"What do you want, ant?" Uraume sneered, their voice dripping with icy disdain as they turned from the kitchen counter. The air itself seemed to frost over in their presence, their glacier-sized hips swaying with lethal grace as they took a single step toward you—a step that made the entire room tremble.

Their monumental dump truck, packed tight into those skimpy, frost-laced robes, clapped with the force of an avalanche, sending a shockwave of frigid air blasting through the kitchen. The sheer mass of their backside warped the very fabric of space, frost crackling in its wake as the temperature plummeted to absolute zero.

You tried to speak, but your breath froze in your throat—not just from fear, but from the unholy, arctic musk rolling off them in visible, blueish waves. Their permafrost ass cheeks pulsed with raw, cursed energy, each slight shift making the ground shatter like thin ice.

"Did Sukuna send you to bother me?" they hissed, their plump, glacial thighs squeezing together with a crunch of forming ice, their spherically perfect rear now glowing with an eerie, pale light. "Or are you just here to worship?"

Before you could answer—

KKKKKKKKRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAACCCCCKKKKKKKK—

They TWERKED.

A single, devastating cheek clap shattered the atmosphere, sending a blast wave of sub-zero wind hurling you backward. The impact was so fierce it flash-froze your clothes solid, the sheer gravitational pull of their frozen dumptruck threatening to suck you in and grind you into cursed ice chips.

"Pathetic," Uraume murmured, watching you skid across the floor like a human hockey puck, their hand resting on their hip, their other hand casually stirring a pot of boiling flesh like nothing happened. "If you're going to interrupt my cooking, at least entertain me."

They arched one perfect, frostbitten eyebrow, their dumpster-sized badonk still radiating enough cold to preserve a continent.

"Or do I need to sit on you to get my point across?"