Part I.

The day was fair. The sun shone brightly over the lush forests, with the occasional cloud casting sporadic shadows across the eastern landscape. Thick branches of leaves danced in the wind, brushing up against one another in a soft melody akin to the steady flow of the distant river. Insects buzzed and chirped, animals sang and croaked, each one occupied with their final preparations before the oncoming dusk. None of them even noticed when the ball of fire broke through the clouds. Screeching through the air at impossible speed, the mass of orange flame left a thin trail of black smoke that stretched all the way to the heavens.

The songs of the forest came to a crashing halt upon impact. Stone and dirt exploded into a crater, as tree trunks splintered and burned. But whatever was at the heart of this ball of fire didn’t halt. With the flames now extinguished, the mass was revealed to be a man. Or rather, a monkey. And he kept on hitting the ground, again and again, like a pebble thrown across a pond. With every hit, the monkey let out a sharp – if comedic – cry of pain until, finally, his body skidded to a halt.

A moment of pure silence was interrupted when the monkey exclaimed, loudly: “Ow!” He rubbed and cracked his neck, winced in pain, counted his fingers, and made sure all his sharp teeth were still in place.

“My king!” he heard an out-of-breath voice shout. More voices joined in.

“Are you hurt?”

“Are you alright?”

“Is he alive?”
“That had to hurt!”
“I’m hungry.”

One moment the monkey, still lying on the ground, looked up at the sky. The next, a dozen faces appeared in his field of vision, a perfect circle of monkeys. All of them filled with concern for the wellbeing of their leader – their king. Sun Wukong.

His eyes widened. “The peaches!”

Wukong sprang to his feet with the aid of his staff. As if carried by the wind itself, the Monkey King traced back the route of his crashlanding, checking every location of impact, frantically alternating between shouting “The peaches!” or “No!” or letting out some aghast yelp. Though he wore heavy armor, he didn’t show any signs of it slowing him down or hindering him in any way. The monkeys tried their best to keep up with him, finally resolving to swing from the trees to better follow their king.

It was at the biggest crater that Wukong finally stopped his search. Skittering down the hole of dirt, Wukong found a large satchel that had been left open by his fall. There were several peaches scattered around, smushed or incinerated by the fall. He stuffed his hand in the bag and, with a relief, found a few still intact.

“Those who call Heaven home are not ones to share,” he told his monkeys. “I brought these for you. They will make you immortal, just like they did for me! Now hurry, eat them before--”

The Monkey King was interrupted by a cacophony of metal stomps. They had come from the sky, just like Wukong, but landing much more efficiently than he had. There numbers were great: Tiandi and Jiang Jun and Nuxia warriors, all moving in unison. With weapons drawn, they surrounded Wukong.

Part II.

“Surrender the peaches!” they barked furiously.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Wukong scoffed. “I’m the guardian of the peaches. And I think I should decide what to do with them, don’t you?” Wukong planted his feet firmly on the ground. With a half-smile, his headband low over his frowned, determined face, he whispered: “Now.”

Upon command, his army of monkeys dropped down from the trees with searing screeches. They landed on their opponents, hitting, biting and clawing.

That is when Sun Wukong joined the fray. Leaping high, he somersaulted from enemy to enemy, his staff hitting one target then immediately finding another. Wukong threw himself on the ground, pushed himself back up, hitting and kicking with deadly precision. These were the Guards of Heaven, and they deserved no mercy. They were plump and unjust. The tools of the gods, enforcers of an establishment that was only concerned with those they deemed deserving. The rest – like him, like his monkeys – were akin to nothing. Dirt on the ground.

Wukong’s soldiers used thick sticks and heavy boulders to fight, as he moved faster than all could see, taking down a Jiang Jun here, taking a break on top of a Nuxia’s helmet there, then taking the fight to a Zhanhu. But no matter how many he slew, more arrived to take their place. Though he was mighty, Sun Wukong started to realize that he couldn’t keep fighting his enemies while protecting his monkeys. He cared about them too much to sacrifice their lives. And so, he gave them an order he never had before.

