987 Episode 59 What Kind of Ending (8)

Hyunsung draped his arm over Heewon's shoulder, his eyes scanning the area with mounting urgency. A sharp, metallic stench assaulted his nose. The sounds of a panicked evacuation filled the air. There were sudden, jagged screams. How long had it been since he last witnessed a scene of such primal chaos?

Hyunsung, his muscles coiling with an instinctive tension, called out to Heewon.

"Heewon-ssi."

To make matters worse, Heewon’s state was visibly deteriorating. Normally, a veteran like her wouldn't be incapacitated by simple dizziness.

Tsutsutsu.

Hyunsung felt the resonance of a story vibrating through Heewon’s form. A faint spark of probability crackled within that narrative. But that was a logical impossibility. No scenarios existed in this worldline. There was no probability here, no lingering aftershocks.

Hyunsung’s pupils dilated, shimmering with a violent ripple. It felt as if a circuit, long ago severed, was being forcibly reconnected. Startled, Hyunsung tightened his grip on Heewon’s shoulder once more.

"Heewon-ssi?"

Heewon lifted her head and brushed Hyunsung’s hand away with a sharp motion.

"Ah."

Hyunsung met her gaze and found himself frozen in his tracks.

The Heewon standing before him was undeniably the woman he knew. She was the longtime comrade who had bled beside him through countless scenarios. She was the warrior who swung her sword at his back, acting as the group’s ultimate shield. She was the person he vowed to protect above all others.

But why? The presence radiating from her now felt like that of a complete stranger.

Another explosion thundered from deep within Geumho Station, where Wukong had disappeared.

"Dokja-ssi."

Heewon whispered Kim Dokja’s name and sprinted toward the station entrance. Hyunsung, shaking off his stupor, scrambled to chase after her.

Wukong inhaled slowly, surveying his surroundings.

That indicated the youngest had not yet truly manifested a desire for that 'world'.

"You have certainly done an admirable job of keeping him concealed."

The interviewer, maintaining his usual pace, continued to ramble before him.

"I invested a significant amount of effort into locating him. The existence of a world that escapes even the eyes of a 'Recorder' is truly a feat."

"…"

"But even your efforts cannot obstruct the arrival of a predestined [Fate]."

Fate. Hearing that word for the first time in an eternity, Wukong mused: So, there truly is such a thing as destiny.

"There is."

"Indeed. This entire world is currently being documented, yet—"

"It has already been recorded. You truly seem to relish these tedious monologues."

Wukong stuck his pinky into his ear, his expression one of pure boredom. The interviewer’s brow furrowed as he spoke.

"This is hardly the time for such nonchalance. I am not the only entity that has discovered this reality."

"So?"

"It means your era of hiding him has reached its conclusion. Now, countless deities will descend upon this worldline to claim Kim Dokja."

"The youngest? Why?"

"Because the entire universe hungers to complete 'One Perfect Dream'."

Wukong faltered. One Perfect Dream.

Eons ago, there was a time when Wukong, too, harbored such a dream. It was a story from an age when he craved ■■ more than anyone else in existence.

"You, too, should awaken from your fantasies. You no longer need to spend your life guarding an incomplete shard of a god."

"…"

"King of the Stone Monkeys, why do you remain shackled to the past? Does the sight of him merely serve as a reminder of your history? Are you simply projecting everything you failed to protect onto him?"

The interviewer took a step forward, spreading his arms wide.

"I invite you to join me. Cease being a prisoner of that golden headband. Set the imprisoned fragment of the deity free."

"…"

"I recognize that there is a purpose to living within this flawed delusion. But is this world not truly the one you once envisioned? Great Sage, Heaven’s Equal, you are no longer a 'prisoner of the long-lost world'. Why have you confined yourself to this reality with the stories you once loved? It is unnecessary. The dreams you sought can be preserved in an eternal record. If you assist me—"

"I recall seeing someone who spoke exactly like you at the Gourmet Association."

Cracking his neck, Wukong abruptly cut the interviewer off.

"You’re such a pathetic brat that it took me a moment to place the face."

The interviewer’s expression hardened subtly. Wukong continued, his tone thick with mockery.

"You’re still just as talkative as ever, Asmodeus."

A faint spark crackled through the interviewer's body as his true name was unveiled.

"I was unaware that you, a mere Narrative-grade constellation, would ascend to the rank of 'Recorder'. Was this the path you chose to complete your ■■?"

After a momentary pause, Asmodeus chuckled. Then, with a heavy sigh, he posed a question.

"How did you identify me? You are currently unable to wield the power of stories."

"There are very few people who possess a tongue as long as our youngest's."

"That is a truly loathsome compliment."

"So, what is your specific objective? Are you planning to abduct our youngest to finalize your desired record, or something of that nature?"

"Judging by your tone, I suspect you have no intention of cooperating peacefully."

"Would you?"

"Then there is no further point in debate."

At Asmodeus’s signal, men in black suits materialized behind him.

"Foolish Monkey King, this world is not the <Star Stream>."

The men lunged forward, using their weight to overpower Wukong. Crushed beneath their collective mass, Wukong’s head was slammed into the dirt.

A world where neither stories nor skills could be invoked. Even for Wukong, it was a physical impossibility to shake off four men twice his size.

Yet, while pinned to the ground, Wukong broke into a fit of laughter.

"What do you find so amusing?"

"Because it’s actually funny."

"Understand the situation. This is who you are now. You’ve discarded your dignity only to struggle within a meager mortal shell. That is the current reality of the once-proud and powerful Heavenly King."

Asmodeus approached slowly, as if taunting the Monkey King trapped beneath the Five Elements Mountain. He bowed low before the pinned Wukong and whispered.

