Kim Possible Porn Story: A Long Life Chapter 20

AN: I only own Thomas, Elizabeth, John Walker, and Henry. The rest are owned by Disney.
Check my profile. I updated it with a glimpse of the future.
Thanks for the kind reviews.

“I hate monkeys,” John Walker mutters under his breath, scowling as he watches his assistant, Henry, clean up yet another mess made by the troop of monkeys that now called the tower in Go City home. Considering how useful Monkey Fist has proven to be in the last two weeks, stealing artifacts left and right without getting caught, John had figured there would be no harm in letting the monkeys roam freely. Boy, was I wrong, he thinks to himself, wincing as two monkeys, practicing their kung fu, knocked over a pedestal with a valuable vase on it. He sighs in relief when one of the monkeys catches the vase with it’s tail, and thanks his lucky stars that they were at least house trained. Henry might have quit otherwise.

Although, if he wanted to be honest with himself, he was rather pleased with how things had gone so far. Once Monkey Fist had surrendered, he had become a quite valuable asset. Just on his work in the last two weeks, he had made resurrecting him worth the head-ache. And now that Monkey Fist had proven himself a capable slave, the time had come for the real reason he had woken Monkey Fist.

“Come here Fisk,” John says to Monkey Fist, who was with a small group of monkeys, sparring with them.

Immediately, Fisk bows to his sparring partners, then with a leap and a flip, lands before John, “What would you have me steal now?” he asks, a low growl in the back of his throat. Oh, how he hated this man before him. Were it not for the medallions about his monkey ninjas’ necks, he would teach this man how to show proper respect to a man of Fisk’s stature.

John sees the hate in Fisk’s eyes and gives a low chuckle, “Relax Fisk,” he says, “You’ll like this job. Until now, the things you’ve stolen for me were worthless. Tests of your abilities and loyalties.”

“Worthless?,” Monkey Fist sputters, “Any one of the items I have stolen could buy you any third world nation. With all of them, you could buy half of the countries in the European Union.”

“Exactly,” John says, “As I said. Worthless. What would I do with half the nations of the European Union? Especially when I can have them all with this next item you are to get for me?”

“What would that be?” Monkey Fist asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion

“The Tempus Simia,” John says, watching in amusement as Monkey Fist’s eyes widen in shock.

Scuttling backwards, Monkey Fist shakes his head and says vehemently, “No! Absolutely not! The Tempus Simia is too dangerous. Time Travel has consequences beyond our understanding. Who knows what could happen?.” If he had stopped to think about it, Monkey Fist would actually be hard pressed to say exactly why he was afraid. But at the mention of the Tempus Simia, a cold band of fear had wrapped around his heart. (1)

John laughs at Fisk’s reaction, saying once he’s calmed down, “Oh, I have no intention of actually using the Tempus Simia as it was intended to be used.” Shaking his head, he continues, “No. I have no intention of traveling through time. The Tempus Simia is a powerful artifact. The only artifact that is a successful blend of magical and mystical energies. Outside of Ron Stoppable,” Jon smirks when Fisk gives a low growl at the mention of his arch-foe, “It is the largest source of arcane power. It is that power that I seek.”

“So you can destroy more cities?” Monkey Fist asks, eyes wide. In the weeks he’d been awake, he’d had time to catch up on the news, and what he had seen had chilled him to the bone. Even were his monkeys not being held hostage, he would have had to think twice about crossing John Walker.

“Nah,” John says, “That was just to grab their attention. Divert their focus to more obvious plots”

Stepping into his office, he moves to the fireplace. pressing one of the nobs on the marble mantel, he steps back as a seam appears in the wall above the fireplace, the fake wall sliding open to reveal a massive television screen. Turning on the television, he shows Monkey Fist a digital map of the world. Crisscrossing the map are thousands of red lines, crisscrossing, red dots where the lines cross, the dots getting larger the more lines that are crossed.

Monkey Fist steps closer to the map, eying the red lines, a vague sense of familiarity with the paths nagging the back of his mind. Suddenly, his eyes widen and he turns to look at John. He knew those lines. he’d learned of them during his research into mysticism.

John nods at Monkey Fist’s recognition, “Yes Fisk,” he says, “Those are the planet’s ley lines. Arcane energy flows through this world, forming rivers and lakes of power. Magicians use those lines to fuel their spells. Mystics are filled by the energy, their bodies converting and storing the energy for later use. With the power of the Tempus Simia, I will tap into the largest ‘lake’,” pointing to the largest red dot, situated just off the coast of Ireland, “Which will give me access to all the ley lines and pools. With that power, I will be as a god. None would dare stand against me.”

