"You know why I'm here," Wukong said, his voice soft but carrying the weight of absolute certainty. His golden eyes met the Emperor's serene gaze, and for a moment, the chaos raging around them seemed to pause in anticipation of words that would reshape the fundamental nature of their conflict.
The Monkey King's form had settled into something approaching stillness, but it was the stillness of a coiled spring, of a storm gathering its strength, of a force of nature briefly pausing to consider the most pleasing way to proceed with its work of beautiful destruction.
"Adam doesn't just fight for victory," Wukong continued, his words carrying eleven years of growth, of pain, of hard-won wisdom that had been paid for in loneliness and doubt and the terrible burden of making choices without the comfort of absolute certainty. "He fights for choice. And choice means your subjects get to decide if they want to kneel."
