Thunder rumbled above the castle of harmony. The floor vibrated under heavy footsteps, as rhythmic as an enraged heartbeat. The doors to the hall burst open, hurled against the walls in an explosion of wind and dust.

An icy blast swept through the corridors.

King Sparkle had returned.

His dark silhouette crossed the arches in silence, each step leaving a trail of black lightning on the floor. His dark-rimmed eyes shone with a feverish glow, and behind his back, his studded bass almost shrieked with impatience. In front of the royal chamber, he didn't even stop.

BOOM.

The door exploded in a shower of golden splinters

And there, in front of him, a pretender king, dressed in a ridiculously ornamented costume, was tugging at the marriage chains that imprisoned Nebula's delicate throat. She struggled, her eyes brimming with tears, her crown of classical notes falling to the floor.

Sparkle blinked once. His breath caught. Then, slowly, he pulled out his bass.

You picked the wrong ballroom to die in, clown.

A black wave burst from his feet, cracking the floor. His shadow stretched out, engulfing the gilding of the castle. The air froze. The suitor fell to his knees, suffocating under the invisible pressure.

Sparkle approached him, veins taut with black rage. A hoarse growl escaped his throat.

Touch one more hair on my sister's head, and your descendants won't even remember you. His bass lit up, vibrating with a chord of death.

The concert of wrath had just begun.