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Marvel MK: CH 154 – River Cocytus
🕑 Added 2025-09-17 12:04:11 +0000 UTCIn the sleek, high-tech headquarters of the Tiger Division in Seoul, Ami Han walked through the bustling halls with a brisk, purposeful stride. She stopped before the private chambers of Lei Ling, one of the youngest and most powerful members of her team. She didn’t knock.
She opened the door to find Lei Ling floating serenely near the ceiling, her air manipulation powers holding her aloft as she meticulously tweaked a complex, floating model of a sky city.
“What is that?” Ami Han asked, her voice the perfect, unimpressed tone of a disapproving mother.
“Shhh,” Lei Ling whispered without looking down, her focus absolute. “You’re not my mom. And this is my project that will get me into Tongji University.”
“Uh-huh. And why are you doing it here?”
“Well, I can’t do it at my house,” Lei Ling said, finally looking down. “My mom would faint if she saw me floating around like this.”
“Alright, wrap it up,” Ami Han said, her tone all business now. “I have a job for you.”
Lei Ling floated down, a curious, excited look on her face. “Oh, do tell.”
Ami Han handed her a data pad. “As we are now in an alliance with the X-Men, they want you to come to their school and teach two particular children there.”
Lei Ling looked at the files. Tenzin and Sooraya Qadir. “Ooh, nice. One from my country… right?”
Ami Han shrugged. “I don’t know how they pick up these kids. My guess is that Xavier has a device to enhance his telepathic ability and scan for mutants.”
Lei Ling’s face lit up with a heroic, determined glee. “Leave it to me, boss! With my sharp mind and my air manipulation, I will teach those kids how to be heroes!”
Ami Han gently but firmly bonked her on the head. “Teach them how to control their powers first,” she corrected. She turned to leave. “Oh, and don’t forget to fill out your college application form. The deadline is tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Lei Ling said with a sharp, enthusiastic salute.
…
Meanwhile, in the sun-drenched penthouse of the God Tree, Emma Frost looked out at the peaceful, thriving cityscape of the Golden Peach. A small, appreciative chuckle escaped her lips.
“I can see why you’ve cooped yourself up in this building,” she said to Natalie, her voice a low, silken purr.
Natalie, who was standing by the window, didn’t turn. “And I can see how long you’ve been in charge.”
Emma’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. She held her rising anger in check. ‘Does it show?’ she thought. ‘Does it show that I only just took over my father’s company?’
“Just remember,” Natalie continued, her tone a quiet, but unyielding, command, “that you are under Jack Hou’s protection. So don’t step out of line.”
Emma remained silently standing there, her posture a perfect, regal stillness. She then changed the subject. “So, when Jack Hou opens his eyes, this time, I get to meet him.”
Natalie finally turned, her gaze sharp and direct. “Correct the way you address him. You are not his friend. You will either call him Sage or Boss.”
A moment of tense silence, and then Emma’s lips curled into a perfect, submissive smile.
“Yes, ma’am.”
…
The fire of the Phlegethon, which had forged his soul, receded. It was replaced by a cold that was not of ice, but of absolute, final despair. Jack’s newly tempered spirit drifted from the river of fire and was plunged into the Cocytus, the River of Frozen Tears.
It was a place of absolute silence. The river was not water, but a slow, black current of frozen, crystallized sorrow. There were no screams, no accusations. There was only the soul-crushing, eternal cold of utter futility.
And in the black ice, he saw a vision.
He saw himself, as Jack Hou, standing in the ruins of New York. He had tried to stop a new, terrible threat, but his chaotic methods, his divine power, had caused more destruction than the enemy itself. He saw the faces of the people he had tried to save, not filled with gratitude, but with a raw, primal fear. They weren't cheering for a hero; they were screaming at a monster. He had failed.
The vision shifted, peeling back the layers of time. He saw the aftermath of Sun Wukong’s shattering. He watched as celestial scribes in the Jade Palace methodically erased his name from the mortal scrolls, from their history. He saw his monkey tribe on Flower-Fruit Mountain, free but leaderless. He watched them slowly, over centuries, forget their great king. His final, defiant act, the one that had granted them their freedom, was twisted in the retellings, becoming not a rebellion, but a cautionary tale, its glory attributed to the Jade Emperor’s “merciful judgment.” He had been forgotten. His sacrifice was meaningless.
The final, and most terrible, vision unfolded. He was at the end of his 342-life cycle, his soul a complete, intricate tapestry of every lesson learned, every pain endured. He stood before the serene, impossibly powerful form of the Buddha, the arbiter of his grand deal. The Buddha looked upon his completed journey, at the totality of his being… and found him lacking.
“It was not enough,” the cosmic voice echoed, not in judgment, but in a simple, devastating statement of fact. “You are still unworthy.”
The thought froze him. Not just his body, but his will, his very essence. All of it. The 342 lifetimes of suffering, the journey through the five rivers, the pain, the learning… it was all for nothing. He had failed the final exam. He was nothing.
The cold of the Cocytus began to seep into him, to claim him, to freeze his soul into another silent, weeping statue in the river of eternal despair.
But then, a flicker.
A memory, small and warm, pushed through the freezing fog. It was Aunty Vivi, her hand gently patting his clone’s head. It was Mario’s son, Antonio, giggling as he poked his cheek with a flour-covered finger. It was the simple, unconditional care of the people of the Golden Peach. They didn't care if he was worthy. They just cared that he was Jack.
