Chapter Text
Macaque lay on his back, pinned to the ground by an aching, searing headache centered directly on his right eye. His body was limp, completely unresponsive from the neck down. He was choking on something thick and watery. He thought to himself that he need only to roll over, and this thing stuck in his throat would follow gravity and drain out of him. But every time he tried to sit up, or turn himself to the side, his right eye burned like the sun. He’d shriek, then struggle, then beg wordlessly, gurgling on the liquid, and finally he’d lose consciousness for a moment, only to awaken to the same tortuous dilemma he started at. If he did nothing, he’d continue to gasp and choke, if he tried to save himself, he’d be met with the worst pain imaginable, and it wouldn’t even help.
“You see,” an unnervingly chipper voice piped up. Small and high pitched, it talked casually, like it was telling a story it only just barely remembered the gist of. Macaque couldn’t tell where it came from. “The thing about cages is that sometimes, just being in a cage is the worst part!”
Macaque’s eyes darted around as he tried to mitigate the convulsive fits the choking forced his body into. He wanted to see who was speaking, but he knew what would happen if he tried to move his head. Instead, his eyes remained fixed on the empty void above him.
“Monkey King, do you remember that city with the one thousand one hundred and eleven boys in cages? It was awfully scary. I’m not sure if you think about it much, because you’ve done so many good things, and I’m sure you don’t recall all of them, but you freed all of them. Oh. But before you came, while they were being rounded up, there was a lot of struggling and fighting. People don’t just give up their little boys, you see, so some of the children died before they ever even got to the cages.”
The voice paused. For a second, the liquid filling Macaque’s throat seemed to subside, letting him wheeze and gasp for air. When the voice resumed, it sounded apologetic.
“I don’t mean to imply that was your fault, you weren’t even there. It wasn’t fully the king's guards' faults either. They didn’t mean to hurt the boys. Not yet, I mean. One of the children died of pure stress. He had a fragile body and an anxious temperament. His heart gave out long before the king could come to collect it. The terror of the situation was simply too much for the boy. His parents said to each other that it was better he die than be harvested like cattle, but then, when you saved the others, it only worsened their grief. ‘If only our little boy had held out!’ they sobbed, ‘then he would have been here for the pilgrims to rescue!’ The mother never recovered. She threw herself in a river, drowned in despair.”
As the voice spoke, Macaque could feel the liquid flowing back into his throat. He tried to spit it out, tried to close his mouth against it, but it wasn’t coming from any source outside of himself. It only clogged and flowed and thickened, chafing like sandpaper against his raw throat. Soon, the air was filled with his frantic spluttering again. If the voice could hear him, it didn’t let on. It only kept talking, now accompanied by the sounds of a dying monkey.
“Do you know how hard it is to kill oneself by drowning? Drowning is not easy, it’s not quick either. Your body lashes out blindly. Even if you want it to end, the fear is so intense that it’s difficult to resist.”
Macaque’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. His body thrashed, making the pain in his eye flare angrily.
“I’m sorry,” a tinge of self conscious frustration bled into the voice’s tone. “That was a sad story and it’s not what I meant to tell you at all. I know you understand the pain of imprisonment, but you’re strong, my King, stronger than most. My only point was that sometimes, for some kinds of people, you don’t need to try to kill them, because the cage is bad enough.”
Macaque could feel himself fading, even as his legs kicked and his tail flicked. He tried to hold onto the voice, onto the cold ground beneath him, and what little consciousness he had left. He had the sickening feeling that when he woke up, he’d be right back where he started. Choking alone in a void.
When he woke up, he was lying on a bed of dirt and leaves, a rock digging into his side uncomfortably. A thin layer of grime caking his body, clumping his fur together, and making him not want to open his eyes. Because if he got up, he’d have to deal with what it meant that he was in this wretched body.
When he woke up, he was Sun Wukong. Actually, he was better than that. As he groggily dragged his body into a sitting position he recalled, not for the first time, that he was not just Sun Wukong, but The Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Whatever nightmare had troubled Macaque was already fading away. The Sage sneered internally. Whatever that copycat had been afraid of, it had nothing to do with him. He wasn’t afraid of dreams.
