A/N: So, just saw Rise of the Guardians, and this popped into my head … I know I have like, 5 other fanfics started, but what can I say – the idea struck me and now it won't vacate the premises. Plot bunnies really need to stop burrowing into my ears …

Chapter 1: I'd Hate Going out in the Storm

The dark was the only place he was comfortable anymore; the only place he felt safe. How had he been reduced to this …? Well, that was an easy answer – he had planned for centuries; and for all of his planning, all the time he spent figuring out how to undo every single one of the guardians … He had of course never expected the fifth, and of all those that could have been chosen, he would have never expected him ... And that had been his undoing. If not for that damnable Jack Frost … If only he could have swayed that impulsive, irresponsible, selfish idiot – he hadn't been lying when he made his proposition; there was a truth that rang clearly in his words. Nothing goes better with dark than cold…

"Except perhaps a sprinkling of chaos …" at the sudden voice cutting through his accustomed silence, Pitch Black stood quickly, looking around. But, in the thick darkness that coated this place, he could see nothing; he had no idea who had spoken … Though whoever had didn't need to know that.

"I'm sorry; this is a private affair, and I don't believe you've received an invitation," he said with no particular concern in his voice. However, he realized after a moment that he could feel a presence – almost gnawing at the back of his mind … It was strange; almost like an itch, though unfortunately, he didn't have time to scratch it.

"Oh Pitch," a voice nearly crooned; it seemed to be coming from several places at once – and this fact was vaguely concerning. Only vaguely though. "What's happened to you …? Hiding out in a tiny, dank little cave like some sort of rodent … You're even afraid of the light that would make your shadow – worse off than that silly little groundhog. Skittering around in the shadows where no one can find you …"

"Then how, pray tell, did you manage the feat …?" he snapped in retort, "and who, for that matter, are you?" There was a long pause – so long that Pitch Black wasn't sure whoever it was in fact was still in his presence … He stood tense, waiting for some sort of sign that he wasn't alone … And then, a chuckle, almost a giggle, bubbled up from the darkness, and there was suddenly a tiny patch of illumination in this little haven he'd carved out for himself.

"Well, I didn't do it alone … I had a little, hmmm, shall we call it help?" His eyes narrowed, unused to the light no matter how miniscule that invaded an admittedly small area. At first, he had a hard time making out what was emitting the light, but after a few moments, he heard a familiar sound that clued him in. It was the whinny of a rather unnatural horse …

"From this lovely creature. I know it's rude of me not to introduce you, but I assume you've met …?" she continued as if he'd asked again. But he wasn't paying attention to the voice anymore. All he could think was that he had outrun the horses; it had taken a long time, but he'd lost them. Gone somewhere they didn't follow him – had stamped down whatever supposed fear he might or might not have felt … So, then how …? If this disembodied figure was telling the truth, how did it –

"Oh relax," the tone turned bored quickly, snapping Pitch out of his thoughts to face the Nightmare … And finally, he was able to pin down the source; it was coming from somewhere next to the devilish horse. "I've got this little beauty under control – he's not going to hurt you … I just needed him to help me find you …" He wasn't sure he believed what she was saying; even he didn't control them – not really. They were drawn to fear of any kind, and preyed on it. Fed it. They really were wild animals, in every sense of the word … So how was she, if it was actually a she, keeping it at bay…?

"What happened to the big, powerful, terrible Pitch Black …?" The voice startled him from his reverie again … There was mock pity in it now; but he couldn't tell if it was laughing at him or it was oddly … teasing him. "The one that could just wave a hand and 'poof' – children would scream, and cry to their parents … Parents would scream and cry to themselves, because they had to be strong for their children, but really they were just as terrified …"

"I believe you're thinking of the Dark Ages," Pitch responded tersely, "and I suggest you check a calendar, because they've been over for a while." So far this presence didn't seem … Threatening, exactly. Just very, very annoying. And his patience was running quite thin.

"Ick, yes … Warmth, fire, light … Makes it so people feel safe and happy – makes things too … Visible. Destroys nearly all prospects for panic. And all of that delicious uncertainty …" the emotion that rolled through the sentence like a languid tide shifted from disgust to something akin to dismissive … Before moving into almost wistful as it cut through what was no longer a rather satisfying silence.

"Well, the Man in the Moon took care of that when he created the Guardians. And I can't be bothered to explain –." But the voice, which seemed to be a 'she' the more he heard it and thought about it, cut him off again. And that habit was getting to be rather old rather quickly.

"Not exactly fair odds – the whole five against one thing, I mean." The Nightmare stamped it's hoof and whinnied again, which made Pitch jump, though he didn't back up … Because after the initial startle, he realized that it wasn't an aggressive sound … It was almost as if the thing was in pain. "Clearly, if that Twit in the Moon thinks he needs that many protectors to defend against one itsy bitsy ickle Bogey Man … Then he's the one that's afraid." What did she do to the nightmare … Who even was this …? Before he could make any demands of the informative nature, he received confirmation of the voice's gender as it continued.

"It seems to me that you need a … woman's touch," it purred to him, and near the end of the sentence he felt something push up against his arm – something like a hand, but different. Immediately he pulled away from it and responded with a sharp tongue.

"Well, no one asked for any of your input, so -"

"Oh Pitch … You spent so much time learning to turn sweet dreams in to sweet terror … Tell me you can still do it …? If you can … I may just have an idea on how to get rid of your little fifth guardian problem." She'd interrupted again, but … What she said for the first time had not served to annoy the Bogey Man. In fact it had managed to capture his attention, if only for a moment.

"Who are you …?" it was obvious he was suspicious … But no longer entirely intent on her departure. And then, for the first time, after staring at the only light source available, he realized – the Nightmare that she had somehow followed to him … It wasn't restrained – but at the same time, it wasn't moving either. And, when he watched it for long enough, he realized that there was some sort of strange visual distortion. Almost as if the dark sand it was made of stretched suddenly before re-solidifying into it's normal shape. Sort of like an extreme white noise filter that appeared at random.

"You've never met me before, but consider me a … Long standing fan of yours," she said, and for the first time, he made out the shape of a person moving towards him through the darkness. In the faint glow from the Nightmare, he could only make out a silhouette; wild, curled hair that didn't seem to hold still, or move, really … Suddenly she was in front of him, barely a breath away – and all he could see were eyes. Gold, like amber, but almost as if they were alive; as if there was something dark writhing within and distorting the irises. There was no pattern; just sudden bursts of darkness, twisting black and brown vines … He almost didn't hear what she said to him after a notable pause.

"You many call me, Entrophine."