The first thing I noticed was the noise.
Loud. Chaotic. The kind of raucous celebration that made your bones rattle and your ears ring. Laughter that sounded more like roaring. The crash of what I could only assume was furniture being destroyed. And beneath it all, the unmistakable sound of combat—fists meeting flesh, weapons clashing, the crackle of elemental magic going off like fireworks.
My eye twitched.
I was trying to sleep, damn it.
The second thing I noticed was that I was sitting up. On a throne. A massive, ornate thing carved from what looked like crimson jade and gold, with armrests shaped like coiling dragons. Comfortable, sure, but not exactly conducive to the nap I'd been taking.
The third thing—and this is where reality hit me like a freight train—was that I knew this throne. Not like remembering a story I'd read. Like I'd lived here. Like I'd sat in this exact spot for decades, ruling, commanding, being.
I clenched the armrests, feeling the cool smoothness of jade beneath calloused palms. My gaze drifted down to my hands—strong, scarred from countless battles, wrapped in golden bands around each wrist that hummed faintly with contained Karma.
The memories weren't separate. They weren't foreign. They were mine.
Unifying the demonic factions through overwhelming force—mine. The thrill of combat, the arrogance of conquest, the bone-deep certainty that wherever I stood was my throne—mine. But also... reading webcomics late at night. Playing basketball with friends who felt like family. The grief of losing parents too young.
All of it. Mine.
I wasn't some high school kid piloting Sun Wuji's body like a borrowed suit.
I was Sun Wuji.
And Sun Wuji was me.
We were one being now. Fused so completely that trying to separate where one ended and the other began was meaningless.
This is me. I am him. We are... this.
The realization should have been terrifying. Instead, it felt oddly natural. Like waking up from a long dream and remembering who you really were.
I ran a hand through my hair—wild, spiky blonde that refused to be tamed—and felt the golden circlet floating just around my forehead. The crown-like band that marked me as ruler of this domain, hovering in place without physical contact, a constant reminder of my station.
I opened my eyes fully and immediately regretted it.
The throne room—because of course it was a throne room—was in utter chaos. What had probably once been an elegant banquet hall was now a battlefield. Tables overturned, food scattered everywhere, sake bottles rolling across the floor. And in the middle of it all, seven figures were going at it like their lives depended on it.
No—not fighting to kill. This was sparring. Aggressive, violent, destructive sparring, but sparring nonetheless. They were laughing.
My gaze locked onto the scene just in time to see a massive woman—easily eight feet tall with curved horns that could gore a bull—get launched backward through the air.
She crashed through the palace wall with enough force to create a perfect silhouette, debris exploding outward in a shower of stone and dust.
"HAHAHAHA!" Her laughter echoed back through the hole. "NOT BAD, TIGER! BUT YOU'LL HAVE TO HIT HARDER THAN THAT!"
A smaller figure stepped through the dust cloud, flames wreathing her arms. Graceful. Deadly. Her golden eyes gleamed with battle-lust as a demonic grin spread across her face.
"Come back here and say that, Bull! I'm just getting warmed up!"
Bull Demon King. Tiger King.
My generals.
The knowledge rose unbidden. Not from reading a webcomic. From living with them. Training them. Fighting alongside them. Earning their absolute loyalty through strength and will.
The white-haired lion demon calmly deflecting sword strikes from a small, grinning monkey demon—Lion King and Macaque King. The massive gorilla-like figure laughing while grappling with a refined bird-man in a suit—Ape King and Roc King. The silver-haired woman with wolf ears getting pummeled and clearly enjoying it—Wolf King.
The Seven Demon Generals.
My Seven Demon Generals.
Bull Demon King came rocketing back through the hole she'd made, her war fan in hand. With a single swing, she created a tornado that sent Tiger King skidding backward, flames roaring to counter the wind.
The resulting collision of fire and air created an explosion that shook the entire palace.