Monkey Fist listens, looking at the map, tracing the lines, wondering why he hadn’t thought of that before. His thought are interrupted by John gripping his shoulder and saying, “The Tempus Simia was found a few days ago. You will take some of your monkeys and retrieve it for me.”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

The last two weeks had been peaceful at Yamanouchi. No attacks, even Kim’s regular Rogue’s gallery lying low due to Global Justice’s heightened awareness during the John Walker debacle. But there had been no sign of him either.

In that time, under Master Sensei’s tutelage, Ron Stoppable had slowly but surely come to grips with his ordeal, and while he was still plagued by the occasional nightmare, he no longer held himself responsible. But he was still changed. There was a darkness in his eyes that had never been there and his training took on new levels of intensity. When Thomas asks him what’s going on, Ron only responded by saying, “Kim deserves better.”

But the time came when they had to return to Middleton. Kim and Ron were welcomed home by both the Possible and Stoppable clans with a large party. When asked to stay, Thomas and Shego smiled and made polite refusals, neither comfortable in large groups, with Shego’s discomfort increased by the fact that Kim was her arch-foe, or at least, had been. While they had had a truce while at Yamanouchi, neither knew if it was only temporary, or if it would evolve into peace. So, after giving Wade a way to contact them, Thomas and Shego leave the happy reunion, making their way to Thomas’ hotel.

“I suppose I should call Dr. D,” Shego says, sighing, as they enter Thomas’ suite. “Let him know I’m back”

“I also need to call my husband, ” Elizabeth says after taking her coat and shoes off, “I’ll show you where the phone is,” she continues, then leads Shego down a hallway.

Thomas meanwhile, removes his jacket and heads to the liquor cabinet. Pouring himself a glass of rum, he heads to the fireplace. Setting his drink on the table next to one of the plush chairs, he moves to the fireplace itself, and after arranging the wood, he soon has a small blaze going. He then sits down in the chair and grabs his drink, sipping it slowly as he stares into the flames.

A short time later, he feels arms draped across his shoulder. Twisting his neck, he smiles up at Elizabeth and says, “Everything OK?”

Elizabeth kisses the corner of his mouth before moving around the chair to sit across from him, “Yeah papa. Kevin and Eliza are OK.” She smiles sadly and says, “She got a standing ovation at her school play”

Thomas sighs and says, “I’m sorry acushla. I didn’t intend for you to miss your daughter’s play.”

“I know papa,” Elizabeth says, “This is more important anyways.”

“No baby,” Thoma says, shaking his head, “Nothing is more important than family.”

“Well, if we don’t stop John, I doubt I’d have a family to come home to,” Elizabeth points out.

“Good point,” Thomas says, chuckling.

When Shego comes into the room, she grabs a cocktail, then sits down in the third seat, giving a sigh, “The idiot says he’s working on plans to take over the world.”

“He needs a hobby,” Thomas mutters into his drink.

Shego snorts and sips her drink. Setting her drink down, she looks at Thomas and says, “I’d like to hear more of your story.”

Thomas smiles and says, “I thought you might.”

Leaning back, he stares into the fire, “Now, where was I? Ah yes. Toshimiru.”

“Toshimiru was a powerful mystic,” Thomas says, beginning his tale once more, “With meditation and martial arts, he could accomplish things that others only dream about. I once saw him cross a roaring river without a boat or bridge, and not get his feet wet. Another time, I was showing off, and lifted a boulder that was several times my own weight. He lifted the same boulder, without laying a single finger on it.”

“But where he truly excelled was at a style of fighting he called Tai Shing Pek Kwar. I must admit, when I first saw him moving about, I couldn’t help but laugh. He looked so ridiculous, dancing and moving about like some monkey. I was soon to learn to not underestimate something because it looks ridiculous.”

The center of the village had been cleared, and now Toshimiru is in the middle of a large circle of villagers. The villagers watch silently as Toshimiru moves about, running around in a crouch, arms hanging loosely at his sides, strange sounds issuing from his mouth. As he moves, his eyes and head dart around, his hands scrabbling at the air and ground, and at his own body, acting like a monkey picking fruits from tres and bugs from his own body and eating them.

Zipani steps through the crowd to watch. Tilting his head, he looks perplexed and he calls out, “Toshimiru? What in the name of all that is holy are you doing?”

“It is called Tai Shing Pek Kwar Zipani my friend” Toshimiru says in an even voice as he starts leaping about, “It is a style of fighting and meditation”

“Fighting?” Zipani scoffs, “You’re picking at imaginary fruit and bugs. How is that fighting?” he asks

“It is about misdirection” Toshimiru says, “Confuse the enemy, make the enemy think and act the way you want him to act”

“If you say so” Zipani says doubtfully, “Seems to be a waste of energy if you ask me”

Toshimiru smiles and asks, “Do you think you can defeat this style?”

