Harry woke up feeling like he'd just been drop-kicked by a Celestial Dragon, body-slammed by Fenrir, and then repeatedly suplexed by Thor for good measure. Every muscle ached. His ribs protested every breath. His arms felt like they'd been tied to an anvil and tossed into the Mariana Trench. And his spine? Well, Wukong had done something to it. Something unnatural.
(If he were being honest, it probably involved a triple backflip, a banana peel, and a snarky one-liner.)
And now, after a week of humiliation, slapstick brutality, and pain that defied mortal comprehension, it was time for the final test.
Which, obviously, meant the real suffering was just beginning.
The dreamscape shifted once again, taking on an ancient, mythical aesthetic—mist curling lazily at the edges of a cracked stone courtyard. Towering mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks swallowed by swirling clouds. The air was thick with the weight of something grand, something powerful. It felt like even the wind was waiting to see if Harry would survive.
And in the middle of it all, sitting cross-legged like he hadn't just spent the past week treating Harry like a one-man slapstick routine, was Sun Wukong.
For once, the Monkey King wasn't smirking. No mischievous glint in his golden eyes. No smug grin that promised mayhem. He looked… calm. Almost serious.
Which, frankly, was far more terrifying than anything else he'd done.
Harry rolled his shoulders, wincing as something in his back popped back into place. "So, this is it? The grand finale?"
Wukong cracked an eye open. "Why do you mortals always make everything sound so dramatic?" He sighed, hopping to his feet with the exaggerated groan of a man who was absolutely not old enough to groan like that. "This isn't about fighting me."
Harry arched a brow. "Could've fooled me. You've spent the last week using me as a crash-test dummy."
Wukong twirled his staff lazily. "That's called training, kid. And believe me, I went easy on you."
Harry snorted. "Yeah? Tell that to my spine."
Wukong waved a dismissive hand. "Eh. You'll live."
Then, without warning, he whacked Harry upside the head with his staff.
Hard.
Harry staggered back, clutching his skull. "OW! What the hell was that for?"
Wukong grinned. "Reflexes. Yours are terrible."
Harry glared. "I'm right here, you know."
"Exactly! And you still didn't dodge."
Harry took a deep breath. He'd been through enough pranks, tricks, and general Monkey King nonsense to know that getting mad was useless. Wukong fed on frustration. Probably even thrived on it.
So instead, he crossed his arms and exhaled slowly. "Alright. Fine. If this isn't about fighting you, then what is it about?"
Wukong's grin faded just a little, replaced by something… quieter. Something almost thoughtful.
"The title of Monkey King isn't just a name," he said, planting his staff into the ground. "It's a way of life. It's rebellion. It's laughing in the face of impossible odds because the alternative is to bow, and we don't do that."
His golden eyes locked onto Harry's. "It's about knowing when to fight… and when to walk away."
Harry swallowed. The weight of it settled over him, heavier than any blow Wukong had landed all week.
"I've been carrying this title for a long time," Wukong continued, spinning his staff absentmindedly. "And I've been watching you, kid. You've got power. Brains. Enough divine chaos in your veins to make the Fates nervous. But power alone doesn't make a Monkey King."
Harry hesitated, taking that in. Then he let out a slow breath. "So what does?"
Wukong smirked. "Good question."
And then—
He vanished.
Harry barely had a second to process before something whizzed past his ear.
He ducked just in time to avoid getting smacked again, Wukong's staff slamming into the ground where his head had been a moment ago.
"Lesson one," Wukong's voice rang out. "Never take your eyes off me."
Harry whirled, catching a blur of motion to his right—
Only for Wukong to appear behind him, grinning like a maniac, and sweep his legs out from under him.
Harry crashed onto his back with a wheeze.
"Lesson two," Wukong added cheerfully, spinning his staff. "Always expect a trick."
Harry groaned. "You're enjoying this way too much."
Wukong grinned. "Oh, absolutely."
