he’s heard enough comparisons of himself to an angry cat from Sandy. Mei would sometimes note she’d be scared sometimes that his hair would burst into flames. Though logically that would never be possible.
Large flames aside, Red Son loops around the noodle shop, glancing over the tuk tuk once. He smirks in satisfaction with the way its polished surfaces sparkle in the sunlight, taking a moment to admire his own innovations.
When he first was given the tuk tuk he nearly cried. How could a vehicle be so neglected yet forced to carry on time and time again? It was like making an old dog play fetch over and over and over again until its paws gave out. It was such a pitiful sight to Red Son that in no time he repaired it, staying up late just so that its engine would not sound like the pathetic croak of a frog.
And it paid off. Not only was Pigsy impressed, but it was significantly less dangerous after repairing. Sure, he spent most of his paycheck on getting her raring to go but in what world would it not be worth it?
So he takes his time securely loading the noodles before climbing into the driver's seat. He digs into his pocket for his keys before starting the engine, a solid rumble vibrating from the cart’s front. With much care, he pulls out, mindful of every familiar bump. In no time he’s out on the street, speedy on the roads.
As the wind blows through his hair, Red Son can’t help but find it therapeutic. The leather of his wheel firm against his hold was just as stabilizing too, similarly to the loud honks of horns and engines growling along the city streets. Even the chatter of citizens walking along the streets was relaxing. Even if he had no care for them, he’d have to admit they provided a nice ambience. Even the different smells, from deep fryer oil to freshly baked breads, it was all just one with the city.
The most wondrous thing to Red Son was that he is a part of it all. He’s a part of the sound, sights, and smells of the city. A part of such a vast conglomerate by simply existing. It somehow felt foreign to Red Son for reasons he can’t put his finger on. It would be odd to say he's unused to acceptance, he’s lived here all his life without much issue.
So rather than think of it, Red Son focuses on his work. He goes back and forth across the city, knowing the layout well from old hangouts with Mei back when they were younger. Despite the ridiculousness of childishly racing each other to the park or competing to see who can get the most of what, Red Son has to be thankful to some extent. If not for all of that, he probably wouldn’t be so efficient in each delivery as he is now.
Furthermore, there was something far too satisfying in seeing the shocked customer’s face at each door, all different yet the same. It is that satisfaction Red Son lives for, his ego being fed each moment someone is impressed by his skill.
This is certainly why getting to this particular order took no time at all. An odd order that when its address was typed into the GPS it was telling him to go beneath the city.
Now isn’t that odd?
Red Son paused his usual pace to reread the address once, twice, then thrice. He also types the address in far more than three times, the result leading him the exact same route. Was Red Son being led into a trap? Either someone is hanging in an old construction site illegally and with no plans of murder, or someone is hanging in an old construction site illegally with plenty of schemes.
Was Red Son going to be a victim?
Red Son’s mind continued to spin, question upon question popping up into his mind. Then the smallest, rarest, most idiotic voice in his mind spoke up.
It’ll be fine, just do it.
Of course Red Son didn’t believe that. He’s not that naive. Yet his gut was saying the exact same. It made Red Son frown, staring at his GPS as he considered every single possibility, and now the sliver of a chance that he isn’t going to die.
Today has been a great day, right? So what could possibly go wrong?
With a huff, Red Son begins to drive off. The city bustle seems to calm him somewhat as he maneuvers through, admittedly stalling at points. Woe is his pride, but really he could care less if it keeps him alive for a bit longer.
As he approaches his destination, the familiar sounds and smells of the city become more distant, replaced by putrid odors or dull, dusty smells. Toppled over traffic cones litter the roads, alongside bright yellow caution tape that made Red Son swallow. Even worse was when he had to drive past a sign, hastily scribbled on it: Do Not Enter.
Just how many warning signs must the world give him before he turns around?
Apparently not enough, for he begins to slow down, parking in front of an old, rickety elevator. He slides out from his seat cautiously, frowning deeply as he stares and listens intently. It’s nearly dead silent now, though it was almost reassuring. After all, no one else would be here to pester him.