The Sage stomped through the forests, forgoing any attempts at subtlety or stealth. Damn anyone or anything that knew he was coming, he wasn’t some sneaky little shadow. He couldn’t care less who saw him coming, he could beat them all. As if to prove his point, he recklessly trampled any plants or animals that dared to get in his way.
He’d heard the sound of running water, and was making a beeline for it. He’d also heard every other sound for thousands of miles around. Sounds outside the range of any human, beast, demon or god combined. The way the molecules in the clouds above shifted against each other, the growing bones of every young creature in this forest, the way that a pile of dirt and a pile of rocks just resonated differently. He might be blind in one eye, but sight had never been his strongsuit anyway. He could probably pluck both his eyes out of his skull right then and there and barely notice. He didn’t need to see to tell that the sky was blue, he could hear the color just fine.
Somewhere not too far away, the other Monkey King was groaning in his sleep. The Sage smiled. He hoped that whatever that imposter was going through, it was as painful as possible.
He estimated by its babbling that the river couldn’t have been more than two miles away. A paltry distance to travel, especially through shadows, though he did it on foot. Just because he was stuck with this body didn’t mean he had to act like Macaque as well. Sun Wukong didn’t travel through shadows, and neither did The Sage. Once or twice he brought a hand to rub at his eyes and dislodge the sleep that had crusted in their corners. Only once or twice, because the sight of his black furred hand sent a wave of nigh uncontrollable rage through him the likes of which he hadn’t experienced since his little tussle with the heavens.
He reached the crest of a hill that sloped down towards the riverbank and paused. It was a slow stream, crystal clear and dappled with sunlight. It reflected its surroundings with the warped clarity one could only expect from clean water. His teeth ground together as his jaw clenched. He had to steel himself for this next part, but it was better to face reality than to run and hide within himself like some kind of coward. No, he was The Great Sage. There was very little he could not handle, and nothing he couldn’t survive. The thought made him grin. That was right, it was Macaque who had died, not him. Never him. Sun Wukong did not die.
The Sage slid down the hill easily, a hop in his step as he reached the waters edge. There, he stared at his own reflection. His smile slowly flattened out, lips threatening to curl into a snarl as dark matted fur greeted him from the surface of the water. He looked haggard. Eyes bloodshot and couched in deep bags. Clearly, Macaque hadn’t bathed in days, if not weeks.
“Amazing!” He suddenly barked, laughing at the matching expression in the water, eyes wide and a bit manic, “Somehow you look even worse than I remember!”
This may have been his face too, but that didn’t have to be a permanent condition, and it certainly wouldn’t stop him from taking a dig at his most irritating opponent. The Sage poked and prodded at his own snout, sticking out his tongue and squashing Macaque's wrinkled face into ridiculous proportions.
Macaque was in many ways the spitting image of Sun Wukong. If it weren’t for his opposing coloration and his triplet ears, they could have been mistaken for brothers. The Sage sometimes wondered why Macaque bothered to glamor his blind eye and scars. If the shadow was going to go through all that trouble, why not glamor away everything else? It was The Sage’s opinion that only good things could come from looking like Sun Wukong at all times. Of course, he was biased, because he was Sun Wukong.
He dipped his hands beneath the surface of the river, then brought them up to splash himself in the face. Feeling more alert, he stepped back from the edge of the river and finally surveyed the full state of his body. Dirt dragged at the hem of his pants, and his feet were caked in flaking dry mud. The Sage lifted his arm and sniffed. He didn’t mind the stench himself, being a monkey and all, but he knew it meant Macaque hadn’t been taking care of himself.
The Sage sat down to groom his fur, carefully picking leaves and sticks from it. As time wore on, taught irritation built in his chest. How long had he been sleeping in this forest? Why didn’t he have a proper bed, or at least a nest? If he wanted a place to stay, he could have just taken it. He was strong enough, and certainly worthy enough for the home of any human or demon for miles around, be it royalty or peasant. Everyone knew better than to deny him, so why wasn’t he taking what he wanted? Why was he sleeping in the woods? This is what happens when you let Macaque handle things, he thought, he lets everything fall apart.
