Blood dripped from Wukong's wounds as he limped toward the Jade Emperor's throne, each step leaving crimson droplets that hissed against the star-jade floor. The Ruyi Jingu Bang dragged behind him, its golden surface still warm from the battle that had just shattered the foundations of cosmic order. His ribs screamed with each breath, Erlang Shen's spear having carved deep furrows that would take days to heal, even with his divine constitution.
The throne loomed before him, ten meters of crystallised authority that had ruled the heavens for eons. Its surface bore the accumulated weight of every decree, every law, every moment when mortals had been forced to kneel before divine caprice. The jade itself seemed to pulse with malevolent life, carved with sutras that bound the world to cycles of servitude and suffering.