Though at the same time… is being alone any better?
Red Son grumbles to himself as he tries to shake away his thoughts, instead tugging the delivery bag from the trunk before sauntering towards the elevator. He looks at it in its rusted glory, stepping inside and pulling on the lever.
It shakes a little, its hinges releasing a gutteral croak as it lurches downwards. An iron grate shuts as it descends, Red Son sitting there wondering what kind of idiot (besides himself) would ever come down here?
Who would order noodles and be here? Why? Literally why not anywhere else?
Red Son does his best to suppress such vexations as the elevator nearly slams to a stop, the iron grate raising, which relieves Red Son greatly. For all he knows it could have stayed shut with rust and he’d be trapped in there until someone comes to get him out.
Luckily though that wasn’t the case, and Red Son steps off the elevator with just as much anxiety as he had getting on it. He takes a couple more steps quietly, grimacing as he feels mud squish and broken glass crumble beneath his shoes. It was dark too, the light barely reaching here beneath the city.
It was odd, seeing centuries old buildings clinging to the ground, created during a time before antigravity could be utilized architecturally. The historian in Red Son, from Tang’s incessant ramblings of far gone and true tales, had a vague interest in looking deeper.
But again, he has a job, and this delivery has to take the cake for the slowest he’s ever done.
He continues forward reluctantly. As much as he’d love to go back to the surface, he’s wasted far too much time now to call it off. He only stops in his tracks when he hears a sharp, cold voice in the distance. Then he squints, noticing two figures and a small bit of light.
Without thinking, Red Son slowly sneaks his way closer, watching his feet so as to not step on anything that’d be too noisy. He hides himself behind a wall, listening in.
“It feels like I’ve waited an eternity for this moment…” The voice is the same, stoic voice he heard before, albeit much more clear now that he’s closer. He can’t contain his curiosity when he peeks around the corner, spotting a rather tall, refined woman. She wore a red, traditional looking dress, her hair tied up into what looked to be bull horns. Her eyeliner was sharp and bold, her lips tinted bright red as her lips curved into a smirk. A bunch of robots swarmed around her too, all having the same bull horns attached to their helmets.
Something about her was bad, bad news. I mean, sure, he was expecting some big, tough looking guy to kill him, but her? One glance and he knows she could care less if he were dead or alive.
Yet at the same time… something akin to comfort bloomed in his chest. It left Red Son frowning and stomach churning. The longer Red Son looks at her, the more he can’t shake the feeling that she seems familiar…
“Is everything in order?” Her voice cuts his train of thought, and she turns towards the other figure.
This one seems to be a younger boy, and most definitely a demon. His hair messily drooped over his head, the ends of his hair curving upwards, as if defying gravity. Small horns poked from his hair, a tail anxiously swinging side to side by his legs. He had an oddly casual outfit in comparison to the woman beside him, wearing a warm colored utility vest, a white t-shirt, torn up black jeans, and a red bandana wrapped around his neck. He had bright yellow eyes, peering up at the woman with a small, almost nervous smile.
“Working on it, Mother…”
Mother?
Red Son pauses, squinting between the two. The woman reeks of chilliness, an aching cold that would paralyze any of her enemies, and… the demon boy with that innocent, anxious look is her… son? Surely a son of hers would be far more… intimidating, right?
Red Son sat there stumped, glancing between the two before his eyes focused more behind them. His eyes widen somewhat, following a ray of sunlight to a single spot. A golden and red staff stuck into the ground, a thin vine wrapping around it.
That also looked familiar, but Red Son had no clue from where. Just how much deja vu does he have to experience in some murky construction site he’s never even been in?
“Finally… after all this time… we have the means to lift Monkey King’s legendary staff…”
Ah. So that’s why it's familiar.
All his life ever since Red Son had met Tang, the man has been obsessed with the tales of the Monkey King. Every night Red Son would rest with each story told to him, and he’d fall asleep with a cheesy little grin on his face, dreaming of the many ways Monkey King would teach each big bad a lesson.