He blinked his good eye, paused in his grooming as he watched his fingers tremble. Ok, enough of this! No more wasting time, he thought. He sat back, took a deep breath, then launched himself into the river. The Sage hated rivers, it reminded him of all the times he’d been fighting underwater, sinking like the stone monkey he was. This body handled it a bit better, but that only reminded him that his body and his memories didn’t match. He burst from the surface with an undignified yelp, dragging himself and his now more or less clean body onto the grass. Despite the sodden heaviness of his clothing, he didn’t even consider undressing. Bad enough to be in this body, let's not make things worse by looking at it.
He gave himself another once over. With a dramatic twist of his hand, he sent a full body glamor tumbling across his skin. Orange fur framed his face. Large black eyes set in golden sclera blinked at him under long eyelashes. He hummed in appreciation at his new reflection, heart racing as he smiled at himself. There he was, the handsome Monkey King. This was much better. But it wasn’t the modern Monkey King. The Sage sneered at the idea of the new Sun Wukong, grown lazy and soft.
The Sage hadn’t had much of a chance to go toe to toe with Wukong in his current state, but he was sure he could win through sheer tenacity alone. Wukong was weak now, he’d lost his edge. He probably wouldn’t even be expecting it. No, The Sage preferred to look like Wukong in his golden era, before he’d ever been brought to heel by the Buddha and the heavens. Free and gorgeous, never having lost a fight to anyone, That was the Wukong he was. That was the Wukong he would be again, once he took the false king down a peg.
He stayed by the waters edge, drying in the sun, admiring his reflection, when a dainty deer approached the water downstream from him. He eyed it hungrily, feeling his stomach rumble. This body hadn’t eaten in a while. He slowly made his way to his feet, stalking closer. The deer brought its head up to look at him, but by then it was too late. Launching himself at its side with feral glee, he knocked it over and crawled onto its overturned stomach. His hands clamped around its neck, but instead of snapping its spine and ending it quickly, he shoved its head under water.
He laughed at its flailing, useless legs.
A queasy, feverish sickness met his cruel glee and he choked on his own spit. Hand loosening on the beast's neck, it managed to slice his face with its sharp hooves and buck him off. A tight knot in his gut disoriented him, leaving him lying on the ground, head spinning as the deer fled. The pounding memory of choking blurred his vision. Tears threatened the corners of his eyes while he stared, unseeing, at the sky.
Once he’d regained himself, Macaque sat up slowly, breathing a little too heavily for someone who’d been lying down for a full minute. Right, the nightmare. He lifted a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes with exhaustion. Why had he dismissed it so quickly? He’d been having nightmares for a long time, so he knew that was not a normal nightmare. Worse than that, the voice in it hadn’t even been speaking to him. What, he wasn’t good enough for his own nightmares? He had to share them with Wukong? Because it was for Wukong, it was obvious the Monkey King was the one being addressed.
He scowled, stood, and felt the scowl deepen when he caught sight of the glamor he was wearing. Wukongs face? Really? He thought. Why, when he was manic and proud and boisterous, did he so often put on that glamor? He knew better, because he always regretted it once his mood shifted. It was embarrassing, and tacky, but in the moment it always seemed to feel so right. He dropped the glamor, settling into the simpler one he typically wore, which only hid his blind eye and a few scars he’d rather nobody ask about. He didn’t bother hiding his damp, disheveled state. He wasn’t feeling particularly vain at the moment. Well, there was nothing for it. Time to go find out what “His Majesty” was up to. It was better to go immediately assess what kind of new world ending horror Macaque had been dragged into via association with Wukong, than to go wandering off pretending nothing had happened. He’d probably have to confront it eventually anyway. Might as well do it on his own terms.
He glanced at the upturned ground next to him, trying to feel relieved that he hadn’t killed and eaten a deer for no reason. Try as he might, he couldn’t make himself feel one way or the other. Whatever, he didn’t need to feel good or bad, or any way at all. All he needed was to figure out what was going on and put an end to it. He fell back into a shadow and sent himself racing across the forest, through cities and villages, towards Flower Fruit Mountain.