Great Sage Above Brockton [Worm/Chinese Myth] Sakadāgāmi 2.03

"Relax, great father~in~law!" said the son~in~law with a laugh. "Since his youth your foolish son~in~law has mastered the rudiments of the martial arts. Within the four seas he has, moreover, met quite a few stalwart warriors. Why fear him? Let me go out now and fight three rounds with him. I promise you that that fellow will bow his head in submission, not daring even to look up!"

When the monster-spirit Nine-Heads found no reply, he shouted once more: "Who is the Great Sage, Equal to Heaven?" Giving his golden fillet a pinch and his iron rod a bounce, Pilgrim replied, "Old Monkey's the person."

The fiend asked, "Where do you live? Where did you come from originally? How did you get to the Sacrifice Kingdom to become the guard of the pagoda for that king? How dare you capture my captains and work further violence by provoking battle on my treasure mountain?"

"You thievish fiend!" scolded Pilgrim. "So, you don't recognize your

Grandfather Sun! Come up here and listen to my recital.

[...]

When the son-in-law heard these words, he smiled scornfully and said, "So, you're a monk on your way to fetch scriptures. Don't you have anything more important to do than to meddle in someone's affairs? You're to seek your scriptures from Buddha, and I am the one who steals treasures. What has that to do with you? Why must you come here to fight with me?" 

"This thievish fiend;' said Pilgrim, "has very little understanding! Of course, I'm not a recipient of the king's favor, nor do I feed on his water or rice, and thus I'm not obliged to serve him. But you stole not only his treasure and defiled his pagoda, you also brought suffering to the priests of the Golden Light Monastery. They belong, after all, to the same community as we. How could I not exert my strength on their behalf and bring their injustice to light?" 

"In that case," said the son-in-law, "you must want to do battle. As the proverb says, 'War is an unkindly act.' When I raise my hands, I fear I'll not spare you. I may take your life all of a sudden, and that may upset your scripture enterprise!"

• Journey to the West, chapter 63
  

-x-

Evening, the same day…

“Are you done yet?”

“Asking won’t get results faster. What are you, five?”

Crusader bristled at the remark. “You’ve been staring at that shell casing for hours. Unless it has the goddamn Bible written on it, or whatever the hell the chinks worship, I don’t understand what else you’re looking for.”

Flipping the aforementioned shell casing between his fingers while holding a flashlight in his other hand, Victor sighed dramatically. “So impatient. For your information, it’s barely been ten minutes. If we want to deliver the best results to Kaiser, we cannot rush any part of this. These things take time.”

Crusader crossed his arms and held back a growl, feeling his fingers tighten over his gauntlets. “Remind me why did I ask you for help?” 

He knew the answer, but it didn’t make it less insufferable to hear.

“Because you know you and everyone else is hopeless at actual investigations.”

When Crusader failed to reply, on account of holding himself back so he wouldn’t curse his asshole of a comrade, Victor flashed a smug grin and returned to examining the casing.  “I only wish O could come, at least the small talk would’ve been pleasant.”

“Too bad,” retorted Crusader. “But Kaiser wants to keep this on the down-low, there’s too much uncertainty going around. Sending three capes is pushing it.”

Victor ignored his words with a noncommittal shrug. Crusader looked around while he worked, sneering at the posters of Asian musicians hanging on the wall. The rest of the room was dull, with grey walls long stripped of any paint, a table that was one hit away from crumbling, and a kitchenette that hadn’t seen a sponge in years. 

“What makes you think this safe house is special?” Crusader asked. 

“I have it on good word that this one was abandoned only a few days ago. Most of the known ones were ditched when Lung was taken out of commission,” Victor replied. “The police have their eyes on the crime scenes and we can’t just waltz there, so this is the next best thing.”

Placing the butt of the flashlight in his mouth, he withdrew another shell casing from his pocket and held it beside the one he found. After a few seconds, he pocketed them both and removed the flashlight from his mouth. The tactical vest over his bodysuit sagged as he took a few quick breaths. Not part of his usual attire, but these weren’t normal circumstances.

Crusader looked at him expectantly, but Victor shook his head. “They’re not the same. Wherever the ABB got their new gear, it wasn’t here.”

“How’d you figure?”