“Yes I do”, Zipani says, to which Toshimiru responds by beckoning Zipani into the circle.

Smirking, Zipani struts into the circle, then bows when Toshimiru does. Immediately after, Toshimiru immediately goes into a crouch. Slapping the ground, he leaps about, screeching like a monkey as he moves around Zipani.

Cocky, Zipani smirks and moves in, thinking it’s going to be a quick fight. Imagine his surprise when Toshimiru leaps straight up into the air and plants his feet into the back of Zipani’s head, knocking Zipani down, then leaping to the other side of the circle, crouching as he watches Zipani get back up.

“That was a good move” Zipani says, brushing dirt off his face and chest, “Think you can show me that later?” He doesn’t wait for Toshimiru to answer, immediately going on the offensive, moving faster than normal eyes can follow, kicks and punches moving in a blur.

Amazingly, Toshimiru dodges and avoids every single superhuman strike. After a few minutes of that, he makes his move, grabbing Zipani’s arm, stopping the strike inches away from his face. Then, using Zipani’s arm for leverage, he literally climbs Zipani’s body, Toshimiru’s own hands moving in blurs as he strikes at several key points.

Leaping away, he stands at the edge of the circle, face blank as Zipani falls forward, body numb where Toshimiru had struck.

It takes a few minutes, but eventually feeling returns and Zipani rises. Looking at Toshimiru, he smiles and says after bowing, “You have really got to teach me that”

Toshimiru bows and says, “Of course. Come with me and we can begin your lessons”

“He led me to the clearing, and before beginning the actual lessons, taught me a few things about the style. Tai Shing Pek Kwar is a style of Kung Fu, and like most other styles of Kung Fu, the first masters studied animals, in this case monkeys, and mimicked their style of movement and fighting. The two styles he had used on me that day were Tall Monkey and Lost Monkey. In the years we spent together, he also taught me the other styles of Tai Shing Pek Kwar, Stone Monkey, Wooden Monkey, Crafty Monkey, and quite possibly the most powerful form, Drunk Monkey.”

“In my time with him, he was not my only Master. Other teachers came to Toshimiru, and some agreed to teach me as well. So I picked up many different styles of fighting, as well as learning of medicine, meditation, and other things that I have found useful over the centuries,” Thomas says, before rising and going to refill his brandy

Shego follows him, getting another cocktail as well. As she makes her drink, she asks, “So you know Tai Shing Pek Kwar? Like Ron?”

“Yes,” Thomas says, heading back to his seat, Shego following moments later, “But, while I could be considered a Master by any mortal standard, when compared to Ron, I’m just a novice of Tai Shing Pek Kwar.”

Shego smiles and says, “Who do you think would win between you and Ron?”

“If we both just used Tai Shing Pek Kwar, he would. Without a doubt,” Thomas says, “Regardless of what style I used though, he’d give me a run for my money. I think only my abilities would enable me to win against him.”

“What about between you and me?” She asks, smirking.

“Me. Your abilities are canceled by my abilities, so it’d be a straight fist fight. And I have a few thousand years on you in that regard.” Thomas says without hesitation, smirking at Shego’s outraged expression, “Some time later, I would like to spar against you. But not here. I would like my damage deposit back.”

“Now, would you like me to tell you more?” he asks.

Shego grumbles, but sits down, muttering for a moment as Thomas continues his tale

“As time passed, I became a familiar fixture in the village, helping out here and there. Doing whatever needed to be done, using my special abilities to accomplish things that the villagers couldn’t by themselves.”

Closing his eyes, he relives the experience as he speaks…

The clang of metal on metal greets Tai Yang as he enters the large hut he’d been told Toshimiru could be found. About 15 years ago, 5 years after being found on the beach, Zipani had taken to calling himself Tai Yang in honor of the new culture he found himself in. Toshimiru had gotten married 12 years ago, a beautiful woman named Li Ming. A year later, she had given birth to their son Jiang. Tai Yang had been named the gan die gan ma(2).

“Someone told me I could find you in here” Tai Yang says, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he enters the building normally used by the village blacksmith. At one end Toshimiru was pounding a hammer on a slab of steel.

“I didn’t know you were a blacksmith” he continues, stepping around the blacksmith’s shop, looking around.

“I am not” Toshimiru says, “I gained the knowledge to do this through a dream sent by Sun Wukong”

“He’s sending you dreams again?” Tai Yang asks. Despite his question, Tai Yang is not mocking Toshimiru for saying that the Monkey King was sending him dreams. Indeed, Tai Yang had learned to trust the dreams sent to Toshimiru by the God of Chaos. In addition to his other mystic abilities, Toshimiru was known far and wide as a seer of considerable talent, able to see the future in dreams.

