Author's note: Second fanfic... Criticize if you must. Compliment if you want.

Disclaimer: I disclaim what ain't mine.

SERIOUS REWRITE! I noticed how unpolished my writing was before. Now I am correcting everything.

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Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons:

The Fearless

By: Brandishing No.2 Pencils

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It comes like a shadow at night.

The knocking at your door, the tiny creaks of the floor, the terror so blithe!

Like a snake, they say, slithering…

Slither…

Slither…

AND BITE!

(Translated by Princess Rapunzel from Queen Eleanor's poem "Nightlife"; lines 20-25, year unknown)

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Prologue

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Black.

Everything around him was pitch black...and he had become afraid of it. He was afraid of the suffocating cold the talons of the night would offer as it wounded itself around his skinny neck, threatening to slice off his jugular and his breath. Afraid of those feral, yellow eyes as they would glare at him, turning his veins into ice as freezing as the arctic and stealing his very soul in the process. He was afraid of the constant hisses and scratches coming from nowhere, unsettling him, taunting him, mocking him…

Oh, the prices those wretched Guardians would pay for reducing him to such a lowly state!

He would do anything—anything at all—to make them feel what suffering he had undergone. The way of how things run will change majestically: the smiles will turn to screams, the laughter will become tears of sorrow, the hope will wither away to ashes…

…and life…

…will become death.

Oh yes…

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Pitch stood up weakly, his legs stumbling under the unfamiliar weight. One foot after another, he shifted his balance to remain upright, looking up at the small patch of sky peeking out from the remains of that rotten bedpost. Thousands of feet above him, the moon shined down, scorning him with its white brilliance.

How long was he plagued by his own Nightmares? How many years had passed since annoying Jack Frost defeated him? It has been far too long. It could have been minutes or thousands of years ago, and all the while, he was left defeated in the dark.

Pitch shadow-travelled, having enough strength to to end up under a shady tree, just a few meters away from the bedpost. He blindly clutched at a low branch for support as his wheezing lungs screamed for oxygen, else he'd collapse under that amount of strain. Dizziness swallowed up his already weakened senses, and it took twenty mouthfuls of air just to regain his bearings. How he missed consuming the bittersweet taste of the children's worst demons, coupled with the melody that comes along with it.

The starting lyrics were almost always the same: AAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

For years, he had been seeking out the song's composer, eager to get his or her autograph. Too bad there was a chance he'll be greeted by a skeleton.

His eyes wandered around aimlessly, searching for his supposedly loyal Nightmares. Each and every one of them probably ran away and was turned by oh-so-powerful Sandy into golden dreamsand, used for the benefit of creating sparkles and rainbows. The sickening thought made Pitch realize that he did not have enough black sand to command. Not enough to conquer.

He smothered his face with his palm, berating himself for his incompetence in failing to notice such an important thing earlier. Ah, what an inconvenience! But there was always the lingering temptation of overwhelming the magic of Sandy…

Gathering just a little more of his dwindling strength, he forced himself to transport at a dark alley in a small town. He smirked briefly, finally getting used to his favorite mode of transportation. Just then the wind swirled and upon hearing something crinkle, twisted his arm and grabbed a fluttering newspaper behind him, his head not looking back. It was with dread when he opened it to locate the date.

How many years since his defeat?

Five.

Five wasted years.

Those wrecked children from Burgess had become teenagers.

If they still believed in the those Guardian fools, Pitch thought, then it is a first, for teens to believe in so-called myths and legends.

With unnecessary force, he crumpled the filthy newspaper, then threw it on the ground as hard as he could before glaring at the star-dotted sky.

He was met with clouds covering the observant moon.

Perfect.

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The earth-shattering screams didn't start until he touched the beautiful dreamsand, delicately corrupting it as he willed the luminous gold to turn into inky black. With expert fingers, he summoned his own small amount of black sand, adding it to the growing mass and allowed it to turn the child's dream of playing a violin expertly into her being pelted with disgusting tomatoes by the furious audience. The female child started crying in her sleep and started thrashing around wildly. She held up her hands as if warding off the next vegetables coming her way.

