SmilinKujo
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Chapter 108 – The Path to Reunification
🕑 Added 2025-06-23 16:28:08 +0000 UTCThe air in the temple courtyard was unnaturally still, trapped in a silent, frozen moment. Cheng Wudao’s panicked expression, the snake demon’s mid-thrash agony, the disciples’ wide-eyed shock—all were captured like figures in a photograph of a forgotten tragedy.
In the midst of this stillness, only two beings moved.
Jack stood, the golden headband cool in his palm, his mind racing. Across from him, the figure in golden armor watched, his own mischievous grin a perfect, ancient mirror of Jack’s.
“So…” Jack finally broke the silence, his voice the only sound in the dead world. “Are you my long-lost twin brother? Or just another cosplayer with a big budget? The pheasant feathers are a nice touch, by the way. Very theatrical.”
The figure threw his head back and laughed. It was Jack’s laugh—that wild, unhinged, “kekekeke”—but deeper, older, resonating with the weight of mountains and the echo of eternity.
“An echo asks the source if they are twins,” the figure said, his voice a rich, rumbling baritone. He stepped forward, his armor not clanking, but humming with contained power. He looked Jack up and down, a flicker of pride in his ancient eyes. “You’ve done well, little monkey. Better than I expected.”
Jack’s grin faltered, replaced by a rare moment of genuine shock. He knew. Of course, he knew. He was staring at his own origin story. After a beat, his usual mask of irreverence snapped back into place. “Little monkey? Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a full-grown, divinely handsome man with a very functional tail.”
The Great Sage chuckled again, gesturing to the headband in Jack’s hand. “Do you know what that is?”
Jack glanced down at it. “A fashion statement? A tool for celestial headaches? My ticket to an eternity of bad hair days?”
“It is the Jīngū,” the Sage said, his tone shifting, becoming more serious. “The Golden Hoop. The very first. My very first.” He looked at Jack, his gaze piercing. “It is not a tool of control, as the stories say. It is a fragment. A piece of my sealed soul, my power, my very essence, scattered across this realms when the gods and the Buddha thought they could chain me.”
A major piece of the puzzle clicked into place for Jack. The legends, the myths, his own inexplicable powers—they were all echoes of this being.
“Your entire existence, little monkey,” the Great Sage continued, “has been a test. A path laid out by fate, to see if an echo of my spirit could rise from mortal dust and reclaim what was lost. By finding and claiming this first fragment, you have proven yourself worthy. You have taken the first step on the path to reunification.”
He folded his arms, his expression turning grave. “But now, you have a choice. You can absorb the power of this fragment, embrace your destiny, and begin the true journey to gather the others. Or, you can reject it. Remain as you are—a powerful but incomplete echo.” The Sage leaned in, his voice a low whisper that seemed to shake the frozen air. “Be warned. To accept this path is to declare war on the heavens. Every god, every pantheon that sealed me away will hunt you. They will see you not as Jack Hou, but as my second coming. And they will do everything in their power to erase you.”
Jack listened, his golden eyes unblinking. He looked at the headband in his hand, a piece of a forgotten god. He looked at the frozen world around him, a world he had thrown into chaos and, in his own twisted way, tried to protect. He looked at the Great Sage, the source of his impossible existence.
A cosmic war. The wrath of the heavens. An eternal hunt.
Jack’s lips curled into a slow, wicked grin.
“Sounds like fun.”
Without another moment of hesitation, he closed his hand around the golden headband. It dissolved instantly, not into dust, but into pure, liquid golden light. The light flowed up his arm, sinking into his very being, a river of divine power returning to its source.
The moment Jack absorbed the fragment, a ripple of pure, untamed, chaotic energy pulsed out from the temple, not across the Earth, but through the very fabric of the realms. It was a laugh made manifest, a declaration of rebirth that every divine being felt in their ancient bones.
…
The golden halls of Asgard were somber. Odin, dressed in full battle armor, stood before his family. The war with the Frost Jotun was imminent, a consequence of his son’s pride. He turned to his wife, Frigga, her eyes full of a sorrow he knew all too well. He said his goodbyes with a gentle touch to her cheek, a universe of unspoken words passing between them.
He then sees before his blind son, Hod, the quiet god of darkness. “Guard your mother,” Odin said, his voice the soft rumble of a distant storm.
Hod, though he could not see his father’s face, reached out and touched his armored shoulder. “Even if I can’t see the light, Father,” he said, his voice steady and calm, “I will guard Mother with all the darkness I have.”
