To those of you reading this: CONGRATULATIONS! You survived the Apocalypse! And I will now proceed to reward you by creating a little apocalypse of my own…mwa ha ha. I just saw ROTG for the second time and it's JUST AS AMAZING as the first time. :DDDD Anyway, without further ado…

Fire and Ice


Jack Frost was dreaming. He was in a cold, dark place with no substance and no real anything. All he really knew was that it was cold and dark. Of course, the cold part didn't bother him – he was cold all the time. He was Jack FROST for crying out loud! His name practically screamed "cold".

Jack knew that all the name stuff was just to distract him from the other part of the place – the dark. Jack had never been afraid of the dark, not really. Well…no more than anyone else was – especially anyone who knew Pitch Black personally. But Pitch is gone, Jack reassured himself. He was destroyed by his Nightmares. He's not coming back. A spooky laugh echoed in the cold, dark place.

For a moment, Jack almost convinced himself that it was his imagination. Then the voice came. The voice that brought back memories of fear and pain and betrayal and made him shiver even though he was immune to any kind of chill. Okay, almost any kind. Fear…fear was something else entirely. It was literally a living entity that crept into the darkest corners of your mind – corners you didn't know or pretended not to know existed. And fear manifested there and grew and grew and grew until your whole mind was a corner – and you were trapped in it.

"Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice."

The voice was conversational, as if the two of them were old friends instead of blood enemies. That is…if immortal legends like Jack Frost and the Bogeyman had blood. Jack tried to move, to look around, but either he couldn't turn or there was nothing to see, because the dark was impenetrable. It was a meaningless gesture anyway – Jack knew that where there were shadows one could never find a Pitch that didn't want to be found.

But Pitch always wanted to be found, sooner or later.

"From what I've tasted of desire,

I hold with those who favor Fire.

But if it had to perish twice…"

The voice was suddenly up close, right in Jack's ear. He could feel Pitch's hot breath on his frozen skin and feel the long, malicious fingers slowly encircling his neck from behind. He felt shivers race up and down his spine as his body tried to warn him that there was someone – something – behind him and it was not good. Jack found he couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even try to get away.

It's just a dream, He tried to remind himself. Just a bad dream. There was a snarl of hate behind him, and the fingers tightened momentarily. But when the voice spoke again, it was as silky and smooth as a hypnotic snake with its prey in its grasp. And there was something in the voice, something in the tone that made Jack Frost cringe away on the inside from the feeling that Pitch knew something about him – everything about him – and he had no idea how.

"I think I know enough of hate

To say that Ice

Is also great

And would suffice."

The voice dissolved into the evil laugh that had been sending shivers up the spines of children since the Dark Ages. The fingers around Jack's neck tightened just once more, than disappeared. The presence Jack had sensed was gone now – he was alone again. But he wasn't stupid enough to believe Pitch had just left him here.

He was right. Pitch reappeared, fully visible this time, his face inches from Jack Frost's. The golden eyes full of malice and darkness stared into the bright blue eyes of the Guardian of Fun, the dark smile spread wide with the confidence of someone who already knows how this is going to play out. Looking into the face of the enemy he'd thought was gone, Jack noticed a hole in the pearly smile – actually, the lack of one.

But I thought Tooth knocked that out.

"Robert Frost," Pitch said gleefully. "Any relation?" Jack shook his head, partly relieved that he could still do that.

"I thought you were…" Jack began.

"Defeated?" Pitch laughed. "That wasn't me, boy." Jack was confused.

"What do you mean it wasn't you?" He asked. Pitch's smile stretched even wider.

"It'll all be explained in time." He assured the frost spirit. "But for now – 'Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.' Very poetic, isn't it? And with more than a grain of truth to it." Jack narrowed his eyes.

"What…?" He began, but Pitch held up a finger, smile slipping the slightest bit.

"You must learn to listen, Jack." He sighed. "As I was saying, the world will end in fire or ice. We have the ice right here, obviously. But what about…?"

There was a flurry of motion, and Pitch was suddenly gone. But instead of the darkness Jack had been expecting, there was a figure a little ways off. The figure was a thin teenage boy in a red hoodie decorated in black swirls and black skin-tight pants. He held a red-brown staff in his hand and had the hood pulled down over his face and one had shoved in his pocket. A Jack watched, the boy smiled a mischievous smile that was very similar to Jack's, but with just a touch of hard darkness in it. The boy reached up and pulled down his hood.

Golden eyes stared out of a shockingly familiar face set under messy red hair. The skin was a healthy tan color, unlike Jack Frost's own complexion. But if the two boys had been side by side in black and white…

"Jack Frost," Pitch's voice came again from the darkness between the two teenagers. "Meet Fire."