Chapter Text
Rage had become a constant emotion so frequently stirred that it no longer felt foreign but expected, ingrained. It was the only thing Macaque could recall whenever he dared to turn his gaze upon him. That aberration. It was far too easy to detest when he was vastly different from the rest. He was born different, made different, treated differently, and that difference was all Macaque could see. That was the first thing Macaque thought of when he looked at Sun Wukong.
He was bright and foolish, a glaring presence, an assault on the senses. Too loud, too conspicuous, too much. Macaque was afforded no peace, not when Wukong’s voice always rang louder. And whenever he was near, there was always a commotion, predictable as ever. On any occasion when Wukong inevitably disturbed Macaque with his mere existence, he was always accompanied by someone else. That golden monkey with his multiple tails, none of them ever seemed to tire, no matter how exhausting Sun Wukong was. All Wukong had to do was exist, and it was already enough to put the little shadow on edge.
And so he stayed on that edge, just at the periphery of the Sun’s gravitational pull, close enough to feel its force, yet distant enough to resist being consumed like all the others. Many of the locals were too quick to accept him, and Macaque couldn't remember them ever being so welcoming of someone different before. But with Sun Wukong, it was different. It was always different with Sun Wukong. He was faster, stronger, taller, more approachable, more sociable, and more charming. All the best traits poured into one being, thriving off of what he was given. And he was given plenty. The elders blessed him, the maidens would stare, and the men brawled with him because he was worth the challenge.
And how worthy he was. Worthy of so much, too much. Macaque knew it well because, no matter how he tried, he could never escape the endless praise. It had surrounded him since the moment that cursed stone egg had cracked open. He clicked his tongue at their reverent whispers, their embellished tales, the name Sun Wukong ringing like an incantation he was powerless to ignore.
A god. A king. A treasure.
An outright affront, the way he had been bestowed with everything. He was created to be extraordinary, to be loved without question. And with every glimpse of Sun Wukong’s ungrateful contempt, Macaque’s rage festered, growing ever more relentless.
-
So he keeps his distance from the golden boy, whatever distance his tattered pride will allow, because only from afar does his resentment dull into something almost bearable, something that no longer gnaws at his ribs like a caged beast. From a distance, he can pretend. He can let the weight of memory press into his bones without crumbling beneath it. And in that moment, he finds a semblance of peace, away from the noise, the commotion, and the center of it all. Because he's beginning to struggle with faking all the pleasantries, it’s becoming a nauseating, tiresome routine; his act is wearing thin. As he ventures further from the main community, as he always does, seeking the solace that only absence can provide.
But solitude doesn’t come because there’s a certain someone on his trail. But no matter how hard they try to hide in the foliage, their breathtakingly glowing golden eyes don’t do them any favors.
"I don't remember growing a second tail." Macaque maintained his composure, though irritation simmered beneath the surface, buried under years of learned restraint. He didn’t pause; if anything, he quickened his pace. But the pitter-patter of someone closing in made him want to pick up his pace just a little more.
"Two is good, though! It’s double the fun," Wukong kept stride, careful to walk beside the ebony-furred shadow, even if it meant veering off the beaten path.
"And also twice the drag." Macaque shot back, pushing ahead but only so far.
"Who drags their tail? Are they stupid?"
"It’s metaphorical."
"Meta-boring! Let’s do something fun!"
"I'm busy," Macaque exhaled sharply, pivoting away, unwilling to indulge the whims of this monkey wrapped in golden mirth.
"Nuh-uh!" Wukong swung from a branch, directly in front of Macaque and blocking his path. "All you do is be grumpy and laze around."
"Well, I’m busy being grumpy and lazing around," Macaque quipped, stepping around him, only to be stopped again.
"Then just be busy with us! Me and the gang are going to hang around the waterfall. Come with!" Wukong kept his gaze fixed on Macaque, while Macaque did everything in his power to avoid meeting it.
"You-" Macaque hesitated, ears twitching slightly, an odd rhythm betraying his interest as if he had just heard good news. "...You sure about that?" He stepped aside, baiting Wukong to follow.
"Why not? You never care to join."
"Did you even tell your friends you planned to invite me?"
"Well- I- y'know-" Wukong stuttered, mumbling incoherently.
"Why not go ask them?" Macaque smirked, stepping just behind Wukong, slipping into his shadow.
And right on cue, a small crowd appeared in the distance, voices echoing as they drew closer.
"Where did he- oh! There he is!"
"See, I knew he was here!..."
"You had us worried, Sun!"
"...But you guys didn’t believe me!"
"Who cares?"
"Why’d you run off this time? You always run off!”