“Go!” he told them. “Run and hide!”

The monkeys protested, but their king wouldn’t hear it.

“Go!” he repeated. “I’ll deal with them. I’ll return to you, I promise!”

When night fell, the battle had moved to the edge of the forest, at the foot of a gigantic mountain. Wukong was now all alone against a host of Heaven’s armies. The forest was dark, illuminated only by a thin sliver of a moon, and the brief flashes of purple flame from Zhanhu attacks. With the monkeys now far away, safe and sound, Wukong only had to worry about himself. In-between bouts of fight, Wukong found the time to eat. After all, the battle was tiresome, and he needed to keep his energy up. (Luckily, he always kept a few provisions about his person.)

The fight was a challenge, but the good kind. He put every single one of his skills to use, determined to defeat Heaven itself. He looked forward to battle’s end, when he would return to his monkeys with the satchel of peaches. They would all live forever. They would defy Heaven itself.

The thought of Heaven’s fury at his unnatural success filled Wukong with glee. He burst into laughter in the middle of the fight, and this decidedly proved unsettling for quite a few of his enemies. Here he was, fighting by himself, seemingly winning and… laughing? Yet another insult thrown at the might of Heaven.

Part III.

Finally, as the sun beckoned with the promise of a new day, Wukong noticed that no heavenly reinforcements came. All who was left standing was a Nuxia, a healer who had no more allies to mend.

“You should never have taken the peaches,” she told the Monkey King.

“And you should never have kept them from the people,” Sun Wukong answered. He wasn’t talking to the Nuxia. He was talking to them. The gods.

The two warriors rushed towards one another against a backdrop of trees burning with purple flame, he leaped over the Nuxia, smacking her head from behind with a powerful swing. The healer fell, and she never got back up.

The fighting decisively over, Wukong dropped on all fours, out of breath and muscles tired. He had done it. He had won. He had defeated the armies of Heaven, and he could now return to his people, to share immortality with them. Wiping sweat from his brow, he held his staff upright and used it to push himself back up.

There was nary a cloud in the sky, but the emerald bolt of lightning tore through the night with a roaring cackle. It struck the mountain with disastrous force, a green ball of flame causing stone as old as time itself to break apart.

For all his speed, Sun Wukong simply didn’t have the time to escape. The colossal debris of the mountain fell on top of him, the earth under his very feet giving way. Buried and trapped by forces even his strength couldn’t overcome, Wukong drifted from consciousness. He swore he could hear a distorted, high-pitched voice laughing. At him.

“Poor little Wukong,” the voice said, relishing in the mockery.

The voice faded, leaving him all alone in the concentrating darkness. He thought of the peaches, and the catastrophe they had brought. He had only wanted to share their gift with his people. Now they would never see him again, left only with a broken promise. He would keep on living, forever trapped. Forever a failure.

The peaches were no gift at all. He was immortal sure, but he was trapped. Fated to live eternally, imprisoned. A cruel form of torture.

They had brought nothing but pain.

***

Centuries passed when Wukong, still trapped under the rubble, finally saw a pair of feet approach him. They belonged to an old monk, who seemed so peaceful, so friendly. He asked Wukong if he needed any help, and the Monkey King simply said: “No.” He felt his punishment just. This was what he deserved.

In answer, the monk sat beside him for days. The two talked – about life, about humility and consequences. About the evils that ran rampant in the world. When days turned to weeks, the monk came to confide in Wukong, telling him about an important quest.

The Monkey King understood the importance of this mission, and he also knew his new friend would need all the help he could get. Finally, Sun Wukong asked for his freedom. Not for himself, but for the need of another.

“Where shall we go?” Wukong asked, dusting himself off.

“West,” the monk answered. “To Heathmoor.”