The courtyard of K'un Lun was alive with the laughter and chatter of a group of demigods celebrating an event that none of them could have predicted: Harry—no, Haris Lokison, the trickster son of Loki and Artemis—had defeated Shou-Lao the Undying. To say the group was in awe would've been an understatement, but Harry, ever the self-proclaimed master of theatrics, was making sure no one forgot the accomplishment anytime soon.
"Behold!" Harry declared, standing atop a boulder like he was a Shakespearean actor addressing a crowd of mortals. "Your hero, your savior, your dragon-slaying, fire-breathing demigod extraordinaire: Haris Lokison, also known as... Harryzilla!" With that, he puffed out his chest, and a jet of flame burst from his lips, arcing into the night sky and illuminating the courtyard like a mini fireworks display.
"Harry, sit down before you burn the whole place down," Annabeth Chase said, her arms crossed and her gray eyes exuding the sort of exasperation only a daughter of Athena could muster. She was perched on a log near the bonfire, her posture betraying the fact that she was more impressed than annoyed. Still, she wasn't about to let him off the hook. "You realize K'un Lun probably has fire codes, right?"
Harry turned to her with a grin that practically screamed mischief incoming. "Fire codes, you say? Well, Annabeth, I'm not sure those apply to me. I mean, technically, I'm a god-in-training. Rules are more like… suggestions."
"Suggestions you still manage to break," Hermione Granger chimed in from beside Annabeth. Her accent was sharp and precise, her tone dripping with the no-nonsense attitude of someone who had spent far too much time reigning in Harry's antics. "Honestly, Harry, do you even understand the concept of restraint? Or are you planning on setting K'un Lun on fire so we can all add 'evicted from a mystical city' to our resumes?"
"Restraint?" Harry repeated, looking genuinely confused. "I've never heard of her."
"You're impossible," Hermione muttered, though her lips twitched into a smile despite herself.
"Impossible is my middle name," Harry shot back, now breathing a small flame to toast the marshmallow on Connor Stoll's stick. Connor, ever the opportunist, yanked the marshmallow back before it could catch fire completely.
"Nice aim, Harryzilla," Connor said, popping the marshmallow into his mouth. "But let's not forget who the real MVPs are here." He gestured to himself and his twin brother, Travis, who were currently trying to teach Aether, Harry's overexcited nimbus cloud, how to fetch sticks.
"Yeah, we're the ones keeping this hyperactive puffball from knocking over the fire pit," Travis added, ducking as Aether zipped past his head with an enthusiastic whoosh. "Harry, do clouds have brains? Because I think yours might be broken."
"Hey!" Harry protested, patting Aether affectionately as it swirled around him like a loyal puppy. "He's not broken. He's just... spirited. Aren't you, boy?" Aether puffed up in response, emitting a sound that could only be described as the atmospheric equivalent of a bark.
"That thing is going to kill us all," Luke Castellan muttered from his spot near the bonfire. His smirk, however, suggested he wouldn't have it any other way. "But hey, at least we'll go out in style."
"Speaking of style," Silena Beauregard interjected, her brown eyes sparkling as she leaned toward Harry, "what's the deal with the fire-breathing thing? Is that, like, a permanent upgrade, or are you just showing off?"
"Both," Harry replied, flashing her a grin that could've melted butter. "Defeating mystical dragons has its perks, you know. Speaking of which, does anyone else want a perfectly toasted marshmallow? Because I am the guy for the job."
"Do me next!" Clarisse La Rue barked, holding out her stick with a determined look. "And don't skimp on the flames. I like my marshmallows burnt to a crisp."
Harry gave her an exaggerated bow. "As you wish, O mighty daughter of Ares." A quick burst of flame later, Clarisse's marshmallow was charcoal-black and smoking. She bit into it with a satisfied grunt. "Perfect," she said through a mouthful of marshmallow. "You're not completely useless after all, Loki Jr."
"Gee, thanks, Clarisse," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Your faith in me is truly inspiring."
