The mortal realm was supposed to be his playground. A place of simple pleasures—stealing peaches, teasing monks, and napping in the sun. But as Sun Wukong soared on his cloud over a vast, grassy plain, he felt a familiar, ugly tension in the air. It was the same foulness he'd tasted days ago.
Below, a nomadic village was in chaos. Tents burned. People screamed and ran. And moving among them were the red and black figures he'd come to recognize.
"Persistent little roaches, aren't you?" Wukong muttered, his hand already reaching behind his ear.
He didn't land. He simply fell from his cloud, a stone dropping from heaven. He landed in the center of the village with a thud that cracked the earth and sent dust billowing outwards. The demons closest to him stumbled back, startled.
