Let me take you on a magical adventure. The sort of adventure that Christ himself got into in his rascal years. In other words: lots of hijinx, numerous shenanigins, and a powerful lesson to be learned by it all.
It's sort of a zombie/detective story in the post-apocalyptic future, where man must kill other men with enchanted swords to gain their powers. For instance, if I chopped off your head with my magic longsword, the sentient artifact also known as +2 Flaming Mjonicalibur, I would now be able to make love to a woman exactly as you did. Also, I could make excellent bean dip, tie a necktie normally, and do a decent Christopher Walken impression; the exact skills you had in life.
Wandering the devastated plains of an area formerly known as Turtle Crick, our hero, Jimothy Stetsonfunk Jones, turns off his noisy, solar-powered thing to gaze upon the remnants of an delapidated residential home, maybe a half mile away. "Assholes lived there", Jimothy said to Peaceful Face, his hyper-intelligent monkey friend. He noted the Dodge Prius in the driveway, the child's treehouse (now an abandonded sniper tower), and the garden gnomes, now rearranged into positions that inferred the ungnomish act of fellatio.
"We better look for supplies or oil or mutants or something." Peaceful Face agreed. With unspoken commands, the simian drew his pistol and blended into shadow as he approched the assholes' home.
Jimothy held his silver/dragon bone sword above his head, wishing that today he would cut somebody's head off. It's not that Jimothy sought out bloodshed or that he was under some pretense of self-defense in this crazy world. With each kill, he hoped that the victim had learned the one skill Jimothy craved but did not possess: the ability to love. For not even his longtime companion and occasional sex partner monkey could melt the ice in his killer's heart. A good example, he once swerved his space truck to hit a kitten. How terrible is that.
His girlish, weakling thoughts were broken along with the silence when he heard rapid fire shots ringing from the homestead. He began to run. "Peaceful Face wouldn't have recklessly emptied an entire clip like that unless something got the jump on him", his mind racing. Nothing has ever surprised that super-powered monkey. He thought about turning around, but it was too late. Here comes the house. I better enter in style.
The door blasted apart. Jimothy's flying kick was a technique he learned from one of his first kills, Roger Specialkicks. For effect he screamed some vaguely Chinese-sounding words. "I should kill some Chinamen before the next time I do that", Jimothy checklisted, embarrassingly out loud. But when the dust cleared, he could not believe what he saw. Peaceful Face, King of the Monkey Lords, the closest thing he had to a friend on this Earth, pointing his modified .44 directly at him. The surprise though was not this monkey, but the larger monkey, holding the matching modified monkey gun, also pointed at him. It was Harold Dark Monkey: The Awakening, Peaceful Monkey's greatest nemesis.
"What the fuuuuuuuck?!", Jimothy pondered audibly.
"I've been your sidekick and occasional sex partner long enough, sweetcheeks!", Peaceful Face barked. The use of 'sweetcheeks', a term usually reserved for special-time monkey sex, was particularly hurtful to Jimothy, who never talked, or looked at for that matter, the monkey during their sporadic but epic love-making sessions. With one notable exception. Once Jimothy asked Peaceful Face if he was crying. Peaceful Face neither responded nor stopped. He just stared into Jones' sky blue eyes, his own wet monkey eyes illuminated by the flickering light of the hotel television.
Harold Dark Monkey: The Awakening chimed in, "I'm Peaceful Face's new greatest friend!"
Jimothy's cool came back to him. "Doubtful. Dickhead!"
Simultaneously the monkeys opened fire. Jimothy deflected some bullets with his sword as he flipped behind some furniture. As Peaceful Face reloaded, Dark Monkey thoughtfully blasted holes into the back of an old couch. Something flew from behind the couch, sparking and fuming. "Smoke bomb!" Jimothy yelled inappropriately. He really should've let one of them say that. The gas quickly filled the room, obscuring all vision and choking the nostrils. Panic set in and the monkeys laid blind fire down across the entire room. They could hear the effects of their relentless assualt. Glass shattering, wood splintering, those bullet-on-metal ricochet sounds. But not the tell-tale sound of a bullet going into a superhero.
As the smoke cleared, Peaceful Face squinted to see the silhouette of his accomplice. But a second too late he realized that Jimothy stood behind Harold Dark Monkey: The Awakening. With one smooth practiced chop, the former nemesis monkey's head was severed. It arched across the room, spraying diseased monkey blood all over the place. Gross. Like a Jedi, his body faded away, leaving only his jump suit, pistol, and rocket pack, which all hit the ground in a heap. Screaming like a freak, Jimothy's body flared into a bright supernova as he absorbed all the monkey's skills and powers.
Peaceful Face knew that he had one moment, after absorption, where Jimothy would be temporarily disoriented. He needed to make this shot count.
That moment, for Jimothy, would be his happiest and his last. For Harold Dark Monkey: The Awakening had learned, in his traitorous dealings with Peaceful Face, the true power of love. As the Quickening faded, he saw, truly saw, has monkey friend's face for the first time. The shot rang out. His last words, "I love you, Peaceful Face."
Years later, a super-powered mutant biker gang would find two skeletons. One of a man and one of a monkey holding the man in his arms. They would laugh and make humping motions with the skulls and one shit into a rib cage. Though the youngest of the gang, the one who would one day reunite the world through the reestablishment of the postal system, knew in his heart that something profound happened at this spot. He would later make it his retirement home and make love to his robot slaves there every night. He would think fondly of the story that was never told. Until now.