Meanwhile, Thalia Grace was sitting cross-legged on a nearby log, her arms resting on her knees as she watched the chaos unfold. "You know," she said, her voice dry and laced with amusement, "I leave you guys alone for one day—one day—and now Harry's spitting fire and calling himself a kaiju. What's next? Are you gonna wrestle the Kraken?"
"Don't tempt me," Harry replied, his grin widening. "Though I'll probably need a nap first. Fighting dragons is exhausting, in case you didn't know."
"Nap or not, you're still a showoff," Thalia shot back, tossing a marshmallow at his head. Harry caught it effortlessly and roasted it midair with a quick burst of flame before popping it into his mouth.
"Showoff?" Harry repeated, his voice muffled by marshmallow. "Nah. I prefer 'living legend.'"
As the night wore on, the group's laughter echoed through the courtyard. Harry continued to perform increasingly ridiculous fire-breathing trick shots, Travis and Connor eventually gave up trying to train Aether, and even Annabeth managed to crack a smile or two. By the time the fire had burned down to glowing embers, the demigods were sprawled around the courtyard, full of sugar and stories.
"You know," Luke said, leaning back against a boulder, "this might actually be the coolest bonfire I've ever been to. Don't let it go to your head, Harry."
"Too late," Annabeth muttered, though the fondness in her voice was undeniable.
Harry, leaning back against Aether (which had transformed into a surprisingly comfortable cloud-pillow), grinned up at the stars. "Coolest bonfire ever and the most awesome demigod here," he said, letting out a contented sigh. "Yeah, I'll take it."
"Don't push your luck," Thalia warned, chucking another marshmallow at his head.
Harry just laughed, the sound blending with the crackle of the dying fire and the soft, protective whoosh of Aether curling around him.
—
As the night embraced K'un Lun, the atmosphere shifted from the raucous laughter of the bonfire to the quiet anticipation of the dormitory halls. The girls, led by Hermione's unwavering practicality and Annabeth's calming influence, moved toward their assigned quarters. Their dormitory, a beautiful space woven with silken curtains and illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns, felt more like an elegant meditation room than a bedroom. The winding stone paths of K'un Lun whispered promises of both serenity and challenge.
"I still can't believe Harry called himself 'Harryzilla' all night," Hermione muttered as she pulled a notebook from her bag, her fingers already scribbling a timeline for the upcoming week. "He's a walking disaster waiting to happen. Honestly, I'm amazed he didn't trip over his own ego."
Annabeth, who was already perched on a stack of pillows, raised an eyebrow. "Sure, but let's give credit where credit is due. That transformation—however absurd—was impressive. I don't think Shou-Lao was expecting a giant fire-breathing lizard."
"True," Thalia interjected, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders, her eyes flashing with her usual spark. "But let's not start inflating his ego. He's already unbearable as it is. I'm just waiting for the next 'look at me, I'm a walking disaster' stunt."
"Ugh, don't remind me," Clarisse grumbled from the corner where she was sharpening her knife. "One day, he's gonna blow something up just to prove a point. And I'm gonna have to help him clean up his mess."
Silena, lying back with a dreamy smile, chimed in, "Maybe he's just... chaotic. In a weirdly cute, reckless way."
Clarisse snorted loudly. "Cute? That guy is a walking catastrophe. If he wasn't so talented, I'd swear he was trying to give me an aneurysm just by existing."
Brunhilde leaned back against her bed, arms crossed with the ease of a battle-hardened warrior. A small smile tugged at her lips. "Look, I don't like the chaos either, but let's be real—he's got guts. And for all his antics, the kid does respect the weight of what he's carrying."
Annabeth nodded thoughtfully, her voice taking on a rare seriousness. "Exactly. We've all seen the burdens he carries. The fact he hasn't completely cracked yet says something. Still, I'm not sure any of us are ready for whatever's coming next."