"I am offering you one final opportunity. Cooperate with me."

"You keep babbling about cooperation…"

Wukong, still pressed against the ground, slowly tilted his head up.

"It seems you’ve failed to convince our youngest."

"…"

"Well, if you had succeeded, a snake like you wouldn't be here begging me for help."

"…"

"What did the youngest tell you? He said he wouldn't go anywhere without me, didn't he?"

Asmodeus stared at Wukong with hollow eyes for a long moment before standing. He gazed into the shadows of the damp underground tunnel.

"This location is a fitting site for the tomb of a Fallen Monkey King."

A young man waiting in the rear unsheathed a short blade. Asmodeus nodded.

The young man, receiving the command, prepared to plunge the knife into Wukong’s neck when...

"You have intruded into this world."

Wukong’s laughter vanished.

"Do you truly believe you are the first?"

"What—"

Wukong inhaled sharply. He drew in more and more air. He continued to breathe as if attempting to drain the entire atmosphere, and the oxygen in the tunnel suddenly felt dangerously thin. Asmodeus, startled, recoiled and shouted.

"Kill him! Now!"

But the moment the young man lunged with the knife, Wukong’s left arm slipped from its restraints. His fist shot out with surgical precision, swerving past the blade’s arc to shatter the young man's jaw. The man’s body crumpled and hit the floor with a dull thud.

"What…?"

Asmodeus scowled.

This shouldn't be possible. The men he had employed were elite recruits, specifically selected from high-end security agencies.

But Wukong, as if dismantling a simple toy, began to unbind the other men by precisely folding their joints.

"What— what is this—"

"Kwaaaaak! My arm!"

Asmodeus, remaining poised, signaled the rest.

"Everyone, attack."

Immediately, the remaining men charged as one. Asmodeus had brought reinforcements just for such an occasion.

Armed with stun guns and segmented staffs, they surrounded Wukong from every angle. For Wukong, trapped in a normal body, it was an insurmountable obstacle.

But Wukong, without a hint of stress, began to swing his fists with a dry efficiency.

Thud, crunch!

The sounds of impact and breaking bone echoed in rapid succession. It was a display of dull, brutal violence.

A minute later, only one man remained standing in the shadows of the tunnel.

"Is that the end of it?"

In the darkness, Wukong’s eyes flared with a blazing golden light.

Asmodeus shook his head in pure disbelief.

"How... in a worldline devoid of a system—"

"Have you forgotten? I was always strong, system or not."

Only then did Asmodeus truly grasp the nature of the man before him.

Wukong’s shadow stretched across Asmodeus as he strode forward.

"I told you, I’m confident in a fight."

Asmodeus finally realized he was in danger and turned to flee, but Wukong was instantly upon him. Asmodeus’s knees and arms buckled as the force of the blow connected.

"Ugh."

Even Asmodeus couldn't suppress a groan of agony beneath the swift, savage strike.

Wukong leaned in.

"Where is the youngest?"

Despite the blinding pain, Asmodeus let out a twisted smile.

"Even so, you cannot stop what is coming."

"Hmm, is that so? You think you haven't been hit enough?"

"Because he is currently summoning every version of Kim Dokja from the 'Snowfield'."

At the mention of the snowfield, Wukong’s expression froze for a heartbeat.

Asmodeus continued.

"I asked you what security meant. I am truly curious. Just how far can you protect him with that frail body…"

With those final words, Asmodeus collapsed forward.

Wukong frowned, muttering to himself.

"What is wrong with you, you punk?"

A faint tremor vibrated through the soles of his feet. Then, a familiar scent reached his nostrils. Wukong’s head snapped up.

"Youngest."

Wukong sprinted toward the source of the scent. He covered dozens of meters through the tunnel. There he was—the youngest, unconscious and lashed to the empty railroad tracks.

"Youngest! Are you okay? I'm here! Your eldest brother is here!"

Kim Dokja did not respond.

"Hahaha, hahahahahaha—!"

Asmodeus’s laughter echoed from the darkness. The vibrations in the ground were intensifying by the second.

Gripped by a dark premonition, Wukong frantically tore at the knots binding Kim Dokja.

But the rope was tied with such complexity that the knot refused to yield.

Asmodeus’s laughter abruptly cut off. The sound of tearing metal and structural destruction rose. A blinding light flooded the tunnel.

A train, a force capable of shredding anything in its path, was hurtling toward them.

The youngest’s body remained still, as if he were part of the tracks themselves. Wukong had no blade to cut the ropes.

The Great Sage, Heaven’s Equal stood his ground.

Watching the approaching subway, Wukong took another deep breath. His muscles twitched and expanded.

He possessed no power of stories, no stigma, and no skills. He only had a body slightly more robust than a commoner’s. Could that possibly be enough to halt a mass of speeding steel? Before he could think, the subway was upon them. Resolved, Wukong planted his feet. He wouldn't know the limit until he pushed it. If he could just shield the youngest—

He thought he was hallucinating. Then, he felt a powerful shove. The world spun as he was thrown toward the edge of the tunnel wall. A blood-stained subway train roared past his eyes.

He blinked, disoriented, as a figure stood beside him, gasping for air.

"Youngest?"

The youngest had regained consciousness. Somehow, Kim Dokja had broken free from the tracks and managed to push him to safety.

Wukong, his heart hammering in his chest, checked the youngest for injuries.

But the moment he met the youngest's eyes, he knew something was fundamentally wrong.

"You…"

He had observed Kim Dokja longer than anyone, since the very dawn of the scenarios. He was certain. The body before him belonged to the youngest.

But,

"Who are you?"

The consciousness inhabiting the youngest’s body was not the 'youngest' he knew.