SmilinKujo
patreon
Marvel MK: CH 142 – The Weight of a Sage's Staff
🕑 Added 2025-09-01 15:37:27 +0000 UTCLei-Kung’s gaze was as sharp and cold as the winds of K'un-Lun. He stared across the arena at the Crane Mother, who met his glare not with anger, but with a slow, triumphant, venomous smile. He didn't need confirmation. He knew. The champion of K'un-Zi, the man in the stolen garb of the Iron Fist, was his exiled son, Davos.
On the arena floor, the champions tensed, their focus shifting from the inter-city drama to the simple, impossible challenge before them. Li Hua, ever the proud warrior of Tiger Island, stepped forward first. She took a deep breath, and as she channeled her chi, a shimmering, phantom tiger’s paw formed around her hand, her nails elongating into claws of pure energy. She gripped the staff.
A low groan escaped her lips. Her muscles strained, the veins in her arms standing out in sharp relief. The staff didn’t budge an inch.
From high above, the Sage’s voice, now laced with a bored disappointment, echoed through the arena. “Enough. It is clear you are not worthy.”
A wave of seriousness washed over the other champions. They had seen Li Hua’s strength. This was no trick. This was real. One by one, they tried. Sihing, with his raw, brutal force. John Aman, with his swirling green mist. Even Davos, with the dark, corrupted power of the serpent coiling around his fist. The result was the same. The staff remained as immovable as a mountain’s root. Only Zhu Pang She stood back, a knowing, almost pained look on his face as he watched his friends struggle against his new, unhinged acquaintance.
Then, the Sage floated down, landing softly beside the embedded staff. “Well, well,” he said, his voice a light, mocking thing. “Is it truly that heavy?”
He wrapped one hand around it and lifted it as if it were a simple walking stick.
As he held it, the staff began to change. The simple red and gold illusion melted away like mist in the morning sun, revealing its true form. The staff was now a deep, obsidian black, its ends capped in brilliant, shining gold. Ancient, glowing inscriptions materialized in the middle, and the ornate, powerful ornaments returned to its tips. It was the Ruyi Jingu Bang.
The Sage then casually tossed the staff into the sky.
It grew. And grew. And grew. It became a massive, black pillar that blotted out the sun, casting a creeping, unnatural darkness over the entire arena. The champions, their pride and ambition forgotten in a moment of pure, primal fear, scrambled to get out from under its shadow.
It landed with a deafening BOOM, the impact shaking the very foundations of the Heart of Heaven, sending a massive cloud of dust and debris into the air.
And the immortal was gone.
The champions, the leaders, and the thousands of spectators looked around, their minds reeling in confusion. Where did he go?
Then, a sound. A familiar, unhinged cackle that echoed from high above.
“Kekekekekeke!”
They all looked up. Standing atop the massive, pillar-sized staff, his veiled hat now gone, was Jack Hou.
“Kekekeke!” he laughed, his voice ringing throughout the Heart of Heaven. “Since all of you are too weak to grab it, let’s change the rules!” He spread his arms wide, a mad, brilliant grin on his face.
“Whoever wins the tournament, I will teach them my way of immortality! Kekekekekeke!”
A moment of stunned silence, and then the crowd erupted. A roar of pure, unadulterated excitement, a sound of greed and ambition and hope, filled the arena. The grand tournament had just become infinitely more interesting. The prize was no longer just honor; it was a chance to touch the heavens themselves.
…
The Jade Palace, which had been a hall of quiet, amused observation, was now shaken by a collective, silent gasp. The gods and immortals who had been lounging, sipping their celestial wine, now sat bolt upright, their eyes wide with a dawning, horrified recognition.
The staff.
They had seen it before. The black iron, the golden caps, the impossible, world-breaking weight. The Ruyi Jingu Bang. And there were only two beings in the cosmos who had ever wielded that staff: the shattered, legendary fragment of the Monkey King, Sun Wukong, and his chaotic, impossible reincarnation, Jack Hou.
The Jade Emperor, who had been watching with a detached, kingly amusement, slammed his wine cup down on the table. The sound was a thunderclap that silenced the entire banquet. His face, usually a mask of serene, absolute authority, was now a thundercloud of pure, ancient fury.