Across the hall, the boys' quarters were decidedly more chaotic, but in a familiar way. Harry had collapsed on his bed with Aether, the sentient cloud-like pillow, which was content to wrap itself around his head. His companions were a mix of amused and mildly concerned, particularly Travis and Connor Stoll, who were busy trying to concoct some elaborate prank with enchanted marbles. Luke, always the brooding type, leaned against the wall, scrolling through an ancient scroll from the K'un Lun archives.
"Can't believe you actually pulled off 'Harryzilla,'" Travis whispered to Harry, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "I bet Shou-Lao's gonna have nightmares about that for the next century."
"I mean, honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if the guy tries to move out of K'un Lun just to avoid seeing you in the halls," Luke said, not even glancing up from his scroll. "You're a walking disaster, kid. If you weren't so useful, we'd probably all be in trouble."
Harry groaned, lifting his head from Aether. "Hey! I got skills. If you didn't think of turning into a giant fire-breathing lizard, that's your problem."
Connor snickered, nudging Travis. "Hey, I'm just impressed he didn't burn himself alive. The kid's a ticking time bomb, but he's got... potential."
Beckendorf, who had been standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, shot them a wry look. "Sure, potential. Just don't destroy the temple, okay? Big day tomorrow, and I'm not spending the next week cleaning up your mess."
"Relax, Beck," Harry said, sinking back into his pillow. "I'm just here to save the day. You all know that by now."
As the laughter and banter slowly died down, the room grew quieter. The torchlight flickered low, and Harry closed his eyes, sinking into the soft embrace of sleep. Soon, the world around him blurred, turning into that familiar shifting darkness—the dreamscape where anything was possible.
—
Harry's dreamscape was exactly what you'd expect from someone with his... unique parentage. Golden clouds? Check. Rivers of literal liquid sunlight? Sure. Towering mountains that seemed to stretch into infinity? Why not? The whole scene screamed overachieving cosmic legacy, and Harry was more than ready to sleep through it all—until, of course, a certain troublemaker showed up.
"Kid!" boomed a voice that somehow managed to be both thunderous and ridiculously cheerful. Sun Wukong, the Monkey King himself, was lounging on his iconic staff, the Ruyi Jingu Bang, as if it were a hammock. He grinned at Harry, sharp teeth glinting like he'd just pulled off the greatest prank in history. (Which, knowing Wukong, was entirely possible.)
Harry sighed, already regretting his subconscious choice to summon Wukong here. "What now, Monkey King?" he asked, crossing his arms. His dream-self was dressed in his celestial armor—an Asgardian-Olympian hybrid that screamed "try messing with me."
"What now?" Wukong echoed, flipping off his staff and landing with a flourish. "Kid, I watched you go full kaiju on Shou-Lao. A giant dragon-punching version of yourself? Genius. Inspired. Almost as brilliant as something I would do."
"Flattery," Harry said, smirking, "isn't going to stop me from asking why you're really here."
Wukong wagged a finger. "Oh, you're sharp today. I like it! But here's the deal: You've passed all the tests I threw at you—Seventy-Two Transformations? Nailed it. Natural shapeshifting? Aced that too. But there's one thing you haven't done yet."
Harry's smirk faltered. "And that is?"
"Beat me in a fight," Wukong said, his grin stretching even wider.
There was a moment of silence, the kind where you could practically hear the record scratch in Harry's brain. "Wait," Harry said, blinking. "You're saying I have to fight you. The guy who took on the entire Celestial Army. That Wukong?"
"That's the one!" Wukong said cheerfully, leaning on his staff like it was a walking stick.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "And here I thought my life couldn't get any weirder."
"Life's not weird; it's just... creatively chaotic," Wukong said, shrugging. "Anyway, I'm giving you a week to prepare. Seven days. We're talking non-stop training—Hell Week, Monkey King style."
Harry groaned. "Hell Week? Isn't that what mortals use to describe Navy SEAL training? Are we doing underwater drills or something?"
Wukong tilted his head thoughtfully. "Hmm, underwater drills... good idea. I'll add that to the list. But don't worry, kid. By the time we're done, you'll either be ready to take my mantle—or too exhausted to care."
