[VOLUME 15: THE PRIMORDIAL PILGRIMAGE][ARC 2: THE STONE SOVEREIGN]
Wukong was too close.
He smelled of ozone, crushed stone, and wild, untamed summer storms. Crouched just inches from Elara, the Primeval of Chaos tilted his head, his molten-gold, vertically slit eyes examining her with the fascinated curiosity of a predator who had just discovered a new, incredibly delicate toy.
"You're shaking, sweetheart," Wukong murmured, his voice a rich, velvety purr that vibrated right through the soles of her boots. He reached out a hand adorned with faint, glowing tribal tattoos, intending to brush the silver-tipped hair from her cheek. "All that delicious Origin nectar bottled up in such a fragile, little mortal shell. It's a tragedy, really. One wrong move, and you'll just... shatter."
Behind him, the air violently ruptured.
