Wukong was a God-imperium. He was a being of the highest power. He was beyond all things and something entirely his own and few could call themselves his equal.

But he was angry now.

Wukong sat at the Gates of Imperium. In Front of him were the Keepers of Imperium, The Guardians of Eternity, The Ones Who Watched, The Keepers of the Pact.

There was no true government amongst reality but these people, this was as close as it got. They were from the Heavens, they were from the Hells, they were from every corner of existence.

They were keepers, and they were the most important keepers of them all.

They stood in the Palace of Gods. A realm much like Wukong's, but different. It had been built with the help of many Imperiums, even Wukong. It was built to withstand their battles, to stay steady no matter what and yet, it was not a place of war.

No. It was a safehouse for the most important thing in all of existence. It guarded the pact.

"I warn you," said Wukong. "And yet you do not listen."

"We listen," said the Guardian.

He was tall and ancient, a dao angel. He was-- well he wasn't a he, more of an it. But the dao angel did not care.

It was a suit of armour, shiney and gold, silver and dull. It was bright and small, large and dark. It was all things, much like what it guarded.

"We have been warned before, and we still stand now."

The ego, thought Wukong.

The Tome had told him it would be this way. The Guardians, for all their power, took guarding to be a passive thing. The pact didn't ban Imperiums from plotting, or even inciting wars to a certain degree.

The Monkey King sighed.

"Let me meet with him."

"No."

Wukong growled. But the Guardian stood still. One God-Imperium was nothing to him.

No, that was the wrong way to phrase it.

The Guardian was not one person, and it wasn't that Wukong couldn't fight it. It was that he wouldn't.

He had become an Imperium before the Second Pact, but even he would never fight the Guardian. It would break the very foundations of reality.

Well, he would get put down by the Heavens and the Hells, but he could flee.

He smiled at the thought of that.

"At least prepare yourself for the consequences."

"We are always prepared."

"Prove it to me."

"You are not a guardian."

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"Of course I am, we all are."

The Guardian, the thing covered in metal, the Dao angel born of only Imperiums' will, glared.

Wukong smiled and for a moment, that shiney helm reflected his smile absolutely.

"No," the Guardian refused.

The gated behind him shimmered and and opened to reveal--

Sun Wukong.

"See?" Wukong stated. "I am a guardian."

He smiled at himself and for a moment, both became one.

How do you limit an Imperium? How do you control an omnipotent being?

The answer was simple. You can't.

Omnipotence couldn't be limited. It wasn't in its nature. To be all powerful was to be all powerful.

To limit or control that would be to undo that.

Wukong had arisen to the ranks of God-Imperium far before the Guardian had come to be. He was one of the old gods.

But even the old gods had seen the use of the Guardian. They had all banded together at some point, putting a piece of themselves into it.

And those that hadn't, well they were elsewhere, excluded from this reality entirely.

They all eventually returned and did as Wukong had, putting a piece of themselves into the Pact. As for the new gods, they had no choice.

The Keepers of Imperium were called that for a reason, they were the final tribulation. Give a piece of yourself to the Guardian, guarantee peace, or be brought down before you can fly beyond the Dragon's Gates.

All God-Kings who would make it to Imperium would have to face the Guardian at one point or another. There was no other possibilities. The old gods had made it, and all who refused eventually relented. And now someone was trying to break it.

"We will not act," Wukong told himself.

To think of the part of him over there as something separate or unique would be wrong. It was him and he was it.

He had put it there willingly so he could take it back if he needed to. But there was no reason for that.

The new gods had to give up a piece of themselves before transcending to Imperium. They would take a piece of themselves and make it want existence to continue. A piece of them would always want the rest of existence to persist outside of them. They didn't have a choice. When they reached the rank of Imperium, that piece would transcend with them.

And thus, all Imperiums agreed on one thing and that was that the rest of existence should persist.

Some rebelled, some fought back. None lived to tell the tale because not only would the Guardian attack them, all Imperiums would as well.

And with enough will, with enough effort, even a God-Imperium of the ninth step could be suppressed and pushed out of the rest of reality.

And if a God-Imperium was within the pact, then they could be killed, but only as long as the being killing them was also within the pact. But that was another matter.

In a way, every God-Imperium that had ever been killed had died through suicide. The piece of them within the pact, the poison from their very soul.

It was iron, Wukong knew. Some of the old gods left the pact sometimes, but they would come back eventually. It was in a way the only hope.

The only hope of eternal peace, but also the only hope of eternal death. It was the only way a group of omnipotent beings could be trusted to not destroy all of existence on a whim, and it was the only way they could ever kill each other.

The Guardian of Imperium. What a fitting name.

But they were right, and Wukong hadn't expected any other result. He wasn't an idiot.

But he had to try and he wanted to see what the Guardian would say, what that piece of him would do.

It was a part of him, and yet separate.

If he were a mortal, it would be the part of him that admired the beautiful sunset. It would be the man admiring the trees. It would be that feeling of floating joy and wonder a man might have if he were staring down at a city full of people beneath.

"Be wary," he whispered.

And the piece became the whole, and the Guardian nodded.

Echoes intruded in the halls as other Imperiums walked about. Some of them were visitors, like Wukong, but a lot were members of the Keepers. God-Imperiums who followed in the footsteps of the Guardian.

Men, women, beasts, insects, plants, and even Eldritch beings.

They were all here, and regardless of nature, they were united.

"I always am," said the Guardian. "Many have tried and plotted, many have failed. To plot, to hate, to seek my death is not against the pact. The sword may be drawn but until it is swinging for my head, I will not act."

"I know," Wukong breathed. "Just keep your hand on your own blade."

The shiny metal reflected Wukong once more and his reflection smiled.

"I always keep a hand on my blade."

The God-Imperium nodded to himself, to the thing that kept existence alive.

To the highest keeper and the strange union of love and hate that kept existence all in one piece.

Wukong just hoped that it would persist, after all was said and done.

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