"Gee, thanks," Harry muttered.
Wukong slapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over. "Look, kid, I like you. You've got potential. Mischief in your blood, a trickster's grin, and enough power to back it up. But if you want to be the next Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, you've gotta earn it."
The dreamscape around them began to shimmer, signaling the end of their meeting. As Wukong's laughter echoed, Harry muttered, "Why do I always get stuck with the crazy teachers?"
Wukong's voice rang out one last time. "Because chaos likes company, kid!"
And just like that, Harry was plunged into deeper sleep, his mind already dreading the insanity that awaited him in the coming week.
—
Day one of Hell Week began the way most catastrophes do: with Haris Lokison—godling, mischief-maker, and reluctant hero—wondering why his life always felt like a bad sitcom.
"Rise and shine, kid!" Sun Wukong's voice shattered the peace of the dreamscape, reverberating like someone had turned up the gong volume to maximum chaos. The Monkey King perched casually on a cloud, grinning like a kid with a slingshot aimed at an unsuspecting bird. "You think the future Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, gets to hit snooze? Get moving!"
Haris groaned, rolling over onto the golden, fluffy clouds that made up the floor of his dreamscape. As far as training arenas went, this one wasn't bad, but that didn't mean he wanted to be here. "Wukong, it's not even dawn—dream dawn, whatever this is. Can't we pretend my celestial alarm clock broke?"
Wukong leapt down, landing with a flourish and spinning his staff like it was a baton at a pep rally. He looked every inch the trickster king: wild hair, eyes glinting with mischief, and a grin that suggested pain—Haris' pain—was on the menu. "Oh no, no, no. You've got divine blood, kid. You don't get dawns off. Now up! Or do I have to poke you awake like last time?"
Haris shuddered at the memory. Last time involved Wukong's staff, enchanted bees, and a lot of screaming. He shot up, his celestial armor clicking into place like it had a mind of its own. The armor—sleek, silver, and glowing faintly with lunar runes—fit perfectly, but Haris' expression screamed reluctant warrior.
"Alright, what fresh chaos have you planned for me today?" Haris asked, cracking his neck and trying to look like he wasn't plotting ways to slip laxatives into Wukong's tea later.
Wukong's grin widened to dangerous levels. "Today's agenda? Sparring! No breaks, no mercy, and absolutely no whining."
Haris raised a hand like a kid in class. "Define 'no breaks.'"
The Monkey King twirled his staff before slamming it into the cloud floor, which, naturally, rippled like a waterbed. "Until you pass out or beg for mercy. Whichever comes first."
Haris narrowed his eyes. "Pass out or beg for mercy? That's it? No post-sparring banana feast? No pep talks about my limitless potential? You're slacking, Monkey King."
Wukong cackled, the sound so infectious even Haris fought back a grin. "Kid, the first rule of training with me is that mercy is for mortals. And banana feasts are earned, not given. Now stop stalling. Let's see if you've got enough of your old man's tricks to keep up with me today."
"And if I don't?" Haris said, raising an eyebrow.
"Then I'll carve a 'Property of Sun Wukong' tattoo into your forehead. In Mandarin, obviously. Maybe add some sparkles for flair."
—
The first round started with weapons, which, in hindsight, might've been a mistake. Or brilliant. Harry wasn't sure which yet.
He summoned a spear—a sleek, deadly thing of Asgardian design. It gleamed with intricate runes, radiating power and the faint hum of barely contained mischief.
Opposite him, Wukong lounged on a boulder, picking at his nails. The Monkey King had the kind of smirk that promised trouble—the fun kind for him, the frustrating kind for you.
"Ready to embarrass yourself, kid?" Wukong said, twirling the Ruyi Jingu Bang like a baton.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're aware I'm part Olympian, part Asgardian, right? Or did you hit your head one too many times on the Jade Emperor's furniture?"