Victor withdrew the longer casing and held it between his fingers. “This here’s a 5.56x45mm NATO round, used with M4 rifles, among other carbines. As in, the kind of rifles the Marines have access to. A bit tricky to acquire, though not beyond belief, but it’s a few steps beyond the ABB’s usual roster of weapons. They stick - or, stuck - to blades, nailed clubs, and handguns. Maybe a couple of Uzis, like the 45 ACP I found here. Tell me, in all the time we’ve fought them, did they ever pull out carbines or assault rifles?”

Crusader paused as he processed the question. He’d clashed with the ABB for years, and like every other gang who came to roost in Brockton Bay, they’d settled into patterns when it came to their assaults. While Lung and Oni Lee’s presence made up the bulwark of their presence, the group managed to develop a force from its regular members alone. Utterly inferior to the E88’s forces of course, but still. Enough to enforce their rule and just shy of staying the hand of constant incursions. Carbines and other heavy-duty weaponry? 

“No,” he replied begrudgingly. “If they had that kind of firepower beforehand, we would’ve known.”

Victor nodded. “Meaning either they were spotless in their clean-up of this place, or they’re receiving supplies from elsewhere in town.” He rubbed his chin and his voice dropped to a murmur. “It would need to be somewhere they can receive supplies and train with them, where we and the law enforcement wouldn’t think to look. Maybe out of city bounds? No, there was that robbery yesterday, and it wasn’t local…”

Crusader put his hands on his armored hips. “Look at you, playing detective. And since when did you become a gun nut?”

“Since one Detective Lionel Valdez interrogated me as a bystander. A dull man, even for his breed, but he had useful enough skills.”

He snorted, then looked to the door behind him. “So, did you spot anything else? Some brand of noodles or rice they don’t usually eat?”

“Not even that, I’m afraid.” Victor rose from the floor and pocketed the casing and the flashlight. “This dump is useless. We’ll have to hit the streets.”

With those words, Victor strode past him and left the room. Crusader followed him until they left the building, a squat two-story dump with a broken sign in Chinese or whatever language that used the chink’s weird letters. Waiting for them on the curb was their van, stripped of any symbols and indications of the Empire’s Medhall front. As Victor slipped into the driver’s seat, Crusader climbed into the back and shut the door. Riding shotgun was a little difficult when one was in full plate armor. Inside were a group of seven men, with shaven heads and black coats, which hid the bulges and protrusions of hidden weapons. They turned to him expectantly, but said nothing as he took the empty seat. At his feet, his spear lay ready, all ten feet of it, tipped with sharpened steel. A turn of the engine later and they were off.

A few minutes passed in silence, with only the bumping of the road and the sound of the engine rumbling in Crusader’s ears. He shifted in his seat and stared through the tinted windows at the passing houses. Victor’s humming trailed through the window behind the front seats, as if he wasn’t feeling uneasy enough. 

“Do you have to do that?” he asked. Although he didn’t see it, Justin was sure Victor was smiling, the ass. He loved to showcase his powers even for the smallest of things, and you wouldn’t know if it was natural or not. 

He knew that bringing him into this situation was a lesson in masochism, but what the ass said was right: Victor was the best of them at handling subtler affairs. Kreig came a close second, but he was busy with Gesellschaft business. He considered Hookwolf, before the little voice of reason hollered at him for considering it. A cape with his temper, running loose in the chink’s district? Fine and welcome, but not now. 

Crusader's thoughts slowed as the van did, and when he peered outside and saw the street sign, his frown grew.

“This is the middle of the district. Why’d you stop?”

“First, this is just an alley next to the main street. Second, I reason we have a better chance at catching the scum by searching their actual territory. If we start sniffing around too many hideouts, someone will take notice.” Victor peered around and looked Crusader through his helm’s visor. “We’re going to conduct a more…personal search.”

A smile crept on Crusader’s lips. Finally, some action. “What do you have in mind?”

“We know that the ABB is scurrying around these parts despite being underground, and the locals hold no love for them.” He then addressed the soldiers and raised his voice.

“Gentlemen, this attack on your comrades cannot stand. As loyal men of the Empire, we must find these vermin and enact our retribution. I know that consorting with the foreign invaders is distasteful, but alas, needs must. You will leave one at a time and question everyone you see regarding the ABB’s recent appearances. If they refuse, you can press but do not draw overt attention. We are here to gather information only, not to claim turf. Understood?”

