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A hollow voice rings out across the liminal space between them. It’s soft, softer than she has allowed herself to be in a long, long time.
Two figures stand at the boundary.
A boundary of what, you may ask. Death, perhaps? Life? A fork road between two fates. An anchor point between a swirling current and a sinking rock.
Stasis.
Not that it actually mattered, much like the many unanswered questions the mortal psyche comes up with. The only thing of significance in this realm were the soft gasps of defeat, ice finally melting melting melting.
“You and I,” a resigned voice echoes, “are not so different.” In the same breath, a hero of the people shudders.
“We both fight for what we think is right. That pursuit… only leads to one thing.” The white plateau, the boundary, seems to get brighter. The boy (champion, saviour, son) can only squint his eyes at the light, but the Lady stands tall. Elegant, one may describe her as, despite her tattered robes.
“Mhm. To destiny, right?”
He’s heard this tirade before, lethargy clinging to his limbs. The boy-hero lingers, yearns. He is full of desires, full of hope— a wretched mirror whose reflection sears brands into her skin. She is marked. Marked for death. For a moment past and present blend, and instead of a young hero she sees herself.
The Boundary allows many ghosts to arise.
“No,” The Lady, perhaps noble and beautiful once, before hatred pinched and twisted her features, smiled. The only thing that betrayed her true age were her eyes, withered and dead long before her true body turned to ash.
With a heavy breath, filled with centuries worth of solitary aching, she murmurs. A final parting gift, a final memory:
“To pain.”
In his opinion, the whole thing was one massive accident.
MK just wanted everything to go back to normal. He really, really missed his bed and its warm fuzzy blankets And his limited edition Monkey Cop teddy. His plants haven’t been watered in weeks either! If they even survived the icy tundra after all this time.
Honestly, who didn’t just want to go back home? MK thinks he’s had enough snow for at least a couple lifetimes. Maybe ten just to be sure.
Yeah, maybe playing hooky with sentient blizzards and murderous freed spirits on some daring adventure, seemed exciting in theory. Like a real quest, y’know? A thrilling epic! Uh, besides the whole ‘if you fail, life as you know it will cease to exist’ bit, of course.
But in practice? When you’re waist length deep in sleet with the elements against you, running from some soulless thrall and your mentor’s old ex-paramour with a taste for revenge? (MK had assumed that was what Macaque was at least— he hoped that the Monkey King’s awful love life hadn’t come inherited with the staff).
Left a lot to be desired.
Okay. Well. Maybe the thrall part should’ve been more obvious. Everyone knows that anyone in a position of authority turns out to be soulless one way or another. Just turns out the Mayor was a bit more literal on that point. But he digresses.
It was an overall Bad Time. Capital letters and all. It would probably be referred to as The Bad Time in future meetings with his shrink if he ever swallowed his pride, listened to Sandy and got one.
MK swore he would do anything to restore the balance of the world and he just… went a bit overboard. Whoops! We all make mistakes. Was it genuinely too much to ask for the world to not be destroyed for once?
Well. MK was not exactly known for his luck.
Oh come off it. How many times have you saved the world? Yeah, now try it with your temperate father, a freeloading pencil pusher, a scheming king with no subjects, and your best friend whose family had been inadvertently carrying a Weapon of Mass Destruction in their genes because of said scheming king.
And Sandy, who deserves to be properly named because well— he was Sandy: the glue keeping their tumultuous group together.
Don’t get MK wrong, he’d die—
(Or was the better term he’d kill?)
— for his family, no hesitation, but even he had to admit they hit some snags here and there in their journey. Not that he’d choose anyone else in the world to watch his back! He loved and cherished all of them, and would trust them with his life. And has done so on multiple occasions.
MK was just… tired. And homesick. And accidentally took ‘drastic measures’ to end the battle.
He’d never actually killed someone before, corny video games aside. But the Monkey King had always said that the first one was always the hardest, and that the Lady Bone Demon was basically a walking skeleton anyway, bud! It was in the name! Therefore MK was told it was a perfectly normal escalation to do anything to win, no matter how dire the consequences were.
Or not dire. Sun Wukong thought the battle was a job well done. Perfect execution and all! Pardon the pun.
(His mentor had told him this with a battle-worn grin, patting his mentee on the back with a firm congratulations. “You did me proud, kid,” the Monkey King had said. “You managed to do what I couldn’t. Knew it wasn’t a mistake choosing you!”)
