Wukong’s eyes were dull, as of recent they were always dull as if he had died—perhaps the deities above would take pity on his hurt and give him the death he so desired.

Even the demons who usually roamed the cities, who terrorized the citizens, knew something was wrong when the usual Monkie Kid didn’t come out to stop any one of them, it seems like they just knew he wouldn’t ever be coming back.

He just should have been quicker, so MK couldn’t activate the fillet, so Wukong wouldn’t come crashing before he could jump into the pillar, so MK wouldn’t—

“Hold out the staff— no, you’re doing it wrong.” The king, obviously frustrated, walked over and fixed your staff for you.

Not even a month after the whole incident fate had brought upon such a cruel gift of a ‘replacement’ successor, though it wasn’t your fault, Wukong could never quite get himself to form any sort of bond with you. You were no MK, and you never would be, all you could do was pick up his staff, nothing more.

The simian was sure if Pigsy found some other kid in the role that his son once filled, he’d be brought into another set of late night tears—Wukong pitied the pig demon, his son was ripped away from him without even having the chance to grow up. The kid was only nineteen, he didn’t deserve a death like that with so much life left to live.

You never understood your mentor’s anger, nor why you were even really in this position—a position of a man you, like many others, had idolized like a hero. Monkey King refused to tell you, even if you asked you’d just be given an irked grunt in response or utter silence.

Honestly, you were staring to wonder if your mentor even liked you.

You held the staff, albeit a little wobbly, and tried to keep it straight like you were told. But you weren’t him, you’d never be him, you were just some faulty replacement-successor the universe cursed Sun Wukong with.