Disclaimer: I don't own Rise of the Guardians. It all belongs to William Joyce and Dreamworks.
Jack Frost sat on a tree near his lake. He pondered everything that had happened to him in the past few months. Strange circumstances, they were. He was now an official Guardian. He had believers. He wasn't alone anymore. He knew who he was.
He couldn't be any happier.
He gazed up at the Moon. The Moon that had ignored him for so long, just like the rest of the world. Its translucent light shined down upon his pale face. Now that he understood, he couldn't find it in his heart to remain angry at the mysterious orb. After all, the Man in the Moon had only ever had the most pure of intentions, even if Jack still wasn't quite sure what they were. He closed his eyes, silently taking in the cold, winter air.
Jack was so caught up in his silent reverie that he failed to notice thin, dark tendrils weaving their way up the frosted oak he was perched on. They slowly and carefully wound around Jacks white ankle, and yanked hard.
Jack let out a cry of surprise before being unceremoniously thrown to the ground. His breath was knocked out of him as he hit the cold, forest floor. He scrambled to find his staff, which was thrown far from his hands several feet behind him, near the bank of the lake.
"Well hello there."
Jack whipped around, only to come face to face with none other than the Nightmare King himself.
"Pitch? B-but how—?"
"How indeed. You couldn't have possibly expected me to stay underground forever, could you? There's always fear, Jack. Did you believe me to be the root of all fear? Dear boy, fear is apparent wherever there is death, loss, failure, cold," he taunted, trying to get a rise out of Jack. "My power derives from fear. I only fuel it. It was only a matter of time until the natural horrors of the world brought me back to power. Regrettably, my power isn't quite at its full extent. But I plan to eradicate that. Don't you worry your pretty little head." He sneered, his yellow eyes flashing.
Jack clenched his fists at his sides. He had to alert the other Guardians. But he had no way of doing so without his staff. Luckily the Nightmare King hadn't noticed it lying on the ground, blending in with the icy dirt. He had to get to it.
"Why bother? We beat you last time. What makes you think we won't be able to again?" Jack said, praying that confidence resounded in his voice, even if it didn't in his mind.
"Oh, Jack. Fear makes the world go 'round. Fear keeps people on their toes, keeps them out of trouble. Fear is something you would do well with." As the words escaped his mouth, Fearlings materialized from thin air, whinnying and flaring their nostrils, quickly approaching the Winter Spirit.
Jack acted fast, somersaulting around Pitch, grabbing his staff, and promptly leaping into the air.
"Let's get this over with," he muttered under his breath.
But before Jack could even make a move, black tendrils snaked their way around his waist, roughly slamming him to the ground. Again. 'These are new,' Jack thought sardonically. The whip-like projections obviously weren't effective for long, because they quickly receded back to their villainous master.
Jack managed to get a shot at Pitch, but the Nightmare King merely deflected it with a sand shield, and returned it with greater force. Jack narrowly dodged the attack, but to his utter dismay he found that the black whips had returned. But these ones looked different. They looked deadly. They curled around his wrist, yanking his staff from his hands once more. He struggled and fought against his bonds, but it was all in vain. They wouldn't budge. Then they began to burn. He whimpered as they seared his skin.
"Do you like them?" Pitch questioned, gesturing to the restraints. "I did some experimenting, and these were the pleasant results. I've never used sand that actually burned a victim. And what a happy coincidence that that victim is you." Jack scowled and rolled his eyes in annoyance.
"So impertinent." Pitch patted Jack's cheek. "But don't worry. We'll find a way to eliminate your insolence. I've always wondered what would happen if cold and hot were to meet." Pitch glanced at Jack's burning, red wrists, and smiled. "Looks like they don't go well together."
The King of Nightmares slowly advanced on the boy, his Fearlings following close behind, and looked him directly in the eyes. Blue and yellow eyes, giving the other what could potentially be the most deadly of death glares. Then he kicked Jack to the ground. Jack yelped in surprise and pain. He kicked him in the ribs. Hard. The harsh blows to his body didn't stop for several minutes. Jack desperately tried to shield himself from his dark enemy, as his consciousness began to leave him. He faintly noticed the Fearlings circling him, leaving no possible way of escape. Jack's muffled cries of pain and desperation didn't fall to deaf ears. Pitch relished in the boy's pain. He craved it. Pain created fear, and Pitch drank in the power. Also, the satisfaction of revenge didn't fail to delight the sadistic Nightmare King.
Jack was too caught up in his beating that he neglected to notice Pitch crafting a sharp, black sword of sand.
Pitch stood over the Winter Spirit. The child looked so young and frail, his cerulean eyes glared up at him, filled to the brim with tears of hurt. Those tears would never fall though. Such defiance. The Nightmare King felt something he hadn't felt for a very long time. He almost pitied the boy. Almost. And then he drove the sword into Jack's chest.
Welp. My first ROTG fic. Had to get this online before I went to bed. Will be a multiple chapter story. Please review! Constructive criticism is always welcome! You guys are awesome:) Also, if any of you guys are looking for songs that relate to Jack, here's a few : Echo-Jason Walker (probably the most perfect song out there) and Talking to the Moon-Bruno Mars:) Both are WONDERFUL songs and I encourage you to check them out if you're as obsessed about Jack Frost as I am. Review?:)