This was how it felt to first wake up as the walking symbol of fear.
Imagine being reborn for more than a thousand years, brought back from an untimely death from a deceased enemy. Imagine suddenly waking up in total darkness, nothing around you, just an empty forest and the gleaming moon risen above you, yellow eyes blinking at the round object as you try to gather yourself, the sudden shock of returning from death causing you to attempt to place your hand on your chest. But you haven't quite grasped your entire body yet, still numb from your sudden death. You could do nothing but stare at the sky as you try to gather your bearings.
Inhale. Exhale.
A cough followed by that. You are shocked beyond belief that not only can you breath, but also cough! As in some sort of miracle brought you back from the depths of darkness. The moon glistened above you, as if it was expecting your return, awaiting it. Blinking multiple times, you build up the new-found energy beneath you as you attempt to move your arms again. This time, it succeeds! You place a palm on your chest, the feeling of fabric preventing skin contact. Gasping, your numbness was disregarded as you glance your eyes downwards, seeing long clothing that probably reached from your neck to your still feet. Taking a deep breath, hope rising within you, you attempt to wriggle your toes. Nothing. You tried again.
It worked!
But no happiness or joy came to you, only confusion and worry. Where were you? Who were you? How did you die? You remember clearly having an earlier life before. But your mind was hazy for the moment, as if determining whether to share the information and answers you asked for, more being a seeker for, or not. They will come to you eventually. you would preferably start with a name.
Pitch Black.
You gasp loudly, the unexpected strange voice from nowhere causing you to sit up, your legs numb themselves, as you twisted your body around to seek the source of this voice. Taking a breath, you quickly recount the tone of the voice. It sounded... like an echo. As if it were everywhere. That's impossible... is it not? Then again: you've just returned from the death, so anything is possible. You could feel the beating of your new-healthy heart in you, but this caused only more confusion than happiness. Your body continues to recover from shock, and there is the distinct feeling it will heal quickly. Hey, if you returned from the damned like some sort of miracle, why not?
Pitch Black.
That voice again! Where was it emerging from?! It was as if the unidentifiable source was mocking you and your confounded feelings. The moon continued shining above you, and you suddenly feel as though your every nerve is commanding you to take notice of the moon. Ridiculous. You have to find the source of this voice. This voice that repeats the words "Pitch Black" as though expecting you to understand. Well: you don't. And that was the problem. Who was this voice? And what did it mean? Where was it coming from? Was there a... spirit about, haunting you? You wanted to chuckle at the thought, but suddenly find your throat completely... moist. As if you have already taken a drink before you died. But you can't remember as such.
Pitch Black.
Again! And his nerves were increasing, begging him to look upwards as you whirl around trying to find the source of the mysterious echoing voice. Alright!, you wanted to snarl at yourself, I'll look at the damned moon!
When you did, you found you couldn't stop.
The moon shone like it was your god, and you suddenly have the feeling that you know where the voice was coming from. But how?! That was impossible! There is absolutely no way this could be! You wanted to scream at yourself, telling yourself you were just hearing things. But one half of you ignored this denial, focusing attention on the glistening orb above. Its light attacked your eyes, but you found you couldn't staring. The voice returned again, and you had the distinct feeling that, somehow, someway, the voice was addressing you.
Pitch Black.
Your jaw dropped, so many questions filling your head. How is the moon talking to you? Why is it talking to you? Did it return you from death? If so, why would it? So many answers needed, but only a few words of denial managed to escape your throat, finally finding the voice that was hiding from you. And you are shocked at how deep the voice, so low, so... purring.
"There... there must be some mistake."
The moon countered otherwise, a booming voice echoing in, you realize, your head.
You are now Pitch Black.
Disbelief ran through you, followed by panic. No... no! Managing to finally stand on your feet, you tear your gaze from the lying moon and see a small stream. Rushing over to it, you kneel before you could run head first into the water as the moon assisted in the reflection, showing your unusual face.
No!
A pale hand clawed at the water, droplets falling from your fingertips as you realize what was reflecting from the stream was true. Yellow eyes. Pale features, too pale. Messy black hair sticking from all ends. A face that would send a shiver down ones spine. To say you have a hard time believing this is an understatement.
Hands planted on the dirty ground, you bow your head as you try to wrap your mind around this. There was just no way this was possible. Did he become a vampire? No... they can't see themselves with a reflection. A werewolf. Now, that was being irrational. You never really believed in fairy tales. Much less supernatural entities. Yet the irony struck you like a sword: a mythical creature, kneeling, crouched, yellow glowing eyes, pale skin one couldn't recognize you in snow if one could. The realization made a small whisper in the back of his mind: ghost.