Harry rolled to his feet, barely managing to dodge the next attack—Wukong flipping over him, using his own staff like a vaulting pole, before landing in a perfect three-point stance.
"You could fight back, you know," Wukong called, tilting his head. "Or are you just gonna lie there and let me smack you around like a training dummy?"
Harry narrowed his eyes.
Alright. Fine.
He lunged—only for Wukong to sidestep at the last second, tripping him again with his staff.
Harry faceplanted with a groan.
Wukong whistled. "Oof. That one looked painful."
Harry pushed himself up, spitting dirt. "I hate you."
"Nah," Wukong chirped. "You wish you did."
Harry exhaled, adjusting his stance. Think. Wukong wasn't just stronger, faster, and older—he cheated.
So…
Harry smirked. "Hey. Wukong."
The Monkey King blinked. "Yeah?"
Harry pointed behind him. "Is that Buddha?"
Wukong froze.
And that was all Harry needed.
He moved, sweeping Wukong's legs out from under him in one smooth motion.
Wukong yelped, flailing wildly before crashing onto his back.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Wukong just lay there, blinking at the sky.
Harry smirked down at him. "Lesson three—always expect a trick."
Wukong blinked. Then he laughed.
A full-bodied, genuine laugh, like Harry had just pulled off the greatest prank in history.
"Alright, kid," Wukong said, grinning up at him. "I think you just might be ready."
Harry helped him up. "So… what now?"
Wukong dusted himself off, twirling his staff again. "Now? You earn the title."
The wind picked up, swirling mist around them. The air buzzed with anticipation.
Wukong grinned. "One last fight. No tricks. No gimmicks. Just you, me, and everything you've got."
Harry felt his pulse quicken.
This was it.
The final test had begun.
—
The courtyard trembled.
Mist curled tighter, drawn in by the sheer gravity of what was about to go down. The ancient stone beneath them groaned under the pressure of their combined power.
Harry barely had time to blink before—
BANG!
Sun Wukong vanished.
No blur. No motion. Just gone.
Harry's instincts screamed. He twisted—just in time.
A shockwave exploded behind him as Wukong's staff crashed into the ground where his head had been a second ago. The impact sent a web of cracks ripping across the courtyard, kicking up a hurricane of dust and debris.
Harry flipped backward, golden energy flaring around his fists as Wukong pursued, moving like living lightning. His shape flickered—left, right, above, below—everywhere at once.
"Not bad, kid!" Wukong's voice came from behind him—already there, his grin as wild as a storm. His staff swung with bone-crushing force.
Harry barely ducked. The weapon sliced the air above his head with a whistling shriek, the wind pressure alone sending him skidding backward.
"You're not completely useless!" Wukong added cheerfully.
Harry twisted, slammed his palms together—BOOM!
A wall of pure divine force erupted between them, rippling outward like a golden tidal wave. The sheer shockwave sent boulders flying from the surrounding mountains.
Wukong, of course, leaped over it like it was nothing, flipping midair with an annoyingly perfect somersault. "Ooooh, fancy! But—"
He twisted sideways in the air, dodging a golden blast Harry had just fired at his face.
"—too slow!"
Harry was already moving. He rocketed into the sky to meet him.
CRACK!
Their fists collided midair—sending out a detonation of force that split the clouds apart like an atomic bomb. The mountains quaked, the sky itself trembled, and shockwaves sent massive boulders hurtling for miles.
Harry flipped midair, riding the force of their clash higher. Wukong pounced after him, golden fur gleaming as his staff spun like a windmill. His laughter rang out like thunder.
"C'mon, kid! You wanna be the Monkey King? You gotta do better than that!"
Harry grinned, cracking his knuckles. "You sure? Because last time I checked—"
He snapped his fingers.
BOOM.
A golden chain appeared midair—snaking toward Wukong's ankle like a living serpent.
The Monkey King's eyes widened. "Oh-ho?" He yanked his foot up at the last second, barely dodging as the chain snapped shut where his ankle had been.
