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Description
One of the faeries chirruped urgently, catching Toothiana’s attention.

“Everyone , hide!” she hissed sharply.

The three guardians and their few remaining companions quickly darted into various side tunnels and other nooks and crannies of the shadowed passage, just as the muffled footsteps from ahead rounded the corner. They all flattened themselves deeper into their hiding places when they recognized the figure at the front of the group.

The Nightmare King himself was leading what appeared to be a small procession of nightmares through the halls, and beside him…

The pooka felt his hackles rise. “Jack…”

The playful spirit looked barely a shadow of himself. He appeared entirely unconcerned of the half a dozen nightmares that were following close behind him. His face was perfectly blank, and marble-white against his black clothes. His hand was resting lightly on the shadow lord’s bent arm, like a noble lady being led to a state dinner.

The shadowy group passed by with barely a sideways glance. As they disappeared around the next bend, the forest spirit’s crept out in the open again.

“Well,” North shifted his grip of his of his blades nervously. “At least we know Jack is all right.”

“Yes, but he looked… Oh, North, you don’t think-“ Toothiana started, but was quickly hushed by the leshy, who glanced carefully at Bunnymund as he did so.

The spring guardian appeared almost shell-shocked, staring after the procession that had disappeared from sight.

“We should follow them. I have a feeling in my belly that they will lead us to where Sandy is.” the old cossack whispered back.

He then walked up to Bunnymund, and clapped a hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his stupor.

“Let’s move.”

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The deepest caverns beneath the former Shadow Citadel were brightly lit compared to the rest of the tunnels, but none less repulsive in all other senses. Flickering flames pushing through the cracks in the floor sent eerie shadows moving across the walls, and made the sickly fumes rising from the sulphurous pits glow menacingly.

“Finally,” breathed Pitch. “The time has come.”

In the far end of the room, on a dais slightly above the rest of the cave floor, the shadows deepened, thickened, and then pulled back like opening a curtain, revealing the Sandman, still held in his black tethers. The golden spirit’s eyes darted back and forth and he struggled in silent terror.

The black man breathed deep, drawing the air in across his tongue as if tasting it, not even trying to hide his satisfaction. Then he turned to the pale figure at his side. “Are you ready, my dear?”

Jack stared at the dream guardian for a moment before looking up, his expression still perfectly neutral. “I need my staff for this.”

“That old thing? No, no, I have something better in mind.”

The Nightmare King brought his hands close together, a small swirl of black sand appearing between them. Then he pulled them apart in a quick motion, the sand solidifying into a long, angular shape, like a staff made of a jagged piece of black crystal. He then offered it to Jack.

The prince took the offering gingerly, carefully inspecting the new staff and weighing it in his hands. “I’m not sure… Will it work?”

Pitch chuckled and brushed his long fingers through a few curls of snow-white hair. “Don’t worry, my little shiver. You’ll get the feel for it.”

Grasping the staff more firmly, Jack nodded and turned, approaching the dais with purpose.

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Hidden in the shadows at the edge of the room, the three remaining guardians watched the proceedings in horrified fascination.

“What is he-“ muttered North, squinting as if he was hoping the fumes and the light were playing tricks on his sight.

“He cannot- Not Jack!” Insisted Toothiana hoarsely, as if her terror of the very thought would make it untrue.

Bunnymund didn’t hear. He only saw Jack. White knuckles that stood out from the hand that clutched the staff and the slight shiver of his throat as he swallowed. The familiar joyous half-bounce in his step had given way to the measured stride he used when he was preparing to launch his newest prank. But the eyes… the eyes were cold and still, like a frozen pond in a winter morning.

In that moment, he felt like he was watching a stranger built from the pieces of someone he held dear, and his heart shivered in his chest.

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Jack stepped on the dais, standing directly in front of the Sandman, who was staring at him with wide eyes. Hurt, fear and uncertainty warred on the round, jovial features of the dream guardian. The nightmares around the room were stomping and clamoring for the destruction of their enemy, and at the very center of the pandemonium stood Pitch Black, smiling wildly. The Nightmare King’s hands were opening and closing at his sides as he watched proudly and covetously how his newly won Shadow Queen leaned over his eternal nemesis.

“Don’t worry, Sandy.” Jack assured him, smiling just a little sadly. “This, is the one thing I can do.”

He raised the staff Pitch had given him.

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“Bunny, he’s got Jack! You have to stop him!” North bellowed, needing to shout just to be heard over the noise.

For a moment longer, the pooka was frozen in place, but when the leshy swore in his own language and grasped the hilt of his sword, a grey-furred hand shot out and stopped him.