(MK’s ears had roared, throat tight all of a sudden. Maybe in another life he would have been mentally stronger— better— than he was now, choosing to bask in a job well done. Maybe he would have heard Sun Wukong’s cooing at how brave and fearless his little mentee was, how much MK was ‘just like him’ when he was younger, and beamed in pride.)
(In this universe no such thing happened. All words fell on to deaf ears, and all MK could do was drown drown drown. The Monkey King was wrong. If choosing MK wasn’t a mistake, then why did he feel such…)
He remembers the fragile determination on his friends’ faces; the bodies next to him were warm, a stark difference to the winter wonderland outside. He didn’t really think that anyone inside that mecha was 100% sure they would all make it. MK himself had half expected the Lady Bone Demon to counter them with some magic trick up her sleeve, just like she always did.
(And if that was the case… Perhaps it was selfish that MK was ready to let the world shatter just so that his family would be able to make it out alive. No matter what it took— or who.)
(Perhaps the earlier statement needs more correction. MK didn’t really think that he would make it. He walked in expecting to die— one life, for their lives.)
(It would always be an easy trade for him.)
MK remembers thinking that her ice had began to infect his insides too, the numbness unimaginable. He doesn’t even remember much after that point though anyway. Just one single golden thought:
He couldn’t surrender. Would not. After all, MK didn’t just carry his own fate on his shoulders— but everyone else’s. If he failed here, everything he knew and loved— everyone he knew and loved, would only exist in the memory of an ice-cold dictator..
And Qi Xiaotian could never live with himself knowing that he was the one responsible for stripping the world of the colours that made up his life.
(Pink hands ruffling his hair. Ink staining yellowing parchment. Blue hugs accompanied by warm tea. Green grins and red flames.)
So when push came to shove and the final battle had come, he didn’t really think much beyond protect, protect, protect. MK didn’t go out with the intention to actually kill anybody. The opposite, really. In an ideal world, maybe the demon would have changed her mind about world domination. Like Red Son had!
Well. Maybe he was a bad example. The demon still grinned with a bit too much teeth when posed with the question of whether or not he still wanted to conquer Megapolis.
MK hadn’t let himself think about the heavy feeling he distantly, indifferently, labelled as ‘guilt’ until he was back into the safety of his own room. There was a thin layer of dust coating the place thanks to disuse, but MK supposed he should be thankful the place was still standing at all, really.
Small miracles.
It was really just the end of another adventure, he tried to rationalise. The Monkey King himself had slain a great deal many foes! Isn’t that what he wanted? To be like his idol?
(His stomach lurched at the thought.)
Maybe there was something wrong with him. Yeah! That made sense. LBD probably cursed him in her final moments, placed a seed of doubt within his mind. It was just another one of her tricks.
What was it again?
“You and I are not so different.”
Obviously that was a sign she was playing with MK again. They were complete opposites! He could at least personally say that he never tried to commit— or has committed!— mass destruction.
It didn’t feel like the encouragement it was.
He was always a cry-baby, even when he was younger. The type to sob for roadkill or whine at creeping spiders. Was that why everything felt like too much? Like his chest was about to burst?
But whatever. MK doesn’t have the time to ponder about his turbulent emotions. He has noodles to deliver, expectations to meet, repairs to make.
A band-aid is slapped over a festering wound and everything is okay again.
The battle has ended. The Great Big Bad is gone. He had protected what he loved. All MK had to do now was stop thinking too hard about things he couldn’t change. Easy! Pigsy had always said he never used his head.
…
(The ice demon was right. They both did fight for what they thought was right— one for change, the other for protection.)
(They were by no means the same, but they were similar enough, weren’t they? So after all was said and done, would she be right? Would his journey really just result in…?)
MK was never good at following orders. Even from himself.
His eyebags have never been heavier.
The next few weeks flow by quickly.
Music pumps through his headphones and the thrum of his tuk-tuk is good enough to distract him. Repairs to the city have been on full blast and business was booming for Pigsy, newfound fame and hunger drawing people in en masse.
MK was listening to an old song that Mei recommended to him a lifetime ago, twirling a miniature version of his staff between his fingers. Golden cicadas thrum under his skin but he keeps moving, moving, moving, trying to drown them out.
Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he imagines a glimmer of bright white hair out of the corner of his eye, waiting. Just waiting. Watching.
Panic seizes his heart, crushing it in its bony grasp and MK swerves.
Pigsy isn’t happy to find his vehicle crashed into another wall, for the nth time that week.
It must be well into noon when his shift finishes and he’s free to run to the edge of the city, foraging through the dense woods for two sparky individuals.