“Troops!” he roared, his voice shaking the very clouds the palace was built upon. “Behead this man while he is not on Earth!”
The command sent a shockwave through the assembled gods. Taibai Jinxing, ever the voice of reason and bureaucracy, rushed forward, his face pale. He bowed low. “Your Majesty, I implore you, reconsider!” he pleaded. “How about we send an emissary first? The sudden arrival of our heavenly troops will shock the residents of the holy cities. If they see us, the immortals of the Heavenly Palace, clashing with one of our own… it will not be good for our presence, for our authority.”
The Jade Emperor’s jaw was tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He was furious, but he was not a fool. He saw the logic in his minister’s words. A public, divine civil war was a messy, unpredictable thing. “Alright,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous thing. “Who will it be, then?”
Erlang Shen, who had been quietly observing, let out a silent, internal sigh of relief. ‘Thank the heavens Nezha already stormed out,’ he thought. ‘If he were here, he would be throwing another tantrum to be the one to go down there.’
Guan Yu, his hand already resting on the hilt of his great blade, was about to volunteer, to offer his strength as a show of force. But it seemed the Jade Emperor already had someone in mind.
The Emperor’s gaze landed on his nephew. “Erlang Shen,” he commanded. “Go down and assess this Jack Hou.”
Taibai Jinxing immediately added, his voice firm, “You will be the first of our pantheon to make official contact with him since his reawakening. So tread cautiously.”
Erlang was about to protest, to argue that this was a fool’s errand, a headache he did not need. But Taibai Jinxing had already spoken. The Emperor had already commanded. There was no room for negotiation. He stood, bowed his head, and accepted his fate.
…
High above the bustling Heart of Heaven, Jack Hou lounged on Zephyr, a silent, invisible observer. A shadow passed over him, and a pristine white hawk, silent as a ghost, descended from the impossible sky and perched gracefully on his shoulder.
Jack’s eyes flashed with a brilliant, golden light. He activated his Fiery Gaze, piercing through the hawk’s simple, avian form to the divine, three-eyed god hiding within.
“Oh,” Jack said to the empty air, his voice a low, amused murmur. “The nepo baby of the celestial court is here.”
The hawk opened its beak, and a voice, calm and familiar but utterly out of place, emerged. “Wukong. It has been a long time. Or should I say Jack now?”
“Hmmm, I don’t know,” Jack shot back, his tone a mixture of mockery and genuine curiosity. “Are we that close that you can greet me with such a familiar tone?”
The hawk let out a sound that was a perfect imitation of a sigh. “It seems you need more of your fragments to complete your past.”
“Did you bring a snack with you?” Jack asked, completely changing the subject. “The tournament is about to begin.”
Down below, the leaders had begun to roll the duels. Massive stone tablets rose from the arena floor, glowing runes swirling across their surfaces before settling into clear, undeniable pairings.
The first roll: Peng Lai vs. The Under-City.
The second roll: The Kingdom of Spiders vs. Z’Gambo.
The third roll: K’un-Zi vs. Tiger Island.
A low, collective gasp went through the crowd. With seven cities, one would be left without an opponent in the first round. The final tablet glowed, showing a single, solitary name: K’un-Lun. They had drawn the bye, automatically advancing to the second round.
“A bit unfair, don’t you think?” Jack muttered, his gaze fixed on the tablets below.
Erlang Shen’s voice was a quiet, profound thing from the hawk on his shoulder. “Luck is also a skill, Wukong. Without it, even you would not be standing here.”
Jack’s laid-back demeanor vanished. He sat up, a confused, annoyed look on his face. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
But Erlang Shen said nothing more, the hawk simply watching the events unfold below, leaving Jack to ponder the strange, unsettling weight of his words.
…
The first duel of the main tournament was set. Zhu Pang She, the Fat Cobra of Peng Lai, and Sihing, the Dog Brother #1 of the Under-City, walked to the center of the vast arena. They stopped twenty paces from each other, the sheer scale of the Heart of Heaven making them look like two solitary figures in a world of stone and sky.
Sihing and Zhu Pang She made a formal sign of acknowledgment, a brief bow of respect between champions.
