He is duly impressed, but yes compliments come later. Murder now.

Macaque punches his way through one of the trapped monsters with a clone, and another with his staff wreathed in light, arcing down like a bright sword.

"Others? You mean the natives or the fucking monsters? I don't--"

He pauses, mid-attack. His shadows pause as well, and then fade away, back into the ground.

And then he's on the ground, his staff vanishing in a puff of inky purple. Unconscious.