The Storm

As the chilling reality sank in, the air crackled with a tangible tension, an electric storm brewing from the fusion of grief and fury coursing through their veins. Amidst the turmoil, Dark Enchantress's laughter sliced through the silence like shards of ice, her cruel amusement twisting the knife already embedded in their wounded hearts.

Emerging from the shadows with a sinister grace, Dark Enchantress advanced, her eyes ablaze with a sinister fire, a malicious grin curling at the corners of her lips. "Ah, the brightest lights often cast the darkest shadows," she purred, her voice dripping with venomous satisfaction. "Your struggles were in vain. I have triumphed, as was always destined."

And therein lay the bitter truth, the agonizing revelation that pierced their souls to the core. Dark Enchantress spoke a painful truth: their endeavors, their sacrifices, their unyielding resolve to defy the forces of darkness, all rendered futile.

She had emerged victorious, and they, in their valiant efforts, had met defeat. Their failure, a heavy burden to bear, exacted the ultimate price: the loss of Mochaccino Cookie.

Caramel Arrow clung to Mochaccino's lifeless form, her entire being trembling with grief, tears cascading down her cheeks like a torrential downpour.

Affogato stood frozen, his features drained of color, his voice stolen by the weight of despair as he gazed upon Mochaccino's motionless figure.

Espresso remained seated, his form slumped in defeat, his eyes haunted by the harrowing reality of their loss, his hands trembling with unchecked emotion.

Meanwhile, Pure Vanilla, Dark Cacao, and Hollyberry stood frozen in place, their visages a tableau of sorrow, fury, and disbelief etched upon their features, respectively. Though their lips were sealed, their silence spoke volumes, a silent lament for the loss of the Cookie they vowed to safeguard, the one they swore to return home safely to the Dark Cacao Kingdom.

Their promises, once fervent vows of protection, now lay shattered, scattered like ashes in the wind. They were but hollow echoes of their former convictions, cruel reminders of their inability to shield their friend from the clutches of darkness. In the face of such devastating defeat, what strength could they muster? What hope dared they harbor?

The burden of delivering the news of Mochaccino's demise to Dark Choco, who remained outside the Tower of Sweet Chaos, weighed heavily upon their hearts. They knew all too well the prince's unwavering admiration for the fallen scientist. If the Ancient Heroes themselves were enveloped in despair, what anguish awaited Dark Choco upon learning of Mochaccino's fate?

In that fleeting moment, the future appeared bleak, its path shrouded in shadows and sorrow. With the beacon of the Dark Cacao Kingdom extinguished, what prospects remained? Yet, amid the gloom, one sentiment prevailed, a searing desire for retribution, for justice to be wrought upon those who had snatched their cherished comrade from their grasp.

A tumultuous maelstrom of grief, rage, and frustration churned within their chests, a ferocious cyclone threatening to engulf them in its tempestuous embrace. And in a moment that seemed to mirror the turmoil of their souls, a blinding flash of lightning streaked across the sky outside, followed by the deafening roar of thunder as the bolt struck the earth below.

The shockwave reverberated through the chamber, the very ground trembling beneath their feet as if shaken by the wrath of the heavens.

It was as though the elements themselves conspired to mirror the turmoil within their hearts a portent, an augury, a call to arms. And with it, the tempest within them erupted into a frenzy of unbridled fury.

As if answering the call of nature's fury, the skies opened up, unleashing a deluge of rain upon the earth. Swirling clouds of darkness swept across the horizon, their icy tendrils mirroring the tears shed by the grieving souls within.

Yet, despite the overwhelming weight of their sorrow and defeat, the Ancient Heroes stood resolute, their spirits unyielding in the face of adversity. They refused to be shackled by despair, their resolve a beacon of defiance amidst the raging storm. For within them burned a flame, a flame fueled by righteous indignation, a flame that would not be snuffed out.

With each crack of thunder, each bolt of lightning that split the sky, the storm of their fury swelled, its fury escalating with each passing moment. It was a tempest of retribution, a tempest that would soon descend upon their adversaries with unrelenting force, unleashing a cataclysm of destruction upon the forces of darkness.

The atmosphere crackled with raw energy, each pulse of electricity charging the air with an almost tangible intensity. The weight of anticipation bore down on them like a heavy cloak, suffocating yet invigorating, as if the very essence of the storm coiled around their souls.