A flicker of pride warmed Odin’s heart. Just then, Baldur, the God of Light, Hod’s twin brother, approached, his armor gleaming. “Your Majesty,” Baldur said with a respectful bow, “The troops are ready for your command.”
Odin nodded, turning to lead his warriors to the Bifrost, ready for the first battle against Laufey. But then, he felt it. A familiar, wild energy, and on its heels, a faint, echoing laugh that transcended space and time.
Kekekekeke…
Odin stopped. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face, a sight so rare it could have calmed a raging sea. “It seems a monkey can’t be broken forever,” he murmured to himself. He turned to his sons, his kingly demeanor now softened with a father’s hope. “Then our family should be whole as well. We will host a banquet for the Monkey King when he is whole.” His gaze hardened as he looked toward the Bifrost. “For now, we have a war to be won.”
…
“HE DARES?!”
Zeus’s roar shook the foundations of Mount Olympus. Lightning cracked across the celestial ceiling, and the other gods recoiled. He had felt the ripple, the unmistakable signature of that chaotic, insolent power solidifying.
“That mortal whelp… that monkey… he has truly begun his ascent!” Zeus thundered, his eyes blazing with fury.
Hera, ever the picture of regal composure, placed a calming hand on his arm. “My love, your anger will not change what has come to pass.”
Apollo, lounging on a nearby cloud-couch, sighed dramatically. “Honestly, Father, a little chaos is good for the ratings. It’s been dull for centuries.”
Zeus whirled on him, but before he could unleash his divine wrath, Athena stepped forward, her spear held loosely at her side. “This changes nothing for now. The Agreement still holds. Let him play his games. He is but one being against a cosmos of order.”
But Zeus was not placated. He paced the throne room, a storm in human form, his rage a promise of future conflict.
…
Hades sat at his massive obsidian desk, surrounded by mountains of scrolls detailing the accounts of newly arrived souls. The work was endless, the bureaucracy of death as tedious as it was eternal. He felt the ripple of Jack’s power wash over his realm, a flash of vibrant, living chaos in a land of quiet endings.
He paused, quill hovering over a particularly lengthy list of sins. A slow smile spread across his pale features. Then, he threw his head back and laughed, a deep, booming sound that echoed through the silent halls of the Underworld.
“Ahahahahaha! Buddha, you climb yourself to the rank of an Elder God, but your jester has come to you once more.”
He chuckled to himself, the sound a mix of amusement and nostalgia. He sighed, looking back down at the endless stacks of paperwork that covered his desk.
“Let’s just hope my paperwork will not increase.”
…
In the sun-drenched halls of Heliopolis, where the celestial Nile flowed with liquid light, the Ennead felt the ripple. Ra, the ancient sun god, paused in his eternal journey across the sky, his hawk-like eyes narrowing. He felt the disturbance not as a challenge to his power, but as an affront to Ma'at—the cosmic order. This was a chaotic, irreverent energy, a force that bent the rules of reality simply for the joy of hearing them snap. It was an imbalance, and it displeased him greatly.
Beside him, Horus, the falcon-headed god of war and kingship, clenched his fist around his spear. "This is the work of a trickster," he declared, his voice sharp as a blade. "An agent of chaos. Such a being cannot be allowed to fester. It must be contained."
Only Osiris, Lord of the Dead, remained impassive. From his throne, he watched with the detachment of one who has seen empires rise and fall like tides. "The living squabble," he murmured, his voice like the rustle of ancient papyrus. "The Duat remains eternal. Let the boy play his games. All paths lead to my scales in the end."
…
At the spiritual crossroads, in the liminal space between worlds where the smoke of cigars mingled with the scent of rum and old magic, the Loa laughed. Papa Legba, the ancient keeper of the gates, leaned on his cane, a wide, knowing grin splitting his wrinkled face. He felt the energy of Jack’s ascension not as a threat, but as the noisy opening of a new door in the universe. A new story was beginning, and he was eager to see which path it would take.
From the shadows, a figure in a top hat and tails emerged, a skull-like grin plastered on his face. Baron Samedi, the master of the dead and lord of revelry, took a long drag from his cigar and exhaled a perfect smoke ring.
"Magnifique!" he cackled, his voice a riot of graveyard mirth. "A mortal who spits in the eye of the heavens and dances with death? This one has spirit! I cannot wait to see what songs they sing of him when he finally reaches my gates!" He adjusted his hat with a flourish, his laughter a promise of a very interesting afterlife to come.