"Sorry- Guys, I was just-" Wukong stepped back, only to feel nothing behind him. He turned quickly, scanning his surroundings, but saw no one there.
A pause.
His eyes darted around the clearing, confusion settling deep in his gut. It was a clearing, after all- So how come...
-
What a nuisance.
That was the only thought running through Macaque’s mind as he moved through the mountain’s shadows, the echoes of Wukong’s baffled panic and his friends’ utter confusion trailing behind in the wake of his sudden disappearance. On many occasions, this would have amused him; he was never above a petty tease, knowing full well that his red hands would remain hidden in the guise of his shadows. But he had long since outgrown those games, and right now, he wasn’t playing.
He had carved out countless sanctuaries, only for Wukong to unearth them, and with the golden monkey constantly on his trail, it had become impossible to stay in one secluded spot for long. For whatever reason, and without fail, Wukong always had some excuse, some improbable coincidence that brought them together whenever the opportunity arose. And that was what infuriated Macaque the most. It wasn’t just the inevitability of it, nor the maddening consistency, it was the whisper of temptation that came with it. The gilded edges of something he knew better than to touch. Because if Wukong was involved, Macaque knew himself too well. Knew the fire in his chest would only grow until it consumed him. Knew his anger had limits, fragile and fraying, stretched thin beneath a carefully worn indifference. And when patience runs out, when pretense falls away, what remains?
Macaque wasn’t foolish enough to tempt fate. Macaque had learned from his mistakes. He had no intention of laying his dirty claws on their golden prince charming again.
Not after last time.
Of course, Wukong wasn’t making it easy. He never did. Macaque had seen this kind of ease before, the kind that only belonged to those who had never tasted scarcity, never known the feeling of being denied. Wukong had been made exceptional, built different not by hardship but by birthright. He was never forced to adapt to a world that rejected him; the world simply rearranged itself to accommodate him. A being like that does not recognize limits. Why would he? He had been conditioned to expect more, to take more, to exist without consequence. Restraint was never a lesson he was required to learn.
And Macaque was supposed to fall in line? To bow his head and be swept into the orbit of something so unshakable? No. If he had to be swallowed whole, he would make sure he was a wound in Wukong’s throat on the way down.
This wasn’t the first time Macaque had pushed Wukong away. It should have been enough. It should have sunk in. And yet, with every rejection, those damned golden eyes only burned brighter, as if the answer would change if only he persisted. It made Macaque’s teeth grind, his frustration a slow, simmering poison in his gut.
So blissfully unaware. Whether it was a glance or a whisper, Macaque felt it, an unbearable itch beneath his skin. And all Wukong did was make it worse, because, gods forbid, that fool ever dared to take the hint.
-
Yet for each passing moment, it had only gotten worse, how fate seemed to despise him because all it did was make the bruise bleed, with the ringing in his ears only made worse when the island was filled with festivities all about yet another one of Wukong's painfully made-up accolades about being a king after jumping on that stupid waterfall. Sneering from his vantage point high above, he observed with measured detachment. The clan bustled below, their voices melding into a dull, indistinct hum. Incense curled into the air, its scent lingering, cloying, persistent, a relic of a past he no longer claimed. Once, he had stood among them, basking in their light, absorbing their warmth. Now, he merely calculated the distance, physical and otherwise, between what was and what remained.
It is a cruel joke, really, the way he now looks upon his past with disdain, though once, he had been the very embodiment of what he now detests. There was a time when he believed in it all, in the people, the unity, the purpose. He had been one of them, a cornerstone of the community, a brother to the clan. When he read to the children and helped write letters to those who couldn't read or write, translating books and scriptures and becoming a common name within the libraries. He'd be making arts and crafts and hosting shadow plays, making up stories on the fly and entertaining. The kind of figure others admired, envied, and longed to be. He arrived with dreams burning bright, a world of possibilities at his feet, banners waving in his wake. He was the monkey with the many tails; he was strong and fast and a sweet-talker. The elders would bless him, and the maidens would stare.
He remembers when he was the ones being followed around and the privilege of having that benefit of the doubt. To be followed, to be sought after, such was the right of those who had already proven themselves, those who had earned the right to ease. And yet, the road to that privilege had not been paved with mere talent or fortune; it was built upon relentless pursuit, the constant negotiation within the rigid frameworks of social expectation that come with living in a community. To belong was to understand the play, to embody the role, to accept that in a cast of millions, there was space for only one real leading figure. And so he became that one. He sculpted himself into it, piece by painstaking piece, ensuring that his very being aligned with the world’s demands. But victory came with a cost. And the price? Himself. Bit by bit, he had carved away the pieces of himself that were too strange, too wild, too wrong. His skin, his fur, and his ears were altered to fit expectations. His voice, his name, softened, changed, erased. The way he walked, the way he spoke, the way he simply existed, remolded into something palatable, something digestible. Something right.