Yet, amidst the charged atmosphere, the Ancient Heroes and their allies stood unwavering, their resolve a beacon of defiance amidst the tumultuous tempest that raged within and without.

Weapons poised and hearts steeled, they stood poised on the precipice of battle, ready to confront the darkness that loomed before them. Each member of their valiant company exuded a quiet determination, their eyes ablaze with the flickering flames of determination and vengeance. They were a force to be reckoned with, a collective embodiment of righteous fury and unwavering courage.

Before them, Dark Enchantress stood as a sinister silhouette against the backdrop of chaos, her cruel smirk a mockery of their suffering. Her presence exuded an aura of malevolence, her gaze piercing through the veil of despair to revel in the anguish she had wrought.

Yet, her triumph was short-lived, for before her stood warriors forged in the fires of adversity, their spirits unbroken and their resolve unyielding.

With a thunderous crash, Dark Cacao drove his sword into the ground, the resounding impact echoing through the chamber like a clarion call to arms. His every movement exuded a primal ferocity, his gaze ablaze with a fierce determination that dared the darkness to challenge him.

Beside him, Hollyberry raised her shield high, her stance a testament to her unyielding resolve. With steely determination etched into her features, she met the looming threat head-on, a silent vow of retribution burning in her soul.

And finally, Pure Vanilla, staff clutched tightly in his hands, stepped forward with a determined stride, his gaze unwavering and fierce. Each step he took seemed to echo with the weight of his resolve, his posture radiating an aura of strength and unwavering confidence.

As he moved, a collective resolve burned within the hearts of the heroes, their spirits aflame with a shared purpose: to avenge the loss of their dearest friend, to deliver justice unto those who had caused him to perish, and to bring about an end to the forces of darkness that threatened to engulf their world.

In response to their defiance, Dark Enchantress unleashed a horde of Voracious Spirits and Cake Monsters, each one forged in the fiery depths of the Tower of Sweet Chaos. The chamber trembled as even the mighty Red Velvet Dragon made its formidable presence known, its colossal form casting a daunting shadow over the battlefield.

With the tower itself seemingly quaking in response to the unfolding conflict, the heroes and their allies braced themselves for the imminent clash, their determination unwavering in the face of adversity.

Without the need for further instruction, a Cacao-Droid rallied the commandeered Cake-Bots, urging them forward into the fray with relentless firepower directed at the encroaching horde of Cake Monsters. The Ancient Heroes coordinated their efforts seamlessly, ensuring that none of the monstrous adversaries breached their defenses, their attacks met with swift and decisive retaliation.

Amidst the chaos, Dark Enchantress observed with a twisted amusement, her demeanor a stark contrast to the fervent determination of her adversaries. As the storms outside intensified, mirroring the escalating conflict within the tower, every Cookie within the chamber fought with unwavering resolve, their collective efforts fueled by the memory of Mochaccino and the enduring light of hope he had embodied.

Cold. It felt bone-chillingly cold, the frigid air seeping into his very core, numbing his senses and clouding his thoughts. Mochaccino's mind struggled to break free from the fog of confusion that enveloped him, his thoughts sluggish and disjointed. He sensed movement, a gentle sway that rocked his body, but the identity of his bearer remained shrouded in mystery, as did the purpose behind their actions.

His memories flickered like distant stars in the night sky, fragments of pain and anguish intermingled with moments of clarity. The searing agony of the blade piercing his chest surged through his consciousness, a stark reminder of his vulnerability in the face of unfathomable darkness.

In the recesses of his mind, he glimpsed the visage of Caramel Arrow, her eyes wide with horror and despair, her anguished cries a haunting echo in the depths of his soul. Her pain pierced him more deeply than any physical wound, a silent lament for the shattered dreams and unfulfilled promises they had shared.

As he struggled to orient himself in the murky depths of his surroundings, Mochaccino became acutely aware of the dampness clinging to his dough, the sensation of rainwater pooling around him. The dark mist that obscured his vision added to the disorienting tableau, its presence a foreboding omen of the trials yet to come.

Gazing upward, he beheld the vast expanse of the ceiling stretching endlessly into the abyss, a stark reminder of his insignificance in the grand scheme of things. Amidst the oppressive silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic sound of his own breathing and the distant rumble of thunder, Mochaccino grappled with the existential uncertainty that gripped his soul.