"Nice try, but—"
SNAP.
A second chain latched onto his wrist.
Wukong blinked.
A third wrapped around his other wrist.
And then a fourth.
"…Oh." Wukong's grin faltered slightly.
Hundreds of glowing chains erupted from the mist below, wrapping around him like a celestial spiderweb, yanking him down.
For half a second, Wukong just stared at the glowing bindings encircling his limbs. Then—
He grinned.
"Oh, you little sh—"
BAM.
The chains yanked.
Wukong vanished, slammed into the earth at supersonic speeds. The entire mountain range trembled from the impact.
Harry floated downward, landing gracefully on the cracked, smoldering earth. He brushed imaginary dust off his shoulder. "You were saying?"
The dust settled.
And then—
Laughter.
Deep, unrestrained, joyous laughter.
Harry's stomach dropped.
A single golden eye glowed through the settling debris.
"Not bad," Wukong's voice came, still chuckling.
He rolled his shoulders—and SNAPPED his fingers.
The chains shattered like glass.
"…Oh, bollocks," Harry muttered.
Wukong teleported.
A foot slammed into Harry's ribs.
BOOM.
Harry was gone, a golden streak ripping through the sky, the sheer force of the kick launching him halfway across the mountain range.
He twisted midair, slamming his fists together, golden runes flaring across his skin as he stopped himself just above a shattered peak.
Wukong was already there.
Upside down.
Balancing on one finger.
Grinning.
"That tickle?" Wukong teased. "I thought gods were supposed to be durable!"
Harry growled—and attacked.
He vanished in a burst of golden light, appearing right above Wukong, swinging a burning punch straight for his face.
Wukong caught it.
With two fingers.
"…What?" Harry muttered.
The Monkey King grinned wider. "What? You thought I was just a pretty face?"
Then he casually backhanded Harry through three mountains.
BOOOOM!
Harry groaned from inside the rubble. "Okay, ow."
Wukong's voice echoed as he leaped into the sky, staff spinning like a whirlwind of destruction. "Come on, Haris Lokison! Show me the cleverness of a trickster! Or did I hit you too hard?"
Harry's eyes narrowed.
Fine. He wanted a trickster?
He'd get one.
Harry smirked.
His body flickered, breaking apart into a thousand golden leaves, spiraling into the wind.
Wukong blinked. "Huh?"
Then—
The mountain beneath him exploded.
Harry reappeared above him, already mid-attack, gripping a staff identical to Wukong's Ruyi Jingu Bang.
Wukong's eyes widened.
Then—
He grinned like a madman.
"Oh-ho! Now we're talking!"
Their weapons clashed, sending golden sparks flying like miniature supernovas, the sheer force of their battle shaking the heavens themselves.
The Final Test had truly begun.
—
CRACK!
Their staffs collided again, sending a sonic boom tearing through the sky. Clouds shattered like fragile glass, sunlight spilling through the fractures as if the heavens themselves had cracked open. Below them, the mountains trembled, whole sections of cliffside splitting apart as jagged rocks rained down like celestial debris.
Wukong was mid-flip, twisting through the air like a comet, his golden tail flicking as he spun over Harry's outstretched staff.
"Nice try, kid!" he laughed. Then, with a cheeky wink, he brought his own staff down in a devastating overhead smash.
BOOOOM!
Harry barely managed to block in time. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through his bones, his muscles straining as he locked his arms, feet skidding backward across the air itself.
Then Wukong twisted his staff, grinning wildly.
"Oops. Didn't put enough force into that one."
WHAM.
He doubled the pressure.
The air screamed as Harry was blasted downward, gravity tripling around him. He plummeted like a meteor, the world blurring into streaks of color around him.
KRAKOOOOOOM!
The entire mountainside erupted upon impact, a shockwave of dust and debris surging outward like an atomic explosion.
For a moment, the world held its breath.
Then—
A flicker.
A glow.