They all nodded, sporting eager smirks and thumbing their weapons at the thought of rustling up the Asians. Enthusiasm was good, but Crusader wished that Krieg could spare a couple of his men. A measure of professionalism wouldn’t hurt their chances.

“You heard the man,” Crusader reiterated. “We need to keep this on the down-low. If shit goes south, get ready to scatter.”

The men nodded again and with a dismissive motion from him, they slowly exited the van from the back. Once they left, Crusader turned to Victor. He still didn’t like how he essentially took command of the operation from him…but damn if he didn’t know how to motivate.

“And what’ll we do while they rouse up the chinks?” 

Victor’s charismatic smile sharpened to a grin. “How aware are you of your duplicates’ actions?” 

“...I don’t know what they do every second they’re out, but enough to know if they hit something,” he slowly replied. 

“And they know everything that you do?” Victor pressed. Crusader waved his hand in response, understanding slowly coming to him.

“I give them orders and they follow them well enough.” Victor’s grin almost split his face, but Crusader cut him off before he could continue. “I get what you want to pull. And yeah, I can tell them to search the area. If they find the bastards, I’ll know.”

Victor’s eagerness matched his own as he clasped his hands. “Perfect. Then let’s get this ball rolling, shall we?”

Crusader exited the van and surveyed the immediate area. The street was right around the corner, lit up with neon signs and streetlamps. Asians were swarming the place, strutting around without a care. He could see some of the men asking vendors questions, and judging from the hostile looks, things weren’t running smoothly for them. Not bothering to hold back his sneer, he clenched his fists and inhaled deeply. A twinge ran down his spine and ethereal clones began to swarm from his body like he was a smoke machine, all clad in wispy versions of his armor. If one was to look through their visors, they’d see two pale eyes staring at them, but no traces of skin or hair. He’d tested them out many times without his armor, and they always felt off-putting, like translucent window mannequins.

As each clone left, he issued a single command in his head, which was sent to the clones instantly. 

‘Find the masked bastards who wrong us. They have heavy guns and military gear. If you can drag one to us, then do so.’

The clones each nodded and left the alley, either phasing through the walls or flying to the rooftops. When the tenth clone left his body, he reentered the van and smacked the backseat.

“They’re moving. Are we gonna stay here?”

“Depends. What’s their range?” 

“Hm, a few good blocks. They can’t cover the whole district, but they’ll know if they’re getting out of range.”

“Alright then,” Victor replied and started the vehicle. They slowly drove out of the alley and back onto the main street. The sun had already set, and the lamps and signs blared in full neon force. Victor began to drive around in circles, barely stepping on the gas. Crusader closed his eyes and focused on the clones. Faint images flashed through his head, of basements, shop pantries, kitchens and attics. One clone even went underground to the sewers, unless dark and damp tunnels were some messed-up new fetish the ABB conjured up for their brothels. Minutes passed, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of irritation. Not even two months ago, a man couldn’t walk in the Docks without bumping into one of Lung’s gooks or japs. Not that he’d ever set foot in this part of town without a good reason. Some of the regular soldiers and underlings liked to do so if only to remind the aliens where they stood. It always brought a cheer to the men whenever they caught wind of the slants getting put in their place. Sure, the men might’ve gotten a stint in jail or a few broken bones, but it was worth it to ensure the cockroaches stopped strutting around like they owned the city.

So where the fuck are they?

Whenever the ABB caught wind of the Empire marching in, there’d be threats, taunts, insults, and then the punches. The gooks couldn’t stand to be reminded of their true place in the world. So why weren’t they showing up? Kaiser’s intel said they were still lurking nearby, too cowardly to peek their heads out except for kid-level crime…and training like marines to shoot Empire men. 

His lips twitched upward as a panicked chink flashed through his mind. That was an idea; scaring them to death with ghosts. He’d have to bring it up with Kaiser sometime…maybe when things cooled down.

A commotion from outside briefly fizzled his concentration. One voice he recognized as a youngblood who came along and the other was some old man, barking like a dog. Crusader couldn’t make out the words, but it was clear the soldier was experiencing the same setback. He’d half a mind to run outside and beat the old man senseless for daring to yell at his betters, but he restrained himself. When they caught the sons of bitches who drew blood, he’d dish out all the disrespect to them, nothing held back. 