…
In Takamagahara, the High Plain of Heaven, a serenity that had lasted for ages was disturbed. Amaterasu, the glorious sun goddess, felt the ripple of Jack's power as a stain upon the purity of the cosmos. It was a chaotic, disrespectful energy, a yokai-like force that threatened the delicate harmony she so carefully maintained.
"Such insolence," she whispered, her hands tightening on the silken fabric of her robes. "He acts without dignity, without honor. This cannot be allowed."
But from a distant corner of the celestial plane, a booming laugh echoed. Susanoo-no-Mikoto, the great god of storms and the sea, leaned on his sword, his wild eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Ah," he roared, "this one has the spirit of a true storm! It has been too long since the heavens felt a proper shake-up!" He saw not a threat, but a kindred spirit—a divine troublemaker ready to challenge the stagnant order. The very idea delighted him. The sacred peace of the Amatsu-Kami was now fractured, with the Queen of Heaven preparing purification rites and the God of Storms eagerly awaiting the next act of the cosmic play.
…
In Kaluwalhatian, the sky world of the Diwatas, a gentle breeze rustled through the cloud-woven palaces. Bathala, the supreme creator, felt the ripple of Jack's power and simply smiled. From his distant throne, he saw it not as a disruption, but as a new, vibrant thread being woven into the great tapestry of existence. Another story had begun, and he would watch it unfold with patient, knowing eyes.
His daughters, however, were not so detached.
Mayari, the one-eyed goddess of the moon and war, stood with her hand on her sword. "This is a power that does not respect boundaries," she said, her voice sharp and protective. "He took territory by force. What is to stop him from trying to claim a piece of our sky?"
Beside her, Tala, the goddess of the stars, looked up as if she could see Jack's energy as a new, chaotic star being born. "His light is bright," she murmured, "but it burns without pattern. It could guide sailors, or it could lead them into a storm."
Only Hanan, the gentle goddess of the morning, offered a different perspective. She had seen the hope he brought to the downtrodden, the way the Golden Peach bloomed in a place that had only known darkness. "Even chaos," she said softly, "can bring a new dawn."
…
Instead of returning to the un-frozen courtyard of the temple, Jack was thrown into a memory that was not his own. The world around him was a maelstrom of violent energy and shadow. He saw through eyes that were his, but older, wilder. He felt the sickening, wet squelch as a colossal figure—the Demon King of Confusion—ended beneath his heel.
His body, not his own, jittered with the raw energy of battle. Then his mouth moved, and a voice that was both his and not his snarled, “That will make you rethink making slaves of my kind.”
Jack’s consciousness reeled. This wasn’t a dream. This was a memory. The raw, unfiltered past of the being whose soul he now echoed. These were the memories of the Monkey King.
As the image of the dead demon king faded, his own borrowed voice echoed again, this time with a primal need, a declaration of intent. “I need a fucking weapon.”
The memory shifted.
He was now standing at the grand entrance of an underwater palace, its walls carved from mother-of-pearl and its gates guarded by shrimp soldiers and crab generals. This was the palace of the Dragon King, Ao Guang.
As the Monkey King, he strode forward, demanding entry. The shrimp soldiers, under orders from their king, tried to turn him away.
“My King sees no one,” one of them chirped, its antennae twitching nervously.
A wild, arrogant grin spread across his face. “Your king must be confused,” he boomed, his voice echoing through the water. “To turn away a fellow king.” He didn’t wait for an answer. With a dismissive wave, he brushed past the guards, who were too stunned to stop him.
The throne room was a spectacle of underwater grandeur. Pillars of glowing coral reached toward a ceiling of captured starlight, and the Dragon King himself sat upon a throne carved from a single, massive black pearl.
“Dragon King!” the Monkey King announced, his voice filling the hall. “I have come seeking a weapon, one fit for a king such as myself.”
Ao Guang, recognizing the untamed divine power radiating from his uninvited guest, feigned a gracious smile. “Of course, Monkey King. It is an honor.” He clapped his hands, and his underlings scurried to present various treasures from the royal armory.
They brought forth a nine-pronged trident that hummed with the ocean’s fury. The Monkey King hefted it, found it laughably light, and used it to clean his teeth before tossing it aside, where it clattered against the pearl floor. They presented a battle-axe carved from a leviathan’s tooth. He swung it once, and the force of the blow shattered the axe head against the ground.
One after another, he rejected every weapon. They were toys, trinkets, utterly unworthy. His patience wore thin. “Is this all the great Dragon King has to offer?” he scoffed.