And Harry walked out of the crater. His armor was scuffed, his cheek had a thin cut, but his grin? Still intact.
He wiped a smear of blood from his lip, eyes sparking with challenge.
Wukong, perched lazily on a floating boulder, whistled. "Huh. Still standing?" He stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles. "Maybe I should hit harder."
Harry rolled his shoulders, shaking off the ache. "Or maybe you're getting slow in your old age."
Silence.
Wukong blinked.
Then his face cracked into a wild, delighted grin.
"Oh-ho! Brave words, kid!" He leaned forward on his staff, tail twitching in amusement. "Alright, alright—you've had your fun. Now it's my turn."
Harry barely had time to react before Wukong—
Multiplied.
Dozens—no, hundreds—no, thousands of golden-furred clones burst into existence, each wielding an identical Ruyi Jingu Bang, each with the same infuriatingly smug look.
Harry's stomach dropped. "Oh, bollocks."
The army attacked.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Harry twisted, ducked, blocked, but there were too many. He parried one staff, only for five more to come from different directions.
One Wukong swung for his ribs.
Another aimed for his knees.
One appeared from behind, whispering, "Peekaboo."
WHAM.
A staff cracked against his side, sending him spiraling.
"Too slow!"
Harry gritted his teeth, firing a golden blast of raw magic—but the clones vanished into smoke, only their laughter lingering in the air.
Above him, a Wukong spun midair, staff whirling like a bladed cyclone.
Harry blocked—but another Wukong appeared behind him. And another. And another.
"Too predictable!"
CRACK.
A blow connected hard, sending him careening through the sky. He flared his magic—then disappeared mid-flight.
The clones paused, scanning the battlefield.
Silence.
Then—
A single golden leaf drifted down.
One Wukong blinked. "Oh… that's not good."
Then—
The world itself shifted.
The mountain range warped, mist billowing in like an oncoming storm, the air twisting and bending.
Suddenly, they weren't in the courtyard anymore.
They were in a limitless golden void, where reality itself felt like a dream.
Wukong's ears twitched. His clones glanced around. "Huh. That's new."
Then—
The leaves attacked.
Each golden leaf morphed into a blade, slashing through the clones like razors.
And from the mist, Harry emerged—multiplied.
"You're not the only one who can play that game, Monkey King."
Hundreds of Harrys spoke at once.
Wukong's clones vanished one by one, cut down by phantom blades and golden energy. The remaining ones fought back, but Harry's illusions swarmed them, overwhelming them with sheer numbers.
The real Wukong stood still, rubbing his chin.
Then—
He grinned.
"Oh-ho… Now we're really talking."
He casually tapped his staff on the ground.
And reality collapsed.
The golden void shattered like broken glass.
The sky split apart—revealing something bigger.
Suddenly, they weren't just in some battle.
They were standing atop a cosmic battlefield where dragons roared, gods clashed, and celestial warriors fought in an endless, burning war.
The heavens themselves trembled with golden fire.
Reality bent sideways, the universe itself warping under Wukong's presence.
He casually spun his staff, pointing it at Harry.
"Now then…" He grinned. "Let's see who the real trickster is."
Harry grinned back.
Challenge accepted.
—
In the ethereal expanses beyond the confines of mortal understanding, where the threads of fate and time intertwined in intricate, dazzling patterns, the air shimmered. In realms where gods and titans once fought for dominion and control, a power—untamed and unpredictable—began to stir.
Far from the golden halls of Asgard, within its ancient citadel, Loki stood near the Bifrost, the cosmic bridge that linked the Nine Realms. His tall, regal form cast a long shadow over the starlit plains, his green cloak billowing lightly in the breeze. His features, ever the picture of elegance and mischief, were framed by the delicate glow of the celestial lights overhead.
His attention was elsewhere now, however, his sharp senses honed to the pulse of the universe around him. It was as if a singular moment in time was being twisted, reshaped by some force beyond his comprehension. Loki's eyes narrowed, every inch of his being alert. The usual calm demeanor he'd perfected over millennia faltered ever so slightly as the air grew heavier.
