The Monkey King stood in the center of divine wrath, cosmos trembling beneath his feet. Around him—Jupiter's forces closing in from every angle, their coordinated assault tightening like a net. He laughed, a sound that cut through the chaos like a blade.
"So this is how the so-called Supreme Gods fight," he sneered, his voice dripping contempt. "Running coordinated operations because one of you couldn't do it alone? Pathetic."
Jupiter's rage wasn't subtle. It shook reality itself.
The Monkey King deflected strike after strike with barely a glance, his movements economical, efficient—the gestures of someone who'd fought a thousand battles and remembered every one. Each divine blow bounced off him like rain against stone.
"Weak," he called out. "All of you. You've been weak for centuries."
Then Jupiter's voice cut through the fray: "Wednesday, NOW!"
That's when the Monkey King saw it—the moment everything shifted. A figure crouched beneath his feet, gripping something that made the air itself recoil. Wednesday's voice boomed across the heavens: "Black Hole Imprisonment!"
The crystal activated before the Monkey King could react. A vortex opened like a hungry mouth, pulling at him with a force that transcended physics, that transcended everything. His defiance cracked into shock.
"This can't be—" The rest of his words were swallowed by an abyss that even his power couldn't resist. His screams echoed across dimensions before fading into oblivion.
Twelve Years Later
"And that's why you never challenge the gods," declared a kid named Marcus, his tone taking on that storyteller's swagger kids get when they're repeating something they half-believe. "No matter how strong you are, they've got systems. They've got backup plans. They always win."
"That's not how it happened," came a voice from the back. It belonged to a girl named Keisha, and she said it the way someone contradicts their older brother's version of a family story—with the particular authority of someone who'd heard it too many times.
"My brother was there, Marcus. He told me the real version. And the screaming? That wasn't dramatic. That actually happened."
"Your brother wasn't actually there," Keisha's friend Zora pointed out, her tone sharp with reasonable skepticism. "He wasn't in the battle. Your brother just heard about it from someone else. So maybe don't treat his version like gospel."
Marcus bristled. "So what, you're saying my brother lied?"
"I'm saying he probably didn't see it with his own eyes," Zora said, which was different—smarter—than calling him a liar.
They both turned to Amari, who'd been quiet through the whole exchange.
"Amari," Keisha said. "What do you think? Did the Monkey King actually scream like that or—"
"I've... I've never actually heard this story," Amari said quietly. The admission hung in the air like he'd just announced he couldn't read.
Both Keisha and Zora stared at him in genuine shock.
"YOU'VE NEVER—"
"Shh!" Amari held up his hand. "Miss Laurant's coming."
The classroom transformed instantly. Chaos died into silence. The only sound was wind against the windows and the echo of approaching footsteps.
Miss Laurant entered with an armful of papers, and her smile was the practiced kind that meant she'd already had her coffee. "Good morning, everyone. I hope you all got decent sleep and didn't just binge-watch videos until 3 AM." Some nervous laughter. "Today we're talking about artifacts."
She wrote the word on the board in clean white chalk.
"Who knows what artifacts are? Hands up."
A forest of hands shot skyward—everyone except Amari, who suddenly became very interested in his desk.
Miss Laurant's eyes found him anyway.
"Amari?"
The room's attention shifted like a coordinated play. Everyone watching to see if he'd fumble.
Amari kept his eyes down. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his notebook. "I... I don't know, ma'am."
A kid named Apollo, two seats over, made a sound—not quite a laugh but close enough. A kind of dismissive huff.
"Bruh, what do you know?" he muttered, just loud enough.
Quiet snickers rippled through the classroom like dominoes.
Miss Laurant's expression shifted. Not angry—something worse. Disappointed. "Apollo," she said, her voice taking on that edge it got when someone crossed a line. "That's not how we treat each other in this classroom. You know better."
"Come on, ma'am, it was just—"
"Stand up," she interrupted. "Now."