“No!” Bunnymund turned to the former bandit just long enough to make sure he had been heard, then fixed his eyes upon the scene unfolding in front of him again.

“I trust you, Jack.” Bunnymund whispered under his breath as he reeled his arm back and let his boomerang fly.

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Sparkling ice crystals sprang forward from the prince’s hands and swirled around the black staff before shooting towards the Sandman. But instead of targeting the little golden man, they latched on to the black sand around him, gathering, solidifying… And with a sudden crack, the black prison around the dream guardian shattered like an eggshell.

“Go Sandy! You’re free!” Jack yelled, quickly turning the stream of ice on the nearest nightmares.

The Sandman sat stunned for a moment, looking from Jack to his suddenly unbound hands and back. But then he caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see a nightmare charging at him…

… Only to shatter into a cloud of black dust as a well-aimed boomerang sliced through its neck.

Trance broken, the small guardian shot straight up, summoning his sand as he went. From a higher vantage point he spotted the group forest guardians on the other side of the room. Bunny deftly plucked the boomerang out of the air as it arced back to him, Toothiana and her faeries darted in and out of the warzone in a flash of sparkling feathers and North plowed bodily into the mass of nightmares, laughing all the way. With a silent cheer, Sandman raised his sand whip and swung it at the oncoming dark swarm.

The battle was on.

Pitch was still standing where he had been. He had seen the Sandman’s bonds breaking, and had tried to summon his black sand to recapture the dream guardian before he could get his bearings, but the attacking nightmares had blocked his way. Now the golden spirit was lashing left and right with his own sand, and the Nightmare King was trying to find a position to attack from without getting trampled by his own minions, or getting within the sand whips’ range.

Suddenly a flash of white caught the shadowy spirit’s attention. He turned and saw the frost prince swinging the black staff, freezing a group of nightmares in mid step and then reversing the stroke to shatter them.

Pitch ground his teeth. Jack Frost, the careless gust of wind that had brought his carefully constructed house of cards crashing down. The princeling had no idea what he had just thrown away. They could’ve ruled the world. He had been willing to give the boy everything, and yet he had -

The fear keeper’s train of thought was derailed when Jack stopped and looked up, and Pitch saw the sudden light of recognition and relief spreading over his face. He turned almost unwillingly to follow the frost spirit’s gaze, and found the grey furred pooka standing on a ledge high on the cavern wall. And he was looking back at Jack with that same look of relief and joy softening the battle-hardened lines of his face.

In that moment, Pitch Black saw red.

The staff exploded into a shower of black sand in Jack’s hands. The prince gasped and batted at the cloud of darkness that suddenly surrounded him. Blinded and thrown off-balance, the frost sprite was unable to react in time when Pitch lunged forward and backhanded him violently across the jaw.

Bunnymund saw Jack crumble to the ground, dazed by the blow, and he roared. There was no other word for the sound that momentarily overtook the din of the battle.

He launched off the ledge he had been perched on, landed on a very bewildered nightmare’s back, leaped again, bounced off the flank of another nightmare, and bodily tackled Pitch Black to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Pitch was momentarily as stunned from the force of the attack as the sheer physicality of it. Most creatures had a natural aversion to touching him, from some instinctive fear. But the pooka was clutching and tearing at his robes with clawed paws, foregoing his entire arsenal entirely in favor of beating the Nightmare King into the ground with his bare paws.

Finally getting a hold of himself, Pitch Black turned intangible, merging with the shadows around him. He slipped to one side as the furred brute slammed to the ground when the body he had been sitting on simply melted away. He watched with some amusement as the pooka cast about him wildly to catch a sight of his quarry. The shadow spirit waited for the precise moment when the forest guardian had his back turned, then slipped out of the shadows and struck him with a well-placed tendril of nightmare sand.

Bunnymund slammed into the wall and crumpled to the ground. He coughed spasmodically to get the air that had been knocked out of him flowing back into his lungs. He rolled onto his back, trying to blink the spots out of his vision, when a shadow appeared over him. His head cleared immediately when he recognized Pitch Black’s form looming above him, the black sand gathering into the fear keeper’s hands and forming into a long handle with a wicked blade on one end.

“I must thank you, Aster. I’d forgotten what a pleasure it is to rid oneself of a foolishly heroic nuisance!” Pitch snarled as he swung his scythe above his head.

The one thing most people don’t realize when seeing a rabbit curled up in the grass, is just how long those furry legs really are, and just how much power is stored underneath all that downy soft fur.

The paw that caught Pitch in the stomach lifted the Nightmare King clear off his feet, and sent him flying a good twenty feet before crashing down in a very undignified manner. Bunnymund rolled, got all four limbs under him, and leaped to the side just in time to avoid a lunging nightmare. Still in midair the pooka snatched an egg-bomb from his bandolier, and flung it at the black beast, which exploded in a swirl of colored smoke and black sand.