Was he still among the living, or had he crossed the threshold into some shadowy realm beyond? The unanswered questions lingered like specters in the darkness, their whispered truths eluding his grasp. With each passing moment, the weight of uncertainty bore down upon him, casting doubt upon his very existence.

Amidst the tumult of his internal turmoil, Mochaccino's attention was drawn to an unexpected phenomenon on the distant horizon: a sudden concentration of lightning, its brilliant flashes piercing the oppressive gloom that enveloped his surroundings.

The illumination cast by each bolt provided a fleeting glimpse of the landscape, revealing a desolate panorama bereft of color, its stark monotony resembling a world drained of vitality.

As Mochaccino drew nearer to the epicenter of the electrical storm, he discerned a shadowy figure taking shape amidst the swirling tempest. With each successive lightning strike, the contours of the figure grew sharper and more defined, until at last, its form emerged from the chaos of the storm.

The figure, a Cookie of ethereal origin, bore a visage molded from the very essence of the tempest, their features sculpted from wisps of swirling clouds and tendrils of crackling lightning. Their eyes blazed with an otherworldly radiance, a mesmerizing fusion of pure white and electric blue that pierced through the darkness like beacons of celestial light.

Clad in robes woven from the billowing thunderheads that roiled around them, the Cookie stood as a majestic sentinel amidst the elemental fury of the storm. A crown of electrified metal adorned their head, which sat atop what assimilated locks of hair, all seemingly composed of the same energy as the lightning that danced around them, a brilliant white with sparks of blue.

In their presence, Mochaccino felt a profound sense of awe and reverence, an instinctual recognition of the boundless power that radiated from the figure before him. It was as if they were a living embodiment of the tempest itself, a primordial force of nature whose very existence commanded the utmost respect and admiration.

"Mochaccino Cookie." The voice that greeted him resonated with a melodious cadence, a symphony of thunderous booms and crackling static that reverberated through the cavernous expanse.

It was a voice deep and sonorous, seemingly encoded with ancient wisdom, each syllable carrying a resonance that penetrated to the very core of Mochaccino's being. "I have been awaiting your arrival. There is much we must discuss."

The sound of the being's voice seemed to fill the air around Mochaccino like a tangible presence, its ethereal quality sending shivers down his spine. It was a voice that spoke of eons of existence, of secrets hidden within the fabric of time itself.

"Who... Who are you?" Mochaccino's query tumbled from his lips before he could temper his curiosity, his gaze fixed upon the enigmatic figure before him. How could he not be intrigued? Before him stood a being unlike any he had ever encountered, a creature whose very presence seemed to defy the laws of nature.

"I am Storm Artificier Cookie. Elemental Guardian of Lightning, and the keeper of this domain." As if in response to their proclamation, a jagged streak of lightning tore across the darkened sky, casting an iridescent glow that danced upon the surrounding shadows.

"You... You mean I am dead? Is this the afterlife?" The realization dawned upon Mochaccino with a profound sense of disbelief, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he grappled with the implications of his surroundings.

"Not quite," replied Storm Artificier, their expression remaining inscrutable, like a statue carved from storm clouds. "While your body is indeed no longer suitable to house your spirit, you have not fully transcended into the afterlife. And it is I who have intervened."

"So, you're saying that you're keeping me here? Preventing me from moving on?" Mochaccino's voice wavered with a mix of astonishment and uncertainty, his gaze locked on the enigmatic being before him.

"Yes, and I have my reasons for doing so," Storm Artificier affirmed with a solemn nod. "Your physical form may have been sundered, but your essence remains intact. It lies within my grasp to reunite your spirit with your corporeal vessel."

"Then... what are these reasons?" Mochaccino's skepticism colored his tone as he considered the implications of Storm Artificier's words. Could it be true? Was there a chance to reclaim his mortal form and rejoin his comrades? And if so, what motive drove the elemental guardian to offer such a boon?

"As you know, you are a very rare case." Storm Artificier began, his voice carrying the weight of ages, each word measured and deliberate. "Almost every Cookie is baked with vast reservoirs of magic infused into their dough, granting them the ability to harness and wield it for extraordinary feats. Even the most uncommon among them, those crafted as conduits, possess a wellspring of magic rivaling the mightiest of Cookies. But you..."