Wukong grinned, standing up lazily. "And yet, I'm still prettier." He tapped the staff against the ground, and it expanded. And expanded. Until it was a towering pillar that scraped the heavens.
Harry barely managed to leap out of the way as it slammed into the ground, leaving a crater big enough to fit a bus. "Seriously? We're skipping the 'let's get to know each other' phase and going straight to murder?"
Wukong laughed, a wild, carefree sound. "Where's the fun in small talk? Besides, if you can't handle this, you've got no business being my student."
Harry narrowed his eyes and retaliated, spinning his spear like a cyclone before launching a crackling bolt of lightning straight at Wukong. The Monkey King didn't even flinch. He caught the lightning. Caught it. With his bare hands.
"Nice shot!" Wukong called, tossing the bolt back like a casual game of hot potato. "Too bad it's mine now!"
Harry yelped, barely managing to twist out of the way as the lightning singed his cloak. "Oh, sure. Because that's totally fair."
Wukong cackled, flipping onto the staff-turned-pillar and lounging like it was a sunbed. "Fair? What part of immortal Monkey God screams fair to you?"
"You're insufferable," Harry muttered, launching himself into the air.
Wukong grinned wider. "And you're slow!" He suddenly multiplied—five, no, ten Wukongs appeared, each armed with their own version of Ruyi Jingu Bang. "Let's see how well you do against a little monkey magic!"
Harry groaned. "Great. Clones. Just what I needed."
The Wukongs attacked in unison, their staffs whipping through the air with impossible speed. Harry blocked one strike with his spear, dodged another, and barely avoided a third by shapeshifting into a sleek black panther.
"You can turn into a cat? Cute," one Wukong taunted, swinging his staff at Harry's feline head.
Harry shifted back mid-air, landing on his feet and slashing with the spear's blade. "I'll show you cute when I shove this spear where the sun doesn't shine."
Another Wukong appeared behind him, clapping. "Oooh, scary. But you've gotta work on your insults, kid. Loki must be so disappointed."
"Keep talking," Harry growled. "I'm just getting warmed up."
Wukong laughed again, flipping effortlessly over Harry's next strike. "Warmed up? Kid, I've fought dragons, demons, and the entire celestial army. You're, what, a part-time trickster with mommy issues?"
Harry bristled. "You did not just bring my mom into this."
"Oh, I did," Wukong said, smirking. "What are you gonna do about it?"
Harry's eyes narrowed, his grip on the spear tightening. The air around him crackled as he summoned a surge of power—thunder, shadow, and moonlight merging into a swirling storm.
Wukong's grin faltered, just a little. "Alright, now we're talking."
The next exchange was chaos. Harry's spear became a blur, striking with the force of a tidal wave. Wukong countered with ease, his staff shifting size and shape to block every blow. They moved faster than mortal eyes could follow, a whirlwind of divine power and trickery.
"Not bad," Wukong said, sidestepping a particularly nasty strike. "But you're too predictable. I could dodge you in my sleep!"
Harry smirked, feinting left before sending a burst of shadow magic right at Wukong's face. "Predict this!"
The Monkey King vanished in a puff of smoke, reappearing behind Harry. "Nice try! But you're a century too young to catch me off guard."
Harry spun around, panting. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"Not when I'm winning," Wukong said cheerfully, tossing a banana peel at Harry's feet.
Harry slipped—of course he slipped. As he scrambled back to his feet, Wukong burst out laughing, clutching his sides. "Oh, man, that never gets old."
Harry glared. "You are the worst mentor ever."
Wukong shrugged, still grinning. "And yet, you're learning. See? Fun and educational!"
Harry couldn't help it—he laughed. Exhausted, frustrated, and more than a little bruised, but laughing all the same. "You're insane, you know that?"
Wukong winked. "Kid, I'm the Monkey King. Insanity's kind of my thing."
—
The air felt charged, like the moment before lightning strikes, as Wukong crouched, his grin wide enough to split the heavens. "Alright, shiny stick boy," he called, cracking his knuckles so loudly that Harry winced. "Time to see if you've been paying attention in class."
