Sorry it took so long! I first had writer's block thing and then I just had my midterm exam. Now that the midterm is over, I wrote the finale to this story! I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: I do not own Rise of the Guardians. I also do not own the picture. The picture is by Phobs in Deviant Art, titled Love with all My Heart (Book Spoiler Alert).
The shadows dispersed into the thin air, leaving Pitch on the cold floor again. The black ink smeared into the floor and scattered into the air, leaving his body forever. The nightmares stole each other looks, shuffling on their agitated feet. One took cautious steps toward Pitch, reaching an arm's length from him.
Pitch's eyes snapped open. He stood up with fierce dry coughs that shook his entire body. He eyed his chair, but turned his back towards it. He slide across the floor and faced a random wall. With a swipe of his hand, black sand aroused from the ground. It crawled against the wall and formed a rectangular shape. The sand smoothed out until it became a flawless shining mirror.
Pitch gazed into the mirror, but saw another man in front of him. The man was not recognizable. The golden eyes were clouded with blue hue, enveloping the eyes with cold fury. The man was frowning and his lips were downcast.
Why am I mad?
He looked back to where he woke up from. He brushed his chest with his hand, feeling the fabric that was cold from the ground. Even though his eyes could not see it, he felt another presence at the area, like dark eerie droplets of ink. His mind was clouded like his eyes for reasons he did not understand. The battle with the Guardians could not have made him like this. He was used to, no, he knew that he was going to lose anyway. So what made him so angry?
His gaze returned back to the invisible black ink. An image briefly flashed before his eyes: a man covered in black ink, as if a rag doll that was filled with black ink that has been punctured by an angry child. It was so fast and faint that Pitch couldn't even figure out what he exactly saw, just a black man with black ink oozing out. His focus returned back to his cave. Slowly facing the mirror again, he slightly cocked his head and murmured, "I wonder…".
The black sand twisted from the ground. Soon, his hand held a menacing shiny black knife. He twirled the knife around. His face was absolutely calm, almost disinterested. Then, with a slash, he cut his wrist. A cry escaped from his mouth in the sudden sting of pain. He collapsed on the floor, feeling weak. The knife clang to the floor, but his mouth curled upwards. The image became clearer to him. Surrounding the black man, there were hungry red eyes staring at the man, ready to devour if the chance was given. The detail of the man still remained hazy. He lifted up the cut wrist and marveled at it. The black ink was dripping out from the cut. A single drop of ink fell to the floor and slowly evaporated.
With a sly smile, he twisted his wrist so that the ink would keep on dropping on the floor and disappear from the world. The image became clearer with every drop until Pitch was able to see the detail of the man. The face was unrecognizable due to the thick layers of the black ink, but the hairstyle and the robe was too familiar for him not to notice. The eyes still remained a question, but there was no doubt they would like nothing more but to get rid of him.
His mouth cracked a smile, his eyes gleaming with darkness. "Not so easily my friend."
He grabbed the knife on the floor and slashed at his wrist again. He shut his eyes in pain, but his eyes shined brighter when he saw the dark ink. He pierced the knife into the cut, twisting and turning into the wound. His eyes remained open while cries of pain left his mouth. The black ink covered his forearm now, dripping slowly.
He looked expectantly into his mind, waiting for something to come up. But only pain rose up, crashing into his brain. He closed his eyes desperately. His eyes opened. They were blazing with red anger. His jaws were clenched tight, teeth gritting against each other. So this is why I am angry.
He bellowed, "WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER ANYTHING ELSE?! WHAT HAVE I DONE WRONG?!"
From across the room, he saw himself from the mirror. A weak man was trembling on the floor with wide alarmed eyes. His hand, holding the knife, was shaking. Pitch's eyes turned to stone. His face became distorted with hatred. His eyes became tormented with loathe. He threw up.