MK could already hear the sounds of battle, smile fighting its way on to his face.
At the edge of the plateau he can see two blurs of red and green:
Red Son aims a sweep at Mei’s legs, knocking her off her feet. She’s quick to recover, using her arms to propel herself back as she hits the ground. It’s clear they’ve been at this for hours, a thick sheen of sweat threading through both their hair and clothes. Dirt clings to shins and cheeks, and MK knows that they’ve been straight up brawling instead of properly sparring again.
But noo! MK was the ‘most impulsive’ one of the trio. It was like saying he was the tallest dwarf.
Mei launches herself forward, swivelling her torso to aim a series of fast-paced attacks that MK can barely make out, even with his enhanced senses.
Block. Block. Parry. Kick. Red Son darts back and forth to land his own hits. Hands on the ground, Mei manages to flip her body in such a way that the momentum of her foot collides harshly with Red’s jaw, in a unique back-flip motion that makes MK’s own head spin just watching it.
It’s scary how well gymnastics translates into fighting, MK can’t help but think to himself. Would Mei consider joining the lion dancers for New Year’s?
(Heaven knows they deserve better festivities the fiasco last time.)
Red Son has already launched his own array of counter attacks, brows furrowed in concentration. And probably from already planning revenge from that nasty hit. Yikes. If he were Mei, he’d double check that Red Son hadn’t poisoned her food with the demon’s special hot sauce later on. He’d done it once, he’d do it again.
Mei backs up towards the edge of the clearing, settling herself a clear distance away. Her eyes scanning across the field for any movement from Red Son, breathing uneven. Green sparks flicker around her shins.
MK’s eyes widen. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest idea to have two fire-wielders in a flammable area like a forest. Not his fault this time, he’d like to add.
“Dragon Girl! What have I told you about breathing from your diaphragm?! If you do not have a stable core, you cannot possibly hope to control the Samadhi Fire!”
MK’s best friend can’t help but roll her eyes, “I control it just fine. Haven’t ended the world yet, have I? You’ve said the same thing, like… a bajillion times!”
She clenches her fists, darting forward. Red Son dodges quickly, a flurry of punches shared between the two.
“Do you just take to ignoring me then?” He hisses, aiming a punch at her abdomen.
Her eyes follow his movements, pupils widening in recognition, and she jumps up over him. Adrenaline sings in her veins, a choppy laugh answering his question.
Taking advantage of his surprise, she aims a kick at his back, knocking Red Son down. He grunts, using the momentum to grab her foot and flip her down with him.
Mei gives a surprised yelp, trying to wrestle out of his hold but it’s too late. She hits the ground hard, dirt on her tastebuds.
She spits it out, shooting Red Son a dirty look. The smug grin even MK can see despite the growing distance is no apology.
In retaliation, Mei throws dirt into his eyes. The flames in the prince’s hair begin to pick up, a tell-tale sign that MK should probably intervene before the two end up brawling on the floor instead of training.
MK rushes forward, moving in between the two.
“Uhh maybe we should try not to burn down the forest?”
Red’s eyes narrow, “You are late—”
“MK!” Arms around him tightly, to the point MK can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a hug or a chokehold. Not that he really cares. “Long time, no see!”
The delivery-boy smiles, spinning Mei around with practised ease. “It felt like forever,” he murmured, trying to slip back into old habits. Not any of that mopey, paranoid business. That was so last year.
The desert they had trained at prior was brutal during the peak of summer. Temperatures rose hotter than DBK’s Inferno spice level on a good day. MK personally would know, he had made the mistake of trying it once on a dare.
(…Let’s just say that MK was a more of a dragon than Mei was with how much fire he breathed out.)
It was a miracle they hadn’t managed to cause a single forest fire yet! Ignoring the few close calls. But hey, everything turned out for the best in the end. Got to burn a few eggs sometimes to learn how to make an omelette. Or something like that.
“You saw each other literally last weekend. It’s Tuesday.” Red Son scowls, kicking up dirt in Mei’s general direction. The inventor was dragged along to see them both that day too of course. Only Buddha knows how many impromptu get-togethers he had been ‘invited’ (read: forced) to attend by the duo.
Mei ignores the demon, “MK you won’t believe what this guy puts me through! Three hours of meditation and then surprise attacking me with some— some spear! Where did he ever get that from? I’m starting to think he likes seeing me all bruised up!”
The demon bristles, ears red. “Don’t sully my intentions! This is for your own good, you need to learn to remain calm under any situation. And to breathe right!”
