With a storm coming in the form of a more powerful Pitch Black, the guardians including newly anointed Jack Frost must band together once more to defeat him. But are they enough? Or will they seek the help of a forgotten spirit, the one who calls hi...
Ever since he had been banished to the little pocket of earth beneath the rotting remains of a forgotten bed, he had been hiding from the light of day ever since.
After his own Nightmares had dragged him away, he had been consumed by their inky sorrows and bitter hate. The stuff of bad dreams haunted him.
Gritting his sharpened teeth, he inched forward along the dirt ground of his prison.
How dare they--the so called Guardians--unlawfully imprison him so?
'They will pay,' Pitch thought.
'Especially Jack Frost.'
Oh, he would give that snow-haired brat nightmares for life.
He sat on his knees, black robes tattered and streaked with mud.
Pitch contented himself by cleaning the filth from underneath his claws, when a piercing ray of light hit him dead in the eyes.
Gah, how he loathed light.
However, his curiosity peaked and he crawled closer towards the source.
With grimy nails, he dug out piles of hard dirt and clay, moved rocks and small boulders.
With each effort, the light grew stronger and more blinding, but the boogeyman persevered.
His actions were rewarded when he removed the last piece of earth, the light spilling freely into the cavern.
With trembling hand, Pitch reached out, encasing the glow in his fist.
It slipped easily into its palm, its weight surprisingly light for something so powerful. And it was powerful.
Pitch could feel the energy radiating from the thing his hand, creeping up his arm and into his being.
He would have casted the thing aside in fear, which was ridiculous considering that he was the general source of all fear in the world (or used to, anyway).
But this was different.
While light usually burnt and shunned him, this particular light welcomed him. Embraced him.
It was only after a moment that Pitch looked down at himself, marveling, as the glow mended his wounds. The dirt vanished from his cloak, and the tatters repaired themselves.
Standing, a bit shaky, he clutched the light tighter, but not before daring to take a look.
It was a white stone, no bigger than a large coin, but thicker. Its surface was not reflective but radiant, glowing from within the milky center. Colors like pale blue, pink, and purple swirled across its pale surface.
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