He whispered, "No, it is not what I have done, but I." He voice rose bigger, "It was me, myself that have been wrong all this time." He started to bellow, "IT IS ME, A WEAKLING WHO CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER ABOUT HIMSELF! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT THAT HESTIANT FACE, A PIECE OF TRASH, A COWARD!"
He looked down at his wrist. His eyes shined dark and deranged. He caught his breath and mumbled, "But there is a way to fix that." He put his left hand on the ground. His right hand rose high with the knife firmly planted. His eyes enlarged and he drove the knife into his left hand. A sickening crack echoed throughout the cave. Instead of a painful cry, twisted hysterical laugh came. He drove the knife again and again. Flashes of images passed his eyes with each drive. He drove harder and harder until his hand was distorted. He lifted up his hand, and turned it around. The shadows were crept up and slowly started to mend his hand. He recoiled from the shadow with disgust. Turning his gaze from the crippling shadow, he looked at the knife. With a thrust, he plunged the knife into his arm. A voice teased his ears, "It will not be long before his mind breaks down and succumbs to our desires."
He gritted his teeth, "I SHALL BE THE ONE TO DESTORY MYSELF WITH MY OWN WILL!"
He mercilessly drove the knife into his heart. The black ink flooded out of him, cascades after cascades. His eyes gleamed hysterically. He stood up and shakily walked to the mirror. Without looking back, he crashed his head into the mirror. It shattered, plunging shards of broken glass all over him. His legs gave way and he collapsed, leaning heavily on the wall. The broken shards crushed with dull yet sickening resonance.
Pitch's eyes were barely open. His laggard breath barely came out. His unfocused eyes watched the ceiling as the black ink dispersed around him. The eyelids slowly came down.
Vivid images each presented itself, shining with patience. In one, there was a girl. She was young, about six or seven years old, wearing a clean white dress. Her black hair flowed with the wind. Her shining golden eyes looked up and laughed with pure joy and happiness. In her hand held a little white flower. A golden butterfly danced and softly landed on the white flower. Her black eyes went wide and with her tiny hands, she pointed at the butterfly. The girl whispered something, but Pitch couldn't hear it. Then, a hand appeared and patted her head gently. Streams of images flew past of the same girl. She was sleeping soundly with warm covers. She and another tall man were strolling around, hands held, in a sunny day with cool breeze. She was laughing in front of the blazing fireplace with a hot cup of hot chocolate in her tiny hands. Then, he saw himself talking with the same girl on an old worn bed in a frail room. Her melancholy face elapsed with her monotonous face in front of her mother's grave, her face as he promised to come back.
Pitch opened his eyes. His hoarse voice called out longingly, "Kostusia."
His shaking legs bristled as he stood up. With his fist clenched tight, he looked right up the crack. The Moon was there to greet him. Pitch gave a slight nod. From the shadows, the nightmares appeared forward with their golden eyes shining dangerously. Pitch raised his hand and calmly cast his piercing eyes at the nightmares. His hand fell. The nightmares crushed with his hand, their sharp yelps pulverized into black dust.
"I will no longer be controlled by the Fearlings or their creation. My soul is so weary, but my heart is beating like never before."
His words lingered in the cave when he disappeared into his own shadow. He reappeared in front of the orphanage "The Home for Orphans of Cotswold". Stumbling and dragging his leg, he slipped through the cracks of the wall and into the orphanage. He eyes were focused only straight ahead. He wasn't sure of where he was going, but he let his feet take him wherever it went. It slowed down and stopped in front of a shabby wooden door. The doorknob was crushed and scratched all over. He slowly let his fingers curl around it and silently pushed open.
The scene inside of the room was familiar but alien at the side time. He gulped once and his golden eyes slowly scanned the room. It caught a girl sitting on a frayed and ragged bed with wan blanket kicked to its side. The girl was fumbling with worn-out flashlight. A smile crept up his face. The door closed with a soft creak. The girl's golden eyes flashed up and met Pitch's weary golden eyes. Silence elapsed between the two.