Pitch laughed heartlessly. Useless move…

Strength flooded into him, filling his heart with euphoria. Energy and power fused into one as long as the child continues to cooperate, creating more Nightmares for him. When there was nothing left, he departed, chuckling into the night and leaving the child heaving inside the orphanage.

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Back at his lair, he affectionately ran his index finger along the manes of his new creations. Their texture was as rough as sandpaper, but to him, the stroking was like greeting some old friends.

"You'll always come back to me, won't you?" Pitch crooned. His pets neighed in response as the reinstated Nightmare King chuckled. "Always so wild and untamed—"

In a flash, he crafted a whip and struck at the Nightmares, immediately alerting them of the danger they are now under. Their frantic neighs did nothing to calm their creator.

"This will teach you," Pitch spat, striking once more to prove his point and ignoring the lashes that appeared on their muzzles. "…to NEVER leave your master again!"

One-by-one, the black horses bowed down before him, but Pitch would have none of it. Their actions were assurance of their allegiance, but now they're nothing more than mere pawns in his game.

To distract himself, he studied his crude and considerably smaller Globe of Belief, surprised to see that it had rusted a little more with time.

A little more with time.

He cocked his head to the side, regarding the ugly surface of brown. The idea that struck him seemed so perfect, so flawless, so laughably impossible…

But then, he never truly tested the limits of his capabilities. There were numerous boundaries that hindered him from achieving his goal. It was like a thorn at his side, a splinter buried in his head…

Nevertheless, the answer to his triumph was so obvious it was dancing naked in front of him.

Time.

The unwritten rules were: If one needed to alter the spitting present, he must do so in the past.

But then, again, he had lost in the Dark Ages before, thousands of years ago. Besides, five against one seemed a stupid, suicidal idea. He was undeniably outnumbered, and it would all result to the now if he decided to return to the before.

Unless…

His upper lip peeled themselves from his teeth as he formed a grin. He closed his eyes as he relished his genius. It came to him that that has been his fatal flaw all along: his loneliness. He'll need more pawns, more pieces to do his bidding. His orders. His.

His own team of Guardians: full of mischief, betrayal, and wrath, all from different periods of time. People of today are searching and trying to find hope, wonder, and fun. How worthless…

What he needs is precision in his choices.

Pitch pressed his palm against the metallic Globe of Belief. He may not be a mechanic, and a lot can go wrong with his actions, but he'd let his black sand do the trick for him. It trickled on the rusty surface, forcing it to change.

Three…

Every particle covered every inch, like madness paralyzing a mind. The globe began to shudder with too much power being delivered into it. It crackled with blackish lightning as the smell of ozone descended. Gears and wires whizzed as they were sent into overdrive, spinning rapidly as friction became nonexistent.

Two…

Suddenly, the sphere began to spit out different scenes it had seen for the past few thousand years. There was a tall tower—no, it was replaced by a kingdom—wait, now it showed dragons—flying reptiles. Many more scenes were displayed in front of Pitch, all in a very fast succession. Night would replace day. Winter became summer. Withered flowers bloomed into roses then thinned into seeds. Old men walked backwards and shortened into infants. The dead were restored to life…

One…

Kingdoms reassembled as the cannonballs were sent back to the cannons of an invading army. Magma returned to an erupting volcano, and waterfalls climbed up the mountains. Pitch marveled hungrily at the ages rolling before his eyes, unable to choose the proper time for his plan. Each era was rapidly becoming more primitive and uncivilized, along with the people.

Hmmm…how chaotic could things possibly be if he'll just mash everything he needed together into one?!

KABOOM!

The Nightmare King was thrown back against the wall with force, making cracks appear along the stony surface. Dazed, he glanced at the globe, fearing that he may have accidentally broken it. He was relieved to see it was fine, though it had begun emitting a dark portal. Pitch hastily sprinted in front of his creation, but was unable to see what lies beyond its capacious depths.

His hand carefully touched the rippling surface, laughing with delight as it passed through. Warily, he took one step after another, beckoning at his followers to come after him...and disappeared.

Knowing that he could rewrite history.

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