He made it so that he was no different, but different enough in a way that was wanted, in a way he knew he was deserving of. From his being, he created a mold and molded himself into a perfect being. Perfection was not given; it was made, refined through fire and the weight of relentless self-recreation. And so, he shaped himself into a being worthy of sight, of acknowledgment, of a name that echoed beyond the void. He created monsters he could defeat, made problems he could fix, tricks upon tricks up his sleeves, and his shadow a guise without limits. Layers upon layers of himself pick apart, not as a man, but as a legend. He fought and lied and schemed his way in every little dirty maneuver he knew he'd foreseen, for everything he knew he had, he made. Until nothing remained but the echo of his own ambition. Clawing toward a throne of his own making, toward a recognition that had long slipped through his fingers, even as he bled for it. What is a stage without an audience? And what is a name if there is no one left to speak it?
But he was wrong.
Some are born a perfect being, some are born already whole, and in that completeness, Wukong would often forget others had a lacking, a lacking he could not possibly understand. Everything came easy for him, and any seed he planted bore fruit. The light Macaque fought to have, Wukong treated with indifference, the stage so heavy on Macaque's shoulders and so light in Wukong's fingertips. Everything Macaque changed; Wukong has been gifted with abundance without demand, while others—Macaque—scraped and suffered for mere embers of what Wukong had in excess. Wukong had been gifted at birth. And more. Always more. He had been more than Macaque ever was. More than Macaque could ever imagine being. One can only dream so big, only stretch so far. But Macaque’s reach had never even brushed the reality that Wukong simply was. And naturally, the light would only shine on those it deemed worthy.
The crowd no longer cheers or applauds his name, the story no longer follows his beat, and the curtains would close within his presence. To exist, that was all Wukong had to do. That was all it ever took. To stand. To breathe. And the world bent around him. But Macaque? He had to claw and scrape and fight for even a shred of the space Wukong took so effortlessly. And when he was no longer needed, he was discarded. That unfair, unsightly, unyielding, unbreakable simian. Wukong did nothing but exist, and in that existence, Macaque paid the price. And then suddenly, he was treated like anyone else. And for some reason, it felt so unequal.
He had once been part of the spectacle, one face in a million, but now, never the one that mattered. His time as the town’s cherished little knight had ended the moment they found their king. What use is the moon when the sun blinds all in its brilliance? What worth is silver when gold commands the world’s desire? He was now the lesser half and only second best. He lost everything he knew, and what is he if not for what he has, if not for what he offers, if not for what he is?
The mold he had created, so perfect and so painstakingly pristine, broke under the pressure, and in the cracks, his jealousy seeped out through every cut and bruise to his tattered ego, chipping away at the sculpture he hid himself behind. The perfect fruit with a rotten center. For all he willed, it bent and broke under the pressure, and that shiny little sandcastle he had molded down to every single grain got washed away and chased ashore.
And Wukong, as if it were all some grand joke, played the fool—carefree, thoughtless, feigning naivety while basking in the hollow flattery of sycophants. He took every accolade, every hard-earned title, and wore them like trinkets, unburdened by the weight of what they truly meant. Macaque had fought for his place, carved his identity from blood, sweat, and defiance, but Wukong? Wukong simply existed, and that was enough. Worse still, he never even tried. Every battle, every triumph, every moment that should have mattered, Wukong didn’t even try as if they were beneath him.
Wukong had it so easy. Everything fell into place for him, effortless and inevitable, while Macaque clawed for scraps. It drove him to the brink, no, beyond it. Madness gnawed at his edges, spiraling into something primal, something rabid.
Even in his most desperate moment, his most vulnerable and raw, his putrid magic seeped from the rot within him, curling like ink through his fur, tainting everything it touched. That night, under the full moon, his knuckles were bloodied, his hands trembling from the force of his own violence. Wounds layered over wounds, skin split open, the golden boy’s blood mingling with his own. He sat atop the other’s rock-hard body, the weight of his shadows stretching outward, driven by a rage too monstrous to restrain. They bled into the village, creeping where moonlight could not reach, staining the untouched in his wrath.
His glamour cracked, flickering like dying embers, exposing the grotesque truth of what he was. Nothing was hidden now, his rage, his grief, his desperate, ugly need to be seen. But even then, even reduced to this raw and terrible form, Wukong did not fear him. Did not even recognize him as a threat. He lay beneath Macaque, unmoved, unflinching, eyes locked onto his own—not in terror, not in submission, but in something worse, something Macaque doesn’t even know, and it only fueled the rage within him.
