Hero after hero, battle after battle, yet Burning Spice Cookie seemed to come out victorious each and every time, sometimes without even breaking a sweat. The taste of victory was sweet, the pitiful pleads for mercy from the losers a wickedly delightful symphony like no other before finishing them with a final swing of his parashu. It was a good feeling... But it was getting far too monotonous for his liking. Was there someone out there in the broad Dessert World that could put up a proper fight? Someone that would show him an outcome other than weak Cookies crawling before him? His doubt only grew more and more as years, decades and centuries went by, his streak of victories only ever growing. But, as he grew more skeptical, his desire to be proven wrong did too. And so, one day, he stood from his throne and stormed with new-found determination.

If no worthy rival would show up... Then he may aswell make it himself from scratch.

Once in the kitchen he threatened his servants to leave, and right away he started he started baking. Flour, milk, sugar, eggs, baking powder... And, of course, a chunk of his own dough, ripped by himself from one of his flanks. If he wanted this "perfect opponent" of his to be able to defeat him (or at least give him a fight worth remembering) then it may as well be born from his own, undefeatable, powerful dough.

He mixed and kneaded roughly, with impatience, leaving a chaotic mess in his wake; and once the dough was ready and was roughly shaped into a Cookie he carelessly shoved it into the pre-heated oven and waited. And waited. And waited. ... It was only when he heard your loud wailing that he turned the oven off and took your tiny form out, his hands bare yet unbothered by your freshly baked, hot dough. The first thing that met your eyes being the wicked smile on his face. His expectations were high, your fate and purpose sealed, and your "father" will give you no breaks to meet them.