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Marvel MK: Side Story 3
🕑 Added 2025-06-09 14:29:21 +0000 UTC[Timeline: After Jack battle with Jean]
The dust had not yet settled over the rubble of the X-Mansion, but the battle was over. The Golden Phoenix, once burning brighter than any star in their sky, had vanished mid-flight. And in its place—Stood Jack Hou. Or rather, what was left of him. A single figure. Marble. Still. Serene. Frozen in time. Not shattered. Not broken. Just... paused.
Colossus grunted as he gently helped John Proudstar to his feet. Blood still ran down the Apache warrior's brow, but his eyes were clear now. Colossus whispered, awestruck. "What is going on...?"
John stared at the statue. His shoulders heavy. His breath shallow. Then, as if answering the weight of the world itself, he spoke. "I think this is it. He won." His voice didn't hold triumph. Only reverence.
From behind, Ororo Munroe stepped into view, her hair tousled, her eyes dimmed from overuse of lightning. She looked at Jack—silent, unmoving—and her voice cracked. "And at what cost?"
They stood there in silence. The battlefield was quiet. Ash fell like soft snow across Jack's marble shoulders.
Scott Summers tore his gaze from the scene and turned. "Can we check on Jean now? Is she safe?"
Logan was already moving. He dropped to one knee beside Jean Grey, two fingers on her neck, waiting—longer than usual—for a sign. Then he exhaled. "She's okay." A beat. "Just asleep." Then louder. "She's okay!" Relief rolled like thunder through the team.
Just then—BAMF. The sharp sulfuric scent hit the air like a matchstick snapping open. Kurt Wagner arrived in a blink, eyes wide. "Is Jean alright?!"
Logan, still carrying Jean carefully in his arms, nodded. "She's fine. Help the others. Make sure everyone's accounted for." Kurt vanished with another BAMF before Logan had even finished the sentence.
Hank McCoy arrived with Moira MacTaggert, both moving fast but careful. Logan turned toward them, Jean still in his arms. "I'll say it—I'm damn glad you insisted on building that mobile lab, Hank."
Hank, flustered but proud, huffed. "Well. I am a visionary."
"Don't push it," Logan muttered.
They moved toward the large unmarked black van, its side folding open like the petals of a high-tech flower. Inside, readouts blinked and scanners thrummed to life.
On the lawn, chaos tried to stitch itself back together. Remy LeBeau stood guard near the ruined gate, twirling his staff as he barked at the press, shoving cameras away with half-hearted threats and genuine menace. "Back off! This ain't Mardi Gras and you ain't invited."
He made eye contact with J. Jonah Jameson, who had a mic and a rage to match. "Mr. LeBeau—! Is it true the Phoenix merged with a known criminal meta—!?"
"You wanna wake up tomorrow with eyebrows, mon ami?" Remy drawled. Jameson wisely took a step back.
The rest of the X-Men spread across the ruins of the mansion, salvaging what they could from shattered walls and half-scorched records. No one said it aloud—but they all knew. Something had ended today.
John Proudstar finally shook off Colossus' shoulder. Still limping, he walked—alone—toward the figure of Jack Hou. The marble man stood in perfect balance. John stopped a few feet away. Then bowed. Head low. Eyes closed. "Thank you."
Behind him, Colossus followed, slower. And bowed too. No power in the world asked them to do it. No gods commanded it. But some things deserved reverence. Even chaos. Even Jack Hou.
~~~~~
Jack opened his eyes. No wind. No warmth. Just… familiarity. A place between dreams and judgment. He blinked up at the colorless void around him—yet directly ahead, as if defying oblivion, a small stretch of earth remained. No more than ten meters wide, like a floating market stall carved from memory.
A single old man sat cross-legged beneath a tattered awning of celestial silk. His beard was long. His robe shimmered like worn pages of a scripture read too many times. His smile—smug and timeless.
And from his cracked lips came the opening line. "Even a monkey must wear his crown before he rules the mountain."