Yet as of recently, something has shifted in Red. Whatever comfort he derived from the tales as a child was long gone, everytime Tang would mention the Monkey King, Red Son would feel his gut twist uncomfortably. He just can’t stand it, listening about some monkey demon that has clearly made more mistakes than anything good. Perhaps he simply disliked the glorified way he was always presented, but what else did he know?
Regardless, he at least knows enough to recognize that staff now. That’s Monkey King’s Staff, and if this has to do with Monkey King then… the bull themed everything was quite on the nose. The woman would have to be Princess Iron Fan, and the boy would… be?
Red Son’s thoughts pause, and he frowns… Who is he again?
When Princess Iron Fan speaks once more, Red Son blinks from his stupor. For now the demon boy’s name is the least of his worries, he needs to find a safer place to be. Red Son’s eyes darted about, trying to spot an area not surrounded by bull robots, but hidden away from the bull family’s sight.
It takes a moment, but he spots some rusted pipes just above the entire scene. It looked perfect for the most part as long as he kept his balance. Looking to his right and left he lurks away, listening to the two talk as he begins to climb up the pipes. About half way up the pipes he hears a commotion, glancing back down to watch.
A bull-bot seemed to be crawling up the grassy hill towards the staff, looking up at the glorified stick with determination. Red Son only snorts, rolling his eyes as his focus returns to climbing up the pipe. He wasn’t shocked to hear the racket of metal clattering to the ground as the Bull-bot falls backwards. What Red Son was surprised to see, once stable on a rather thin pipe, was the bull-bots arms dangling off the staff, completely torn from its socket.
Red Son has to admit, it’s impressive for such an expressive A.I. to be so determined like that. He eyes the demon boy as he kneels down beside the robot, lightly patting its shoulder with a sweet smile. “I tried that too, it’s okay…”
Red Son hands the demon boy a look, disbelieving as he watches the boy reassure a robot of all things. For what reason? It would make no difference yelling at it. Besides, it was inadequate and was unsuccessful in its goal! Surely the bot should be seen as inferior, yes?
Red Son looks at the demon boy with varying levels of confusion, leaning forwards to listen in. “According to the legends only those deemed worthy can lift the staff! Right, mother?” The demon boy twists his head towards Princess Iron Fan with glittery, excited eyes.
Princess Iron Fan only hands him a disgruntled look, sighing as she reluctantly nods. “Yes, that’s exactly right…”
“See, that’s why you can’t lift it! It’s alright though, most people can’t anyways!” The demon boy reassures the bull-bot, grinning ear to ear despite stating their own downfalls. Clearly he and his mother aren’t worthy, so how come they’re here to try in the first place?
The bull-bot seems a little more relieved before spotting Princess Iron Fan looming menacingly over them from behind her son. With wide, fearful eyes, the bull-bot scrambles away, hobbling as he runs off without his arms. The demon boy looks confused for a moment before hearing his mother clear her throat, tensing up before swiveling around. Similarly to the bull-bot, he frantically hops to his feet, appearing a tad embarrassed.
“Y-yes, sorry mother!” The demon boy bows out of respect before standing up straight. He snaps, a spark of flame sparking between his fingers. Red Son’s eyes widen, mouth agape as the demon boy manifests a rather heavy looking gauntlet around his right arm. Red Son leans forwards in amazement, nearly slipping off and falling if not for catching himself on another nearby pipe. His gut drops somewhat as his legs dangle, biting down a little harder on the delivery bag’s handles. A colorful bird settles beside Red’s hands, not giving it much thought before focusing on the situation at hand. He can only pray that whatever they’re doing will be resolved soon.
The demon boy grins, holding his chin high, though it looked more childish than prideful. He makes his way to the staff, hesitant before wrapping his gloved hand over it. Warm, yellow sparks fly from between the gauntlet and the staff, the demon boy’s eyes widening as a strong burst of energy erupts from the staff. Digging his feet into the ground, he clings to the staff, his hair flaring up wildly as he fights against the staff’s power.