A chunk of the ceiling started to fall.
Right toward where Macaque King and Lion King were fighting.
Neither of them noticed.
My body moved before conscious thought.
"Keep it down."
The words came out cold. Authoritative. Laced with power that felt as natural as breathing.
Because it was natural. This was my Karma. My authority. My empire.
The air itself seemed to freeze.
My eyes—fiery gold with crimson irises, each pupil marked by a distinctive golden star—flared with power. The golden bands on my wrists pulsed once, and invisible force rippled outward.
The falling debris stopped mid-air, suspended by my will. The tornado dissipated. The flames extinguished. Every single one of the Seven Generals froze in place, their eyes going wide.
Then, as one, they dropped to their knees and pressed their foreheads to the ground.
"FORGIVE US, LORD WUJI!"
The silence that followed was deafening.
I stared at them, my bare, muscular top rising and falling with steady breaths. The black baggy training pants I wore rustled slightly as I shifted my weight on the throne.
Part of me—the part that remembered being a kind-hearted high school student—wanted to tell them to stand up, that it was fine, that I wasn't angry. The other part—the part that had ruled this floor for decades—expected this obediance. Demanded it, even.
The two impulses warred within me, creating a strange cognitive dissonance.
My face settled into an expression of cool indifference. My posture straightened, radiating authority. But my thoughts were gentler than my demeanor suggested.
They're not scared. Just startled. Good. I don't want them to fear me.
Except part of me did. Part of me remembered that fear equaled respect, and respect equaled loyalty.
No. That's not right. Loyalty built on fear is fragile.
But loyalty built on strength is eternal, another part of me insisted.
These contradictions are going to drive me insane.
"We did not mean to disturb your rest, my lord," Roc King said smoothly, his voice carrying that eloquent tone that made even apologies sound strategic. "We were simply celebrating—"
"The new recruit," Bull Demon King interrupted, her boisterous energy dimmed but not extinguished. "Young Xiao Feng finally passed the trials. We thought a party was in order."
"It got... out of hand," Tiger King admitted, embarrassment creeping into her voice. "Apologies, Lord Wuji."
A new recruit. One of our younger warriors finally proving themselves worthy.
The memory surfaced—Xiao Feng, a tiger demon youth with more determination than talent. He'd failed the trials three times before. Most would have given up. He hadn't.
I respect that. Tenacity matters more than raw talent.
The thought felt like both mine and not-mine at the same time.
"Rise," I said, and my voice carried that expectation of obedience.
They stood as one, movements precise despite the earlier chaos.
Bull Demon King's eyes met mine, and I saw confusion flicker there. Curiosity. She tilted her head slightly, those massive horns catching the light.
"My lord... are you well?"
The question hung in the air.
Her gaze lingered on my face—perhaps noticing something different in the way my golden-star pupils focused on her, or the slight shift in my usual expression.
Am I well? I just woke up with two lifetimes of memories in my head. I'm simultaneously an eighteen-year-old kid and a centuries-old demon warrior. I feel emotions I've never felt before—arrogance so deep it's in my bones, pride that could swallow mountains, ambition that burns like the sun.
And underneath it all, a kindness that feels out of place in this body.
"I am fine," I said calmly. "Continue your celebration. But perhaps with less structural damage."
A pause.
Then Bull Demon King's face split into a grin. "As you command!"
Just like that, the tension broke. The Generals dispersed back to the party—now considerably more subdued—and I was left sitting on the throne.
My throne.
I pressed my fingers to my temples, the golden circlet hovering above my forehead pulsing faintly with my heartbeat. The headache building behind my eyes wasn't helping.
Okay. What exactly happened?
I reached for the memories, and they came flooding back.
------
Lying in bed. Phone in hand. Scrolling through the latest chapter of Ascent of the Obelisk with increasing frustration.
"Are you KIDDING me?!" Shouting at the screen. "Another filler arc?! We JUST got teased with the Triumvirate reveal, and now you're giving me ten chapters of Tower politics?!"
