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With a curt wave of his hand, the so-called monkey greeted his apprentice, a thin smile stretching across his lips in amusement towards the obviously denial of Satan’s own feelings.

〝Hey, whitey.〞

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— to a rest atop of his broad shoulder seemed to be enough of an identification piece for any onlooker; Yeoui, the Jaecheondaesong’s ridiculously heavy staff.

As a sign of good will, a pair of clones were spawned by the supreme god, as an effort to end things quickly. —

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— wrapped itself around Jin’s shoulder, ultimately forming the apocryphal robes of the dragon king; solid, fluid, and ever-so-reliable.

Whereas the absence of the silver ring on his forehead was a constant reminder of Mo–Ri transcending his own limits, the pillar that came —

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— remained as decisive, and as graceful as ever.

In naught but the blink of an eye, he found himself mere inches away from the sizable crowd of warriors, only to ram his fist into his own, open palm. The attack, grossly put, was naught but a recoil of his initial punch; —

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◟⠀ ೃ༄ ┈ ❪May the best man win.❫ ┊Closed starter for; , , , and .
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‘ Considerably rejuvenated following his graduation from the preliminaries of the tournament, Jin layed eyes —

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