"What in Hel's name...?" Loki muttered to himself, his voice a low rasp of curiosity. His fingers, long and slender, drummed lightly against the golden goblet that had been perched in his hand, forgotten for a moment. A subtle hum vibrated through the very air, like the sound of a storm gathering momentum far in the distance, ready to break across the heavens.
It wasn't thunder. No. It was something more primal, something deeply ancient and utterly unpredictable. The storm was not just in the sky—it was in the very fabric of reality itself. It bent and swayed like the last thread of a tapestry being pulled in opposite directions, as though reality was being stretched thin.
For a brief moment, Loki stood completely still, his body tense. His mind, ever the master of manipulation, quickened as he tried to trace the source of the disturbance. He felt it, pulsing like an unseen current. His instincts screamed that this was no random event. No, this was someone, or something, powerful enough to set the universe itself on edge.
His green eyes glinted as recognition struck like a bolt from the heavens. "The boy..." Loki's lips curled into a sly, almost amused grin. "Of course."
The disturbance was not of a god or a titan, not a force that would trouble the likes of Odin or the Allfather's closest warriors. No, it was a much more personal matter—a son, his son, pushing against the very boundaries of fate itself. And he had only one face in mind: Harry.
The laughter that escaped Loki's throat was low and dark, tinged with a delight that only a true trickster could appreciate. He had never been one to shy away from a challenge, but this? This was far more interesting than even he had anticipated.
With a flick of his fingers, Loki summoned the shadows to his will. They obeyed as if they had been waiting for this moment, stretching and twisting like serpents across the ground. The air shifted, and he was no longer standing in the grand hall of Asgard. The throne room, the halls, the realm itself disappeared, replaced by the inky blackness of shadow and the flickering, unpredictable sparks of the storm.
Loki smiled—a smile that was part mischief, part something darker—and in the space of a breath, he vanished. The shadows parted like the curtains of a grand theater, and he reappeared in an instant, already on his way.
"Let's see what my son has done now," Loki whispered to himself, the words soft as they disappeared into the void. His thoughts were sharp, cutting through the air as easily as his charm could cut through the hearts of his enemies.
There was no doubt in his mind that Harry was far more than just his child. Harry had inherited something that no other could—the power of Loki's blood, the blood of the Trickster God. The disturbance he had felt was no mere ripple in the cosmos—it was a declaration, a challenge to the divine order.
"If he has truly awakened the mantle of the Monkey King..." Loki murmured, his grin deepening. His eyes shone with an intensity that bordered on pride. For all his complicated feelings about his son, Harry had always proven himself to be one of the most unpredictable, dangerous creatures to ever walk the realms.
In a flash, Loki found himself standing on the outskirts of a place that was neither here nor there. The dreamscape. A place where thoughts and memories swirled and danced like ephemeral shapes in the dark.
The cosmic ripples had settled for a moment, but Loki knew better. The battle was still raging.
He looked out over the void, the infinite sea of possibility stretching before him, and there it was—the surge of divine energy that could only come from a god who was pushing against the very rules of the universe.
A single sentence escaped Loki's lips, dripping with a humor that only he could truly grasp. "Well, Harry, I suppose the game is on. Let's see if you can carry the weight of a legacy so... troublesome."
And with that, the Trickster God, Loki, disappeared into the ether, ready to watch, to wait, and—if the moment called for it—to interfere.
As he faded into the shadows of the divine realms, his mind already racing with the implications of this trial, Loki couldn't help but feel a flicker of anticipation. Harry was facing something ancient. And if anyone could twist that ancient legacy in his favor, it would be the son of Loki.
—
In the tranquil Olympian Gardens, where the scent of jasmine and roses lingered in the air like sweet dreams, Hermes zipped through the air with all the grace and speed his winged sandals afforded him. His golden caduceus gleamed brightly as he darted between columns and statues, his laughter light and carefree, as if the weight of the realms themselves were mere trifles in his hands.