“Uhh. I’m pretty sure I know how to breathe right. Been doing it all my life, y’see, Red Boy! And seriously? If I wanted to learn how to keep calm, I’d ask Sandy. Sorry, not sorry, but you aren’t exactly…”
“Peaceful?” MK supplied helpfully, finally chipping in.
“Yes! Peaceful! Thank you!”
“I’m a fire demon. We’re supposed to have fiery tempers!”
“Yeah, yeah. Just ask us to hang out like a normal person. You don’t need to jump through so many mental hoops.”
“Sorry Red Son. After that display, I’m pretty sure the gymnast out of all of us would be Mei. I think I’d break my back even trying to do that backflip thing from earlier.”
“I am not— Nor do I want to— Both of you are utterly infuriating. I should have left you to burn down the entire Milky Way, Pony Girl. Save me the trouble.”
“Love you too, Red Boy. Anyway, speaking of hanging out! Whoever loses in a game of Monkey Mech buys dinner? I’m gonna beat you this time for sure, MK!”
MK’s wallet weeps at the thought. Tears of joy of course, Monkey Mech was his game. The day he lost is the day the Jade Emperor himself descends from the Heavens. Red Son however, ever the voice of reason— much to the bane of the duo’s existence— has different plans.
“Noodle Brain over here hasn’t even sparred anyone yet. The Demon Bull Family needs a worthy adversary to overcome when we complete our inevitable takeover. Not some… some arcade junkie!
“Live a little Red Boy, training can wait! You’ll get wrinkles from always frowning. Don’t worry though, we know how difficult it is for you,” Mei starts off sagely, earning a confused scrunching of brows from the demon. “Living with a stick up your ass must be incredibly painful.” MK thinks he hears a blood vessel pop.
Was it just him or was it sweltering all of a sudden? “That’s hilarious coming from someone who is about to have a stick shoved into their eyesocket.”
“Empty threats, little Red. Even Monkie Boy can tell better lies, and the bar is on the floor at that point.”
Ouch. “They aren’t that bad.”
For a brief moment of solidarity, the two flame wielders shoot a look of pure disbelief— it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it meant.
The dragon continues waving a red cape in front of the metaphorical bull. Or was it literal in this case? MK wouldn’t be surprised to find horns underneath that messy mop of red hair. “How old are you? A couple centuries old? Maybe I should start calling you Grandpa and start listening to your old war stories.”
“I am the same age as you by demon standards!” He all but yelled, pushing up his sleeves— with the elegance he does everything with, or so the demon would like to say. He never failed to remind them that Red Son was a prince of the highest calibre.
Mei doesn’t hesitate to wave him off, unbothered by his outbursts at this point. “Moving on to something actually relevant—” Red Son hisses at that, launching into a spluttering tirade that no one really pays attention to. “MK, sweetheart, I don’t mean to judge but you look like you had to fight your way out of your own grave. I mean seriously, Red Boy, look at him!”
Huffing, Red Son straightens out his crimson coat, “I do believe that’s an understatement. The Six-Eared Macaque would have certainly retained more poise than the Noodle Boy.”
Mei pokes at MK’s cheeks harshly, one arm slung around him. “You’ve been too quiet lately! Normally you never shut up, but now it’s like pulling teeth!”
“Thanks Mei. That does wonders for my self-esteem.”
“Despite clearly being dropped on her head as a baby—" He doesn’t manage to dodge a hard kick to his shins in time. “—She has a point. How long have you slept Noodle Boy?”
Surely he didn’t look that bad. Maybe his hair hasn’t been brushed in a few days and his normal bandanna was flopping limply around his neck instead of his head. And sure he was wearing his shirt backwards, with his shoelaces just forced into his heels rather than actually tied… but it was fine! He was starting a new trend. MK would bet that his eye bags just looked worse in the mirror than face to face.
“Enough hours,” he argued pathetically.
Maybe he did need better work on his lying. The deadpan looks his best friends were sending him probably meant that they agreed.
“You better not have stayed up watching Monkey Cop. Not without us.”
MK yells out a no at the same time Red mumbles out an, “Oh gods I hope so. That show is an abomination to the arts.”
This time it’s MK who aims a kick at the inventor.
“I would never!” And Mk can see on Mei’s face that she knows that’s utter bullshit: he has and forever will binge any Monkey King related series for days straight— with her or without her. Seeing a dangerous glint in her eyes, he changes the topic completely.
“It was just a rough day. Nothing major. May have accidentally picked a few fights with some walls again, but I won in the end anyway. So it’s fine! Monkie Kid’s honour,” the staff wielder continues, ignoring Red’s indignant muttering.