Small room. Posters on walls. Trophies gathering dust. Textbooks ignored.
The usual escape into fiction when stress became too much.
Ascent of the Obelisk. Six months of obsession. Tower-climbing webcomic. Complex magic system. Intricate factions. And Sun Wuji—the Monkey King, Rank #7, ruler of Floor 77's Crimson Cloud Empire.
Set up as incredible force of nature. Arrogant. Powerful. Ability to copy any martial technique. Should have been conquering the Tower.
But then he just... stopped.
Withdrew from climbing after witnessing mysterious "Truth" on Floor 70. Decades of laziness. Seven Demon Generals running everything while he napped.
"WASTED POTENTIAL!" The neighbor's cat had been startled outside the window. "You create this amazing character and then bench him for PLOT REASONS?!"
Typing an angry comment. Something about authors not knowing how to write motivated protagonists.
Then the phone screen glitched.
Sickly green light. Then gold. Then blinding white.
"What the—"
Light exploding outward. Engulfing the room. Weightless. Falling or rising—impossible to tell. Space and time blurring. Laughter echoing—deep, mischievous, entirely too amused.
Then... impact.
Not physical. Something deeper. Like two rivers converging into one.
Memories flooding in. Not replacing. Merging.
Every moment of Sun Wuji's existence layering over every moment of my own. The fights. The victories. The loneliness of being too strong for anyone to challenge. The boredom. The disillusionment.
And my memories flowing the other way. Modern Earth. Technology. Stories. Basketball. Loss. Hope.
Two souls becoming one.
The last thing I remembered before waking was a sensation of completeness. Like finding a missing piece I hadn't known was gone.
-----
I leaned back against the throne, processing.
I didn't possess Sun Wuji. I didn't reincarnate into his body. We... merged. Fused. Became something new.
The arrogance was mine. The pride in my empire, my strength, my generals—all mine.
But so was the compassion. The desire to help others. The instinctive kindness that felt strange paired with such overwhelming confidence.
I am Sun Wuji. The real one. Just... changed. Evolved. Like I was sleeping for thirty-seven years and finally woke up with clarity I'd never had before.
I stood up from the throne, my muscular frame moving with grace that felt both familiar and new. The golden bands on my wrists clinked softly, and the crown-band floated steadily above my spiky blonde hair as I walked toward the hole Bull Demon King had made in the wall.
The view beyond was breathtaking.
Crimson Cloud Empire stretched out beneath me. Massive city of red-tiled roofs and golden spires. Markets bustling even at this late hour. Street lamps powered by contained Karma casting warm glow. Three zones dividing Floor 77: the Demon Quarter, Neutral Trades District, Contested Borderlands.
Eighty million souls.
My people.
Pride swelled in my chest. Not borrowed. Not foreign. Mine.
But alongside it came something else—responsibility. Genuine care for those lives below.
They depend on me. They've been waiting for me to wake up. To lead them again.
"My lord."
I turned to find Roc King approaching, elegant suit pristine despite earlier chaos. Sharp, calculating eyes studying me with intensity—particularly focusing on my eyes, as if trying to read something in those golden-star pupils.
"Yes, Roc King?"
"Forgive my boldness, but... you seem different tonight."
I kept my expression neutral even as my heart rate increased. "Different how?"
"More... engaged." A smile suggesting he was three steps ahead. "For thirty-seven years, you have been content to let us handle the empire's affairs. You attended meetings, made decisions when pressed, but your heart was not in it. Tonight, you actually stopped our brawl. You're standing here, looking at the city with consideration."
He stepped beside me, following my gaze.
"It pleases me to see it, my lord. I had theorized that your long contemplation was merely strategic patience—waiting for the perfect moment. It seems my faith was not misplaced."
He thinks my change is part of some master plan.
