Alcohol inks, cinematic. Golden-furred Sun Wukong hitting lightning bolts from Thor inside a green-and-white striped hotel hallway, fantasy

Lightning bolts whiz past Daji and me through the hallways, narrowly missing our heads. Meanwhile, Sun Wukong spins his staff and actually knocks the silver bolts back so that they boomerang. He looks like he's batting for the Red Sox.

Thor stands at the end of the hall, smirking, a neon lightning bolt in one hand and his magical hammer, Mjollnir, in the other. "You're improving, old man."

"Never play baseball with a macaque god who has seventy-two powers," Sun Wukong answers. "We win every time."

"You're creating a nuisance," I say calmly.

"We're just having some harmless fun." Sun Wukong gives me an innocent look.

Thor's teeth are blindingly white when he smiles. "And anyone else on this floor has learned to wear earplugs.