The dragon and bull heirs study him for a while, silently urging him for more information. MK would’ve complained there should be more trust in his relationships but their innate sense to smell bullshit probably would’ve earned him a court-mandated heart to heart talk. Boring! Pass.
Eager to change the subject he jolts forward, itching to be on his feet once more.
“Well… Ready to train?”
The deflection doesn’t truly work, but it’s a sign not to push for now. Mei knows through experience that he’d bolt as soon as she brings it up again, so all she does is shoot him a concerned look and, for once, backs down. They both know he’ll open up to her in his own time. But the demon quite literally on his shoulder doesn’t seem to get the memo (or maybe he did and just elegantly ripped it to shreds?) continues to drill holes into the back of his skull.
Yeah no. Let’s not open that can of worms just yet. MK can imagine his epitaph when Red Son finally gets his hands on him. ‘Here rests MK: His near pathological avoidant personality led to his premature death. He’ll be dearly missed. Probably not by Red Son who says, quote unquote, that bastard deserves it.’ Boo hoo him. Maybe Mei would have some mercy and bring him camellias.
(Ignoring the inventor only seems to make the glares Red Son is sending him all the more fiery. MK didn’t really think that was possible, personally. But his friends always manage to defy his expectations! Gods, if anyone were to see him right now, they would think MK was the one who pinned a mountain on DBK himself.)
Bristling, “In your state? A relatively strong breeze could knock you down,” Red Son scowls. It seems a once over MK was more than enough to change his mind about training. Now when was that when the delivery boy actually wanted to get off training? “It would be an insult to even consider you a worthy match.”
”I can still—“
”A sound mind means a sound body. It’s important to balance rest and work, and I think the Pony Girl is right. Perhaps we have been training for too long.”
“You were just complaining about me being a homebody!”
Mei grabs both of his shoulders hard, slamming their foreheads together until all the brunette can do is stare into her fierce green eyes, “MK, think very carefully about what you’re arguing against. I know I was just complaining you were too quiet but there is a time and place.”
Music pulses from the boomboxes in time with his heartbeat. The arcade is a maelstrom of neon lights and flashing colours, a whirlwind of click-clacks and bad SFX. It’s a never ending crescendo of vibrancy and noise, time ceasing to exist with the blocked out windows and artificial luminescence.
In other words, it’s a complete culture shock to someone who has spent the last 500 years tinkering away in a workshop towards an impossible task.
”You guys… enjoy being here?” A certain fire demon shouts over the music. The disgust in his voice would have been venomous if he weren’t clinging on to an arcade machine for dear life.
“Probably should’ve warned you about the anti-gravity aspects? It’s not that bad of a place, y’know.” The music was just loud enough to drown out any lingering thoughts, the lights just distracting enough to snuff out images of bone white hair. Mei had run off ahead in search of the familiar Monkey Mech video game, warding off any stragglers who may have claimed it for themselves.
Poor them. It’s a poorly hidden secret that the girl bites.
“You think, Noodle Brain?” he mutters, finally on two feet as the gravity returns.
“I can’t believe you’ve never been. You’ve been our friend since, what, New Year’s? Sell your soul to a demon or something to avoid it?”
“Hilarious. I actually just had prior engagements— strategically placed appointments, important deadlines to meet. The works.”
Bumping his shoulder, “Strange coincidence that you suddenly remembered them whenever the arcade was brought up.”
“Rather fortunate, I would say.”
A comfortable silence hung for a moment, the heavy beat oscillating through the air— electrifying, atmosphere laced with something MK couldn’t quite place. Neither of them had moved from the machines they were leaning against, arms and thighs pressed tightly against each other.
MK leaned back on his palms, throat bared to the ceiling. There were a few missing panels, clouds of plaster blooming with each pulse of the melody— some generic pop song, he believes. Catchy, but he enjoyed it like a bullet to the head. In fact, it was so incredibly grating, he’d probably prefer a bullet to the head. He could see Red Son watching from the corner of his eye, shooting him a strange look.
”What is—“
”Noodle Boy—“
They started at the same time, MK blinking twice before cracking a tiny smile. ”No, sorry, you go first.”
Red Son gave him an unreadable look. His glasses sat low on his nose, the moving purple gold yellow pink lights painting his eyes and cheeks in warm shadows. His red jacket was tied loosely on his hips— despite living on a volcano, the heat from the multitudes of bodies next to them was still stifling. Paired with the summer heat? Even MK had long forgone his signature jersey. The black tank top suited Red Son, MK thought, it made him blend easier with the crowd.