He was not alone, though, and as his mischievous grin spread across his face, he glanced to his side. Artemis, the huntress goddess, moved beside him with a silent elegance, her silver bow hanging at her back, the moonlight seeming to dance across her alabaster skin. Though her footsteps were soft and measured, the air around her seemed to pulse with an unseen power, her gaze as sharp as a wolf's.
Hermes, ever attuned to the vibrations of the divine that rippled through the worlds, felt it long before Artemis did—the hum in the air, the subtle shift in the balance of magic, something deep and ancient stirring in the cosmos.
He tilted his head toward her, his eyes dancing with a playful glimmer. "Artemis, darling," he said, his voice a mix of teasing and intrigue. "Something's stirring in the Dreamscape. Someone's playing fast and loose with the fundamentals of reality. I have a hunch it's your boy. That whelp of a son of Loki…"
He grinned wider, his usual nonchalance replaced by a rare seriousness that spoke of divine consequence. The air crackled with an undercurrent of something monumental, something that tugged at the core of all the realms, and for a fleeting moment, even the mischievous trickster god seemed aware of the gravity of it all.
Artemis's serene expression shifted as she tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated, listening, her senses tuned to the subtle ripples in the divine fabric. Her lips parted, just slightly, in recognition.
"The Dreamscape…" she whispered softly, a shiver running down her spine. Her gaze met Hermes's, and though she seldom showed emotion, there was a quiet depth to her words. "It's him."
For a brief moment, silence stretched between them, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Both gods knew that the Dreamscape was a place of boundless potential, but it was also a battleground where only the most dangerous, the most unpredictable, could make their mark. And Harry, their son—the son of Loki, whose bloodline had always been one of chaos and upheaval—was no ordinary contender.
Hermes, ever the one to poke at the edges of fate, leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a mockingly hushed tone as his grin widened.
"Oh yes, it's your boy alright," Hermes teased, his eyes sparkling with an irreverent gleam. "Seems like he's finally earned the right to take up the mantle for himself. Let's see if he can hold the weight of it, hm?"
Artemis's gaze hardened, her expression sharpening like the tip of an arrow. She was not one to be swayed by casual words or playful jabs. When she spoke, it was with the authority of millennia of experience. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice cold but steady, her hand instinctively reaching for her bow as the air around her grew thick with divine tension.
Hermes's grin remained, though now it was laced with a far deeper understanding. He fluttered around her, his voice now taking on a rare, more serious tone as the significance of the battle unfolding across the realms became clearer.
"The Monkey King's legacy, Artemis. There's a new contender for the throne— Sun Wukong's power, in all its trickster glory. But—" Hermes paused dramatically, his smile faltering for a moment before it returned in full force. "He's going up against someone who might just be his match. Maybe more."
Artemis felt a cold weight settle in her chest as she understood the gravity of what Hermes was saying. Her silver eyes, always so steady and unshaken, flickered with a depth of ancient wisdom, the weight of countless lifetimes behind them. "Whoever wins, we must tread carefully," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "If Harry's the one… it could mean untold shifts for all of us."
For once, the usually light-hearted Hermes was silent. His golden caduceus, normally a symbol of jest and mischief, hummed with a more serious energy now. "A new Monkey King," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's not just a shift in power. That's a change in the entire cosmic order. And Harry—"
He leaned in closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, the mischief now absent from his tone. "He might be the one to rewrite everything. Maybe even us."
Artemis's eyes narrowed, her mind racing through the implications of the words. She knew better than most how tricky legacies could be, how power could twist the heart of a god. "If he wins this trial, he would wield Sun Wukong's mantle, his power…" she trailed off, her gaze distant for a moment. "But with his heart, I wonder where it might lead. We all know how tricky these legacies can be."