Harry, gripping his spear—a weapon forged from who-knows-what kind of cosmic nonsense—lowered it slightly. "You're serious? A fistfight?" His voice was tinged with the disbelief of someone who had just been challenged to an arm-wrestling match by a literal god.
"Dead serious," Wukong replied, bouncing on the balls of his feet like an overexcited squirrel on a caffeine high. "Show me Cyttorak's strength, Sabretooth's ferocity, and Shou-Lao's fire. Impress me, kid, or I'm telling Artemis you've been slacking."
Harry groaned. "I feel like this is less about training and more about you wanting to punch me."
Wukong shrugged, unrepentant. "Why not both?" Before Harry could blink, Wukong launched himself forward, a golden blur of speed, his fists a flurry of strikes that could've turned Mount Olympus into rubble.
Harry's body moved instinctively, dodging and weaving with feline grace—Sabretooth's heightened reflexes kicking in. "Whoa! Hold on, I wasn't ready!"
"Your enemies won't wait for you to finish your tea and crumpets!" Wukong quipped, his voice brimming with amusement. "Focus, kid!"
Harry ducked under a punch that felt like it could've rearranged his skeletal structure and countered with a swipe of his spear. The tip crackled with latent magic, but Wukong flipped over it effortlessly, landing behind him like some divine gymnast who didn't believe in physics.
"Not bad," Wukong said, spinning on his heel with a flourish. "You've got reflexes. But can you handle this?" He clapped his hands together, and suddenly there were dozens of him. No, scratch that—hundreds. Each one grinned at Harry, brandishing fists that could probably shatter moons for fun.
"Oh, come on!" Harry groaned, spinning his spear as he backed up. "Clones? Really? What's next, a karaoke battle?"
"Don't tempt me!" every single Wukong said in unison, their voices bouncing off each other like an obnoxiously harmonious chorus. One of them even pulled out a banana and began peeling it leisurely.
Harry rolled his eyes. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be a legendary warrior, you're remarkably annoying."
"It's called flair, kid. Look it up." The clones all charged at once, a wave of monkey-shaped chaos.
Harry planted his feet, inhaling sharply as he called on Cyttorak's strength. His muscles tightened, glowing faintly with a reddish hue as raw power coursed through him. The first Wukong to reach him got an uppercut to the jaw so hard it disappeared in a puff of golden mist. The second clone lunged, but Harry spun his spear in a tight arc, sweeping its legs out from under it before slamming it into the dirt.
"Nice moves!" Wukong's voice rang out from somewhere in the swarm. "But don't forget to mix it up. Show me some fire, sparkles!"
"Sparkles? Really?" Harry growled, but he did as instructed. He slammed his spear into the ground, and flames erupted around him in a circle of dragon-shaped fury, courtesy of Shou-Lao's blessing. The flames roared outward, engulfing the clones in a wave of heat that left the ground smoking.
For a moment, there was silence. Harry stood in the middle of the scorched earth, panting slightly, his spear still glowing with residual energy.
Then, Wukong's voice piped up from somewhere behind him. "Okay, that was cool."
Harry spun around, glaring. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"Nope," Wukong said, perched on a nearby boulder, completely unharmed and munching on the banana from earlier. "And if you think this is over, you've got another thing coming."
Harry groaned again, wiping sweat off his brow. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Of course I am!" Wukong grinned, tossing the banana peel aside and hopping down from the rock. "What's the point of training if you don't have fun? Now, come on, sparkle boy. Let's see if you've got any thunder in you!"
Harry couldn't help but grin, despite himself. "You asked for it." He twirled his
—
After hours of sparring that felt more like an eternal loop of punches, kicks, and body slams than actual training, Wukong finally called for a break. This, of course, didn't mean "rest." No, when you're Sun Wukong, "break" means you're about to be hit with something else entirely.