(Mei would just say he had a thing for biceps. Whatever. He saw her looking at Red’s long legs enough to be deemed a social faux pas.)
“You haven’t been getting enough sleep.” It was more of an accusation rather than a question. Blunt and quick to the point, as if MK should have expected any less.
MK was still going to be a dick about it though. “Are you asking me or are you telling me?”
”You’ve lost weight too. Even Mei’s noticed your clothes have been getting too baggy lately.” MK’s hands twitched— Mei? This conversation was toeing the lines of dangerous.
”Baggy clothes are all the rage nowadays. I know you live in the middle of nowhere, but with how often you hang out with us, I would’ve thought you at least kept up with the trends.”
”You live in a noodle shop. Your father is a cook. And yet you haven’t been eating. Why?”
Just to be contrary, he says rehearsed and robotic, “Pigsy says he’s too young to be my dad.” Although the boar demon certainly did try to stuff some food down his throat, if the cold noodles outside his door had said anything about it. MK just didn’t have an appetite these days.
Red Son rolls his eyes, unamused. “Parenthood is a gift that strikes in mysterious ways. You still haven’t answered my question.”
“Just haven’t been hungry. I’m no lawyer but that isn’t a crime, right? I mean unless you want to do some kind of nefarious evil-y hangout idea as some group bonding activity. Maybe hijack the Weather Station again? Always a classic.”
”You can’t just demonstrate that you actually have a developed range of vocabulary and then follow it up with something as arbitrary as ‘evil-y’. For a moment, it almost like you had a formal education.”
”As much as the public school experience counts as proper learning’.” The demon sighed at the drifting range in topic. If MK had to put a finger on it, he would say it’s from fond exasperation, but that hardly a phrase suited for the usually vexed demon.
”Mei’s probably waiting for us,” he says, trying to make a quick escape. “We shouldn’t leave her on her own.”
A warm hand rests on his shoulder, intense gaze from before meeting its mark. The position is kind of awkward, almost as if Red Son is copying something he’s only seen adjacently. “MK.” How can a name carry such weight? “The Dragon Girl hasn’t said it out loud yet, but we’re both worried. Don’t change the subject. Not about this.” Not when it’s about you, remained unsaid. Still, unspoken words somehow cut all the more sharp. You know how earlier he said he’d prefer a bullet to the head? Yeah.
MK swallowed dry.
He didn’t ask them to be worried about him, the smaller, pettier side of him thought. MK was handling it just fine. He was allowed to be upset for a while, wasn’t he?
He swallowed the response down, berating himself mentally. MK knew his friends meant the best… he just. Didn’t want it. Or deserved it, really. There was nothing, Monkey King had said, to be guilty for anyway. So instead, MK could only nod, skin burning burning burning. He wrenched himself away, shoving his hands into his pockets. Red Son opened his mouth to speak, probably something about emotions and feelings, or whatever touchy feely bullshit (ha!) he could think of.. He didn’t really feel like sticking around to find out.
He would have thought that the day Red Son, of all people, wanted to talk about emotions would be the day Hell froze over. But well, in light of recent events—
(“You and I are not so different.”)
—he supposes that yeah, Hell did kind of become a glorious ice skating rink. Funny how that works.
“We should probably hurry up,” MK can only say, offering a guilty smile. “Mei’s surely found Monkey Mech by now and I’ve got a free dinner to win,” and tries not to make it too obvious as he bolts ahead, not once looking behind him. Score 1:0 to MK— take that emotional vulnerability!
Hey, he was never one to claim that he was made for subtlety. Exhibit A: Quite literally the first time her ever met the Demon Bull Family.
He spots Mei in a familiar corner of the arcade, waving them excitedly over. The carpet is worn from years of use, faded geometrical patterns swirling across the floor. There’s an odd stain or two every so often, from which MK hopes is just from food. The Monkey Mech machine stands proud, bright teal edges gleaming across ruby reds. His eyes burn at the harsh white light from the start screen; it takes the edge off his still heated skin.
Mei’s energy is infectious, warming up his tired muscles and sparking a familiar flame of competition in his gut. The weight on his shoulders doesn’t feel as heavy for a moment, and all that exists for a while is just the three of them and the neon characters on the screen.
Red Son still sends MK these looks filled with something. He tries not too look too hard, tries not to think too hard. He doesn’t want to feel anyone else’s concern for him, the feeling stifling.