Apollo stood, dragging his feet like each step required negotiation.
"Apologize to Amari and to the class."
"But I didn't even—"
"No excuses."
Apollo groaned—an actual audible groan—before mumbling his apology to the room. Amari nodded, accepting it or at least pretending to. The class followed suit.
"Thank you," Miss Laurant said. "And Apollo? Since you seem to have energy to spare, why don't you explain artifacts to everyone? That can be your way of making this right."
Apollo's face fell. "Ma'am—"
"And since you're up there anyway, make it educational."
Apollo shuffled to the front of the classroom like he was walking to his execution. "Artifacts," he started, his voice flat at first before picking up steam, "are objects that make life easier. Some are utility artifacts—like storage furniture that holds way more than it should. Others are imprisonment artifacts. Those lock up beings who are too powerful for regular containment. Demi-gods. Gods. Stuff like that. They're rare and usually only the government or royalty can have them."
He glanced at Miss Laurant for approval, but she shook her head.
"There are more types."
Before Apollo could continue, Conrad raised his hand—not tentatively like most students, but with the confidence of someone who'd been raised knowing he'd be called on. "Artificial and Mythical Artifacts," he announced, sending a pointed look Apollo's way. A kind of academic one-up that made Apollo mutter something under his breath.
"Royal prick," Apollo said, just quiet enough that only nearby students heard.
Miss Laurant pretended not to, turning instead to Conrad. "Elaborate for us?"
"Artificial artifacts are man-made," Conrad said, and there was something polished about how he said it—like he was reading from a textbook that'd been written specifically to make him sound intelligent. "Construction tools. Research equipment. Communication devices. Essential infrastructure. Then there are Mythical Artifacts—sacred scrolls, legendary relics. Objects tied to actual myths. The kind of stuff that might tell you something about dragons or behemoths or hybrids. Extremely rare. Usually only demi-gods get access to them."
He paused, clearly building to something.
"And they're the most valuable—"
"That's sufficient, Conrad," Miss Laurant interrupted. "Thank you."
She turned back to the room. "Apollo, as part of your consequence here, you're going to tutor Amari in this material. That way everyone benefits—Amari gets help, and you get the opportunity to deepen your understanding by teaching."
Apollo opened his mouth to argue, saw the look on Miss Laurant's face, and closed it again.
"That's final," she said.
After School
The three of them walked toward the gates—Apollo radiating annoyance, Conrad composed like always, and Amari caught somewhere in the middle.
"You're lucky," Apollo said to Conrad, his tone carrying just enough edge to be real complaint. "You get the new books. The rare ones. The ones that cost actual money."
"Not my problem you can't afford them," Conrad shot back, which wasn't mean so much as just factually stated. That was Conrad's way—brutal honesty delivered like a weather report.
Apollo shoved him. "Screw you, man. Forget him," he said to Amari, throwing an arm around his shoulder. "He'll never understand what we actually deal with."
Amari smiled, though it felt like something he was practicing rather than something he actually felt. "Yeah."
A sharply dressed butler appeared near the gate, bowing with the kind of posture that came from generations of training. "Your Royal Highness," he said to Conrad, gesturing toward an elegant vehicle. "The carriage is ready."
Conrad nodded at the butler, then turned back to his friends. "Same time tonight?"
"YES, DUMBASS!" Apollo practically shouted. "Why do you keep asking? As if anything would ever change! We literally do this every single day!"
"You never know," Conrad said, and there was something almost knowing about his smile. Like he was testing to see when Apollo would lose his patience with the question.
All three of them laughed—the real kind that happened between people who'd fallen into a rhythm together.
"Let's go," Apollo said to Amari, nudging him toward the opposite direction.
They watched Conrad's carriage pull away, the butler holding the door with ceremony.
Then Apollo and Amari headed off on their own path, neither saying anything, but somehow that felt okay too.
Behind them, the school got smaller.