[VOLUME 16: THE FIRES OF GENESIS][ARC 3: THE SHADOWED REFLECTION]
The Mimic-beast, stripped of its stolen golden-bronze glamour, looked like a particularly pathetic, oversized grey slug. It writhed against the obsidian wall of the canyon, screeching in a high-pitched, metallic frequency that set Elara's teeth on edge.
Sun Wukong stepped toward it, his black iron staff resting casually over his broad, bare shoulders. The feral, unhinged grin on his face did not reach his molten-gold eyes.
"I'm actually offended," Wukong drawled, looking down at the shivering mass of grey goo. "I mean, identity theft is one thing. But you didn't even get the hair right. Do you have any idea how much ambient atmospheric humidity it takes to get this kind of volume in a magical wasteland?"
The Mimic hissed, trying to reform a face—a bizarre, melting amalgamation of Li's nose and Aldren's jawline.