Mei isn’t oblivious to the tension between them, but puts in an effort to disregard it. She drags her boys into playing at least a dozen rounds by the scruff of their necks, alternating between cheap knockoffs of popular games— seriously, ‘Monkey Kong’ was the best they could come up with?— and funnily enough, Dance Dance Revolution.
(“Red Boy, you have to actually feel the music! Is that stick up your ass causing you to move so stiff, because so help me gods, we’re about to lose to a couple of kids—“
“Well I’m sorry, Dragon Girl, that I spent my free time learning actual ballroom dances rather than wasting it on some cheap hunks of plastic.”
“You genuinely aren’t ever going to beat the old man allegations, Red Son. I’m so sorry.”
“No I’m fucking sorry, you had dance lessons?!”)
They eventually wind back down to Monkey Mech, trying to resolve their standing bet after playing a few recreational rounds. Mei chucks some cash at a grumbling Red Son’s face, hollering for some cheese teas from the side restaurant. A few scathing remarks are thrown about, but eventually everything settles and it’s just the two childhood friends and a blaring machine.
He feels himself relax a bit, on edge after the whole mini-confrontation from Red Son. His gut twists at his own thoughts, something awful creeping up his throat. It’s fine, he tried to rationalise. MK was only human. He was human human human—
Anyway. MK should’ve known it was too good to be true.
The loading screen starts, two pixelated characters moving on screen. His is always a robotic version of Sun Wukong (tail and all), where Mei’s favourite is ironically the Dragon Horse. He’s always wondered what Ao Lie would think, knowing his granddaughter poses as a cyborg version of himself to beat up innocents. Cute family bonding!
Speaking of family, Pigsy would surely scold him about his shrimp-like posture, spouting odes of future back problems just like him. Oh well, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
Kick. Duck. Tackle. MK’s has his tongue out in concentration when Mei begins to speak, eyes glued to the screen, “I never did thank you.”
He lets out a grunt, button mashing. For what, paying for her parking last week? His mech lunges forward, a flurry of kicks blocked by Mei’s deft fingers. The joystick protests against his hands, letting out a not-so-quiet death rattle.
”After the Samadhi Fire… The fourth ring…. I could’ve ended the world that day, you know. Think I actually would have if it meant that bastard of a king got what he deserves.” Click. Click. Swerve. Mei’s dragon connects a solid hit, knocking off his HP.
MK doesn’t say anything, focusing on the game— it was easier than confronting the past. The Monkie Kid, killer of the Bone Demon, successor to the fearless Great Sage: a coward.
Punch. Punch. Block. “That weapon burns everything and everyone in contact with it. It’s— it’s so gluttonous. It consumes all and leaves you with nothing.” And Mei, sweet loyal Mei, had to live that she was this nuclear bomb, of sorts. Live knowing that she must be the one who ends their family line lest her descendants must bear this heavy burden. She must fear herself until the day she dies.
Images of purple-black flames eats away at his memory: shattered screams, broken dreams. Pointed fingers; a secret-keeper and his victim. Remembering is like picking up shards of broken glass bare handed and praying you don’t get cut. Remembering is trying to piece the fragments together and hoping that you don’t see the reflection of your face as you do so. Remembering is knowing that your hero was the one that threw the shattered glass at your loved ones in the first place.
Remembering is not making peace with it. The monkey mech lands a solid hit.
“But you— you daft, stupid, loving idiot charges head first into danger. All to save someone who was so consumed by anger, they’d end the world. Not so heroic of me, right?” Tackle. Kick. Hit.
The harsh contrast between the neon lights of the game and the poor arcade lighting makes his eyes water. Something ugly twists and pulls at his chest, choking and bitter— howling. Always howling.
“You didn’t just save the world that day. You saved me. It’s probably selfish to think about myself first and foremost, but well, out of the both of us you’ve always been more of a hero.” He tries to ignore the sad smile on her face from the corner of his eye. “And I never managed to thank you for it after,” Mei laughed dry.
”MK how can my love for you be so obvious and yet you still think that I, of all people, wouldn’t notice that you’ve been hurting all this time? How can you be the only one to reach for me as the world crashes down, and not expect that I would do the same for you?
“You told me that we would figure this out together, that day. So let me in, MK,” the dragon turns to face him, game forgotten. “We’re a duo. We fight our battles together, as we always have.”
The ending cutscene flashes on the screen:
[YOU W I N]
A girl with a tired smile and a fierce heart looks at him, truly looks at him and MK burns.
