Chapter 188: Two Storms Meet
The cliff was empty again. Only the sea and the sound of wind remained.
Wukong sat cross-legged on the stone, staff across his knees. His grin lingered faint but uncertain. Lightning still crackled faintly on the horizon where Zeus had vanished.
He tilted his head back, watching the clouds drift. "Every storm has weight..." he muttered. His tail swished against the ground. "So says the Sky King. But what does a storm care for weight? It passes, it breaks, it laughs."
Still, the words clung.
He plucked another peach from his sash, bit into it, and chewed slower than usual. The sweetness didn’t taste as sharp. He frowned, tossing the half-eaten fruit away.
For once, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven was quiet.
–––
The path down the mountain wound into forest. Shadows stretched long, the air carrying the smell of pine and damp earth. Wukong walked without hurry, his staff balanced over his shoulder, tail flicking side to side.
His mind wandered back to Zeus. A king who did not shout, did not threaten, did not cage. Strange. He could not decide if it unsettled him or amused him.
"I should’ve asked him if Olympus serves wine," he said aloud, chuckling.
The chuckle died when the forest hushed. No birds, no insects, no wind.
Something else moved here.
Wukong’s golden eyes narrowed. He spun his staff lazily in one hand, not out of fear but habit. The silence pressed close.
Then he heard it—chains dragging against stone. Slow, heavy, unbroken.
He stopped. The sound grew louder, closer, until a figure stepped from between the trees.
A man. Scarred, bare-chested, pale as ash. His eyes burned red, his jaw set hard. Blades hung from his arms, their chains coiling and rattling with each step.
Kratos.
–––
The two stopped a short distance apart. The silence stretched.
Wukong tilted his head, grin creeping back. "Well, well. You don’t look like a worshipper."
Kratos’s gaze flicked over him once, then stayed sharp and cold. His voice was low, rough. "Move."
The monkey’s grin widened. He twirled his staff once, planting it against the ground. "Straight to the point. I like that. But tell me, what if I don’t?"
Kratos’s chains rattled as his grip tightened on the blades. His chest rose and fell, breath heavy with anger barely contained. "Then you die here."
Wukong laughed, sharp and bright, echoing through the trees. "Bold. I like that even more."
But he didn’t raise his staff. He only leaned on it, tail swishing. "Tell me, ash-man, what drags you through these woods with fire in your eyes?"
Kratos stepped closer, his shadow stretching long. His voice cut like iron. "Ares."
The name rang heavy. Even Wukong’s grin slipped for a moment.
"Ares, hm?" He tapped his chin, golden eyes narrowing. "So you’re the storm that tears at the god of war. The one I’ve heard whispers about in every ruined shrine."
Kratos said nothing. His silence was an answer by itself.
Wukong tilted his head, studying him. "You burn hotter than me, Spartan. But your fire’s different. Mine laughs. Yours mourns."
Kratos’s jaw tightened. "Keep your words. I seek only blood."
The monkey’s grin returned, sharper. "Blood, chains, curses—it’s always the same. You sound like me, only less fun."
For the first time, Kratos’s eyes shifted, faint flicker of curiosity breaking through the fury. "You mock everything. Even gods."
Wukong smirked, tapping his staff against his shoulder. "I mock because I can. I bow to none, not even your thunder-king."
Kratos’s gaze hardened again. "Then you are a fool."
The monkey chuckled, his tail curling. "Maybe. But fools live longer than martyrs."
–––
The silence pressed again. The two stood there, storms of different kinds—one wild, one carved from grief.
Wukong leaned forward, voice lower. "Tell me, Spartan. When you kill Ares, what then? Does the fire end? Or do you keep burning until there’s nothing left of you?"
Kratos’s breath slowed, heavy. His eyes narrowed. "When Ares falls, I will decide."
The monkey nodded slowly, grin fading to something thinner, almost thoughtful. "A storm that doesn’t know where it ends. Dangerous." He twirled his staff once, then rested it across his shoulders again. "I think I like you."
Kratos’s chains rattled as he turned slightly, already walking past. His voice rumbled behind him. "I do not care."
Wukong laughed again, sharp and wild, echoing through the forest. "That makes two of us."
–––
He watched the Spartan disappear into the trees, the drag of chains fading with distance. His grin lingered, but his eyes narrowed faintly.
"That one," he muttered, tapping his staff against the dirt, "he’s heavier than Zeus’s storm."
The wind stirred again, carrying the faint smell of ash. Wukong stared after it a moment longer before turning back toward the cliff.
He leapt into the air, staff shrinking into a needle that vanished behind his ear. Clouds rushed past him as he soared higher, higher, laughter breaking from his chest once more.
But it was different now. Quieter at the edges.
"Storms have weight," he muttered, almost to himself. "And some storms drag chains."
The sky swallowed him whole.
–––
Far away, Kratos’s chains struck stone as he pressed on, his vow heavy in his chest.
And in Olympus, Zeus felt both storms moving closer, circling the same battlefield.
The echoes of laughter.
And the sound of chains.
High among the rocks, where the light thinned and the air smelled of stone, another pair of eyes had been watching.
Medusa.
Her hood shadowed most of her face, but the serpents that crowned her hissed restlessly, their scales catching what little sunlight slipped through the trees. She crouched low, her cloak gathered tight, her gaze fixed on the place where the monkey and the Spartan had stood.
Two storms. One wild, laughing at the world. The other dragging chains, heavy with grief.
Her lips curved faintly—not a smile, not quite, but the sharp bend of a thought forming.
–––
The trees still trembled faintly from their voices. Wukong’s laughter had carried like thunder, then faded into the sky. Kratos’s chains had left deep grooves in the dirt as he passed. Different paths, but not so far apart.
Medusa rose, her movements slow, deliberate. The forest bent away from her presence, birds silent, leaves still. Her snakes hissed louder, sensing her pulse quicken.
"They don’t see it yet," she murmured, her voice low, almost swallowed by the shadows. "But I do."