Chapter 3: Monsters and Saints

I said, "Monkey, there's still the green lion."

The monkey nodded, shook himself, and donned his golden chain mail, eagle-winged purple crown, and lotus silk cloud-stepping shoes. Whenever a great battle loomed, the monkey always dressed in full regalia—like a superhero suiting up before the final showdown. The pilgrimage west had truly stifled him, but now his spirit blazed.

He spun, letting the armor catch the light—a flash of defiance and pride. The anticipation in the air was electric, every eye drawn to his transformation.

Grant Baxter grumbled, "Monkey loves showing off. Once we've slaughtered Mount Providence, I'll go to the Sea King for an outfit too. This robe and shirt were stitched by Marlene before I left."

I knew this fool was thinking of Marlene again—and perhaps Sister Molly from Misty Hollow as well. His eyes softened for a moment, memories flickering, before snapping back to the chaos at hand.

The monkey leapt atop Mansfield’s green lion. "Old Sam’s havoc in Heaven was just family squabbles. At the Peach Banquet, the Queen Mother didn’t give you a seat, so you made a scene and nearly swallowed a hundred thousand heavenly soldiers?"

The lion trembled, voice a whimper, eyes wide with terror, claws scraping at the stone. Its fear was palpable, a living thing in the air.

With one blow, the monkey turned the lion’s brains to mush.

The club landed with a wet smack, silence falling like a shroud. The green mane was stained red, the monkey’s face a mask of rage and satisfaction.

"In front of me, what kind of monster are you pretending to be?"

The green lion and white bull were both dead.

I pointed my staff at the Supreme Reverend in the Thunder Sound Cathedral, surrounded by Saints:

"Supreme Reverend, this is the evil fruit of your scheming with the scripture pilgrimage west!"

My voice echoed, righteous and raw, bouncing off the cathedral walls. The saints shifted uneasily, eyes darting, whispers of fear and confusion rippling through the crowd.