He knows the expression on his face is a sight to see, oceans filling his vision and the floor falling from beneath him. MK’s been stripped naked and left bare, music muted against the backdrop of his heart.
He doesn’t know what to think, doesn’t know what to feel. For a moment, he feels completely and utterly blank that he almost thinks he’s back at The Boundary, white liminal space stretching stretching stretching. It’s at a disconnect, an out of body experience; there’s a clear dichotomy over what his body feels and what his mind does. MK looks down to see his hands quivering, lungs heaving, but all he registers is ice.
“Hm. Looks like you won the bet!” The atmosphere breaks, and MK finally gets a gulp of fresh air. “I guess I owe you dinner, Monkie Boy, so you better not waste any of my money and eat all of it. Hasn’t your Dadsy pestered you to eat more?”
Dammit. MK really isn’t notorious for his good luck. He really got tag-teamed by his two best friends without them even properly coordinating anything.
“Y-Yeah,” he winces as his own voice cracks. “Rain check on that? I just— I have to— Give me some time. I promise Mei, just—“
He doesn’t give her much chance to answer, fleeing with his tail between his legs. His heart hammers, fists clenching and unclenching against his will. Distantly he notes that he brushes past Red Son with their drinks, but any words he may have said falls on deaf ears. Escape is the only thing on his mind, and the biting cold he’s haunted by tastes like sweet relief.
His feet thunder up the stairs back to the noodle shop, breath ragged. All he can hope is that Pigsy wasn’t awoken by the slamming of his door so late in the night. His phone pings from the corner he’s flung his belongings to, back in the solitary safety of his room.
The Monkey King was dead wrong, MK thinks for what must be the hundredth time.
It was a mistake choosing a cowardly, guilty murderer like him.
“Should you have really let him go, Pony Girl? He looked like a danger to himself.”
Two living disasters lean against the railing of an old apartment complex, looking down on a city they meant to destroy. It’s comical, ironic even: a joke for fathers to tell their whining kids.
Two world enders walk into a bar. The bartender slides them a couple drinks, and tells them to leave all the Barts in the world for him.
Two catastrophes walk into a bar. The bartender asks where they’d like to sit. There’s nothing but rubble and blood. They’re alone.
Two annihilators walk in into a bar. They’re looking for the one person who made them both feel sane. They’ve killed him too.
Mei watches the flickering of lights from Pigsy’s Noodles from down below. The night is young, but the city is awake. It never sleeps. Bright blues and purples scatter from billboards, advertisements lighting up the city streets. She can just make out the outline of MK’s plants on his balcony with her enhanced eyesight.
“I had a pet bird when I was younger, Red Boy. The more you clip their wings and smother them in cages, the more they lose what really let them soar. It’s better to let them fly free and let them know where their home is, than to watch them die from the inside out in your own palms.”
The demon hummed, red coat flowing around his hips from the breeze. Red Son unties it and wraps it around Mei’s bare shoulders wordlessly.
She fishes a familiar packet from her jeans, offering one to the prince.
He takes the cigarette as she pops one into her mouth. She flicks her thumb and a small green flame rises, a testament to her level of control. Red Son budges in closer, blocking the flame from the wind as she lights both of their sticks.
He takes a long drag of the tobacco, ash filling his lungs. “I don’t smoke.”
Mei exhales, cancer stick resting between her middle and index finger. She wonders if it even matters. Her longitivtiy means she’ll be around to witness creation long after they develop some miracle cure for the disease. After all, what is a couple of centuries to a dragon and a demon?
“I don’t either.”
Two friends lean against the railing of an old apartment building, watching as one of them destroys himself. They’re powerless to watch as he proves what mortality really means, and can only wait in time with the swaying of the winds for him to trust them properly.
Maybe that’s the joke in the end. Two soothsayers of death try to nurture a blooming life. Fire wielders trying to stop a garden from decaying from the roots.
Both of them take a long drag of smoke.
The night is cold.
Once the embers of the butts fade, there exists only two of them. Arms intertwine, their natural heat means the cold stands no chance against them. Mei thinks that nothing will truly stop them, not any more.
Unstoppable force.
It’s funny how omens work, she thinks. In some cultures, the moon is a symbol for change: the fear of the unknown, something hidden under the cover of darkness. She isn’t one for poetry usually, so she wouldn’t really know about the irony of fearing something inevitable.
Immoveable object.
Mei takes a photo of the large, looming yellow moon— its jagged craters and battered appearance— and sends it to MK:
[IT’S BEAUTIFUL, ISN’T IT?]