Breath in.
Breath out.
Nice and steady, Pitch. The bow string was held taught as the exiled spirit drew the arrow. Unlike the first, this was made of real wood and feather; the bow and string genuine. He had lost all control of his black sand when they developed a mind of their own. No; when it developed a mind of its own, becoming an independent being entirely. It had been so long since he was trapped in that shadow enveloped hell of nightmare and torment. He shook the thought from his head. The hood on his head almost falling off; his long robe had long since been discarded. It proved too difficult to move in and after his 'punishment' it was torn to shreds by the nightmares. He still dressed in black attire but it consisted in a jacket, pants, and hunting boots. Short and sweet.
Breath in.
Breath out.
You have to focus, Pitch. He had found him, the one he was looking for, hanging out with Jack and the Sandman. He had just been assigned a Guardian. And even though Pitch had held a grudge against them, he would not allow him to threaten the world. No. There was no exception. The Guardians, if Pitch were to be caught, would think he had taken another innocent life. They might even go as far as to accuse him of trying to kill the Sandman instead of...
Pitch had to focus, especially on the wind. There was a slight breeze; the target wasn't moving which made it easier. Aim a little towards the left and—
The arrow whizzed from the bow, silently grazing Jack's shoulder and penetrating the earth. From within the safety of the forest, Pitch could hear Jack yelp out in pain and shock. The wind had dropped him from where he was hovering as the sprite clutched his shoulder.
There were genuine looks of alarm from the other two Guardians, though when he scanned the forest, there was only keen interest. Pitch knew he had been spotted, and the look on his old friend's face was one of amusement. It was quickly replaced with false concern as the new guardian turned to Jack; he was good at wearing masks like that. He urgently spoke to the two, probably telling them to get the other guardians. He then pointed in Pitch's direction, making the boogeyman's blood run cold.
Pitch couldn't waste another moment, fear, yes—the boogeyman's own fear, had made him fumble with his arrow.
Breath in.
Breath out.
You have to calm down, he scolded himself, or you'll never get the shot. He drew the arrow again. That mask of false concern was replaced with irritation as an arrow flew past the new Guardian's left ear. He was making his way towards him now and the thought of confrontation made bile rise in the back of Pitch's throat. He watched as Sandy and Jack fly off before disappearing into the shadows.
Even though it was only a decade since is fiasco, Pitch had been left a wreck. For his confidence, there was none and sleep less than that. From dusk to dawn it was filled with night terrors and from dawn to dusk hallucinations. He had become paranoid, spineless, weak and most of all, terrified. He emerged from the shadow of a tree a good thirty feet deeper in the woods. He had to be careful were he went or what he thought when he was traveling in the shadows. If he thought of home, it would bring him back to the black sand. He hardly made it out the first time; being so weak he couldn't manipulate the shadows around him. Only when the sand had rested had he managed to find an opening and escape.
That's why he only traveled small distances, it was less of a risk which balanced out the hazard he was already performing, or had preformed. Speaking of darkness, it had begun to settle as the last bit of light, like blood, drained from sky. He started with a quick walk, looking behind him every so often. He felt disappointed, more than that, he felt worried. He had missed his target twice, hurt Jack without meaning to and… and… he knew, that man, the old friend and the new enemy, knew.
He might as well come out to the open and scream 'hey guys! Look at me! Haven't you missed me!? It's—'
"Pitch?"
Pitch seemed to have jumped out of his skin when he heard his name called; it had been so long since he heard something human. Yet, it was the wrong kind of human, it was, "August?" he said this more like a dreaded statement than a question.
The man that stood before him was around his age, tall with a head of thick brown, almost black hair that played wild waves on his head; his face held two piercing green eyes like sharp jade. The same haunting eyes that were so hard to read and that sly smile that indicated something was up, "So" August said, the light tone in his voice hiding something, "Did you do this to me?" He turned his head slightly to show the grazed line that decorated the side of his scalp just above his ear, "It's not deep, but it's sure as hell bleeding a lot, now isn't it?" his voice was soft and slightly husky.
He took a step forward and Pitch took a step back. August observed Pitch and laughed, "Wow… only a decade and you're a mess."
"Says you" Pitch sneered. It was true though, Pitch now longer held that certain pride or cockiness. He was slightly hunched over and looked tired, his face sunken and his once piercing eyes now dim. He clutched his bow, "What do you want?" he asked brusquely.
August slowly began to circle him, Pitch never failing to watch him carefully, "why" August started, "I just wanted to know why you tried killing me."
"You know why, August."
August stopped and something savage shown in his eyes as he slightly craned his neck, "Say it." He said through gritted teeth.
"I can't let you be a Guardian."
There was a flash of disappointment; this obviously wasn't the answer August was expecting, "Oh, is someone jealous?" He taunted, the smile playing on his face.
Pitch scowled and backed up into a tree were he ended walking out the shadow of another a good forty yards away. He looked behind him, good, he thought, he never knew it was that easy to lose him. What an idiot. He turned around and jumped back at the sight of August's face taking up his vision, "Miss me?" he asked, cocking his head. The mannerism was small but it was enough for Pitch to want to snap his neck. Frustrated, Pitch backed up into another shadow and was now even deeper in the woods, only to find August waiting for him on the other side, "leave me alone; I mistaken you for game." he growled.
August let out a boisterous laugh, "Don't fool yourself, Pitch! I knew you were trying to kill me!"
"Sadly I missed."
"Gladly you missed."
"Well then, I guess it makes up for—" Pitch stopped himself.
"Come on, Pitch, say it. Tell me why you want revenge."
"I don't want revenge." He lied, "I am past that incident."
"That's a load of bull and you and I know that." He walked towards Pitch and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Pitch attempted to slink away but August's grip tightened preventing Pitch from going anywhere, "What I have noticed in spirits is that they tend to fall back into things. Kind of like a broken record but not quite. For instance, you were hell bent on revenge in your last life and in this one; especially in the first battle with the Guardians. And now that I'm on the map, you have an issue with me."
Pitch was taken aback, "How did you know about the—"
"The fight? With the Guardians? Normally I would go to tell you that such a skirmish is bound to be like a wildfire and I would catch word with it. But to be honest, I had kept a close eye on you Pitch; that until you were pulled down into that dreaded pit of yours."
Hah, honesty. Pitch never knew the man had that in his vocab. This new piece of information had greatly disturbed him; exactly how long had he been watching him? Pitch went to open his mouth to say something when August cut him off, "shhhh…. Do you hear that?"
All Pitch heard was the hiss of nocturnal bugs waking up to the start of a new night. August drew away from Pitch, looking up at the sky, "I think…" he started, looking at Pitch and then up at the sky, "I think it might be the Gaurdians I called for." He looked back as Pitch as he drew his eyes away from the sky, making eye contact and with a wicked grin he hissed, "You better run."
Pitch blinked and August had vanished. There were the sound of sleigh bells and the whooping and hollering indicating the Guardian's arrival. Pitch fearfully glanced up towards the sky; the hunt was on.