His mother, standing from the sidelines, gives a proud smirk as the demon boy grits his teeth, breaking into a sweat from the heat of his hair and sparks. Red Son watches with wide, disbelieving eyes as the staff actually seems to budge. Wriggling its way out from between stone and rock, the vines wrapping intricately around the staff wither as it’s plucked out.
The demon boy yelps as he falls backwards, rolling down the grassy hill, now with the staff in hand. He grumbles in pain, sitting up from the ground to rub his head. He then glances at his gloved hand, buffering before suddenly gasping in excitement. “I did it, I did it!” He quickly jumps back onto his feet, pumping the staff into the air with triumph. The bull-bots awkwardly applaud and cheer on his part too, clapping a bit aways from him.
Then he pauses, glancing back at the grassy hill silently, tail swaying with jittering anticipation. He frowns. “Shouldn’t dad be out now?” Princess Iron Fan opens her mouth to respond, but then the floors and walls begin to shake.
Red Son’s grip tightens on the pipe, eyes wide before a huge blast of light and energy surges from the spot where the staff once was. Red Son yelps as his body flails in the air.
A muscular, horned figure begins to protrude up from the ground, rock crumbling around them as his presence makes the earth quiver. He had narrowed eyes and the skin of a mountain, teeth bunched together in a growl as an eerie glow flowed from him.
There was no doubt about it. This is the Demon Bull King, the same Demon Bull King who was imprisoned centuries ago by the Monkey King himself. Red Son almost can’t believe it, after all the Monkey King and his tales were only legends, right? The bird settled beside Red Son shifts a little to watch closer, seemingly just as surprised as Red.
The Demon Bull King pauses, looking at his hands and arms, turning them over and observing as he settles on his hooves. “Flesh… blood… I have returned to the realm of the living…” Both the demon boy and his mother have to crank their necks to meet his gaze. Princess Iron Fan smirks, looking at her husband with contained satisfaction, choosing to present herself formally.
“Demon Bull King, oh how I’ve missed you…”
“Princess Iron Fan…” The Demon Bull King acknowledges with a rumble of his chest, eyebrows raised. “The years have been kind… How did you free me?”
Red Son keeps his eyes on the little family reunion, eyes narrowing as he looks between the three. He still can’t believe that demon boy is their son… even now the demon boy is looking up at the Demon Bull King with glitter in his eyes, tail wagging almost childishly. He seemed like a goof in comparison to his parents, hands held behind his back as he sways on his heels.
Then there’s a sharp peck on Red Son’s fingers, making him flinch. He twists his head upwards, noticing the same ginger bird perched there. Then it flung its head downwards, Red Son’s eye twitching in pain as its beak digs into his skin.
“S-stop that!” Red Son whispers through the bag in his mouth, glaring at the bird as it continues to peck. He could hear the three below him, though he wasn’t listening now. The bird pecks away one of his hands, eyes widening in panic as his body sways in the air. His single arm strains to keep him up, and more pleadingly he looks at the bird.
For a moment it almost seems like the bird stops, looking at Red Son with its round, golden colored eyes. Red Son nearly relaxes before watching the bird swing it’s head back to plunge it deeper into his other hand, the shock of it causing Red Son to let go.
With a shout Red Son begins to fall, body struggling in the air as though attempting to swim. He looks down, catching the demon boy’s eye before shutting his own tight, bracing for impact.
Red Son yelps in pain as his body slams against stone and there’s no doubt in his mind that it left a bruise. He shifts a little, groaning before sitting up. For a moment he’s dazed, vision hazy before there’s a reverberating stomp making his body jump. Raising his head he catches the menacing eyes of the Demon Bull King, the bull-bots all surrounding as Princess Iron Fan smirks.
Red Son is paralyzed, eyes darting about anxiously before feeling something shift beneath him. That’s when he blinks, head snapping downwards. The demon boy’s eyes are wide staring up at Red Son, hair simmering while steam wafts from the tips. He shifts under Red Son’s weight again, seemingly trying to get out from beneath him. He raises his head with a sheepish smile. “Um… excuse me, could you move?”