Bunnymund didn’t have long to celebrate his narrow escape when Pitch was on him again, swinging his scythe with furious intent.

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Jack groaned as he sat upright, gingerly touching a hand to the side of his jaw which was throbbing in time with his pulse. For a moment he was disoriented, wondering where he was, but then his short-term memory realigned itself and the reality came crashing down on him all at once.

Pitch. Sandy. Nightmares…

Bunny!

The prince was on his feet in a flare of panic, looking around for the spring guardian. A blur of grey caught from the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he turned and bit back a gasp.

Pitch Black and Bunnymund were weaving among the stone pillars, darting in and out of the shadows and among ranks of fearlings, clashing, evading, and striking again. Every now and then a nightmare would try and join the battle, but would only get smacked aside almost off-handedly by one or the other of the combatants. Even Pitch wasn’t paying much attention to whether or not he might cut down some of his own minions in his frenzy to tear the pooka apart.

The keeper of fear wasn’t looking nearly as majestic as he had before, when he had been cajoling Jack to his side. The edges of his black robes flew about him in frayed tatters, and his porcelain-smooth face was twisted into an ugly sneer, lit by the mad glow of his eyes. Bunnymund was sporting a few dark streaks on his body, dark sand clinging to his fur where the lashes of the Nightmare King’s scythe or black sand had come a little too close for comfort. From the way the pooka would subtly wince every now and then, it was obvious that those hits had left behind more than just stains on his fur.

The winter spirit had the pooka’s name on the tip of his tongue, ready to call out, when he was struck down again. He narrowly avoided cracking his skull open on the stone floor as he fell, and on instinct rolled aside before the nightmare that had blindsided him could land a second blow. He managed to stumble on his feet as the beast lunged for his throat, and the dark creature’s fangs caught only his cape, shredding through the gauzy material.

Further off, Toothiana landed one final blow on the fearling she was dealing with, when a shrill alarm cry from one of her faeries reached her ears. She turned and saw Jack backing away from a nightmare, raising empty hands to try and defend himself.

The faerie queen was off like a shot towards the flash of red and white that identified her leshy friend in the general chaos of the cave floor. “North! Jack’s staff! Quickly!”

The old Cossack only looked up once, before one of his hands reached into the folds of his coat and pulled out the familiar piece of wood. A simple flick of the stout man’s wrist sent the stick spinning up in the air, from where Toothiana snatched it, like a hawk catching a sparrow in mid-flight, and then darted back in the direction where she had seen the frost prince.

“Jack!” Toothiana shouted, throwing the frost spirit’s staff at him.

Jack looked up when he heard his name called, and saw the staff arcing through the air at him. He rushed towards it, dodged the snapping teeth of a nightmare, reached- And then grinned as his fingers closed around the familiar wood.

He swung around to face the attacking fearling, which realized a second too late that its target had just gone from a fragile snowflake into a roaring blizzard. One practiced move sent a stream of ice at the black creature, causing it to crumble to the ground in half-frozen chunks.

Immediate threat dealt with, the prince cast a look around. The ranks of the nightmares were quickly thinning, falling to the combined efforts of the guardians. But there was no sight of Bunnymund or the Nightmare King. He leapt in the air, his heart doing a little flip in his chest as a gust of wind immediately wrapped around him, like an embrace from an old friend, and floated near the cavern ceiling, trying to catch a glimpse of grey fur.

When the frost spirit finally spotted the two elder spirits who were still locked in their private battle, he felt a cold jab in his stomach that had nothing to do with his own winter element.

Neither the spring guardian nor the fear keeper had obviously relented their assault while Jack had been distracted by the nightmare. There was a cut on Bunnymund’s ear, near the base, and the blood was running sluggishly down over his face, matting his fur in ugly, rust colored streaks. The pooka was also notably favoring his left leg, gritting his teeth every time he had to put his weight on it, but refusing to give in to the weakness. Pitch Black’s injuries were in a way even more horrific to see. He appeared to be missing… pieces of himself. There were gaping holes in his body, in places where logic said that they should be severely limiting his ability to move, let alone fight, but he appeared hardly affected. The open wounds didn’t so much bleed as they leaked wispy black smoke that floated in the air for a moment before fading away.

