Deep within Black Wind mountain, there was a cave with straight, smooth walls of metal. In it, was a large metal table, with a screen showing mysterious tiny flickering symbols.

In front of the table, facing the metal screen, the imp mage moved in a slow, hypnotic dance. Taking smooth, practiced steps in and out of eldritch designs painted in blood all over the floor, the imp mage would alternate several moves with the careful tap of a finger on certain geometric shapes seemingly carved into the table before the screen. Every so often, after several taps, the tiny symbols on the screen would change. The imp mage would breathe a sigh of relief, then continue dancing.

Finally, as the imp mage’s knees began to weaken, a metal plinth rose out of the floor. The ghostly image of a being concealed within a hooded red robe flickered into existence above it.

Instantly, the imp mage dropped to one knee and bowed its head. In its withered raspy voice, it said, “Greetings, Master. I have much to report.”

***

Trip looked at the revolver in her hands, trying to sort through the confusing jumble of emotions raging in her chest. She knew she should be feeling happy, but instead, she felt… she felt frustrated and unsatisfied!

Sure, she was relieved to have her revolver back. Every moment without it was as though an important part of her was missing.

Of course, she was grateful to Wukong. When she woke to find the revolver placed beside her cot, it was Brother Mender who told her that Wukong had brought it back to gently lay it by her side.

At first, she had been both grateful and surprised. She had not expected Wukong to be this… dependable. Which led directly to why she felt so frustrated.

It should have been her! She should have been the one to punish the thief who had stolen her revolver! She should have been the one to retrieve it with her own hands! With the same hands that had received it so reverently, a lifetime ago, from her father.

For an instant, within her own mind, she lashed out. Why did Wukong have to do it? Why couldn’t he have let her be the one to do it instead? Quickly, she caught herself. She knew she was being irrational. Breathing deeply, she turned her thoughts both inwards, and towards logic and reality. All the while asking herself, why? What was causing her to feel this way?

Finally, she had to admit it. She was angry at herself. The fact was, despite all her training and experiences, she had been defeated by the Black Wind Demon’s subordinate. And if that imp mage was the Black Wind Demon’s subordinate, then that meant it was weaker than the Black Wind Demon. She had not even managed to touch the Black Wind Demon’s shadow, much less injure him!

Did that mean that she was weak? Maybe. Most likely. Especially when compared to the stronger hybrids she was sure to encounter. She was very aware that the Black Wind Demon had just been a minor subordinate, sent to this remote place to monitor the production of weapons from the monastery.

Yes, she was weak right now. But it did not mean that she would be weak forever. All she had to do, was train harder, and find ways to compensate for her lack of inborn physical gifts. She had an idea on how to do that, but it would take some experimentation to make it usable in combat.

In a moment, she would get up to give herself a proper examination. Initially, she had thought that, given the severity of her wounds, the best she could hope for was that the bleeding would have stopped. She had been prepared to sew up her wounds, as she had done so many times before. But now, the lack of pain from her injuries made her think that her newly gained regeneration was even more miraculous than she had previously believed.

In a moment, she would get up to look for Wukong, to thank him properly. She owed it to him. The rest of what she felt was on her, and for her, alone.

In a moment, she would get up to look for some food, as she was ravenously hungry. A small part of her mind idly wondered at the connection between her unprecedented levels of hunger and the accelerated healing, and whether it could be improved or consciously affected in any way.

But all that was for later. For now, she was occupied with working out the details of her idea, and a possible addition to her training regimen.

***

Wukong was on top of the highest point he could find that was still within sight of where his Mistress was resting, which was the roof of a pagoda beside the Abbot’s quarters. To be specific, he was lounging on the roof, soaking up the sun while munching away at a big bag of tofu. There hadn’t been any meat to be found, and the monks seemed to be completely ignorant of the wonders of banana pie, but the fried tofu stuffed with fried rice, pickled vegetables and beans was a tasty meal for a hungry monkey. Stretching luxuriously, he revelled in being free of any injuries again. Even the deep chest wound he’d had was now a patch of tender pink skin, with fur already beginning to grow back.

The night before, after delivering his Mistress’ ancestral weapon to her, Wukong had done his best to tiptoe off despite his many wounds. Pain was nothing compared to the importance of his Mistress not being awakened from her healing sleep.

He made it back out as far as the doorway, before collapsing into an exhausted heap against the wall. He’d slept through the night until the Sun’s rays and his roaring tummy combined their forces to wake him up. He foraged for some food… alright, he swiped it from the monastery kitchens, and here he was. Ah, it felt good to be out in the sun, it always felt so invigorating. Sometimes, he imagined he was a tree, like every part of him was soaking up the sunlight and converting it into energy.

His musings were interrupted by a familiar clomping noise coming from the courtyard in front of the pagoda.

“Whitey! Where’ve you been?”

-- Chapter 23, End --