Hermes nodded slowly, his usual playfulness momentarily gone. His brow furrowed, and he peered into the space between realms as if trying to catch a glimpse of the battle that raged in the Dreamscape. The ripples of divine magic that stretched through the air were too powerful to ignore, and the very essence of reality trembled beneath it.
In that moment, both gods felt it, the divine tug of fate, the momentum of a new power being born, something that could change everything.
As the cosmic battle between Harry and Sun Wukong surged in the Dreamscape, the divine current surged through Olympus and Asgard alike. The impact was inevitable.
Hermes sighed, his gaze distant, for once, the mischievous gleam replaced by something more somber. "The Monkey King's mantle is not a gift, Artemis. It's a curse, a test of will, and one Harry may not survive."
Artemis's hand tightened around her bow, her grip unyielding. "Then we must be ready," she said, her voice hard as iron. "If Harry is to walk this path, we must guide him. Whether he wants it or not."
Together, the two gods stood in the stillness of the Olympian Gardens, their minds linked in a shared understanding. A cosmic shift was happening, one that would affect not only their realms but the very essence of fate itself.
The energies in the air pulsed stronger, and deep within the Dreamscape, the battle raged on—and the world itself seemed to hold its breath.
—
The universe, or what was left of it, seemed to bend and twist around them as the battle escalated. They weren't just fighting for supremacy—they were rewriting the very laws of reality with every move, every strike, every moment.
CRACK!
The sound of Sun Wukong's staff smashing against the ground echoed like the fury of a hundred thunderclaps. His staff grew a hundred meters in an instant, stretching, lengthening like an unstoppable serpent. He whirled it through the air with a ferocious speed, the golden wood becoming a blur as he aimed it at Harry.
Harry's eyes narrowed.
"Is that supposed to be scary, Monkey King?" he called, dodging effortlessly beneath the monstrous swing. He summoned his own magic in an instant, fingers crackling with energy, and released a barrage of golden orbs into the air. They whizzed like shooting stars, bursting into explosive, razor-sharp shards, cutting through the air like a storm of meteors.
Wukong's eyes glinted with mischievous delight, and he flicked his wrist with exaggerated flair.
"Nice try, kid!" His tail flicked playfully behind him as he snapped his staff back into his hands, twirling it like a fan, a move so smooth it seemed choreographed by the gods themselves. He vanished into thin air, his laugh echoing as he reappeared a few feet to Harry's left.
Harry, with a smirk, took a deep breath, shifting into a combat stance. "You never quit, do you?"
Wukong landed lightly on his feet, giving Harry a thumbs-up.
"Of course not! What fun is there in quitting?" he winked. "Let's kick things up a notch!"
With a flourish, Wukong snapped his staff again—and in an instant, hundreds of golden-furred clones burst into existence, each one grinning with that signature cheeky swagger. They all carried a staff, each one mimicking Wukong's exact playful energy.
"Come on, Lokison!" they shouted in unison. "Catch us if you can!"
Harry's stomach dropped as the army of Wukongs surrounded him, leaping from every direction, spinning their staffs like they were auditioning for a martial arts movie. The air seemed to vibrate with the rapidity of their attacks.
Harry smirked. "Well, this is just unfair."
But then, the world around them began to shift—Harry's eyes glowed with power, and the battlefield twisted. Reality itself began to warp, distorting in waves as if a mad scientist was tweaking the very fabric of existence. For every Wukong that attacked, another Harry appeared, multiplying faster than the eye could track.
Each Harry mirrored the others perfectly, their golden silhouettes stretching out like a phantom army.
"Not so fast," Harry called, his voice coming from all directions at once, each clone speaking in unison, their voices overlapping like a symphony of chaos. "Let's see how well you handle this."
The clones paused in confusion. It was like they had been sucked into some kind of chaotic, magic-induced funhouse, and they couldn't tell where the real Harry was.