“Any luck?”

“If I know, I’ll tell you. Shut up please.”

“Temper, temper,” Victor tutted. “I thought you would show more respect, considering how you returned from your little break with nothing to show for it.”

“Kaiser welcomed me with open arms,” he replied tightly. “And I’m not gonna waste any time showing my gratitude.”

“Haste makes waste, Justin. Try and remember that before you end up in a ditch.”

Victor flashed another insufferable grin and returned to driving. Crusader grumbled but nonetheless resumed his task. He’d make Victor and rest eat their words, he’d show ‘em. 

More time passed, and he felt an itch growing on his scalp, in tandem with his growing frustration. What would they do if they came up empty-handed? Kaiser wouldn’t be pleased, and there’s no telling when the chinks would strike again. And he’d be damned if more men died on his watch.

The relative silence was broken when suddenly, a burst of static filled the air, accompanied by a scratchy voice. “Boss, we got one! Corner of Rosenhurst and Samuel!”

“We’re coming!” Victor yelled into the receiver and immediately turned the van around. “Crusader, keep those clones on standby and have them surround the street. If the PRT comes we’ll have to interrogate him somewhere private, so we’ll need a quick getaway.”

“Got it.” 

The van soon stopped and Crusader stormed out the back with his spear in hand. Victor joined him and they stood before two of their men, holding a bandana-wearing chink by the arms. Even in hiding, they still held onto their colors. Victor forced the restrained one’s chin up, revealing a slant-eyed teen with a bruised lip. 

“Well, look what we have here boys. The city’s gone to the dogs if they let rats like this one scurry around and ruin honest people’s day.”

The men cackled as the teen cowered before Victor’s piercing gaze.

“But that’s the problem with his sort,” he continued, scanning the ABB thug up and down with a mild interest. “No matter how much you stomp, they always seem to pop their ugly little heads out of the mud they call home. And that can lead to…dangerous consequences.”

Crusader smirked as the gook looked one second away from pissing himself. 

“You know, when your illustrious leader was kicked off the face of the earth, I had hope that you possessed a modicum of intelligence and buried yourself in whatever tunnels you carved up over the years. It would’ve saved us so much effort, and saved you a lesson in manners.” Victor shook his head with rueful mockery. “But no, instead you committed a grave sin, by spilling the pure blood of our brothers with your filthy hands.”

The gook’s brow furrowed for a second, as though he didn’t understand the words spoken. Didn’t he know English? Why even live in America?

“Since we’re on a tight schedule, I will give you one chance to talk. Otherwise, we’ll move this conversation somewhere more… accommodating. SWAT interrogation techniques are better suited for closed doors.”

Victor pulled out a switchblade and pressed it to the teen's neck. His eyes shot open (as much as they could) and he glanced at Crusader with a silent plea. He merely tapped the butt of his spear on the pavement.

“Now, the men who killed our soldiers. They wore masks similar to your Oni Lee. Where are they? Where did they get new weapons? Your comrades must be braying about it to high heaven.”

Cries and mutterings rose from around them from the few bystanders who chose to watch. A couple even tried to get close, but Crusader saw his clones brandish their phantom spears in warning and they backed off. The teen shivered at the cool touch of the blade on his neck, and the grins of the men holding him grew wider with every second. Victor pressed the knife deeper, just enough to draw a drop, and when the gook saw his blood tainting the knife, he began to stammer.

“I…I don’t know…we didn’t do it. We heard about the attacks but we didn’t know…”

Victor stared deep into his eyes, his muscles bulging with every broken word. Othala always said his mask made him look like a hawk, and in that moment, Crusader found himself agreeing—a hawk who’d caught his prey and was deciding if it was worth eating.

“You know,” he drawled. “I wish to revise my earlier words. You could be so low on the totem pole that your bosses, whoever’s in charge now, didn’t tell you zilch. That’s an option…but I suspect you're hiding something from me. And I do hate it when people try and hide information.”

He withdrew his knife and gestured with his head to the van. “Bring him in. Perhaps a one-on-one will loosen his tongue.”

