Marcus Trent woke up with a start, gasping for air as if he had just surfaced from deep underwater. His eyes shot open, and for a brief moment, he felt disoriented—his surroundings were unfamiliar, the air dense, heavy, like it was charged with some invisible energy. His heartbeat hammered in his chest, and his body felt wrong, like his skin was too tight or too foreign.
He tried to move, but his limbs felt sluggish at first, as if they hadn't quite caught up to his thoughts. But then, there was a subtle shift, a jolt that seemed to travel from his head to his toes. His body was no longer what it used to be. The air felt too thin, or maybe it was just his perception. Something about the weight of gravity was off, too.
Marcus took a deep breath, pushing himself up from the cold concrete beneath him. He scanned his surroundings—a cityscape sprawled out before him, illuminated by the bright glow of neon lights and tall, imposing buildings. It was… beautiful, in a futuristic kind of way. But something didn't sit right. This wasn't his world. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he was certain of it.
The world around him was vibrant, full of sounds and lights, but there was a strange undercurrent of tension in the air. His mind raced, trying to grasp at the fragmented thoughts swirling in his head. The last thing he remembered was being at his apartment, sprawled over a desk, reviewing files for his latest case as a private investigator. He hadn't fallen asleep, so how had he gotten here?
He looked down at his hands. They were… different. Golden. They shimmered in the dim light like polished metal, but they weren't cold. They were warm, alive with some kind of power, and the feeling was growing stronger by the second. As his fingers flexed, he noticed the veins running beneath his skin, glowing faintly with the same strange light.
A low hum filled the air, a resonance that seemed to vibrate in his bones. The sense of power inside him was undeniable now, and the more he focused on it, the more overwhelming it became.
His attention was drawn to his reflection in a nearby window. His face—his features—were the same, but there was something different. His eyes… were they glowing? A golden hue flickered within them, and when he stared harder, he could see the veins beneath his skin pulsing with an unfamiliar energy. The physical changes were subtle, but the raw power that thrummed through him was undeniable.
"What the hell is happening?" he muttered, his voice sounding strange to his own ears, deep and almost reverberating. He ran a hand through his hair and winced as his fingers brushed against his scalp. There was something… heavier about it. The texture of his hair was different, almost as though it were made from something finer, almost ethereal.
And then, as if summoned by his confusion, something appeared.
A staff. Tall, ornate, gleaming in the dim light. It wasn't just any staff. It was massive, too big to be wielded by an ordinary man. It hovered before him, as if waiting to be picked up, calling to him with an undeniable pull. The metal shaft was engraved with intricate designs, ancient symbols that Marcus couldn't understand but instinctively recognized. It felt right, like it belonged to him, like it had always been part of him. His grip tightened around the staff's polished surface, and it was heavier than he expected, solid and unyielding. It felt like an extension of himself.
A thought, no—a memory—flashed into his mind. Sun Wukong. The Monkey King. The legendary figure from ancient myth, the immortal trickster and warrior. The one who had defied gods and fought with the might of the universe at his back. The memory felt so vivid that it was like he had lived it, like it had happened to him.
Marcus blinked rapidly, trying to push away the overwhelming sense of déjà vu. He wasn't sure how or why, but it was clear now—this wasn't just a dream. This wasn't just some delusion. Somehow, he had found himself in a place where he was more than just a man. More than just a detective. He had been transformed. Reborn.
As his mind struggled to make sense of the overwhelming changes, he noticed something else. The city around him was no ordinary place. There were figures in the sky—figures who moved with impossible speed, or hovered, or flickered in and out of existence. They were no mere mortals. The people in this world, if they could even be called that, were like nothing Marcus had ever encountered.
There were legends, stories of heroes and villains, of beings who possessed power beyond imagination. And now, Marcus could feel it coursing through him—the same power. The same potential for greatness and destruction.
But as much as the raw power inside him tempted him to embrace it, something more practical surfaced in his mind. He needed to figure out what had happened.
There was no way he could rush into a world this alien without understanding what had changed inside him—and what dangers lurked in the shadows.
He exhaled slowly, grounding himself. The power was overwhelming, but there was a sense of clarity beneath the chaos. He had always been methodical, always a man of careful planning. His usual instincts, the ones that had kept him alive in dangerous situations, kicked in. He needed to lay low. Find some answers.
For now, he decided, it was best to observe.
Days passed, but Marcus kept to the shadows.
He moved through the unfamiliar city, blending in with the crowds, keeping his head down. It wasn't hard to avoid detection; he wasn't exactly a typical target for attention. People were distracted by their lives, focused on their phones or their business. He was just another stranger in a city of strangers.
But his mind never stopped working. Every day, he tested his abilities, pushing the limits of what he could do. He had strength, no question about that. His body seemed to heal faster than it should, and his senses were sharper, more attuned to the environment around him. He could hear the softest whispers from across the street and feel the slightest tremor of movement in the air. But it wasn't just his senses that were heightened—he could also feel the power within him, the ancient energy that made him feel invincible.
Every so often, he would catch glimpses of figures in the distance, figures who wore costumes and operated outside the law. There were heroes, of course, and villains too, but Marcus remained detached. He wasn't here to engage in their battles. Not yet.
What troubled him most was the strange sense of familiarity he had with the power inside him. Sun Wukong, the Monkey King—he could feel that presence deep within his soul. The myths, the stories, they didn't seem like they came from an ancient past anymore. They felt like memories. Marcus wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse.
For now, his only focus was on survival. He needed to understand the extent of his powers, and he needed to learn more about this world. He wasn't in a hurry to reveal himself, especially not with his abilities still a mystery to him. One wrong move could expose him to whatever forces ruled this place.
There was one thing that was certain: In this world, power ruled. The streets teemed with it, with beings who could bend reality itself, and Marcus was no exception. But that didn't mean he had to play by their rules.
He had learned long ago that true power was about control—control over others, and control over oneself.
And right now, Marcus Trent—Sun Wukong, whatever he was—was exercising the one power he could trust: patience.
For now, he would stay hidden. Watch. Wait. Learn.
When the time was right, he would make his move.