Burning Spice Cookie stood tall amidst the fiery chaos of his domain, his menacing parashu resting at his side like a dormant volcano. The double blades of the weapon curved like searing flames, one larger than the other, glowing with a hellish heat that mirrored the destruction embodied in its wielder. The starburst insignia at its center pulsed, as if alive, constantly feeding the molten energy that flowed through the axe's core. The shaft, long and beveled with sharp edges, glowed like magma cooling to stone, always on the verge of erupting again at his command.

His kingdom was a place where flame and ash reigned supreme, a landscape of smoldering rock and rivers of lava. The sky above was a dusky orange, perpetually clouded by the ash and embers swirling in the air. Burning Spice Cookie himself was a force of nature, a creature of destruction whose mere presence seemed to warp the reality around him. His long, matted hair, black as the void, trailed behind him, spreading out like tendrils of darkness that swallowed the fiery light, a stark contrast to the rest of his fiery form.

His bare chest was adorned with intricate heath markings, their deep red tones blending with the fiery aura that radiated from his skin. In the center of his chest lay his triangular Soul Jam, a ruby-red gem glowing with the raw power of destruction, signaling his divine status. Around his waist, the pītāmbari dhoti wrapped his legs in a brilliant saffron yellow, a single remnant of his connection to an ancient and forgotten divinity. His only adornments were minimal—a coiled golden bracelet around his left wrist and two pale gold shoulder plates, spiked and fierce, hinting at his readiness for war despite his lack of heavy armor.

The ground beneath his feet cracked and hissed with every step he took, heat emanating from his body in waves that scorched the earth. To him, peace was nothing more than a fleeting, tiresome state. The calm, the stillness, the lack of conflict—it all bored him beyond reason.