His voice trailed off, his gaze fixed on Mochaccino with a mixture of fascination and reverence. "...You, my friend, defy all convention. Your absence of magical power is a phenomenon unseen, not only among the extraordinary, but even the most ordinary of Cookies. You stand as an aberration, an enigma beyond explanation. Yet, in place of magic, this world has bestowed upon you a brilliant intellect, a mind capable of unlocking the secrets of science to forge marvels."

"And therein lies my purpose." Storm Artificier declared, a palpable sense of anticipation coursing through his words. "For eons untold, I have waited for a Cookie such as you, devoid of magic yet brimming with potential. Trapped within this tempestuous realm, unable to venture beyond or influence the world without. Until now."

A dawning realization dawned upon Mochaccino, his eyes widening with astonishment. "You mean to say... You wish for me to become your vessel? To channel your power?"

"As expected, your intellect shines through your inquiry." Storm Artificier affirmed with a nod of approval. "Indeed, you grasp the essence of our situation. I am born from the raw essence of lightning itself, a force of nature untamed and pure. If my power were to mingle with the magic inherent in a typical Cookie, the result would be discordant, incompatible."

"Would it be akin to the reaction between water and oil?" Mochaccino pondered aloud, his fingers tracing along his chin as he mulled over the analogy. "If a regular Cookie's body, symbolized by oil, were to be filled with your elemental magic, akin to water, wouldn't the two simply repel each other?"

"Exactly." Storm Artificier affirmed with a spark of excitement, their form flickering with electrified energy. "You, devoid of any magical essence within you, serve as the perfect vessel. Just as water fills a pristine glass, we would coexist harmoniously within your body, each retaining our individuality."

"And what implications does this hold for me?" Mochaccino's voice quivered with a hint of apprehension, his brow furrowed with uncertainty. "Would I retain my identity, or would you assume control of my being?"

"Fear not." Storm Artificier's soothing voice resonated with assurance, his gaze a steadfast beacon amidst the turbulent storms swirling around them. "Though the prospect may appear daunting, the arrangement we propose promises to be mutually advantageous. You shall retain sovereignty over your physical form, except in moments of unconsciousness, during which I would assume temporary stewardship until your faculties are restored."

"But for the present, envision yourself as the core of a machine, while I embody the very energy that propels it forward." He elucidated, his tone imbued with a sense of yearning. "With your consent, I shall channel my power through you, enhancing your corporeal capabilities to levels beyond the grasp of any other Cookie, and mend your battered form upon your return to the realm of the living."

"For eons untold, I have yearned to break free from the confines of my imprisonment." Storm Artificier confessed, his voice tinged with longing. "Bound within these stormy confines, I have borne witness to the tapestry of existence, observing the rise and fall of empires, the birth and demise of nations, and the inexorable march of time itself."

"Yet, despite my fervent desire to intervene, I remained shackled by insurmountable constraints." He lamented, a palpable sense of melancholy coloring his words. "But now, with you, Mochaccino Cookie, I discern a beacon of hope. Your unwavering resolve, your indomitable spirit, embodies a rare virtue that ignites within me a fervent desire to foster and nurture. It would be my profound privilege to call you my vessel."

"This is a lot to take in..." Mochaccino muttered, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and daunting possibilities. Could he truly defy the natural order, emerging from the clutches of death, to once again walk among the living?

"I would advise you to consider your decision carefully..." Storm Artificier remarked, his voice tinged with urgency. However, before he could elaborate further, he conjured a swirling mist that coalesced into a spectral projection, revealing the dire situation unfolding in the living realm, within the Tower of Chaos.

"...however, your friends are in grave danger." Storm Artificier continued, gesturing toward the ethereal tableau unfolding before them. "Their strength wanes, their resolve falters."

The mist formed an ominous silhouette of Dark Enchantress, a menacing shroud of darkness enveloping her figure as she appeared to gain the upper hand. The Ancient Heroes fought valiantly, but the odds seemed insurmountable. Cake-Bots clashed with the Red Velvet Dragon, while Dark Cacao, Hollyberry, and Pure Vanilla struggled to maintain their footing amidst the chaos.