Red Son frantically scrambles off of the demon, not taking his eyes off of the three and their robot henchmen. The demon boy stands up, swiping off the dirt from his clothes and patting down the sparks of flame from his hair. He then steps forwards, eyes wide with a strange amount of sympathy. He holds out his hand though it quickly falls to his side when his father’s foot slams down.
“A little eavesdropper has fallen into our midst…” The Demon Bull King growls, leaning forwards to glare directly into Red Son’s eyes. “It seems a waste to crush something so insignificant as my first act as ruler of this new world…” He then leans back, huffing from his snout. His eyes pierce through Red Son. “But… so be it.”
As the Demon Bull King raises his foot, Red Son’s eyes widen in terror, feeling frozen in place. He shivers in his spot as the Demon Bull King nearly crushes him out of his misery… until his son stopped it?
Red Son squints in bewilderment, expression scrunched together as the demon boy slides between him and his father’s foot. Don’t get him wrong, he’s glad he gets to be alive in his skin for a few moments longer, but for what reason would the demon prevent this?
The demon boy holds his hand up, a bead of sweat dripping down his head as he chuckles stiffly. “Um… as you said, it would be a waste to uh…” Mk glances back at Red Son, seemingly taking him in before speaking again. “eliminate this mortal… allow me to take care of him! I’m sure you’ve been through enough!”
The Demon Bull King's pauses, the heavy silence only interrupted when he huffs, arms crossed over his chest. He’s softer now, a small frown on his lips as opposed to the vicious grin he had before. “...As you wish.”
The demon boy’s aura completely brightens at this, eyes wide in admiration as he stares up at his father. Red Son, seeing as the demon boy is entirely too excited and in turn distracted, sees this as his slimmest chance for escape. He begins to crawl backwards, knees admittedly a little weak as he forces himself to move.
He jolts a little when he hears the demon boy’s steps, glancing back with a grimace as the other approaches him sympathetically. “I’m sorry about this… I mean, what were the chances, right?” As the demon boy lifts his gauntlet rather threateningly, he continues to speak, Red Son not bothering to listen while he scrambles back. Red Son’s hand hits something smooth and cold against the ground, twisting his head hastily to see Monkey King’s Staff lying beside him.
For a moment he’s frozen, the entire situation like static in his ears as he stares at the staff. It’s almost as if it were calling for him.
“Are you listening?” Red Son’s attention snaps back to the demon boy, frowning as his tail flips from one side to the other. The demon boy sighs, oddly unenthusiastic as he snaps his fingers together, flame igniting in his palm. “Listen, Red Guy, I don’t go on evil tangents for nothing…”
As the demon boy approaches again, this time charging in for an attack, Red Son’s eyes widen. He squeaks in panic, fumbling over his own limbs and grabbing onto the closest thing to him. Eyes shut tightly, he thrusts the object in front of him, feeling the other’s flames licking his knuckles as the demon boy’s gloved hand makes contact with the object.
Red Son feels the ground shatter beneath him, struggling to remain upright as the demon boy ruthlessly pushes against him. Red Son only opens his eyes when the temperature drops, the heat of the flames against his face and knuckles dying off.
“Woah…” When Red Son cracks his eyes open, the first thing he sees is the demon boy’s face, jaw dropped in unabashed awe. Then, glancing down to whatever the demon was staring at, he saw Monkey King’s Staff… in his hands.
“Now this… is a one in a million chance… wow…” The demon boy leans a little closer, looking at the staff and Red’s hands with great interest.
Feeling self conscious, and not really appreciating the proximity, Red Son rolls away. He lifts himself up, easily carrying the staff in his hands. The 17,560 pounds is unnaturally light, and something about it makes Red Son feel… out of place.
He’s not sure how to describe it but it somehow felt as though he really shouldn’t be able to do this. Well, realistically that’s actually true… but it’s not that he should be like others. It’s more like this is a big puzzle and right now Red Son and the staff are two pieces that nearly fit but not exactly.
It almost made Red Son uncomfortable, staring down at the pole of metal with a frown. What does this mean for him anyways?