Jack blinked again. Then frowned. "Old man… You're the one who sold me this damn earring." He pointed at his ear—the Ruyi Jingu Bang, in its dormant form. A single gold hoop, humming with cosmic potential. He instinctively reached out his hand, trying to summon it. Nothing. Still an earring. Not a staff. Not a weapon. Not even a stick.
He looked down at himself. Tail swaying behind him. His limbs felt heavy, though wrapped in Aunty Vivi's robe, stitched with soul-thread and reinforced chi-lining. Not the body from his past life. Not quite mortal either. He was in his Marvel body—the Monkey King of this world. "What the hell is going on?" he muttered, brushing dust from his shoulder. "Where's my old body? Where am I?"
The old man's eyes opened. There were no pupils—only the shape of a galaxy, swirled into a golden ideograph that shimmered and shifted like water trying to spell a name. "It seems," the old man said softly, "the monkey needs an explanation."
Jack's gaze darted around. He realized now, this patch of land beneath his feet was familiar. His territory. From his past life. A mere fragment now. Just the size of a courtyard, floating in endless void. Everything else was gone. Dormant? Hidden? Or waiting?
Jack exhaled through his nose. He turned to the vendor stall. "Why did you give me this earring, old man?"
The merchant of fate smiled. "For what I gave is not—yet what you chose becomes destiny."
Jack threw his head back. "Oh, fuck off with that. Seriously. You're gonna riddles me? In a void? I'm not playing that game. Nope." He crossed his legs. Sat down. Folded arms. "I'm staying silent. I'm gonna out-stubborn you. You'll break before I do."
The old man said nothing. Eyes closed. Smile placid. Still. Quiet. Eternal.
Five seconds passed.
Jack twitched.
Ten more.
His tail coiled anxiously around his leg. "Okay… maybe not silent, but like—casual quiet. Casual questions." He peeked sideways. "Why were you selling the Ruyi Jingu Bang? You some multiversal being? You got more stuff than that staff?"
Still nothing. Just smile. Still. Perfectly infuriating. Jack's eye twitched. He stood up and moved toward the stall. Laid out in neat, absurdly mundane fashion—like fruit on a cart—were trinkets. Not labeled. Not glowing. Just sitting there, humming with identity. Jack reached for one. A red ribbon. It felt important. Suddenly—SLAP!
The old man's cane hit his hand. "Other destinies must not be chosen by those uncalled."
Jack clutched his wrist. "OW! What the hell?! That's mine now!"
The old man chuckled softly. "Destiny does not bend to thieves."
Jack growled. "Okay, okay. Is it Guan Yu's Guandao? Nezha's Sky Ribbon? The Fire-Tipped Spear? Heavenly Scriptures of the Jade Emperor? What are you hiding here?!"
The old man's smile deepened. "Destiny beacons to its rightful owner. It is not found. It finds."
Jack lunged again. SLAP. He feinted left—faked a reach—then flipped sideways. SLAP. Every time, the old man's cane intercepted with cosmic timing. Each failed grab only fed Jack's competitive nature. His hands moved faster. His footwork grew tighter.
His tail joined in, snaking past and flicking objects into the air—only to be redirected, repelled, returned. "You wanna play games, old man?! Let's play!" And so they did. The god-king of chaos and the silent merchant of fate. One chasing meaning. The other waiting to give it.
~~~~~
[The day the crazy man got kidnap]
From above, riding a silken wisp of cloud like a bored deity on a joyride, one of Jack Hou's clones squatted, sipping soda with the kind of casual malice only a clone could afford. Below, a blacked-out SHIELD SUV turned left again. And again. And again.
The car twisted through the boroughs like a man being hunted by his own shadow. At every turn, they passed the same graffiti, the same fruit vendor, the same newsstand. "Kekekeke," Jack's clone whispered. "Alright, I'll bite."