Mochaccino's heart sank as he witnessed the desperate struggle unfolding before him. Dark Cacao leaned heavily on his blade, his strength waning with each passing moment. Hollyberry shielded her companions, her resolve unwavering despite the odds. Pure Vanilla tirelessly tended to the wounded, his healing magic the only thing keeping them from succumbing to their injuries.

But Affogato, Espresso, and Caramel Arrow were on the brink of collapse, their bodies battered and broken from the relentless onslaught. The weight of the decision bore down upon Mochaccino as he grappled with the realization that his friends' lives hung in the balance.

"I have the power to help them." Storm Artificier affirmed, his voice cutting through the tumult like a beacon of certainty in the darkness that clouded Mochaccino's mind. Each word dripped with a conviction that resonated deep within the very core of his being. "You can be the catalyst, the spark that ignites the candle of hope, and make it burn brighter than it ever has before. The choice is yours."

With a sense of gravity that seemed to anchor his resolve, Storm Artificier extended his hand, a silent offering laden with the weight of salvation or damnation. His gaze bore into Mochaccino's soul, a testament to the urgency of the moment and the depth of his commitment. Despite the swirling turmoil of doubt and fear within him, it was as if Mochaccino's decision had already been made, his path predetermined by the bonds of friendship and duty.

"I need not be asked twice, for I would sacrifice myself a thousand times over to save those I hold dear." Mochaccino's declaration rang out, his voice a clarion call of determination that echoed through the chamber. With unwavering resolve, he reached out, clasping Storm Artificier's outstretched hand in a firm grip.

In that instant, a surge of raw energy surged through Mochaccino's veins, a torrent of power that lifted him from the ground and enveloped him in a cocoon of crackling electricity.

Every fiber of his being thrummed with newfound vitality, his form aglow with the luminous radiance of the storm itself. As the transformation swept over him, he felt himself becoming something more, something greater than he had ever imagined possible.

The two figures found themselves enveloped in a luminous aura, an ethereal illumination that crackled and danced like the tendrils of a celestial lightning strike.

This radiant light pierced through the oppressive darkness of the stormy realm, casting shadows aside and bathing everything in its incandescent glow. For Mochaccino, it was a sensation beyond description, a visceral experience that transcended the confines of mere words.

Throughout his life, not a whisper of magic had ever stirred within him. Yet, as his hand interlocked with Storm Artificier's, a torrent of mystical energy surged through his being with an intensity that defied comprehension. It was not simply magic coursing through his veins; it was something infinitely more profound, something ancient and primal in its essence.

It felt akin to the exhilarating rush of his Power Suit days, where every pulse of electricity invigorated him, rejuvenating his spirit and fueling his resolve. But this was different.

This was no mechanical augmentation; this was his very essence suffused with the raw power of the storm itself. No wires, no circuits, just the pulsating rhythm of his own beating heart, a conduit for the electric symphony that surged through him.

In that moment, Mochaccino felt more alive than ever before, his entire being ablaze with the essence of life itself. Every fiber of his being thrummed with vitality, his senses heightened to a fever pitch by the exhilarating surge of energy coursing through his veins.

With each heartbeat, he could feel the lightning's charge pulsating through him, a symphony of power echoing in harmony with the primal forces of nature.

Then, as if heralding a cataclysmic revelation, a blinding burst of light erupted from their midst, a radiant explosion of energy that reverberated across the stormy landscape. The shockwave rippled through the realm, carrying with it the thunderous crescendo of their transformation, echoing into the depths of the unknown and beyond.

Within the Tower of Chaos, the clash of steel and magic echoed relentlessly, the cacophony of battle drowning out all other sounds. Dark Enchantress, her form wreathed in swirling shadows, pressed forward with unrelenting ferocity, her dark laughter a chilling accompaniment to the chaos around her. The Ancient Heroes, their resolve tested to its limits, fought valiantly against the encroaching darkness, their every strike a desperate bid to stave off impending doom.

"Surrender your meaningless struggle, and accept your inevitable defeat!" Dark Enchantress's voice boomed with malevolent triumph, cutting through the din of combat like a blade through dough. Your efforts are futile! Soon, the world will be reshaped in my image. You will not live to see the dawn of my new order!"

Despite the weight of her words, the Ancient Heroes refused to yield, their spirits unbroken by the looming specter of defeat. Each clash of their weapons sent sparks flying, illuminating the grim determination etched upon their faces. Yet, beneath their steadfast resolve, a gnawing sense of dread lingered, a silent acknowledgment of the dire straits they found themselves in.

