Chapter 2: Pitch

He didn't know how long he stayed rooted to that one spot. In fact, he didn't know of his current position at all. All Pitch knew was that he was in the body that was not his own. He stood there, his hackles bristling and his lips pulled back in an animalistic snarl. He was so completely outraged and frankly, quite embarrassed. It was bad enough that Man in the Moon banished him to the past, but transforming him into this… filth! That had gone too far. His eyes shot daggers up to the moon that was now above him shining brightly.

"How dare you do this to me!" He howled.

MiM did not answer.

Pitch slammed his tail on the ground angrily. It didn't hurt, not much anyways; the scales that coated his body softened most of the impact. His sleek, sharp, ebony claws clutched the ground leaving scar marks in the earth. He stood there, stiff for a moment until a thought crossed his mind. He knew what sort of creature he was; he was a dragon! A sly grin crossed his face, every fang soon revealed. MiM would pay for what he did. Pitch would find every human near proximity to him and scorch Fear into their hearts. MiM thought he abused power before? Well just wait, because here comes Pitch Black, angrier than ever.

After wallowing in his steaming thoughts, Pitch turned his head and looked at his tail—he cocked his head to the side. He lifted the tail a couple of times, trying to get the feel of it before focusing all his attention on the fins at the start and end of it.

I should probably figure out how to work this, Pitch thought, these seem to be a factor in flight.

He stared at them expecting them to move on their own, but nothing happened. Pitch growled determinedly and focused. For the next hour the same results repeated over and over again no matter how hard he focused. Frustrated, he slammed his tail on the ground and stared at the rock walls of the cove. That was when he felt a twitch at the back of his tail. He turned to see that his fins had changed position.

Good, maybe I can try flying now…

Pitch unfurled his wings and observed each one—lifting them and testing each. Nodding that this was sufficient experimenting, he gave a deep inhale of anxiety. He was quite surprised to find a light green gas form at his open mouth—a high shrieking noise following the intake. Curious, he exhaled. Pitch shocked himself when a nitro-charged, purple fireball stuck the ground and exploded on the earth. Pitch's sinister grin spread even farther.

Oh this is too good!

Excited about wreaking havoc on nearby villages, Pitch spread his wings and literally threw himself into the air. The unexpected happened, he did not fall. He flew up into the sky, his large black wings extending full length as he changed from flapping to gliding and then repeating the process. Pitch closed his eyes, feeling the new-dawn sun glittering off his coal black scales. It was the first time in more than 300 years that he didn't have to shirk away from the sun. A deep rumble emanated from his chest in content.

It has been so long since I was mortal…I had forgotten what it had felt like… He thought solemnly.

He hadn't been mortal since…since…since the time the Fearlings had taken over him. Since they had taken him from his most precious treasure. But he would not think about his life in the other world, heck the other galaxy, from when he was a soldier with the Golden Ages.

Another reverberating, mirthless laugh escaped him from his chest.

Isn't fate clever? He traded the Golden Ages for the Dark Ages—even if he didn't do it willingly. Although, he wasn't sure if he would trade this life for his previous life if given the chance. He missed the things—or people—he left behind, but he love giving Fear; he enjoyed seeing fright in the eyes of children, teenagers, and adults alike. His other life wouldn't give him any of that enjoyment. In fact if he went back, he would either be stuck guarding the prison or fighting on the warfronts. But was this position any better than those options? He was stuck in the body of a dragon! True, it was a body of power but it was mortal—he would grow hungry, he would grow old. And now, if he didn't find a "friend" or a "believer", he would eventually die.

A thunder clap, deep and monotonous shook Pitch from his thoughts. He looked around. The weather had taken a turn for the worst, but surprisingly—or perhaps not—Pitch Black felt right at home. It felt like it was his place amongst the heat of the storm. He started to tilt his wings up when he heard shouting below him. He stopped pushing forward and made himself hover. Looking down he saw (his vision had been immensely improved since he was now a dragon) a primitive fishing boat rocking dangerously on the dark sea. Inside were people wearing armor and horned hats scrambling around with, of course, fish. They were shouting and rambling on in their Norse.

Ah the Vikings. Pitch's mind crooned. I believe to them I am Hel: director to the underworld; such a suspicious people. Hmm, now might be the time to use the newfound powers of Fear that I have gained. This should be very entertaining.

He pulled his wings up and tipped his nose down. Immediately he was thrown into a rapid dive. Giving a mechanical laugh he tucked his wings closer to his sides. The wind screamed past his ears, and feelers and he opened his mouth. The unmistakable screech flew from his jaws, catching the attention of all the Vikings on deck. They shouted, pointed at the U.B.O., Unidentified Black Object, free falling from the sky. Pitch smelled every one of their Fears; it was delicious. Well everyone's except a stout red headed teenager who could've passed for a man due to the fact that he already possessed the starts of a wild beard. This one had no Fear. He stood stoically, and looked Pitch straight in the eyes, headstrong.

"Fire the catapults!" he shouted. Large rocks flew at Pitch the instant the command was given. Pitch laughed evilly and easily dodged the projectile missiles with a barrel roll. The Vikings gawked at the remarkable sped of the dragon, or Pitch, obtained. Never before had they seen one like him.

Now, time to try and strike Fear into the hearts of these primitive apes in armor. Pitch cackled in his mind. He plunged right smack for the ship again. The Vikings did not expect such a daring move. He could practically taste the Fear irradiating off of them. He sucked in his breath deeply, feeling the gas form at his mouth. Then, when he was about 300 feet away from the ship, he exhaled.

He did not have the desired effect.

He had a better one.

The minute the purple-blue fireball collided with the ship, it EXPLODED! The fire was so hard that there was even a ring of aftershock. Debris flew everywhere. Pitch soared upward and disappeared into the thunderstorm. His laugh translated into another high pitched shriek.

He could get used to this new power of Fear. Yes indeed.

A/N: All right remain with DreamWorks, Cressida Cowell, and William Joyce.