The elder looked at Sun Wukong, his gaze devoid of sadness or joy, emotion or desire.
"Not dead yet."
Sun Wukong grasped the Jingu Bang tightly: "No, you are not like them."
The elder had chains on his feet, an immortal, but unlike other immortals, he did not carry the aura of death.
Sun Wukong could not sense any aura from him.
"Who are you?"
Sun Wukong asked.
The elder did not reply, but instead looked at the black mist filling the sky.
"Such filth should be purified."
He extended his hand.
His palm was empty, holding nothing.
But Sun Wukong noticed that suddenly, the world became eerily silent.
The sounds of the black mist burning, of space twisting, suddenly stopped.
All within space was frozen.
"What kind of spell is this?"
Sun Wukong was startled; he hadn't felt any fluctuations of a spell, and he had no idea what the elder was intending!