As Jack stared, petrified, Pitch swung at Bunnymund, herding him towards the dais where the Sandman had been on display only a moment ago. The pooka dodged, stepped back, ducked beneath the scythe that swooped towards his head and sent his boomerang flying back at the fear keeper. Pitch knocked the wooden weapon aside, and attacked again, this time swinging low. Bunnymund jumped back, but as he came down he landed awkwardly on the edge of the raised platform. He let out a cry as his paw slipped and a jolt of pain shot up his injured limb. Pitch grinned as he heard the guardian’s yelp, quickly switching his grip on his weapon and ramming the heel of the scythe into Bunnymund’s abdomen, knocking the pooka over and the air out the his lungs.

When the prince saw the pooka doubled over on the ground, coughing and gasping, and the Nightmare King raising his weapon, something clicked into place in his head. With a cry of his own he dropped straight down to the cave floor, and brought the hilt of his staff to the ground. Hard.

A brilliant flash of blue-white filled the cave, a second before a blast of icy wind knocked everyone in the room over.

Pitch Black pushed himself upright, blinking away the spots from his vision and the stabbing headache the sudden flash had brought. He squinted, looking around for Bunnymund, his slowly recovering mind still on the battle and annoyed at the interruption, but instead, when his vision cleared, he saw Jack Frost.

And the frost prince wasn’t laughing, this time.

The young spirit was standing deceptively calmly, with his staff propped on his shoulder, but the ground beneath him was mirror-smooth with ice that spread from his feet like a puddle, and his black clothes were frosted white at the edges. His eyes were blazing, reflecting the light from the fires in flickers, then the blue seeming to well up from underneath, swallowing the other hues in crystal shards and glaciers.

Pitch glanced about the room, but there were but a handful of nightmares left, slinking near the walls and limping into the shadowed tunnels, trying to avoid notice.

Off to the side, North and Toothiana were helping Bunnymund on his feet, the leshy and the faerie stealing furtive, awed glances at the frost spirit, while the pooka was staring openly.

“Hey, Frostbite. What was THAT all about?”

Jack turned towards Bunnymund, and his face softened with a small smile for a moment, but then he turned back towards Pitch, and his next words were aimed at the Nightmare King.

“You said yourself that I should just let go sometime.” there was a small smirk hidden in the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were still cold and implacable as ice. “And you know, you were absolutely right.”

“My father taught me that you can’t control any power until you stop being afraid of it. I didn’t really understand it before… But I think I’m starting to figure it out.” Jack looked down at his feet for a moment. Then he looked up sharply, leveling his staff at the fear keeper.

“And he also taught me that once you learn how to control a power, you can choose how you use it. And you… You are not hurting any one of my friends, my PEOPLE, on my watch. Ever again.”

During the last part Jack had moved forward in a slow, measured stride, and Pitch had backed away, matching him step for step. The shadow spirit was awed at the transformation he saw in the playful young spirit. Of just how much energy, how much willpower now stretched across the lines of the winter sprite's form, hardened his face.

Somewhere in the shadows, the nightmares perked their ears, their nostrils flaring.

“Everything! I could’ve given you everything…” the Nightmare King tried one last time.

“Everything I never wanted in the first place.” Jack’s tone was as emotionless as his gaze.

Pitch tried to take another step back, but stopped when he sensed a presence behind him. He whirled around and met with the Sandman, who was floating about level with the fear keeper’s chest, his pudgy arms crossed.

The three remaining guardians stepped forward, Bunnymund hobbling painfully to Jack’s side and wordlessly pressing a paw to the winter spirit’s shoulder. Jack glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his face softening a bit again, and seeing that, the pooka nodded and they both turned back to Pitch Black.

The guardians were now standing (or floating, as it were) in a loose half circle around the Nightmare King. And behind their backs the remaining nightmares pressed closer.

Pitch Drew the tattered ends of his robes closer, his face twisting into the fanged grimace of a cornered animal. “You’ll never get rid of me! You can’t kill fear!”

“Maybe.” Bunnymund drawled. “But you can shove it back where it came from.”

Pitch was looking wildly around him at the nightmares that were closing in, when his heel touched the edge of a chasm that opened in the cavern floor. He glanced over his shoulder on instinct, into the deep abysses of earth, and then looked up again, just in time so that the guardians could see the look on his face as he recognized the shape of his doom.

The nightmares pounced.

They rushed over the spirit of fear like a black river of semi-solid bodies, sweeping him off his feet and dragging him down into the fissure in the ground. Pitch clawed at the rubble on the cave floor, clung for a moment to the edge of the pit, then with a breathless cry – he was gone.

Jack stared at the spot where the Nightmare King had disappeared for a few stunned seconds, then his shoulders slumped and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He looked around him, at the faces of his friends which were looking at him with a smile, and finally, finally the old spark lit his eyes.

“Let’s go home.”