-
One thing led to another, and everything crumbled. The marble pillar he had sculpted for himself, his legacy, his name, was ground into dust under the weight of his own downfall. And he went with it. The world felt distant, unmoored, as if everything had recoiled from him in silent judgment.
All because of that incident.
It shattered whatever goodwill he had left. Those who once walked beside him turned away without a word. The rest remained, but only at a distance, their silence a quiet, creeping toxin in his veins. The realization festered—slow, insidious. They hadn’t abandoned him out of anger. They had simply found someone better. One by one, they left. Or perhaps he was the one being left behind. But it was the eyes that haunted him most. Not scornful, not filled with loathing or contempt—he knew how to endure those. No, this was worse.
Pity.
They used to look at him with admiration. Now, all he saw was pity. Soft, sorrowful, unbearable. How quickly reverence had soured into something fragile, something brittle. He had fallen far, hadn't he? Yet he lingered, a ghost of what he used to be, standing just outside the world he once called home. The ache never left, gnawing at him like hunger, whispering that if he just stepped closer, if he just tried, he could belong again. But he knew better. He had watched them feast on what he once offered, and now, Wukong was feeding them well, it seemed.
The celebrations thrived without him. Brighter. Louder. Freer. He was nothing but a shadow at their edges. And then, the shift—subtle at first, then the revelry faltered, voices laced with unease, confusion, panic. And somewhere in the hush, the words rang out: “The king-to-be is missing.”
Macaque couldn't help but be amused. All that planning, all that heartache- no one had ever gone to such lengths for him. But for Wukong? They were willing to bleed. To sacrifice. To suffer. Hilarious. Even more so, knowing Wukong would never return the favor. That idiot had always moved to the rhythm of his desires, too self-absorbed to pause, to reflect, to care. He never dared to look back at the devotion trailing in his wake, never acknowledged the admiration, the longing. Because Wukong had everything. And yet, for reasons Macaque would never understand, and yet, he was always chasing. Always wanting. Always unsatisfied. Fixate. Possess. Consume. Discard. It was all he knew how to do. And Macaque? He had never been able to comprehend that kind of hunger.
And now? Now Macaque was the one being pursued. Not because he was wanted. Not because he was loved. But because he had the nerve to stand his ground. And Wukong, Wukong never accepted defiance. The sound came next, deep and steady, a rhythm Macaque had memorized long ago. A heartbeat, close now. Too close.
"Macaque! There you are!" His voice, unbearably radiant, cut through the dim silence like an unwelcome sunrise, warmth where there should be none. "You almost missed my big day!"
"Worry about yourself." Macaque didn’t miss a beat, nor did he turn to look his way. "You’re about to miss your own coronation." Not wanting to be bothered, he opted to shadow-port instead.
"Wait,"
Wukong, quick on his feet, grabbed Macaque by the wrist. This time, he wasn’t going to let him just vanish like he did last time.
"Hey!" Macaque snapped, venom gritted between his teeth. But the moment he noticed, he forced himself to hold back, not wanting to provoke a repeat of last time. "Mind loosening your grip?"
"You should join us!"
"What?"
"I want you there with me. Come join us."
"Ah, I don't know. You know how it is with me, right?" Macaque tested the grip on his arm, growing a little nervous at the resistance.
"I want you with me, c’mon." Wukong pulled at him, gesturing, and Macaque did not like how it nearly threw him off balance.
"Seriously? I mean- I’m here, aren’t I?"
"No. I want you with me down there."
"You think so?" Macaque dug his heels in, pulling back with his body weight. "What, are you trying to get me executed or something? A new kingly decree?" he joked, but he could hear the echoes of the crowd below, splitting up, organizing into search groups. They were looking for Wukong and Macaque knew stalling wouldn't do him any good. It was only a matter of time before they were found, and he might not like how that ended. Because last time they fought, it ruined him. It left his reputation in a crumbling, decaying rubble. And yet, here he was, bargaining again.
"Look, you're making them all worried for you. That party’s going to die down the longer you waste your time here, you know?" Macaque tried using his free hand to pry Wukong’s grip away, desperately calling for his shadows, but it was no use. Wukong’s god-awful powers made it difficult to manipulate them. This wasn’t like last time. Macaque could feel Wukong’s energy crackling like an electric shock, stronger than before. And it was giving him just a little bit of anxiety.
"Mac, this is a big deal." Wukong caught his other wrist, pulling him again. "I want you there."
And that’s what got Macaque nervous, because they were heading toward a clearing. A place where the moonlight would touch. But most importantly, a place where they might get caught.