With a snap of his fingers, each Harry began creating illusions—hundreds of golden leaves, each sharp as a blade, fluttered into existence and sliced through the air like a swarm of deadly locusts. They cut down the clones one by one, their bodies vanishing into smoke with every strike.
But Wukong didn't panic. In fact, he seemed to relish the challenge, a glint of excitement sparking in his eyes.
"Oh-ho! You think you can out-trick me?" he bellowed. With a single swing of his staff, the illusions began to vanish, each clone reappearing in a new form, faster, more unpredictable. "Let's see how long your magic lasts!"
Harry watched as the Wukong army swarmed the battlefield, and his eyes narrowed. Okay, time for the next phase.
He stretched his arms and legs, twisting his fingers in the air as if conducting an orchestra. "You've been a real pain in the neck, monkey-boy."
Wukong stopped mid-swing, cocking his head. "What's that? Did you say something?"
Harry's grin was pure mischief. "Nope. Just a reminder."
Suddenly, the entire battlefield shifted again, this time to something even grander, more epic. The universe bent, twisting like a rubber band being stretched to its limit, and then—boom—the world exploded into a starry void. The mountains, the sky, the very fabric of reality had all folded into nothingness, leaving them standing on a plane of cosmic chaos.
Stars collided in the distance. Galaxies spiraled away in the far reaches of space, as though they were mere toys in the hands of gods. It was no longer a fight between two beings—it was a contest between the very forces of nature, each combatant trying to outwit and outpower the other.
Wukong's laughter rang out across the void. "Now we're talking!"
He twirled his staff, his form expanding—growing, until it seemed like he filled the entire cosmos. "C'mon, kid, keep up!"
Harry didn't miss a beat. With a flick of his wrist, reality split—the very laws of space and time began to bend and crack like glass. The void around them fragmented, splintering into a chaotic cascade of magic. Harry raised both hands, palms outward, and a vortex of golden energy spiraled into existence. The wind howled as the energy began to twist, becoming a singularity that reached deep into the heart of space itself.
Wukong blinked, but only for a moment. "Whoa, kid," he said with a grin. "That's impressive."
"Glad you like it!" Harry shouted back. "But I'm not done yet!"
He clenched his fist, and the vortex shot down toward the ground, splitting the cosmos in its wake. Wukong dodged with a flip, his golden staff darting through the air like a streak of light.
The explosion was cataclysmic. The ground beneath them shattered, the stars themselves screaming as they were pulled into the wake of Harry's magic. For a moment, everything went dark, the fabric of the universe hanging by a thread.
But then, as if by magic, everything snapped back into place.
Wukong, a grin still plastered across his face, wiped the cosmic dust from his cheek. "You know, kid," he chuckled. "I think we're gonna be best friends."
Harry tilted his head, looking at him with a grin of his own. "What can I say? You're fun to fight."
And then, before they could even blink—
The world collapsed again.
CRACK!
They met each other in the center of the battlefield, their staffs colliding once again in an explosion of golden light. Each strike was a thunderclap, each parry a shockwave. The energy between them burned so brightly that it bent the laws of physics itself, the air screaming in protest as the two tricksters fought for dominion over not just the universe—but the very nature of existence.
"You're not bad, kid," Wukong said with a grin, his voice full of excitement. "But let's see how you handle this!"
With that, he pulled a move so ridiculous that Harry couldn't help but laugh.
Wukong leapt into the air, twisting his staff into an impossible spiral. "Watch closely, Potter. This is what I like to call Monkey Style: Total Chaos."
And with that, the entire battlefield erupted into a dance of madness—time, space, and reality itself no longer mattered as Harry and Wukong went toe-to-toe, battling with the very forces of the universe itself.
And as they collided, the universe watched in awe, knowing that what they were witnessing was no mere fight—but a true cosmic clash between two tricksters of godlike proportions.
Harry, his grin widening, raised his staff to meet Wukong's.
"Bring it on, Monkey King."
"Challenge accepted, Lokison."
And the battle raged on.
---
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