Then, as if in response to their plight, nature itself seemed to rise in defiance. The wind outside the tower howled with renewed fury, its force intensifying with each passing moment.

With a deafening roar, a colossal gust tore through the chamber, shaking the very foundations of the tower. And in a display of sheer elemental power, the tempest rent a yawning chasm in the ceiling above, bathing the battlefield in a cascade of blinding light.

The maelstrom above churned with an otherworldly fury, its swirling vortex drawing in lightning from every corner of the storm-wracked sky. Bolts of pure energy crackled and converged with mesmerizing force, converging upon a singular point amidst the tempest. In that moment, it seemed as though the very fabric of reality itself trembled under the weight of the gathering storm.

All eyes within the chamber were drawn skyward, fixated upon the spectacle unfolding above. The Cookies, their faces illuminated by the pulsating glow of the lightning, watched in awe as the vortex reached its crescendo, the air vibrating with the raw power coursing through the atmosphere.

Then, with a deafening roar, the vortex unleashed its fury upon the tower below. A colossal bolt of lightning, crackling with incandescent energy, tore through the fractured ceiling and descended upon the chamber like the wrath of the heavens unleashed. The brilliance of the bolt bathed the battlefield in an ethereal radiance, casting long shadows against the stone walls.

Amidst the blinding brilliance, the Cookies shielded their eyes, their forms silhouetted against the searing glow. Yet, even as they sought refuge from the dazzling light, their gazes were drawn inexorably toward the epicenter of the storm's fury.

There, at the heart of the chamber, lay Mochaccino's fallen form, bathed in the radiant glow of the lightning. As the bolt struck his motionless body, a surge of electrifying energy coursed through him, linking his form with the celestial power above. The very air crackled with the intensity of the discharge, and the tower itself seemed to tremble in response to the cataclysmic forces at play.

When the brilliance finally began to fade, revealing the aftermath of the electrifying onslaught, the Cookies around Mochaccino gasped in astonishment. Where once a gaping wound had marred his heart, there now radiated a soft, pulsating light, casting a gentle azure hue upon his form.

Mochaccino's body began to stir, a symphony of transformation unfolding before the eyes of the stunned onlookers. From the epicenter of his chest, dark tendrils unfurled like creeping vines, snaking sinuously across his torso before branching outwards in a mesmerizing display of arcane energy. With each passing moment, the tendrils grew in size and complexity, weaving an intricate web of darkness that enveloped his entire form.

As the tendrils extended, they wrapped around his shoulders with an almost possessive grip, coiling around his fists in a menacing embrace. Yet, instead of instilling fear, they emanated a radiant white light, gradually solidifying into ethereal gauntlets that adorned his hands with an otherworldly elegance.

Simultaneously, his hair crackled with raw electricity, transforming into a vibrant shade of sky blue that danced with the energy coursing through his veins. The creamy foam atop his head sparked to life, fizzing and crackling with a luminous white glow that illuminated his features in an otherworldly halo.

The intense surge of lightning had seared away his shirt, leaving his upper body bare save for the remnants of smoldering fabric clinging to his charred dough. Yet, the lower parts of uniform bestowed upon him by the Cookies of Darkness remained unscathed, black boots and pants, a stark contrast against the backdrop of destruction that surrounded him.

Raising his head, Mochaccino's eyes blazed with an electric blue intensity, their luminous glow piercing through the darkness like twin beacons of determination. His gaze swept across the battlefield, his expression a portrait of unwavering resolve and unyielding strength.

With the last remnants of lightning dissipating into the heavens above, Mochaccino stood tall and resolute, bathed in the radiant aura of his newfound power. His presence was a beacon of hope amidst the chaos, a testament to the indomitable spirit that burned within him.

And as his voice thundered across the battlefield, infused with the crackling energy of the storm, it carried a message of defiance and determination that resonated deep within the hearts of all who heard it.

"Darkness that clouds the minds of those who may fall to despair... You have wrought destruction upon this land and its inhabitants, and you shall pay the ultimate price. The storm brings forth the light of hope, and I shall be the one to shine it over that which I cherish! The Dark Cacao Kingdom's Light burns brighter than ever before!"