"Funny! You might be the only one!"
Macaque yanked harder than he intended, the rush of adrenaline overriding his sense of restraint. A searing sting lanced through the back of his head as he slammed into the rough bark. He hissed at the pain, and his wrists found themselves beside his head, but Wukong’s grip was still ironclad. They stood there, chest to chest. But the sheer intimacy of their closeness was the least of Macaque’s concerns when he heard an echoing voice: "I think I heard something."
Shit. They’re heading this way, aren’t they?
"You’re such a-" He shoved Wukong off, his body tense with agitation, his panic teetering on full-blown. "They’re looking for you! Are you going to keep them waiting?"
"They can wait as long as they want."
Macaque was already sweating. The grip around his wrist was tightening. Not only that, but he could feel his powers flickering, glitching, slipping out of his control. It was only a matter of time before his glamour-
No.
He panicked at the thought. He didn’t even want to think about it. He couldn’t let it come to that.
"Let go!" He stomped at Wukong’s feet, trying to throw him off balance, hoping it would loosen his grip, even just a little.
"But you’ll leave as soon as I do!"
"Yeah, that’s the point, genius! Is your head made out of rocks?! Let go!"
"Then I won’t!"
"Are you out of your mind?! I promised them I’d get out of your tail! But I bet they won’t believe me when I blame it on you!"
"Who cares what they think?"
"I do!"
Macaque was losing it because he had already lost.
He could hear the rustling of a small group nearing the vicinity.
"Sun, oh no!"
"They’re fighting again,"
"What do we do?"
“-This isn’t-” "What if?" "Gets hurt-"
"Sun…"
"-Can’t just-" "Get out of there!"
"Find help!"
"Can’t believe," "-Too reckless!" "-Like last time?!"
Macaque teetered on the brink, a breath away from shattering. Déjà vu clawed at his mind, a nightmare resurrected in perfect, merciless detail. His struggles were useless against Wukong’s godly grip, the pressure sinking into his bones, feeding the panic he was desperately trying to drown. His pulse thundered, nerves frayed to their limit, magic thrashing beneath his skin, coiling, rising, ready to snap. Sweat burned down his temple. He tried to shove it down. To breathe. To think. But the voices wouldn’t stop. The memories wouldn’t stop. The promise he made to himself. And still, Wukong refused to let him go. It wasn’t fair. Wukong was never fair. He had always taken too much, broken too much, and now he dared to look at him with those golden, pleading eyes. As if that could undo even a fraction of the wreckage. Macaque’s power surged, volatile and unrestrained, an avalanche against the cracking dam of his self-control. He needed to get out.
Before everything collapsed.
"Let go of me!"
His powers were failing. The shadows, once an extension of his will, now flickered and stuttered, unable to take shape. He pushed harder, desperate, but the cracks in his control only widened. Every ounce of strength he poured into the illusion was wasted, the inevitable creeping closer. A cold dread coiled in his chest as he felt the first tendrils of his true form slip through. His skin tingled, the false mask peeling away, and with it, the last remnants of his concealment. The world would see.
The monster beneath.
Gritting his teeth against Wukong’s resistance, he fought against the unraveling. But it was futile. His glamour shattered, dissolving like mist, leaving him bare in the harsh light. His fur, once hidden, shimmered into existence, white and silver, glowing with an eerie bioluminescence, streaked in hues of pink and purple. His ears, delicate and alien, unfurled like lotus petals.
The crowd gasped.
Before he could fully reveal himself, Wukong’s grip loosened, just a fraction, but that was all it took. The dam shattered. The flood surged through. For what felt like an eternity, he had pleaded for the shadows to take him, to swallow him whole, to save him from this wretched moment. And at last, they answered. The ground lost its solidity beneath him, dragging his form down with it. It was agonizingly slow, like tension unspooling after being wound too tight, like the terrible relief of slipping free from a grip that had held too long. But then came the impact. The moment his back hit the ground, pain erupted through his chest, forcing the air from his lungs. He choked on the shock of it, but the pain barely registered.
Because in that split second, Wukong’s arms were around him. Hands bracing his back, cradling the back of his head. trying to break the fall. But it didn’t help. The weight crushed him. Pinned beneath Wukong’s solid frame, it felt like being trapped between two slabs of stone, the air wrenched from his lungs. His ribs ached, straining against the pressure, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He choked. Coughed. His vision blurred at the edges as his body screamed for air. Instinct took over, his fist struck Wukong’s shoulder, a frantic attempt to shove him away.
“Get up!”