And maybe it was. Maybe Sun Wuji had been waiting for something. For the right moment. For the catalyst that would reignite his ambition.
Maybe that catalyst was... me. The merger. The fusion that brought new perspective to old power.
"I see," I said carefully, my fiery golden eyes reflecting the lights of the city below. "And what exactly do you think my 'move' will be?"
His smile widened. "That is for you to reveal when ready. I merely wanted to express—when you decide to climb once more, the Seven Generals will follow you to the highest floor and beyond."
Absolute conviction. Unshakeable loyalty.
These people would die for me.
The thought carried weight it hadn't before. Responsibility. Honor. The burden of leadership.
"Your faith honors me, Roc King," I said, meaning it completely. "But I must ask—if I were to resume climbing, what would you advise as our first step?"
His eyes gleamed with barely contained excitement. "Consolidation. The empire is stable, but not unshakeable. Factions in the Contested Borderlands still resist. Elements in Neutral District profit from division. Before looking upward, we must ensure our foundation is secure."
Smart. Practical.
"And after consolidation?"
"Information gathering. The Tower has changed in decades since you last climbed. New factions risen. Old alliances shifted. We must understand the current landscape before moving against the Triumvirate."
The Triumvirate. The ones preventing anyone from reaching Floor 100.
"You assume that is my goal? To challenge the Triumvirate?"
Roc King looked at me with something approaching reverence. "My lord, you are the Monkey King. You once declared you would see the endless stars and boundless seas beyond the Tower. Such a goal cannot be achieved while those three bar the path forward."
The memory rose unbidden. Young, burning with ambition, declaring to the heavens that I would conquer everything. That I would reach the top and see what lay beyond.
Before Floor 70. Before the Truth that had broken something inside.
What did I see? What truth made me give up?
The memory was there, locked away in the deepest parts of my mind. Protected. Hidden. Like a wound too painful to touch.
Later. I'll deal with that later.
"I have not forgotten my declaration," I said. And it was true. The ambition still burned. Maybe even brighter now with new fuel added to the fire.
"Roc King," I said slowly, the golden star in each pupil seeming to brighten with determination, "begin gathering intelligence on the current state of upper floors. Discreetly. I want to know the movements of the Top 10, the strength of major guilds, any shifts in the Triumvirate's power structure."
His smile could have lit up the entire floor. "It will be done, my lord. Should I inform the others?"
"Not yet. Let them enjoy their celebration. Tomorrow is soon enough to begin work."
He bowed deeply. "As you command."
As he walked away, I heard him humming. Actually humming, pleased as a child given a gift.
What have I started?
I looked back at the city, at the empire I ruled, and felt something settle into place. The golden circlet above my forehead pulsed once, as if acknowledging my resolve.
This was real. This was my life now. Not a dream. Not a possession. Not a story I was reading.
My life.
And I was going to make it count.
Behind me, Bull Demon King's booming laugh rang out as she won some drinking contest. Macaque King was challenging Tiger King to proper duel. Lion King quietly cleaning up mess because someone had to be responsible.
My generals.
My family.
Tomorrow, I'd start planning. Figure out exactly where in the timeline I was. What I remembered from... before. How to navigate this world with my new perspective.
But tonight?
Tonight I'd let myself feel the weight of the crown I'd been ignoring for thirty-seven years.
I raised my hand, watching Karma circulate through my body naturally, golden light tracing patterns along my arms and the bands around my wrists. Effortlessly. Like breathing.
Power beyond measure.
Responsibility beyond counting.
And somewhere deep inside, a dream that had been sleeping for too long.
The endless stars. The boundless seas. Whatever lies beyond Floor 100.
I'm coming.
A small smile tugged at my lips, making my wild blonde hair seem to glow in the ambient light.
"Watch carefully, Triumvirate," I murmured to the night sky, my golden-star eyes burning with renewed purpose. "The Monkey King is waking up."
And this time, I wouldn't stop until I reached the top.