Your hand covered your forehead and one of your eyes, unbelieving and unready to accept this new development. It took a few minutes, but it felt like a century, you open your eyes and glance at the water again, releasing your forehead and using both hands to grab a handful of the fresh liquid, bringing it up to your face in order to lower the stress. The cool water did indeed help, and he half-hoped there was kind of paint covering his face and it might be washed off. But glancing at the reflection again proved otherwise. Oh well, you think, at least it was worth a try. You feel as though you are taking this new development more... calm than your previous life would. What was going on? Glancing up at the moon again, yellow eyes sought for answers.
You are Pitch Black. The Nightmare King.
And no matter how many centuries he tried, as he gave nightmares to all living beings and cursed the Guardians daily, he received no more answers from the shining orb above.
That was how it felt then, this is now.
Imagine knowing victory was imminent, fear arising everywhere, darkness ready to rule the world once more. Your minions, your little horses of absolute terror carrying out your orders across the Earth, your sworn enemies slowly being drained of their powers as kids around the Earth are starting to cease believing in them. The Man in the Moon cannot possibly stop you now!
There was pride and triumph across your features.
Until a certain white-haired impish spirit dampened that.
Obviously the boy must have spent too much time with the Guardians, seeing as how the moon, it appears, has chosen the three-hundred year old to join their pitiful ranks. Otherwise, Frost would not have rejected your offer.
When you stared at those dark blue orbs, filled with loneliness and longing, you saw a part of yourself in them.
Obviously you have both been alone for a long time, no backing up for you, believing in you, understanding you. Both you and Frost, dark and cold, two entities could have ruled the world together. Darkness and ice, side-by-side, as children fear and respect you eternally. There would be no more obstacles, no more distractions, no more pathways to keep you in the shadows instead of taking your rightful place as kings. You understood what Jack Frost was going through, you understood the pain, the agony, the sheer longing of desiring a family to call your own. You wanted it too, and so offered it to the boy. Pitch Black and Jack Frost, together, an unstoppable force of dark and ice, never feeling lonely again, always having each other's back, never to be thought of as castaways again. The world will be nothing with nightmares and snow, and so forth their place as rulers was needed. The Guardians had their fun, and Frost had more potential than the rest of them, especially when the boy used that powerful attack of ice against you after you disposed of the Sandman.
It was perfect: give Jack his memories. Watch as the Guardians turn against him, their doubt and anger disheartening the boy, you enter, follow the boy as he steams off in this snowy wasteland. Offer him a chance to become so much more than a wandering spirit; forgotten by his allies and seeking a family of his own. You both understood what the other was going, and could have helped each other through the grief. Their revenge upon the ones who wronged them would feel their frozen, dark wrath.
And then the boy rejected your offer!
And when he began to walk off, you felt immense pain and agony in you at the refusal. Where had you gone wrong? No... where had that boy gone wrong? The Guardians may no longer have Jack's back, but they certainly gave him some of their confidence! Well, that changed at least when you broke his staff in two, watching with pleasure replacing mental pain as the younger spirit felt pain himself after his long-possession snapped. And it was simply delightful to blast Frost, leaving him and that insignificant Baby Tooth to freeze eternally in that cavern. Ironic that between the two of Frost and you: you are the one with a heart of ice.
Yes, victory was at hand! At last for over ten centuries ultimate power and fear will be yours! There will be no more light, no more hope, no more anything for the Guardians to fight against you! You will be the epitome of fear! The king of shadows, the absolute living nightmare, where none shall stand in your path for rightful glory and vengeance!
As you turn your back from the scene beneath you of the crawled up boy, walking away to carry out continuing with your plans, you find yourself faulting, suddenly, for a moment, glancing over your shoulder, concern and regret etching your pale features for the moment.
You can't say you care for the boy. No, you were above that. But the clear refusal from Frost's face earlier struck an accord in you that even you, the Nightmare King, cannot cast aside. But... why? What was it about that boy that grasped your attention so? And more importantly... why did Jack refuse your offer? Was he beginning to fear you in the back of his mind? Or was it something about your own being that made him turn down the glorious offer? Perhaps trust was the issue. Yes... trust. A word so foreign to you that it must be the same case with Frost. Perhaps trust eluded you both. Well, whatever it was... it was too late now. Shaking your head, regret being replaced by fury, you continue down your dark path, leaving any hint of remorse behind. You are beyond that now.
The shadows welcome you, extending open arms as you enter their embrace without hesitation, a slight smile etching your face. The time has come. The lights will blink out. Forever night. No more against you. The moon forever covered by dark clouds. Eternal nightmares.
This is how it feels to be Pitch Black, Nightmare of All.
And that feeling still anchored a part of your blackened heart, the feeling of utter and merciless rejection.
Another practice of mine, since I did one previously about the villain of Dinsey's Tangled: Gothel. Hope you enjoyed it. If this keeps up maybe I'll do one about the giant dragon from How To Train Your Dragon, and the wolf-bear from Disney's Brave. Hope you liked it!