“Ughhh…”
Wukong groaned, his breath hot against Macaque’s ear as he slowly pushed himself up. The sheer force of his movement sent tremors through the ground, displacing rubble with a deep, grating shift. Macaque’s pulse spiked. The cave rumbled. Above them, boulders trembled on the verge of collapse. His breath hitched, if Wukong moved too recklessly, the exit could be sealed shut.
“Wait! Don’t move! ” Macaque’s voice was clipped, edged with unease. His gaze flickered across the collapsing walls. “We’re caved in.”
The air was thick with dust, the weight of the earth pressing in on all sides. One wrong move, one shift too sudden, could send the entire structure crashing down. And the worst part? Macaque was out of power. They were too deep. Too buried. Shadow-porting wasn’t just risky, it was a gamble with no guarantee of survival. He could end up somewhere worse. Or nowhere at all.
“Hold on,” Wukong murmured, his voice grim. He pushed himself up, slower this time, each movement deliberate, measured. Just enough for Macaque to slip out from under him.
"Where are we?"
"I don’t know."
Macaque’s silver-white fur shimmered faintly in the suffocating dark, casting eerie highlights against the damp stone. His ears twitched, picking up the oppressive silence, the weight of the air, thick, stagnant. Too still. Too little. They were trapped. A pocket of space was wide enough to stand, and move around, but the air? There was no guarantee it would last. Panic clawed at his throat. He needed energy. He needed a way out. But he had nothing left to give. His limbs trembled as he raked his claws along the jagged walls, frantic, searching, begging for a hollow gap, a draft, any sign of escape. His hearing told him the truth before his hands did.
The sound rebounded. No break. No tunnel. A dead end. The exit was blocked.
"You glow," Wukong murmured, almost in wonder.
Macaque’s breath hitched. Was he serious? Even now, in a situation like this, Wukong had the audacity to be distracted? His exhaustion twisted into fury.
“At least say something useful! Just look at where we are! ” As soon as he raised his voice, the cave shuddered in response, the weight of the earth pressing in around them. He bit back a curse, swallowing his fear as he shot a glare at the other. “We’re going to die here, and it’s your fault.” His voice was a razor’s edge, low and venomous. “You always have to have it your way, no matter what, and now look what you've done.”
“I- I didn’t mean for this!” Wukong stammered, his usual confidence crumbling. “I just wanted to fix things between us, I swear-”
“You think this is fixing it?!” Macaque’s breath came ragged as he gestured wildly at the enclosing rock. “We’re trapped! We’re done for!”
“Macaque-”
“We wouldn’t be here if you just-!” Macaque choked on the words, as if saying them aloud would make them real. And he couldn’t bear that. “Do you even realize what you did to me?!” His voice cracked as he shoved himself into Wukong’s space, his breath ragged with fury and something far more fragile. “You ruined everything!”
The cave trembled in response, its stone walls shuddering as loose rocks crumbled from the ceiling. Wukong’s gaze flicked upward, taking in the growing danger, but Macaque’s seething presence swallowed every ounce of his focus.
“Macaque, listen-”
“No! You always get what you want! Give me a break!”
“Macaque!” There wasn’t a conscious decision, just the pulse of adrenaline, the knowledge that if he didn’t move now, there would be nothing left to save. “You’re gonna hate me for this-” Wukong didn’t even finish before his fingers locked around Macaque’s wrist and yanked.
The world detonated behind them. A roar of collapsing stone swallowed the cavern whole, drowning out everything else. Shards of rock ricocheted off the walls. The place Macaque had been standing was now nothing but crushed debris, buried under tons of rubble. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. His hands trembled as he stared at the devastation.
“I-” Macaque’s voice cracked.
Wukong’s grip on him was too tight, “You okay?”
Macaque recoiled as a scorching pain tore through his skin, Wukong’s touch igniting his nerves like molten steel branding flesh. His breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, he wrenched his arm away, heart hammering against his ribs.
"Keep your powers in check, you idiot!" he spat, voice taut with something dangerously close to fear. He clicked his tongue, trying to mask the tremor in his fingers. Gratitude was impossible. Even in his frailty, Wukong burned, raw, untamed, as if his body rejected the very idea of restraint. If death ever claimed him, he prayed it would be in a place of ice, where the cold could smother every memory of this heat. The thought almost made him laugh, a dry, hollow sound, mocking himself, mocking fate, mocking the way his chest tightened with something far more unbearable than fire.
And far worse, his shadows refused to answer, recoiling into the void like prey sensing a predator. They weren’t merely hesitating. They were terrified. And that could only mean one thing: the threat before him was greater than even he could overcome. His gaze locked onto Wukong, a slow, creeping dread coiling in his gut. They’re afraid of him.