"Alright, kid," Wukong said with an exaggerated sigh, as he plucked a peach from thin air. He took a big bite and grinned, eyes gleaming mischievously. "You've got shapeshifting, and the Seventy-Two Transformations. Now let's see how creative you can get with them. Let's shake things up a bit!"
Harry, dripping sweat and rubbing his sore jaw, wasn't exactly thrilled at the prospect of more "training." "Creative how?" he asked, trying to hide the exhaustion in his voice.
Wukong waved his hand like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Think outside the box! Anyone can turn into a tiger or a dragon. I wanna see something that'll make me question reality itself. Something ridiculous."
Harry just stared at him for a second. The trickster god, though, was already munching on his peach like it was the world's best snack, completely unbothered by the amount of energy he was expelling. Typical. The guy probably had the energy of a toddler after too much sugar.
"Well, here goes nothing," Harry muttered, mostly to himself, as he focused on shifting.
First up, a thunderbird—his wings crackling with lightning. It was flashy, dynamic, and frankly, kind of cool. He spread his wings wide, ready for a dramatic entrance.
Wukong stared at him with a raised eyebrow, as if Harry had just announced he was going to show him how to tie a shoe. "Boring," Wukong declared, chewing with exaggerated slowness, like he was trying to drag this out just to be annoying. "You can do better than that."
"Right," Harry said dryly. He snapped his fingers and changed, this time into a nine-headed hydra. Each head spewed a different element: fire, water, ice, wind, earth, lightning... the whole deal.
Wukong sighed dramatically, looking at his wrist as though checking the time. "Seen it," he muttered. "Come on, I asked for ridiculous, not the standard buffet of mythical creatures."
Harry, though, was starting to get frustrated. He closed his eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and thought. Okay, ridiculous, ridiculous... think out of the box, like Wukong said.
When he opened his eyes again, he transformed once more, and Wukong burst into a fit of laughter so hard that he nearly choked on his peach.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"You turned into a banana?!" Wukong wheezed, clutching his sides. His laughter was so loud that it echoed across the mountains, and Harry's transformation wobbled as the banana peel slipped out from under him.
"Hey," Harry said, smirking, as he tried to keep his balance, wobbling awkwardly. "You said ridiculous."
Wukong wiped a tear from his eye, trying to catch his breath. "Touché," he managed, still chuckling. "Alright, alright, you got me there. That was... something. But I wanna see you push it even further. Don't hold back! Get wild! Think like you're a real trickster, like me!"
"Oh, I will," Harry muttered with a grin, already picturing the next form. "This banana's just the start."
Wukong was right. In the game of shapes, Harry was just warming up, and he could already feel that mischievous, chaotic magic running through him, waiting to be unleashed. Maybe this wasn't just about the powers. Maybe, just maybe, it was about having fun while making the gods themselves double over in laughter.
And when you're half Loki, that was pretty much the point.
—
By the fifth day, Harry had developed a very complicated relationship with the dreamscape Wukong controlled. On one hand, the ability to conjure anything sounded amazing. On the other, it was slowly becoming his personal hell. Today's torture? An endless ocean.
"Underwater combat!" Wukong declared, his voice somehow louder than the waves. He didn't wait for a reply—just leaped into the water, cannonball-style, because of course he did.
Harry groaned. "Underwater combat? Seriously? Can't we try above the water for once?"
Wukong's head popped out of the waves, his grin as wide as the horizon. "You're half-Asgardian, half-Olympian, and part fish-boy thanks to Poseidon. Don't be lazy!"
"First of all," Harry muttered as he waded in, "it's demigod, not fish-boy. Second, I hate you right now."
As soon as Harry dove in, his powers kicked in like clockwork. He could breathe effortlessly, his lungs adapting to the water, and his movements became as fluid as the ocean itself. But none of that prepared him for what was waiting below.
Wukong stood on the seafloor as though gravity had decided to cut him a deal. His golden staff spun lazily in one hand, utterly unaffected by the water's resistance. "Took you long enough!" he called, his voice perfectly clear despite, you know, physics.
"Can't you at least pretend the laws of nature apply to you?" Harry asked, swimming closer.