Description
One of the faeries chirruped urgently, catching Toothiana’s attention.

“Everyone , hide!” she hissed sharply.

The three guardians and their few remaining companions quickly darted into various side tunnels and other nooks and crannies of the shadowed passage, just as the muffled footsteps from ahead rounded the corner. They all flattened themselves deeper into their hiding places when they recognized the figure at the front of the group.

The Nightmare King himself was leading what appeared to be a small procession of nightmares through the halls, and beside him…

The pooka felt his hackles rise. “Jack…”

The playful spirit looked barely a shadow of himself. He appeared entirely unconcerned of the half a dozen nightmares that were following close behind him. His face was perfectly blank, and marble-white against his black clothes. His hand was resting lightly on the shadow lord’s bent arm, like a noble lady being led to a state dinner.

The shadowy group passed by with barely a sideways glance. As they disappeared around the next bend, the forest spirit’s crept out in the open again.

“Well,” North shifted his grip of his of his blades nervously. “At least we know Jack is all right.”

“Yes, but he looked… Oh, North, you don’t think-“ Toothiana started, but was quickly hushed by the leshy, who glanced carefully at Bunnymund as he did so.

The spring guardian appeared almost shell-shocked, staring after the procession that had disappeared from sight.

“We should follow them. I have a feeling in my belly that they will lead us to where Sandy is.” the old cossack whispered back.

He then walked up to Bunnymund, and clapped a hand on his shoulder, startling him out of his stupor.

“Let’s move.”

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The deepest caverns beneath the former Shadow Citadel were brightly lit compared to the rest of the tunnels, but none less repulsive in all other senses. Flickering flames pushing through the cracks in the floor sent eerie shadows moving across the walls, and made the sickly fumes rising from the sulphurous pits glow menacingly.

“Finally,” breathed Pitch. “The time has come.”

In the far end of the room, on a dais slightly above the rest of the cave floor, the shadows deepened, thickened, and then pulled back like opening a curtain, revealing the Sandman, still held in his black tethers. The golden spirit’s eyes darted back and forth and he struggled in silent terror.

The black man breathed deep, drawing the air in across his tongue as if tasting it, not even trying to hide his satisfaction. Then he turned to the pale figure at his side. “Are you ready, my dear?”

Jack stared at the dream guardian for a moment before looking up, his expression still perfectly neutral. “I need my staff for this.”

“That old thing? No, no, I have something better in mind.”

The Nightmare King brought his hands close together, a small swirl of black sand appearing between them. Then he pulled them apart in a quick motion, the sand solidifying into a long, angular shape, like a staff made of a jagged piece of black crystal. He then offered it to Jack.

The prince took the offering gingerly, carefully inspecting the new staff and weighing it in his hands. “I’m not sure… Will it work?”

Pitch chuckled and brushed his long fingers through a few curls of snow-white hair. “Don’t worry, my little shiver. You’ll get the feel for it.”

Grasping the staff more firmly, Jack nodded and turned, approaching the dais with purpose.

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Hidden in the shadows at the edge of the room, the three remaining guardians watched the proceedings in horrified fascination.

“What is he-“ muttered North, squinting as if he was hoping the fumes and the light were playing tricks on his sight.

“He cannot- Not Jack!” Insisted Toothiana hoarsely, as if her terror of the very thought would make it untrue.

Bunnymund didn’t hear. He only saw Jack. White knuckles that stood out from the hand that clutched the staff and the slight shiver of his throat as he swallowed. The familiar joyous half-bounce in his step had given way to the measured stride he used when he was preparing to launch his newest prank. But the eyes… the eyes were cold and still, like a frozen pond in a winter morning.

In that moment, he felt like he was watching a stranger built from the pieces of someone he held dear, and his heart shivered in his chest.

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Jack stepped on the dais, standing directly in front of the Sandman, who was staring at him with wide eyes. Hurt, fear and uncertainty warred on the round, jovial features of the dream guardian. The nightmares around the room were stomping and clamoring for the destruction of their enemy, and at the very center of the pandemonium stood Pitch Black, smiling wildly. The Nightmare King’s hands were opening and closing at his sides as he watched proudly and covetously how his newly won Shadow Queen leaned over his eternal nemesis.

“Don’t worry, Sandy.” Jack assured him, smiling just a little sadly. “This, is the one thing I can do.”

He raised the staff Pitch had given him.

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“Bunny, he’s got Jack! You have to stop him!” North bellowed, needing to shout just to be heard over the noise.

For a moment longer, the pooka was frozen in place, but when the leshy swore in his own language and grasped the hilt of his sword, a grey-furred hand shot out and stopped him.