Another flicker. Hermes, at the North Pole, handing him a glass of stolen wine, a look of genuine, easy friendship in his eyes. A connection not between legends, but between two lonely gods who had found a brother.
The final flicker was the strongest. Tenzin, sleeping peacefully in the sleigh, his small form a picture of pure, trusting innocence. A responsibility he had chosen, a promise he had made.
He understood.
The grand deal was never about being “worthy” in the eyes of the heavens. The tournament, the immortality, the glory… it was all a distraction. The futility was the final test. He had to find a reason to continue when there was no cosmic prize, no guarantee of victory.
And he had found it. It wasn't for glory. It wasn't for vengeance. It was for the simple, profound act of protecting the small, warm connections he had forged in this life. It was for Aunty Vivi’s quiet kindness. For Hermes’s chaotic friendship. For Tenzin’s future.
He would choose to be better, not for a cosmic reward, but simply because he could.
With that final, absolute realization, the Cocytus lost its power over him. The black ice around him shattered, the soul-crushing cold receding. The despair was gone, replaced by a quiet, unshakeable purpose. He had passed the final trial.
…
Jack was ripped from the frozen despair of the Cocytus and plunged into the final memory. He was no longer a participant. He was a spectator in his own past, watching through the eyes of Sun Wukong.
He saw the world from a dizzying height. He was standing on the palm of the Buddha, his own body a canvas of blood and golden fur, the armies of Heaven a distant, glittering array below.
“You are a force of chaos,” the Buddha’s voice was not a sound, but a state of being, a calm, cosmic truth that filled the universe. “Your destiny tangles your surroundings.”
Wukong threw his head back and laughed, a raw, defiant sound that echoed through the heavens. “Kekekeke! You cloak yourself in virtues you pull out of your own ass and dare to judge my existence? Kekekeke.”
“I have changed my mind,” the Buddha stated, his serenity unshaken. “I will not imprison you under the mountain.”
“Neither will I,” Wukong snarled. And then, he did something that defied all logic, all power. He took a deep breath, and he shouted a name.
Jack, the spectator, felt a searing, white-hot agony in his ears, in his head, as he heard the muffled, scrambled sound. It was a word that was not a word, a name that was a key to the very fabric of reality.
As Wukong spoke it, the universe stopped.
The clouds froze in their celestial drift. The charging gods of Heaven were frozen mid-stride. The Buddha’s serene expression was locked in place.
Wukong stood there, breathing hard, the effort of speaking the name having taken a massive toll. Then, the form of the Buddha began to shift, to dissolve, not into nothingness, but into a new, more terrible form. He was now standing on a massive, golden hand. Before him hovered a golden, floating head with three faces. The right face was completely covered in a deep purple cloth. The left was half-covered. The middle face, its eyes glowing with a faint, cosmic blue, was uncovered. Below it, a separate body floated, a glowing, star-like object in its chest.
Wukong looked at the cosmic entity and laughed, his defiance returning. “Kekekeke! Where’d you find a purple rag that big?”
The being’s voice was a chorus of a million echoes that resonated through the frozen universe. “HOW DARE YOU SPEAK MY TRUE NAME, CHAOS MONKEY.”
“None of my tribe knows what I know,” Wukong said, his voice a low, serious thing. “Not even that white-furred Hanuman knows. So this is between me and you.”
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
“I want you to judge my existence,” Wukong declared.
The being was silent.
Wukong’s grin returned. “Sooner or later, Gaia’s spirit on my home world will die. Sooner or later, Earth’s deities will be gone, replaced by those alien gods. Judge me. Judge my existence.”
“WHY WOULD YOU WANT THAT?”
“Because I need you to agree to let my followers go free,” Wukong said, his voice a desperate, pleading thing. “To give them a chance.”
“I DO NOT MEDDLE IN THE END OF A SINGLE PLANET.”
“But Earth could bring more to the universe!” Wukong argued. “It has always been blessed from the beginning! There is a reason those alien gods perch on it and suck it dry!”
The being paused. “YOUR PLANET IS ABOUT TO DIE.”
“THEN REVIVE IT!” Wukong roared.
Another long, cosmic silence.
“VERY WELL,” the being finally conceded. It would judge Wukong. In turn, his soul would be shattered and reincarnated 342 times. After the final life, his soul, and the soul of his world, would be weighed.
Wukong’s body began to crack, thin, glowing fissures spreading across his golden fur. He threw his head back and laughed, a final, triumphant, and utterly broken sound. “Kekekeke! Thanks, purple rag!”
The universe lurched back into motion. The Buddha’s form returned, his expression now one of pure, dawning shock. Before he could do anything, he saw Wukong’s body cracking, shattering.
“What have you done?!” the Buddha’s voice boomed.
Wukong turned, showed him his butt, and said, “Eat my ass.”
And then, he shattered like a pane of glass, his soul exploding into a thousand fragments of golden light. The Buddha’s palm moved, a blur of cosmic speed, trying his best to seal the larger fragments, to contain the impossible chaos that had just been unleashed.
And then, Jack was pulled back, ripped from the memory, his own soul screaming as it returned to the cold, silent darkness of the Underworld.