The Empire soldiers grinned and forced the boy into the van’s back as he yelled and cried out in the gibberish that was his language. 

“You think he really knows something?” Crusader asked.

“Maybe not about the men, but he’s definitely hiding a secret, that much I could tell. Not a personal thing, but one related to the ABB. Either way, it’ll give us a lead and keep Kaiser happy.” He glanced around them, and Cruader spotted another soldier looming over a terrified Asian couple. A few cars drove by, none of them BBPD, and chose wisely by minding their own business. “Let the men keep prying for a little while. I’ll tell them to rendevous near the market.”

“Good call.”

Picking up his spear, Crusader approached the van with Victor at his side. He was barely three feet away from the door -

Gone.

Every joint in his body froze as he felt a cord snap in his mind.

“What’s wrong?”

He bit back a curse. “One of my clones got popped. West of here, around-”

Gone.

“Shit, another one. Brace yourself, we’ve got company.” Crusader readied his spear while Victor pulled out an assault rifle from the shotgun seat.

“Your clones can be popped?” he asked, loading a magazine from his vest, then pulling back the charging handle. 

“I don’t know. I’ve tested them, but I haven’t found anything that could actually pop them.” And that was worrying as hell. They could go through inorganic matter and nothing organic he’d tested - he asked Hookwolf for a favor - could harm them. So what the hell could -

Gone.

A third one? “Okay, something is seriously wrong here-” 

Before he could react, a shriek pierced the air.

“Hey, what d’you think you’re doi - AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGH!!!”

Something flew toward them, sailing through the air and rolling to their feet. 

It was one of their soldiers and he looked like a meat tenderizer played whack-a-mole on his face, then finished with a round of polka. He twitched and groaned while Victor glanced at him, eyes narrowing in rapid thought.

“I say, for all his bravado, he was much more fragile than I expected.”

Crusader swung his spear in the direction of the raspy voice, but he felt it freeze as something grasped the tip and held it in place. 

A very furry something, clad in black robes.

“Now that’s plain rude!” replied the monkey, showing off his teeth. “I am aware ruffians tend to stab first and ask later, but is it too much to ask for some basic courtesy?”

Victor stared in shock while Crusader tried to pull back his spear, but the monkey held it between his fingers and tilted his head. 

“Hm, well-made for a ruffian’s weapon, by mortal standards. A shame it is in the hands of reprobates as yourselves.”

With a flick of his wrist, Wukong released the spear and sent Crusader stumbling. He righted himself up as the monkey looked at him with bemusement. 

“So, you’re the cape that’s been causing all the ruckus these past few weeks,” said Victor. The grip on his rifle tightened despite his curious tone. “I admit, I thought social media was exaggerating a tad when showing you off, but looking at you now? What an unfortunate power you’ve landed.”

Crusader found himself agreeing; it was one thing to see him on a screen and another in real life. The hair, the face, the body structure…he was a literal monkey; he even had a tail swishing behind him! Crusader knew the chinks were monkeys, but this was bordering on a joke!

“And who might you be? Friends of this rude fellow at your feet?” he asked, pointing at the down gangster.

“I’m Crusader and he’s Victor, loyal soldiers of the Empire Eighty-Eight.”

“And I am Sun Wukong, Handsome Monkey King of Flower-Fruit Mountain and Lord of the Water-Curtain Cave,” he replied with a dramatic bow. Crusader couldn’t help but blink. What was up with those titles? Was he into roleplaying games like those annoyances Uber and Leet? 

Wukong rubbed his chin as he examined them, while the two capes braced themselves. 

“Empire Eighty-Eight…now where have I heard that before?” he muttered, then snapped his fingers. “Ah yes, the bald ones! This Old Sun was wondering when I might encounter their sorcerers. The bandits I knocked out in days past were quite noisy about your presence. Shame their bluster didn’t match their prowess.”

Right, he scared off a whole squad of Hookwolf’s men. Crusader bent his knees and raised his spear while Victor aimed his rifle to blow out the monkey’s heart.

Despite the weapons pointed right at his chest and ready to hear him into kibble kebab, Wukong didn’t seem bothered. In fact, he crossed his arms and stared them down, sporting a grin that irritated him more than Victor’s, and that was saying a lot. Then again, he took down Lung. A guy like that wouldn’t go down easily.

