After finally seizing his long-awaited enemy’s Soul Jam, Shadow Milk had Pure Vanilla locked away in the depths of his obscure, twisted domain.

Pure Vanilla was no longer the Cookie he once was. Stripped of everything—his friends, his Soul Jam, even his will to live—he was but a hollow shell of the hero he had been. Hopelessness clung to him like a suffocating fog, weighing him down with every passing moment.

He had tried once—just once—to break free from the jester’s grasp, to seek help, to cling to the faintest sliver of hope. But all it had left him with was bitter disappointment.

⁠∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠°

Now, under the dim, eerie glow of the jester’s lair, Shadow Milk loomed over him with a wicked grin. His blueish heterochromatic eyes gleamed with twisted satisfaction, relishing the sight of the once-proud Ancient reduced to fear and despair.

｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠ "Ohhh, my Silly-Vanillyyy~! No need to be soooo sad!" Shadow Milk cooed, his voice laced with mockery. "Where’s that fire in you? Or have you already accepted your faaaate? Ahahahaha!!" His laughter rang through the chamber, wild and unhinged, his sing-song voice dripping with amusement.

The corrupted jester reveled in his victory, delighting in the sight of Pure Vanilla crumbling beneath the weight of his torment. The once-revered hero had fallen, and Shadow Milk was loving every second of it.