"Dear Reader.
I sincerely hope you fine this tale appleaing, with it being my first one. If you do end up liking consider writing a review or sending me a privet message. Constructive criticism will also be accepted. I have more stories in the making so please take your time and enjoy the show." - Mortimer Graves.
War of the Guardians
Part one – Fallen Legends
Chapter 1
Pitch Black sat in the corner of his layer, idly swishing his black sand with a grey finger tip. "What's the point of going out to make nightmares when Jack and Sandman are still gallivanting around?" His teeth gritted with the thought. "Going around with that stupid boy!" He yelled, looking up the dark shaft that led to his home. "He saw me! He believed in me! But the moment he didn't fear me I was invisible to him! That's not how it's supposed to work old friend!" He was yelling at the moon of course. Deep down, he knew the Man on the Moon knew what he was doing, and that he was the one missing something, but he grimaced at the thought of admitting it.
"Expecting somebody to answer?" came a slightly gravelly voice. The Boogyman turned around, just in time to see Crowley stepping out of the shadows. His eyes furrowed and his lip curled. He didn't know who this was, but he knew what it was. Crowley rolled his neck, "The names Crowley, King of Hell, and do I have the honor of addressing Mr. Bitch Black?"
"Pitch," he corrected, his mood not improving.
"Oh yes silly me, Pitch of course, nice to meet you." Cowley said, his voice anything but sincere.
"What do you want?" Pitch asked irritably, looking bored.
"That's not really a welcoming attitude," Cowley said passively, "I thought you would like the company of a fellow man of fear?"
Pitch snorted rudely, "You? A man of fear? Don't make me laugh. Now, I don't like it when unexpected people come down here so what do you want?" he snarled that last part, his tall figure looming over Crowley's shorter one.
Crowley wiped the edges of his mouth with one palm and drew a contract. "I was just wondering if you would be at all interested in offing a couple of obnoxious Guardians."
Pitch was slightly taken aback, and leaned away. "Guardians? As in palace guards? Military men?"
"No!" Crowley said, a little angry now at Pitch's seemingly naïve answer. "Santa Clause, The Easter Bunny! Those guys!"
There was silence, and then Pitch snorted again, this time with laughter. He held his side with one arm and shook his head as his throat vibrated with the chuckle. "The King of Hell is having an issue with the Easter Bunny? What's the problem? Is God coming out of another tomb because of him?"
Crowley lowered the contract, his eyes stern. "Because they have power! Control over the elements, superior strength, Immortal, armed to the teeth, supernatural. Oh and they have good morals. Letting them hang around is just asking for a whole lot of trouble. Hell has a serious potential problem." He shrugged casually, his anger cooling. "And I figured…since you already hate them, you might want to kill them."
Pitch's tongue prodded at the small gap where a tooth had once occupied. He looked up at the King of Hell, his eyes becoming dull. "No," he said in a quiet snooty tone.
Crowley raised his eyebrows. "No? What is it? Do you suddenly get warm fuzzy feelings about how they knocked a tooth out of your head, or locked you away in this dump?"
"The reason is Mr. Crowley is that you kill and torture people to make them afraid of you."
Now Cowley was really curious. "Beg your pardon?"
"It's cheap," Pitch sneered. "I'll show you fear Mr. Crowley, and I'll do without using those embarrassing techniques you like to call strategy." His sulfurous eyes narrowed. "I'll show everybody."
"Well aren't you a pompous little bastard," Crowley mused, stuffing the contract away. "Have it your way then. I came to you for some extra muscle anyway; don't go thinking I am dependent on you."
"Then how do you expect to stop the Guardians? Demons? Please, Sandman could trash a dozen of them without even blinking." Pitch called.
Crowley spared one last glance back at the defeated boogie man. "Three names Bitch, Bloody Mary, Hook Man, and Winchester.
***Thousands of feet in the air, Jack Frost stood on the nose of a commercial airliner, feeling the wind blow his hair straight back. After starring over the horizon for a minute, he inhaled deeply, spread his arms, and let his bare feet lift upwards. He shot backwards like a bullet, sliding up the tail end of the plan. He wavered in the air for a second, and then let out a long excited yell as he tipped upside down, nose diving out of the sky. He was like a missile shooting for earth, his eyes watering slightly as the wind beat against them. He plummeted towards a snow covered mountainside, curling up into a cannonball around his staff. He hit the base of it, sinking into two stories of snow. A blast went off around him and powdery snow exploded into the sky like a nuclear blast. Wind instantly picked it up, and carried it across the country. Jack crawled out of the hole that he had made, dusting himself off, grinning. "There go you kids," he breathed. "There's a snow day coming for ya real soon." Jack flew over the cities and states, dropping down every once in a while to instigate a snow ball fight, or to draw intricate frost patters on a window. He eventually landed on the rim of Jamie's front yard fence. He looked up at the sky. "That down fall will be here by tomorrow," he plopped himself down. "It'll be good to play with them again." Jamie and his friends were the only ones that really saw Jack clearly; a sign off undoubting belief in him, and it would be so fun to be able to have a snow ball fight with kids that would actually thank him at the end of the day.
"Garth is the man you're looking for."
The voice was soft spoken, and carried in the air. Jack looked around, a frown forming on his face. "Who's there?" he called, not as loudly as he normally would have.
"The man you're looking for is Garth Fitzgerald IV, the hunter."
Jack continued to look around him, his staff poised. And then a single, blue and green colored feather floated down in front of him, landing in the snow at his feet. The frost spirit stared at it in confusion for a moment, and then he gasped, looking up. "Wait..." he breathed. Then his eyes blazed with anger and he flew up into the sky.
Watching him from hell, Crowley leaned back in his seat. "Oh yeah," he breathed. "I love messing with rookies."
***At his home, Garth whistled a merry tune as he mixed up a cup of hot chocolate. He was wearing a red and green woolen sweater, and was turning up the radio to hear the Christmas carols. It was just after thanksgiving, and Garth was one of those early Christmas celebrators. He bobbed his head to the music, humming along, and bringing his cup up to his lips. But nothing came out. He tipped the cup further, but still nothing came. Confused, he pulled the cup away and looked into it. The hot coca was frozen solid in the mug. Slowly the situation registered with Garth and he dropped the mug, grabbing his gun and a cup of salt. He saw frost forming on his window and quickly put a circle around himself. It slowly spelled out J-A-C-K. Garth squinted, his lips silently reading. He blinked. "Jack Frost?" he said.
"Yep," Jack said, appearing behind him, looking furious. Garth turned around to shoot but Jack froze the gun, and the hand that was holding it to the floor with an ice pillar. He stepped over the salt, and punched the hunter right across the face. Garth staggered back, drawing a knife with his other hand and chopped away the section of ice holding his hand to the floor. He turned quickly to face Jack, but the spirit was now standing meters away from him. His eyes grew cold, and he twirled his staff once, and sent a wave of ice into the hunter.