He shifted forward, his Zephyr following as a thread of cloud mirroring the car's every move. "I'll let you finish your little game. I'll even pretend to lose interest. Then, when you think you're safe…"
…
The SUV rolled into a fortified garage, shielded by a false wall disguised as a laundromat. The garage hissed shut behind them. Inside the armored vehicle, the SHIELD agents breathed for the first time in hours. The crazy man—still blindfolded, mouth half-muffled, wrists bound—squirmed erratically in the backseat, muttering to himself. Agent Callen grunted. "Finally." They opened the rear doors and began dragging the man out.
And then they heard it—"SLURPPP."
The sound cut through the still air like a gunshot in a confession booth. The agents froze. And there he was. Perched on a crate of emergency rations, legs crossed, tail lazily curling around his leg, Jack Hou sipping a can of Coke like he owned the garage. "Heya."
Agent Callen's mouth dried. "J-Ja…Jack…?"
"Nah. Just a clone." He flashed a smile full of teeth. "My real self is currently elbows-deep in popcorn watching Hulk punch Godzilla, or whatever's happening in Harlem. But me? I got time." He dropped the can with a metallic tingk. "So... what's the party plan? Tied-up birthday boy here's gonna jump out of a cake or something?"
One agent raised his weapon reflexively. The other kept wrangling the prophet, who was now yelling. "HELP! I JUST WANT TO WARN YOU—IT'S FOR THE WORLD, NOT ME—!"
Jack's smile dropped. Not fast. Not loud. But suddenly—everything changed. His posture didn't shift. His tone didn't rise. But the pressure in the room curled around their lungs. "Hmm." He stepped off the crate. His shoes made no sound. "Seems like he's an unwilling participant. You know what I hate most—besides the IRS?"
The agent's hand tightened on the trigger. "Jack… Don't make me do this…"
"I hate," Jack whispered, "when people meddle with someone's freedom." Then—blur. Not even a flicker of wind. Just movement. Jack appeared behind them, his fingers already cracking down on the agents' necks like a judge's gavel.
WHUMP. WHACK.
Two agents collapsed in synchronized spasms, not dead, just… out cold. Instantly robbed of control. The blindfolded prophet screamed again. Jack, still smiling, walked slowly toward him. "Whoa there, buddy. You're doing all that flailing and you haven't even seen me yet?"
"Stay back! Y-You MONSTER!"
Jack leaned in. Pulled the hood off. Revealing his full face, haloed by overhead fluorescents, golden eyes glowing like ancient script. "HAAAA! It's been YOU all along!"
The prophet's eyes widened. And he fainted.
Jack stood there. Hands on hips. Looking mildly offended. "Oh come on." He crouched, puppeting the man's chin with two fingers, flapping his jaw open and closed like a ventriloquist's dummy. In a nasally voice, he said. "And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for you meddling kids ruining my evil plan."
He let the head drop gently to the concrete. Then sighed. "Man, these side quests always end weird."
~~~~~
[Timeline: When Jack spend his time on Kamar-Taj library]
The God Tree swayed gently in the twilight wind. A living monument fused with divine wood, immortal spirit, and some suspiciously good plumbing work. And at the very top, nestled like a crown jewel, was the Penthouse—a minimalist blend of traditional Chinese design and postmodern chaos.
Inside, things were… cozy. A single Jack Hou clone, feet propped on a silk-cushioned table, slurped down the last of a golden-baked lasagna with the enthusiasm of a raccoon at a five-star buffet. "Mmmmm," he hummed through a full mouth. "That's really good. Though—" he licked his lips, "—I think you went overboard on the meat."
Across from him, Natalie Beckman, arms crossed and apron still on, narrowed her eyes. "I thought you liked meat."
Jack clone grinned. "I could say that about you too."
Natalie's mock slap came fast, but not hard. The sound was a soft pap, the kind that echoed louder in pride than pain.
Jack laughed. "KEKEKEKEKE. I'm glad I'm here with you."