“Great. Just fantastic.” The words left him hollow, the weight of inevitability pressing against his ribs. He didn’t even react when dust and pebbles crumbled from above, scattering over him like the burial of a lost cause. With a heavy exhale, he let himself collapse onto a nearby boulder, fingers curling around a loose stone. It left his hand before he even registered the motion, skimming across the cavern floor toward Wukong, a wordless, futile act of defiance.
Wukong caught it with a startled huff. “What the-?”
“Finish me off,” Macaque said flatly.
“…What?”
“I’m not gonna repeat myself.”
"But, I-" Wukong was confused, looking at the rock, then at Macaque. He let out a nervous laugh, trying to think of a way out of the situation. "I, well-" But he couldn’t think of anything. "I- I'm sorry…" As Wukong continued, "I didn’t mean for… any of this. I just- I just wanted to be friends-"
A knuckle slammed into the wall near his head, the impact shaking the cave. His breath hitched as he found Macaque dangerously close.
"Oh, you are such a gem! Golden boy wants to be friends~ Get real! You really know how to piss me off!"
Macaque aimed a low kick; Wukong dodged.
"There’s no point! As long as you're here, my powers won’t come back!" Macaque stepped on Wukong’s tail, making him stumble slightly. "So if you won’t get rid of me, then I’ll just get rid of you!"
A punch. Wukong blocked.
"Fight me, Sun Wukong!"
"I’m not allowed to!" Wukong interjected, maintaining his defensive stance.
"Well, I’ll give you a reason to!"
Macaque attacked relentlessly, aiming for every weak point he knew. His body was weakened, his energy drained, and he was on his last breath, but even then, Wukong didn’t see him as a threat. He didn’t see him as worth the challenge. He wouldn’t even lift a finger.
"You already got everything you wanted!" Macaque spat. "You took everything I had! And now you spit on my dignity, not even accepting a man’s final brawl!"
"Wanted? Wanted what? I didn’t take anything! And if I did, I didn’t mean it, okay?"
"Of course you didn’t mean it!" Macaque snapped. "You don’t ‘mean’ anything! Everything’s a joke to you, like it’s some kind of child’s plaything! That’s all this is to you, huh? Some stupid game!"
Macaque swung. Wukong ducked.
"You took my cast!" A kick.
"You took my script!" A hit.
"You took my stage!" A punch.
"What are you talking about?! Those things weren’t real! But you don’t see that, do you? You don’t see anything at all!"
Wukong’s power buzzed with the intent to harm.
"No! That’s you!" Macaque’s voice was sharp. "You don’t see anything! You don’t see it because you have it! You don’t have to worry about losing it!"
"I never asked for it!" Wukong shot back. "I have to put up with all these rules just because!"
The cave rumbled as debris rained down around them. They dodged instinctively.
"They follow me around, pestering me! I don’t like it!" Wukong continued.
"Of course, you’d say that! You don’t know what it’s like to fight for it! I hate the ones who don’t fight!" Macaque’s words struck like a blade, tearing through something raw inside Wukong. His golden eyes flared, burning red. His fangs bared. Power surged, violent and unchecked, crackling in the air like a storm about to break.
"Fine!" His voice was a snarl, ragged, unhinged. "Then I’ll fight!"
"Now we're getting somewhere!"
Wukong swung. Macaque barely slipped past. His fist struck the cave wall with a force that sent jagged rock shards flying like shrapnel. The impact rattled the earth beneath them, but neither flinched. Wukong lunged, fast.. Macaque twisted away, just a fraction quicker. He countered, landing a hit that barely fazed the demon. Then, for the first time, Macaque heard it, Wukong’s laugh. Low, cracked, almost inhuman. But beneath it, there was something real.
"Y’know, I never get to cut loose like this!" Wukong rumbled, swinging again, forcing Macaque back. "You actually keep up!"
Macaque barely managed to dodge. "And you’re actually trying this time."
His footing wavered for half a second, just enough for Wukong to adjust.
“I’m not allowed to do any of this!” His voice was raw, seething. His fist cracked against the boulder Macaque had stood on. It shattered. “They tie me down. They decide what I can do. What I can’t.”
Macaque’s eyes gleamed. An opening.
“Yeah, they don’t care,” he pressed, voice smooth as silk. “You’re just a tool to them, aren’t you?”
“Damn right!” Wukong grabbed a rock and whipped it at the wall. It burst on impact. “I do the heavy lifting, the hard work, the dirty jobs. But the moment I want more? The moment I try to take something for myself? I’m out of line. It’s too dangerous.”
“Sounds miserable.” Macaque drawled, smirk widening.
"It does!" Wukong snapped, his voice sharp. "The first time I saw you- when you finally let loose-"
Macaque stiffened. He already hated where this was going.