“Now that pleasantries are over and done with, may this Old Sun inquire why your merry band of ne’er-do-wells decided to bother these poor folk?”

Victor was the one who replied in a tentative tone. “The ABB attacked and killed some of our men. We demand retribution.”

“Ah, revenge! A classic and honorable notion, but for bandits, ‘tis necessary if they wish to maintain a reputation. How else would the common folk fear them?” He shook his head and sighed with regret so heavy and mocking Crusader felt it against his armor. “Pointless in the long run, but an amusing show while it lasts.”

This shitstain…

“Now, I could not care less as to the petty disputes between bandit gangs, but I find it troublesome when you bleed and bruise innocents for the sake of whatever spite is brewing between you.” He took a step forward and Crusader forced down the urge to jump backward. Nothing had changed in the monkey’s expression, save the tiniest narrowing of the eyes. Why did he feel the urge to bolt?

“Besides, this Old Sun has been waiting for some proper exercise.” He reached into his ear and in a flash of gold, a staff appeared in his hand, capped in golden dragon patterns. 

“Back off, monkey,” Crusader barked, ready to strike in a heartbeat. “The chinks have it coming. One way or another, we’ll get our due, so save yourself the trouble and walk away.”

Wukong reared his head and laughed. It was more of a cackle, one that rang through the streets. From the corner of his visor, he saw Victor flinch.

“Oh, to gaze into the pools of your addled mind and behold the delusions that swim its murky waters!” He leaned on his staff and wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “If you think that any recompense is owed to you by these people, then this Old Sun fears your helmet clouds more than your vision. Does your leader, whoever he is, invite all of his followers into his fool’s paradise?”

…this monkey was dead. Kaiser said to test him, but he was gonna fight him anyway. Nobody called him or Kaiser insane.

Without another word, Crusader leapt into action. He thrust his spear forward with blinding speed, but Wukong bobbed back and he missed by a hair. Swinging sideways, steel avoided fur once again. The nazi cape growled as he advanced, his spear a masterwork of stabs, thrusts and slashes. He never slacked off during his break and was confident he could go toe-to-toe with Armsmaster. 

But the monkey just kept weaving and dodging, occasionally tapping the speartip with his staff. His robes swayed with his fluid motions, with sleeves fluttering in the wind, yet Crusader couldn’t even take advantage of the loose cloth; when he tried, the sleeve blurred and only air was pierced, while the monkey looked on with amusement.

He swiped this time to the left, and when the monkey hopped back to dodge, Victor saw the cue and opened fire. Thunder echoed around them as shell casing flew out of the HK’s ejection port. It was heavy ordinance for a cape fight, but if this guy could take a beating from Lung, then restraint was low on the priority list.

A grin crept on Crusader’s face as the monkey grimaced with each strafe and the moment Victor stopped, he lunged right at that furry head…

…only to halt with such force he almost relinquished his grip.

Again with fucking fingers!

He glanced downward, hoping that Victor at least drew blood, but there was nothing! Not even the clothes were scratched! And was that rock covering Wukong’s stomach?

“Now that was uncalled for. I must further educate you in manners!” 

Gravity suddenly took hold when Crusader almost fell back-first to the floor. He righted himself up amidst another hail of gunfire and was met with the sight of Wukong jumping left and right, zigzagging as Victor tried to riddle him like Swiss cheese. A click betrayed the rifle’s lack of bullets and Wukong dashed toward him as the mag was ejected. Victor dropped the gun and ducked right as Wukong swiped at him with his staff. Pulling out a machete from his thigh holster, Victor swiped upward and the monkey dodged. The same pattern repeated, this time with Victor and the machete as Wukong’s partners. Unlike Crusader’s bout, his movements were sharper, lacking the flowing grace from before. When he tapped the machete with his finger, an act that drew no blood despite its tinkertech origins, Crusader had enough.

This shitty monkey was toying with them. First, he practically spits on their faces, insults him and the Empire then acts like he’s taking a walk in the park. Crusader uttered a string of swear words and clenched his spear. He wouldn’t go back to Kaiser empty-handed, not after rejoining.

He heard the chinks weren’t afraid to die. Time to see if the monkey was like the rest of his filthy race.