Natalie leaned back in her chair, picking at a stray noodle on the table. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"
Jack's clone swirled the empty fork, as if stirring air into a thought. "Well… my real body's currently in a weird squat—probably upside down—trying to read a book that Yao told him to finish."
"Yao?" Natalie tilted her head. "Never heard of them."
"Oh, Yao's mysterious. The Ancient One. Like a bald, magical older brother. Real smart. If I ever get married..." Jack paused dramatically. "I'd want him to be my best man."
Natalie froze, eyebrows raised. "Really? You're that close with him?"
Jack nodded like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Yeah, well. Not like I'm gonna get married anytime soon."
He casually stabbed another forkful of lasagna—Then the plate vanished. Jack blinked. Natalie stood up, fuming, holding the now-empty plate like it had insulted her personally. "What did I do?" Jack asked, confused.
Natalie stormed off, feet stomping toward the bedroom like she wanted the whole tree to hear. Jack scratched his head. "Wait... Are you jealous of Yao? Don't worry—he's just a bald monk! I swear, no eyebrows, not even threatening!"
No answer. Then—WHAP!
A sudden portal the size of a frisbee opened up right behind Jack's head. A single hand reached through from another dimension and slapped him hard on the back of the skull. "OUUWW!" Jack jolted, tail whipping. He spun around—but the portal was already gone. Just empty air and the faint smell of Oolong tea. He rubbed his scalp, wide-eyed. "What the hell is going on?"
He looked down at the lasagna stain on the table, then back toward the bedroom door. Then he sighed. "Man, I swear if this is about that one time I suggested she'd look good in a bald cap…"
~~~~~
K'un-Lun. A city that has existed since ancient times. A city of jade skies, silent gates, and discipline carved into stone.
On a mountaintop garden overlooking layered cloud valleys, Wang Shi, elder monk of K'un-Lun, sat on a smooth slab of basalt, sipping green tea from a porcelain cup glazed with immortal ink. Across from him sat his old mentor, Lei Kung the Thunderer—his back straight, his eyes heavy with history, and his chi so steady it silenced even the wind around him.
The two shared a long moment of wordless quiet. Then, at last, Wang Shi spoke. "How do you think the new Iron Fist will fare in the Tournament of the Heavenly Cities?"
Lei Kung didn't respond immediately. He took a slow sip, let the warmth pass down his throat, then rested the cup in his palm. "I wouldn't know," he said at last. "The other cities have trained their champions since infancy. Danny Rand is… talented, yes. But time is not on his side."
Wang Shi exhaled a sigh that rattled gently across the rim of his cup. "Mm. True."
He swirled the tea. "Do you think this time we'll catch a glimpse of the Sages?"
Lei Kung's brows lifted slightly.
Then his gaze shifted upward—toward the sun-veiled peak of the Celestial Spire. "Hopefully," he said. "I have a feeling this tournament will be… more dangerous than any in our recorded history."
Wang Shi visibly tensed, slumping slightly. He groaned. "Ayia. No need to scare me like that, Thunderer. I'm only watching, not participating. I like my bones inside my body, thank you."
Lei Kung let out a rare, dry smile. "Spectators are rarely safe when the heavens pay attention."
"What a comforting thought," Wang Shi muttered.
Lei Kung began to reach for the teapot again. "Anyway, how's your progress on—"
"Oh!" Wang Shi leapt up, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Suddenly remembered I have… uh… urgent meditation. Yes. Very urgent. Mind-quieting emergency."
Lei Kung's eyebrow twitched upward, unimpressed. Wang Shi was already walking backward, teacup still in hand. "Thanks for the tea! Really clears the soul! Love our little chats, always so enlightening, truly! Bye now!"
With a hasty wave, he vanished behind a woven screen and into the courtyard beyond. Lei Kung stared after him for a long time. Then he muttered softly to himself. "Still afraid of footwork drills after three hundred years." He took another sip of tea. "Wise man."
Comments
Vrael333
Thx for the sidestory :)