"I thought you were incredible," Wukong admitted, eyes burning. "You didn’t hold back. You let everything out. I wanted to understand you- I had to."
Macaque’s stomach twisted. "You liked that?" His voice dripped with disbelief. That night was his greatest regret, a memory he buried deep. And yet, of course, the one creature he despised most would think it was glorious. But Macaque wasn’t about to slip now. He could wear a mask better than anyone."Bet you like what you see, huh?" he goaded.
"Yeah. Sure do. You look really pretty."
His brain short-circuited. What?
The moment’s hesitation was all it took. Wukong’s kick struck like a viper, precise, brutal. His leg buckled. A flash of pain shot up his shin, but it was nothing compared to the dissonance ringing in his skull. Macaque caught himself, teeth bared. "What did you just say?"
Wukong stepped forward, hand outstretched. “You okay?”
Macaque took it, and struck. In one swift motion, he yanked Wukong down, his foot slamming into Wukong’s ankle with practiced precision. The king staggered, lost his balance, and crashed beside him.
“You really are insane,” Macaque sneered, amused at the thud of Wukong hitting the ground. “Stupid.” He flicked a handful of dust straight into Wukong’s face.
“Ah-damn it! That got in my eye!” Wukong hissed, rubbing at the sting.
“Maybe it'll fix it too,” Macaque quipped.
“What gives!”
“For ruining the mood, you rock-head,” Macaque sneered, his six ears flicking back as his glowing fur dimmed, the shadow beneath him settling into something almost ordinary. “You’re always the first to open your mouth, and it’s always nonsense.”
“I’ve got another one.”
“Shoot.”
“I kinda wanna stay here forever.”
Silence.
Macaque’s breath hitched before laughter tore from his throat, jagged and raw. It raked through him, uncontrolled, until he nearly choked on it.
“I’m serious.”
“Yeah?”
Wukong leaned in, the flickering light casting jagged shadows across his face. “Standing up there, with all those people watching, it’s suffocating.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate, more dangerous. “But down here, with you.” He shifted closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “I can breathe.”
“You don’t like the attention?” Macaque asked, his tone unreadable.
A smirk tugged at Wukong’s lips. “I don’t even know what that is, I don’t live for them, all I know is that if I do it, I do it for me.”
Macaque’s eyes narrowed. “And yet, you still play along.”
Wukong turned to him fully now, his golden gaze razor-sharp. “Because I thought that’s how it worked. That, that’s the game. I thought being king would make me free. I wanted you to see me.”
“Why?” Macaque barely scoffed
“Because you showed me things I want to see” His hand lifted, fingers grazing over Macaque’s six ears, the glow pulsing beneath his touch. “You, your power.” A chuckle, low and rough. “But this is nice too, you should let your power out more. It suits you.”
Macaque only hummed, unreadable, the darkness shifting around him. “They don’t like it.”
Wukong's gaze cut through the tension. "We're not like them. You know that."
Macaque flinched. "I don’t know... I don’t want to be different." His voice wavered, thick with something unspoken. "I want to be them, to blend in. I work myself raw but when they do notice me, they notice me wrong." Tone defeated "I have to be who they want me to be. Otherwise, I get nothing."
Wukong studied him, unreadable. "Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose yourself?"
Macaque let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Is it even lost if no one cares enough to find it?"
Silence. Then, Wukong leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. "I was looking."
Macaque blinked. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
A pause. Macaque couldn’t help but think, So many different thoughts swirling at once. He hadn’t expected the day to end like this. The weight of Wukong’s head rested against his shoulder, his tired breath warm against his skin. This big idiot and his maddening heartbeat. Macaque didn’t know how to react anymore, didn’t know anything anymore. But what he did know was this: Wukong’s power didn’t bite it at all. It flared, untamed and reckless, the mark of someone still learning restraint and Macaque wasn’t the only one who noticed. His shadows, once on edge, had begun to creep closer, no longer recoiling. Recognizing that this one is not to be feared, now that they know.
The king had fallen into unconsciousness, slumping against him. Macaque hesitated knowing that the air was far too thin, it must have been done this to the king, and Macaque thought only for a moment before reaching out. Just a little, just enough to fuel himself using the king’s power. Or maybe… a bit more. His shadows stirred at his command, lifting them both with practiced ease. They would return to the mountains. Let Wukong’s allies panic over their precious king.
Wukong was an anomaly, but Macaque had already begun calculating his next move. He knew much better now, understood Wukong too well. The path ahead had shifted, and the throne might be closer than it had ever been. But Macaque might change his stance, maybe this time, he’ll keep Wukong close too.