Then memories of the Dragon King’s Palace suddenly dissolved like seafoam, and the world reformed around Jack in a blaze of golden light and the scent of ambrosia. He stood now on polished marble floors, under a sky so blue it hurt to look at. Pillars of ivory reached toward the heavens. This was Mount Olympus.
In front of him stood the embodiment of a perfect soldier. Ares, the God of War, his body a masterpiece of divine muscle, his armor gleaming, and his eyes burning with the cold fire of countless battles.
A wild, joyous laugh erupted from the Monkey King’s throat. “Kekekeke, really, Sparky?” he said, his voice echoing through the grand hall. He turned to Zeus, who sat on a throne of storm clouds, his face a mask of regal impatience. “This is your God of War?” the Monkey King continued, gesturing dismissively at Ares. “Even Horus’s bird head has more brains than him.”
Ares’s jaw clenched, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.
“Enough,” Zeus commanded, his voice like cracking thunder. “You wanted a sacred duel, so here we are. Let’s not delay any longer.”
Ares charged. He moved with a speed that defied his bulk, a blur of bronze and fury. Jack, watching through his past self’s eyes, felt a jolt of shock, he couldn’t even comprehend how his past self was able to dodge a charge that fast, yet he did, sidestepping with an almost lazy grace.
“Kekekeke,” the Monkey King taunted as Ares stormed past. “Are your muscles a replacement for your brain?”
This sent Ares into a greater fury. He spun, his spear a whirlwind of deadly strikes. Wukong, watching the predictable, rage-fueled attacks, simply muttered, “Such a child.”
The battle that followed was a clash of two opposing forces: Ares’s raw, overwhelming power against Wukong’s fluid, unpredictable chaos. While the God of War was strong, landing a few solid slices and bashes that sent sparks flying from the Monkey King’s divine form, it was clear who had the upper hand. Wukong danced around him, using the Ruyi Jingu Bang to parry, to trip, to bonk Ares on the head, all while laughing maniacally. By the end, Ares was battered, bruised, and breathing heavily, his divine armor dented and cracked. Wukong, aside from a few minor scrapes, looked like he had just been warming up.
Then came the final clash. Spear against staff. The sound of their impact was a thunderclap that shook Olympus. There was a pause, a moment of absolute stillness as their power met. Then, Ares slumped, his spear clattering to the marble floor. His body fell, defeated.
Wukong stood victorious. He walked calmly toward the fallen god, picked up his spear, and looked back at Zeus. The King of the Gods’ face was a thundercloud of fury.
“I won,” Wukong declared with a grin. “I’ll be taking the spear.”
And with that, he turned and ran.
“Hey!” Zeus roared, rising from his throne. “This was not established in the agreement of the duel!”
From the distance, Wukong’s laugh echoed back. “Kekekeke, catch me if you can!”
Zeus, followed by Apollo and several other enraged Olympians, gave chase. They cornered him near the edge of the celestial mountain, but as they closed in, the Monkey King’s form dissolved, turning into a single, unassuming strand of hair that drifted away on the wind. It had been a clone.
Apollo paused, looking back at the battlefield. “That’s weird,” he said, his divine eyes narrowing. “The spear is still here.”
It lay right where the clone disappeared. It was never about the spear.
A look of dawning horror crossed Zeus’s face. He spun on his heel and rushed back to his throne. Sure enough, resting on its sacred pedestal, there was an empty space where his Master Lightning Bolt should have been.
A final, heaven-shaking roar of pure, unadulterated fury echoed across the cosmos.
“WUKONGGG!!!!”
A/N: Hi guys, I'm really sorry for not uploading a new chapter recently. I've been trying to write, but my heart just isn't in it right now. I thought things were going smoothly, but I just found out that my long-term girlfriend has been cheating on me.
To be honest, I can't focus on anything, let alone write a draft. I'm trying to feel better, and the silver lining is that my thesis is finished, so I'm just waiting to graduate. It's a weird feeling to realize she won't be at my graduation.
Anyway, I just wanted to let ya'll know what's going on. Don't worry, though, I will still try my best to write. Thanks for understanding.
Comments
Vrael333
Try not to think to much about her. If she can’t appreciate you and feels like she has to cheat on you I doubt that she is worth your attention. I stand with you whenever you need it :)
Kujo
That’s a great premise! the first draft of this fanfic was actually about Nezha too. I changed it to Wukong as I finalize it. That third lotus prince is a menace of his own
Nathan Bailey
Find a new gal or don’t. Take a break and relax. I love your story I am writing one not published yet with a fallen monk who’s ancestor is nezha. His mutant powers activated nezhas abilities.