“Indeed my old friend” Toshimiru says, dipping the piece of metal into a bucket of water, “He told me that the sword I am to forge will be needed in the future. That the Monkey Master will use it to vanquish the greatest of his foes”

“I thought you were the Monkey Master?” Tai Yang asks, brow furrowed in confusion.

Toshimiru smiles and says, “No Tai Yang, I am merely a disciple of the Monkey King. The Monkey Master will not be born until long after I am dust”

“So what’s so special about the sword?” Tai Yang asks

“It is a unique sword. In the hands of a disciple of Sun Wukong, the weapon will be able to change shape. In the Hands of the Monkey Master, it will surpass anything that even I could do with it.”

“Wow” is all Tai Yang says, impressed.

The rest of the forging is spent in silence as Toshimiru spends the entire afternoon forging the blade, hammering and shaping the sword, every so often adding herbs and lotus flower petals to the glowing steel. At the end, when the final shape is revealed, Toshimiru takes a small blade and cuts his palm open, muttering an incantation as he dribbles his blood over the entire length, the blood hissing as it strikes the blade.

Despite having questions, Tai Yang remains silent until the sword is finished, resting in a new bucket of cold salt water, the last thing required is for the blade to be sharpened and polished.

“May I ask why you put your blood on the blade?” he asks, as he had seen many of Toshimiru’s mystical rituals, and this is the first time he had seen his friend spill his blood as part of the ritual.

“In my dream, Sun Wukong sat down beside me and after showing me how to forge the blade, he told me that a piece of my soul must be added as well. Otherwise any one would be able to pick up the blade and use it. With that piece of my soul added, only a disciple of Sun Wukong can use it’s hidden powers. In any other hand, it is merely an indestructible sword.”

“Anything else he tell you?” Tai Yang asks

“Yes. He told me two things,” Toshimiru says, “He told me that I must go to the islands east of here, find the mountain he holds as sacred, and using the sword, carve a place that will be used as a school by the Guardians of the Lotus Blade”

“Lotus Blade?” Tai Yang asks, then shrugs, “As good a name as any I suppose. What is the second thing he told you?”

“He said that you and I must leave for the Islands by the next full moon”

“What?” Tai Yang asks, looking at Toshimiru in shock, “He mentioned me by name? What about your wife and son? Are they coming as well?”

“Not yet” Toshimiru says, “They will join us later, but for now, only you and I are to go”

“So, three weeks later, Toshimiru and I set sail for the islands his dreams told him of. In time, it became imperative we leave. As the time drew nearer, Toshimiru’s dreams grew steadily worse. Once or Twice I caught him down at the beach, attempting to swim across in his sleep. Our jounrey across the sea was rather uneventful, despite it actually being my first time on a body of water larger than a lake. I must admit, I did not eat much during the three day journey. The only time I tried, I got sick.
For being a wise mystic, Toshimiru seemed to derive too much enjoyment out of my predicament.”

Giving a stretch, Thomas looks at the clock above the mantelpiece and says, “It’s getting late. I think I’ll head to bed.”

Shego groans, and is about to protest, before suddenly yawning. Nodding in agreement, she stretches and rises sinously, “I should be heading back to the lair anyways,”

“I would prefer if you slept here,” Thomas says, looking at Shego, “It’s a long drive back to the lair, as you put it. I’d feel better if you got some rest first.”

Shego nods, too tired to protest, “You’re gonna tell me more tomorrow, right?” she asks.

Thomas laughs softly as he says, “Yes Shego. I will. Now, go to bed before you fall alseep on your feet.”

“Sound like my mother,” Shego mutters as she heads to the room she stayed in last time she slept over.

“Good night papa,” Elizabeth says, giving Thomas a quick peck on the cheek, “Get some rest. Heightened endurance or not, you still need to sleep too.”

“Yes acushla,” Thomas says, smiling at his daughter, watching her walk off. He spends some time staring at the fire once she’s out of sight, giving a sigh as he relives old memories.

“Good night, Keiko,” he murmurs softly, “I’ll tell her of you soon. I promised.” Tossing back the last of his drink, he then heads to bed himself.

There. I’ll do more flashbacks next chapter. As always, read and review. Oh and don’t forget to check my profile for a glimpse of future projects.

!. I figure, even with the reality reboot that occured, that if Ron still didn’t like meat cakes, despite never having had any in the normal time line, then the other participants might have taken something from that experience as well.
2. gan die gan ma is the closest translation I could find to the english concept of godfather. If I’m wrong, let me know, and I’ll fix it.