“No!” Bunnymund turned to the former bandit just long enough to make sure he had been heard, then fixed his eyes upon the scene unfolding in front of him again.

“I trust you, Jack.” Bunnymund whispered under his breath as he reeled his arm back and let his boomerang fly.

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Sparkling ice crystals sprang forward from the prince’s hands and swirled around the black staff before shooting towards the Sandman. But instead of targeting the little golden man, they latched on to the black sand around him, gathering, solidifying… And with a sudden crack, the black prison around the dream guardian shattered like an eggshell.

“Go Sandy! You’re free!” Jack yelled, quickly turning the stream of ice on the nearest nightmares.

The Sandman sat stunned for a moment, looking from Jack to his suddenly unbound hands and back. But then he caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned just in time to see a nightmare charging at him…

… Only to shatter into a cloud of black dust as a well-aimed boomerang sliced through its neck.

Trance broken, the small guardian shot straight up, summoning his sand as he went. From a higher vantage point he spotted the group forest guardians on the other side of the room. Bunny deftly plucked the boomerang out of the air as it arced back to him, Toothiana and her faeries darted in and out of the warzone in a flash of sparkling feathers and North plowed bodily into the mass of nightmares, laughing all the way. With a silent cheer, Sandman raised his sand whip and swung it at the oncoming dark swarm.

The battle was on.

Pitch was still standing where he had been. He had seen the Sandman’s bonds breaking, and had tried to summon his black sand to recapture the dream guardian before he could get his bearings, but the attacking nightmares had blocked his way. Now the golden spirit was lashing left and right with his own sand, and the Nightmare King was trying to find a position to attack from without getting trampled by his own minions, or getting within the sand whips’ range.

Suddenly a flash of white caught the shadowy spirit’s attention. He turned and saw the frost prince swinging the black staff, freezing a group of nightmares in mid step and then reversing the stroke to shatter them.

Pitch ground his teeth. Jack Frost, the careless gust of wind that had brought his carefully constructed house of cards crashing down. The princeling had no idea what he had just thrown away. They could’ve ruled the world. He had been willing to give the boy everything, and yet he had -

The fear keeper’s train of thought was derailed when Jack stopped and looked up, and Pitch saw the sudden light of recognition and relief spreading over his face. He turned almost unwillingly to follow the frost spirit’s gaze, and found the grey furred pooka standing on a ledge high on the cavern wall. And he was looking back at Jack with that same look of relief and joy softening the battle-hardened lines of his face.

In that moment, Pitch Black saw red.

The staff exploded into a shower of black sand in Jack’s hands. The prince gasped and batted at the cloud of darkness that suddenly surrounded him. Blinded and thrown off-balance, the frost sprite was unable to react in time when Pitch lunged forward and backhanded him violently across the jaw.

Bunnymund saw Jack crumble to the ground, dazed by the blow, and he roared. There was no other word for the sound that momentarily overtook the din of the battle.

He launched off the ledge he had been perched on, landed on a very bewildered nightmare’s back, leaped again, bounced off the flank of another nightmare, and bodily tackled Pitch Black to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Pitch was momentarily as stunned from the force of the attack as the sheer physicality of it. Most creatures had a natural aversion to touching him, from some instinctive fear. But the pooka was clutching and tearing at his robes with clawed paws, foregoing his entire arsenal entirely in favor of beating the Nightmare King into the ground with his bare paws.

Finally getting a hold of himself, Pitch Black turned intangible, merging with the shadows around him. He slipped to one side as the furred brute slammed to the ground when the body he had been sitting on simply melted away. He watched with some amusement as the pooka cast about him wildly to catch a sight of his quarry. The shadow spirit waited for the precise moment when the forest guardian had his back turned, then slipped out of the shadows and struck him with a well-placed tendril of nightmare sand.

Bunnymund slammed into the wall and crumpled to the ground. He coughed spasmodically to get the air that had been knocked out of him flowing back into his lungs. He rolled onto his back, trying to blink the spots out of his vision, when a shadow appeared over him. His head cleared immediately when he recognized Pitch Black’s form looming above him, the black sand gathering into the fear keeper’s hands and forming into a long handle with a wicked blade on one end.

“I must thank you, Aster. I’d forgotten what a pleasure it is to rid oneself of a foolishly heroic nuisance!” Pitch snarled as he swung his scythe above his head.

The one thing most people don’t realize when seeing a rabbit curled up in the grass, is just how long those furry legs really are, and just how much power is stored underneath all that downy soft fur.

The paw that caught Pitch in the stomach lifted the Nightmare King clear off his feet, and sent him flying a good twenty feet before crashing down in a very undignified manner. Bunnymund rolled, got all four limbs under him, and leaped to the side just in time to avoid a lunging nightmare. Still in midair the pooka snatched an egg-bomb from his bandolier, and flung it at the black beast, which exploded in a swirl of colored smoke and black sand.