“Why don’t you give up and walk away without any injuries?” Sihing’s voice was a low, gravelly thing, like stones grinding together. “Surely Peng Lai has need of a pig farmer such as yourself.”
Zhu Pang She’s belly rumbled with a low chuckle. “Sorry to disappoint, but I think you are the one who needs to forfeit. The Under-City needs its dog to patrol, don’t you think?”
High above, floating invisibly on Zephyr, Jack’s voice boomed down, heard only by Erlang Shen. “Enough already! Stop saying cliché shit! Hog vs. Paw Patrol… GO!”
Sihing moved first. He didn’t charge; he stalked. His body dropped into a low, predatory crouch, his movements all grit and grounded, brutal efficiency. His martial art, the Way of the Stray Dog, was a style born in the darkness and desperation of his city. He exploded forward, his hand shaped into a tearing claw, aiming not for a single point, but to rip and tear.
Zhu Pang She, in stark contrast to his massive frame, did not meet the attack with force. He flowed. His bulk rippled, a mountain of flowing water, as he shifted his weight with an impossible, deceptive grace. Sihing’s clawing hand, which should have torn a chunk from his side, slid harmlessly past as the Fat Cobra swayed just enough to evade it.
To the roaring crowd, it looked like a near-miss. To the champions watching from the stands, it was a display of masterful control.
“His speed…” Li Hua murmured, her eyes narrowed. “For a man of his size, it is unnatural.”
“He is not fast,” Davos countered, his scarred eye fixed on the fight. “He is efficient. He moves only what is necessary.”
High above, Jack yawned. “Ooh, a classic ‘Stray Dog’s Greeting.’ Very textbook.”
Erlang, in his hawk form, simply watched. “His footwork is off by a millimeter,” he commented, his voice a bored whisper in Jack’s mind.
Sihing, realizing a direct assault was useless, changed his tactics. He began to circle, his movements a relentless, pressuring dance, feinting and jabbing, trying to corner the larger man. He lunged, a flurry of strikes that were both a distraction and a genuine threat, the Rabid Fang Flurry.
Zhu Pang She had seen enough. It was his turn. He met the flurry not by dodging, but by stepping forward, into the storm. His own hands, which had been held loosely at his sides, now moved. They were not fists. They were the hooded heads of striking cobras. His strikes were not powerful, crushing blows, but short, sharp, venomous jabs aimed at Sihing’s pressure points.
Jack, watching from above, clapped his hands in delight. “Ah, the ‘Crispy Pork Knuckle Strike’! A personal favorite! Good choice, Porky!”
Sihing was forced back, a look of genuine surprise on his hardened face. The Fat Cobra’s strikes were impossibly fast, and each one that landed sent a numbing, shocking jolt through his chi pathways. He felt his own aggressive momentum being used against him, unraveled by a style that was both yielding and deadly precise.
He roared, gathering all his strength for a final, decisive blow. He launched himself forward, his entire body a weapon, his hands clasped together in a devastating hammer fist aimed to shatter bone and will. The Junkyard Dog’s Bite.
Zhu Pang She did not retreat. He stood his ground, his eyes calm, his body sinking into a low, coiled stance. He waited. At the very last possible second, as Sihing’s attack was about to connect, he moved.
It was not a block. It was not a parry. It was an explosion.
He uncoiled, his entire body a blur of motion. He didn’t meet the attack head-on. He struck from below, his open palm, glowing with a faint, golden light, connecting with a single, precise point under Sihing’s chin. The Ascending Serpent Strike.
The crowd saw only a flash of movement. The champions saw a perfect, masterful counter that used every ounce of Sihing’s own forward momentum against him.
Sihing’s eyes went wide with shock. His body, still moving forward, was suddenly launched upward, his attack completely nullified. He flipped backward through the air, landing in a crumpled, unconscious heap a dozen feet away.
The arena was silent for a moment, and then it erupted in a roar of cheers.
Zhu Pang She stood over his fallen opponent, his chest heaving, and gave a respectful bow.
High above, Erlang Shen, in his hawk form, simply blinked.
Jack, however, was already looking at the next bracket. “Okay, who’s up next? I’m getting hungry.”