Crusader roared as a clone shrouded his body and carried him upward. Wukong blinked in surprise as the cape came down swinging right as another clone flew downward, holding a phantom spear. The clang of steel ran through his arms as the monkey poised his staff to intercept both blows. Clever, but not enough.

More clones flew out from Crusader’s body and they began swarming Wukong, descending upon him in an ethereal cluster of spears and armored fists. Taking advantage of their distraction, Crusader fell back to Victor’s position, who’d sheathed his machete and retrieved his rifle.

“Any luck swiping something from him with your powers?” he asked.

Victor bared his teeth as he loaded another mag. “I’ve been trying since the start of this fight, but either this monkey’s completely scatterbrained or he’s a Thinker. One moment I was getting words in old Chinese and the next I was learning about different kinds of peaches. When I tried attacking him, I couldn’t even get a scrap.” He aimed his rifle at the frenzy of ghosts, which Wukong was twisting through with nimbleness. “Even now, he’s moving way too fast to get a bead on.”

“Shit. We gotta think of something. Do you think we can make it to the van?”

“If you create more clones, then maybe. We can still make it to a safehouse with the gook. The van will have to go, but I’ve got a C4 charge ready for action. No evidence and a big distraction for the BBPD.”

Right, the cops. And the PRT will be hot on their tail. Crusader opened his mouth to agree when Victor spoke again, this time with audible confusion. 

“Crusader…weapons can’t hit your clones, right?” He lifted a finger from the gun and pointed forward. “Then could you explain that?”

What was ‘that’?

That was Wukong spinning his staff around and blowing away his clones like ragdolls. Two more tried to jump him from the back, but he then jumped high and spun-kicked the clones into the asphalt. Seconds later, they were adrift in the winter chill.

…oh shit. He took out the clones from earlier?

Almost on reflex, another round of clones emerged from Crusader until an entire ring of them surrounded the monkey, spears at the ready. Even with the presence of Crusader’s phantom army, Victor’s smugness was completely gone by now, with his finger back on the trigger. Crusader felt similarly, with his coiled muscles ready to attack or retreat in any direction.

Yet the monkey remained utterly relaxed, if a bit fascinated. Being stared down by an army of phantom warriors was not enough to deter him, it seemed. No, instead he circled an arm around his staff…and applauded.

“Bravo, bravo, such spectacular abilities you possess. Misused like your weapons, but rather creative.” He glanced at both Crusader and Victor with a knowing smile. “I take it the armored one is the body while you are the mind? A good balance of yin and yang, yet your ratios are uneven.”

He had no clue what fortune cookie nonsense he just spewed, but it was no compliment.

“You talk big for a slant,” Crusader called out. “I don’t know if all that hair is blinding you, but you’re outnumbered. I don’t know how you hit my clones, but that doesn’t matter with these numbers.”

Wukong guffawed again, clutching his belly. “Oh, the river of fantasy flows ever-onward! I thought the màopáihuò bore the crown of comedy in this town, but it seems the title hops between heads like a rabbit!” He finished his laughing and tilted his head, still sporting that fucking grin. “But I’ll humor you and take your word that alone I cannot beat your little ghost army. Let’s equalize the field then, shall we?”

Equalize the field? 

What was he on about?

Before the Empire capes could reply, Wukong plucked a fistful of hairs from his shoulders and held them aloof in his open palm. He inhaled deeply and blew, sending them flying in an unfelt wind.

“Change!”

The scattered hairs flashed gold and smoke filled the street, lingering for scant seconds before dissipating, and Crusader felt his jaw drop so hard his helmet rattled.

Because where there was one monkey before, now there were ten. Each wearing the same robes and holding the same staff. Unlike his clones though, they appeared perfectly solid, utterly indistinguishable from their creator. 

A quick glance at Victor revealed rapidly paling skin and a litany of curses held back by a bitten lip. If Crusader saw himself in a mirror right now, he was sure his expression would shame that famous painting.

Because what. In. The. Actual. Fucking. Hell!?

“Much better, don’t you think?”  Wukong tapped his staff on the ground and swept it in an arc. The clones smiled in unison, sporting identical fanged, lunatic grins. When he spoke, excitement dripped from his words. Like a cat who’d found a whole den of mice.

“Now, as they uttered on the rocky slopes of Heishan…have at ‘em, boys!”
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