Bunnymund didn’t have long to celebrate his narrow escape when Pitch was on him again, swinging his scythe with furious intent.

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Jack groaned as he sat upright, gingerly touching a hand to the side of his jaw which was throbbing in time with his pulse. For a moment he was disoriented, wondering where he was, but then his short-term memory realigned itself and the reality came crashing down on him all at once.

Pitch. Sandy. Nightmares…

Bunny!

The prince was on his feet in a flare of panic, looking around for the spring guardian. A blur of grey caught from the corner of his eye drew his attention, and he turned and bit back a gasp.

Pitch Black and Bunnymund were weaving among the stone pillars, darting in and out of the shadows and among ranks of fearlings, clashing, evading, and striking again. Every now and then a nightmare would try and join the battle, but would only get smacked aside almost off-handedly by one or the other of the combatants. Even Pitch wasn’t paying much attention to whether or not he might cut down some of his own minions in his frenzy to tear the pooka apart.

The keeper of fear wasn’t looking nearly as majestic as he had before, when he had been cajoling Jack to his side. The edges of his black robes flew about him in frayed tatters, and his porcelain-smooth face was twisted into an ugly sneer, lit by the mad glow of his eyes. Bunnymund was sporting a few dark streaks on his body, dark sand clinging to his fur where the lashes of the Nightmare King’s scythe or black sand had come a little too close for comfort. From the way the pooka would subtly wince every now and then, it was obvious that those hits had left behind more than just stains on his fur.

The winter spirit had the pooka’s name on the tip of his tongue, ready to call out, when he was struck down again. He narrowly avoided cracking his skull open on the stone floor as he fell, and on instinct rolled aside before the nightmare that had blindsided him could land a second blow. He managed to stumble on his feet as the beast lunged for his throat, and the dark creature’s fangs caught only his cape, shredding through the gauzy material.

Further off, Toothiana landed one final blow on the fearling she was dealing with, when a shrill alarm cry from one of her faeries reached her ears. She turned and saw Jack backing away from a nightmare, raising empty hands to try and defend himself.

The faerie queen was off like a shot towards the flash of red and white that identified her leshy friend in the general chaos of the cave floor. “North! Jack’s staff! Quickly!”

The old Cossack only looked up once, before one of his hands reached into the folds of his coat and pulled out the familiar piece of wood. A simple flick of the stout man’s wrist sent the stick spinning up in the air, from where Toothiana snatched it, like a hawk catching a sparrow in mid-flight, and then darted back in the direction where she had seen the frost prince.

“Jack!” Toothiana shouted, throwing the frost spirit’s staff at him.

Jack looked up when he heard his name called, and saw the staff arcing through the air at him. He rushed towards it, dodged the snapping teeth of a nightmare, reached- And then grinned as his fingers closed around the familiar wood.

He swung around to face the attacking fearling, which realized a second too late that its target had just gone from a fragile snowflake into a roaring blizzard. One practiced move sent a stream of ice at the black creature, causing it to crumble to the ground in half-frozen chunks.

Immediate threat dealt with, the prince cast a look around. The ranks of the nightmares were quickly thinning, falling to the combined efforts of the guardians. But there was no sight of Bunnymund or the Nightmare King. He leapt in the air, his heart doing a little flip in his chest as a gust of wind immediately wrapped around him, like an embrace from an old friend, and floated near the cavern ceiling, trying to catch a glimpse of grey fur.

When the frost spirit finally spotted the two elder spirits who were still locked in their private battle, he felt a cold jab in his stomach that had nothing to do with his own winter element.

Neither the spring guardian nor the fear keeper had obviously relented their assault while Jack had been distracted by the nightmare. There was a cut on Bunnymund’s ear, near the base, and the blood was running sluggishly down over his face, matting his fur in ugly, rust colored streaks. The pooka was also notably favoring his left leg, gritting his teeth every time he had to put his weight on it, but refusing to give in to the weakness. Pitch Black’s injuries were in a way even more horrific to see. He appeared to be missing… pieces of himself. There were gaping holes in his body, in places where logic said that they should be severely limiting his ability to move, let alone fight, but he appeared hardly affected. The open wounds didn’t so much bleed as they leaked wispy black smoke that floated in the air for a moment before fading away.