“This is impossible…” At the sound of Princess Iron Fan’s disappointment, Red Son redirects his attention to her. Lifting his head up he sees the Demon Bull King seething where he stands. Which is understandable… he did just get released from the mountain and Red Son is welding the staff that kept him imprisoned beneath said mountain.
Their son on the other hand looked as though he were vibrating in place. He twists his head to Princess Iron Fan, grinning ear to ear. “It should be impossible, but look!” He flings his arms in Red Son’s direction, presenting him enthusiastically to his reluctant parents. “Can you believe it!?”
Red Son yelps a little as the demon boy runs back towards him, but this time not for an attack. No, rather the demon bounces around him, circling around him so fast it nearly made Red Son dizzy trying to keep up. The demon boy looks Red Son up and down, as though taking all of him in before beginning to poke at his waist and back. “Did you know you could lift the staff? What’s your name? What do you know about the Monkey King? Oh! Oh! Do you know him?”
Red Son sputters, at a complete loss as the demon loops around him, rambling on and on and on in jubilation. The demon boy then pops back in front of him, leaning forwards and letting his finger trail across the staff slowly. Despite this his eyes are on Red Son’s, not sparing the ancient cylindrical metal a single glance as he smiles. “Just who are you?”
“Mk.” Princess Iron Fan’s voice is concise and sharp, and at the sound the demon boy freezes up. Any and all chatter halts as his face contorts as though he were constipated. “Is that behavior very appropriate?”
So his name is Mk? That’s odd… The last thing Red Son was expecting was for the demon boy’s name to be Mk, and it certainly wasn’t really ringing any bells. At least not from any of the stories Tang cared to tell…
Red Son catches the nervous glint in Mk’s eyes before the demon swings around. He laughs, though it’s purely performative as his tail fidgets. “Of course not, Mother! My apologies!” Mk lurks back to his parents’ side, Princess Iron Fan’s expression curt as her eyes follow his form.
Her eyes then snap back to Red Son, and he stiffens up as her eyes trail up and down his body, seeming to analyze him. Before she can speak whatever conclusion reaches her mind, the Demon Bull King steps forwards. His snout twitches, hoof making the ground crackle beneath him.
“I do not know why a mortal such as yourself can wield that ape’s staff… No matter, it ends here.” Upon grumbling those commanding words, he charges forwards, his family and bull-bots following behind.
Red Son hisses in frustration, eyes darting between each figure before finally growing tired of this whole ordeal. “Can I just have my way for five seconds?!” Fueled with aggression, he slams the staff into the ground, a bright, warm circle of light expanding from around him as the stone crumbles from beneath him. The bull-bots are flown back effortlessly, the family of three pausing as they stand against the impact.
“This can’t be…” The Demon Bull King grits his teeth, gaze hardening on the golden sparks of magic pressing against his arm. As quickly as it came the magic dwindles besides the faintest spark, Red Son glancing back down at the staff in surprise.
So he really is in control of Monkey King’s staff, huh? As odd as that is to Red Son, he certainly isn’t complaining. Especially as Princess Iron Fan’s eyes narrow, placing the hilt of her giant fan down stubbornly.
“That staff doesn’t belong to you, little boy… Hand it over.” Princess Iron Fan’s voice has this gentle lilt to it, as though speaking to a dog. She lends her hand out, Red Son nearly laughing at the thought of her expecting him to just plop it back into her hands.
“Oh sure, because this certainly belongs to you, hm?” Red Son jeers, nearly about to stifle a laugh when the staff tugs on his hands, releasing an enchanted chime as it extends against the floor. “Wha?” Red Son’s eyes go wide when the staff compresses before shooting upwards like a spring, releasing a rather embarrassing cry as he’s sent upwards.
He keeps his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around the staff with a terrified grip. As he twirls in the air, being thrown out from the old construction site that he was completely right about, he realizes to some extent he was wrong. Whoever ordered those god forsaken noodles would not be the one to kill him, but rather the hunk of metal that continues to lug Red Son around with no regard for his mortal body.
He should have expected it. This situation was ridiculous.
Of course the staff would be as chaotic as the Great Sage himself.
Of course it would.