Wukong gave him a mock-thoughtful look. "Nah. Now, show me what you've got!"
Before Harry could blink, the Monkey King was on him, moving with the speed of a torpedo. Harry barely managed to dodge as the staff swung past him, creating a shockwave that sent sand spiraling into the water like a tornado.
"Fast reflexes! Good!" Wukong called, now circling him like a shark. "But reflexes alone won't save you!"
Harry didn't respond—he was too busy summoning his powers. Cyttorak's gift surged through him, giving his limbs the strength of a thousand warriors. He planted himself firmly and swung his fist, aiming to catch Wukong mid-dash.
Wukong, being Wukong, dodged effortlessly, his movements so fluid it was like he'd merged with the ocean itself. "Strong, but predictable!" he teased, tapping Harry on the head with his staff. "Come on, kid, you've got Poseidon's blessing. Use it!"
Harry gritted his teeth. Fine. If Wukong wanted divine theatrics, he'd give him some. Concentrating, he summoned Shou-Lao's fire—a tricky feat underwater. Steam erupted around him as tendrils of fire snaked out, creating a series of controlled explosions that momentarily blinded Wukong.
"Not bad!" Wukong said, spinning away from the chaos. "Using steam for cover? I like it! But…" He appeared behind Harry, grinning like a madman. "You'll have to do better than that!"
Before Harry could react, Wukong's tail wrapped around his ankle and yanked him backward. "Rule number one of underwater combat," Wukong said, flipping Harry upside down with alarming ease, "the ocean doesn't forgive hesitation. Neither do I!"
Harry growled, tapping into Poseidon's dominion over the sea. The water around him shifted, forming a swirling vortex. Wukong let go with a laugh as Harry propelled himself forward like a living torpedo, aiming straight for the Monkey King.
"Now we're talking!" Wukong cheered, spinning his staff to block the incoming attack. The two clashed, shockwaves rippling through the ocean as water displaced around them.
But Wukong wasn't done. He somersaulted away, balancing on an underwater rock. "You're getting better, kid! But you're still holding back. Let loose! You're Loki's son, for crying out loud. Be unpredictable!"
Harry smirked, his mind racing. Unpredictable, huh? Fine. He raised his hands, commanding the water to swirl faster, then stopped abruptly, letting it settle into eerie stillness.
Wukong blinked, his staff lowering slightly. "Huh. What are you—?"
Without warning, Harry shapeshifted into a massive, glowing jellyfish, each tendril crackling with electricity. He surged forward, sending bolts of lightning cascading through the water.
Wukong yelped, narrowly dodging the attack. "A jellyfish? Really? That's your big move?"
Harry didn't reply. He focused on herding Wukong toward the vortex he'd created earlier, waiting for the right moment. When Wukong finally stepped into the trap, Harry shifted back to his human form and unleashed a surge of lightning directly into the swirling water.
The vortex exploded outward, sending Wukong tumbling. For a moment, there was silence. Then, Wukong surfaced, laughing so hard he nearly choked.
"You did it!" he shouted, slapping the water. "You actually surprised me!"
Harry floated nearby, panting. "You're…impossible to impress."
Wukong grinned, paddling over. "Kid, if you can keep surprising me, you're gonna do just fine in this crazy, god-filled world. Now," he said, holding out his staff, "ready for round two?"
Harry groaned, but a small smile tugged at his lips. As much as he hated to admit it, this was kind of fun.
—
By the seventh day, Harry was bruised, battered, and completely drained. But as he stood across from Wukong, sweat dripping down his face, he couldn't help but grin.
"You survived," Wukong said, nodding approvingly. "Barely, but still. I'll admit, kid—you're tougher than I thought."
Harry chuckled weakly. "Does this mean I get a break?"
Wukong's grin turned mischievous. "Not a chance. Tomorrow, the real test begins."
Harry groaned, flopping onto the golden clouds. "I hate you."
"Love you too, kid," Wukong said with a laugh, walking away.
---
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