As Jack stared, petrified, Pitch swung at Bunnymund, herding him towards the dais where the Sandman had been on display only a moment ago. The pooka dodged, stepped back, ducked beneath the scythe that swooped towards his head and sent his boomerang flying back at the fear keeper. Pitch knocked the wooden weapon aside, and attacked again, this time swinging low. Bunnymund jumped back, but as he came down he landed awkwardly on the edge of the raised platform. He let out a cry as his paw slipped and a jolt of pain shot up his injured limb. Pitch grinned as he heard the guardian’s yelp, quickly switching his grip on his weapon and ramming the heel of the scythe into Bunnymund’s abdomen, knocking the pooka over and the air out the his lungs.

When the prince saw the pooka doubled over on the ground, coughing and gasping, and the Nightmare King raising his weapon, something clicked into place in his head. With a cry of his own he dropped straight down to the cave floor, and brought the hilt of his staff to the ground. Hard.

A brilliant flash of blue-white filled the cave, a second before a blast of icy wind knocked everyone in the room over.

Pitch Black pushed himself upright, blinking away the spots from his vision and the stabbing headache the sudden flash had brought. He squinted, looking around for Bunnymund, his slowly recovering mind still on the battle and annoyed at the interruption, but instead, when his vision cleared, he saw Jack Frost.

And the frost prince wasn’t laughing, this time.

The young spirit was standing deceptively calmly, with his staff propped on his shoulder, but the ground beneath him was mirror-smooth with ice that spread from his feet like a puddle, and his black clothes were frosted white at the edges. His eyes were blazing, reflecting the light from the fires in flickers, then the blue seeming to well up from underneath, swallowing the other hues in crystal shards and glaciers.

Pitch glanced about the room, but there were but a handful of nightmares left, slinking near the walls and limping into the shadowed tunnels, trying to avoid notice.

Off to the side, North and Toothiana were helping Bunnymund on his feet, the leshy and the faerie stealing furtive, awed glances at the frost spirit, while the pooka was staring openly.

“Hey, Frostbite. What was THAT all about?”

Jack turned towards Bunnymund, and his face softened with a small smile for a moment, but then he turned back towards Pitch, and his next words were aimed at the Nightmare King.

“You said yourself that I should just let go sometime.” there was a small smirk hidden in the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were still cold and implacable as ice. “And you know, you were absolutely right.”

“My father taught me that you can’t control any power until you stop being afraid of it. I didn’t really understand it before… But I think I’m starting to figure it out.” Jack looked down at his feet for a moment. Then he looked up sharply, leveling his staff at the fear keeper.

“And he also taught me that once you learn how to control a power, you can choose how you use it. And you… You are not hurting any one of my friends, my PEOPLE, on my watch. Ever again.”

During the last part Jack had moved forward in a slow, measured stride, and Pitch had backed away, matching him step for step. The shadow spirit was awed at the transformation he saw in the playful young spirit. Of just how much energy, how much willpower now stretched across the lines of the winter sprite's form, hardened his face.

Somewhere in the shadows, the nightmares perked their ears, their nostrils flaring.

“Everything! I could’ve given you everything…” the Nightmare King tried one last time.

“Everything I never wanted in the first place.” Jack’s tone was as emotionless as his gaze.

Pitch tried to take another step back, but stopped when he sensed a presence behind him. He whirled around and met with the Sandman, who was floating about level with the fear keeper’s chest, his pudgy arms crossed.

The three remaining guardians stepped forward, Bunnymund hobbling painfully to Jack’s side and wordlessly pressing a paw to the winter spirit’s shoulder. Jack glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his face softening a bit again, and seeing that, the pooka nodded and they both turned back to Pitch Black.

The guardians were now standing (or floating, as it were) in a loose half circle around the Nightmare King. And behind their backs the remaining nightmares pressed closer.

Pitch Drew the tattered ends of his robes closer, his face twisting into the fanged grimace of a cornered animal. “You’ll never get rid of me! You can’t kill fear!”

“Maybe.” Bunnymund drawled. “But you can shove it back where it came from.”

Pitch was looking wildly around him at the nightmares that were closing in, when his heel touched the edge of a chasm that opened in the cavern floor. He glanced over his shoulder on instinct, into the deep abysses of earth, and then looked up again, just in time so that the guardians could see the look on his face as he recognized the shape of his doom.

The nightmares pounced.

They rushed over the spirit of fear like a black river of semi-solid bodies, sweeping him off his feet and dragging him down into the fissure in the ground. Pitch clawed at the rubble on the cave floor, clung for a moment to the edge of the pit, then with a breathless cry – he was gone.

Jack stared at the spot where the Nightmare King had disappeared for a few stunned seconds, then his shoulders slumped and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He looked around him, at the faces of his friends which were looking at him with a smile, and finally, finally the old spark lit his eyes.

“Let’s go home.”