Pitch walked quietly toward her. He kneeled in front of her, meeting her eye level. With a feeble smile, he asked, "Do you know who I am?"
The girl nodded, "Pitch. Pitch Black. The King of Nightmares."
His eyes and mouth slightly drooped. He cast his eyes down and sighed, "Yes. Yes, I guess I can be called like that since I haven't fully regained myself yet."
The girl's eyes widened. With a gasp, her trembling voice whispered, "Do you know who I am?"
His eyes flashed back to hers. His hands reached out, but stopped hesitantly. The fingers curled back.
"Kostusia. Kostusia Pitchiner."
Her mouth gaped and she gasped. Bringing both of her hand to her mouth, she mumbled with the same shaky voice, "Do you know who you are?"
"I am Kozmotis Pitchiner. And you are my only daughter."
She let out a squeak. Tears brimmed at her pure golden eyes. Her hands sprang out and grabbed at his shy hand. Putting her cheek on it, she rubbed her hand against his rugged and beaten hands. With large shocked eyes and desperate "oh", she picked at the glass shards stuck in him. Her hands trembled as each bloodied glass shards came out and tossed to the ground. Pitchiner's eyes followed her every movement lovingly. He put his calm and strong hands on her hand. Tears flooded and ran down her pale cheek.
"My dear Kostusia," he ran his hand along her cheek, "I am so sorry…for everything."
She wailed, "You don't need to be sorry daddy. I'm just glad I can hug you again."
Kneeling, she grabbed his hands again and closed her eyes. She murmured quietly like a soft wind in the night. As she spoke, the floor began to light softly. Her pleasant and warm whispers continued. Kozmotis, finally calm and relaxed, slowly closed his eyes too and leaned his forehead against hers. Her mouth wrinkled into a smile as she continued her prayer. Lights started to blush out from beneath them, slowly radiating and wrapping them in warmth and light. Warm spring soil and moss grew out from the cold wooden floor. Little daisies and lilies sprang out, chiming with the cool breeze. Magnificent tress sprouted up quickly, like watching a fast forwarded video. Soon, they were surrounded by wild and gentle nature, streaming with vibrant life. The light reflected and shined over every fresh droplet.
"NO! THE LIGHTS! IT'S-IT'S TOO STRONG! UNBEARABLE! IT'S DESTORYING US!"
Kozmotis recoiled back, grasping over his heart. He gasped out loud, his eyes bulging wide. He shuddered. His mouth gaped open and made retching sound. Kostusia's eyebrows furrowed. She sat down next to him and held his hands.
"Dad…"
Kozmotis looked into her golden eyes. Searching into the liquid smooth depth, he found comfort and courage. A home, finally somewhere he truly belonged. A tiny smile formed on his lips. He squeezed her hands briefly. Looking straight into her eyes again, he rasped,
"You cannot defeat me. I always had light beside me. And I will keep that light, forever in my heart."
A shrill moan escaped his mouth. Dark black gas flowed out of his mouth and eyes. The gas furiously recoiled from the light surrounding them. It sped through trying to escape, but only finding endless tunnel of light trapping them. The moan grew louder and louder as the gas became perceptibly feeble, dissipating bit by bit into the white light. Final droplets of gas escaped Kozmotis. His eyes regained focus to the warmth. His undead grey tainted skin was peeling off, revealing a healthy and animated tone. His black robe swirled around and changed with the light. The robe trapped tiny miniscule flakes of light layers by layers. Golden simple ornamentation decorated his now beautiful and pure clean white suit. He stretched his arms out, seeing that the suit fit him perfectly, made only for him. His bare feet tapped lightly, feeling the soft moss. He was finally able to feel the ground, no longer hindered by the dark shadows that covered his body before.
He crouched down and looked expectantly at her eyes. He asked with his voice shaking slightly, "How do I look?"
She gave a bright peal of laughter and raised both of her thumbs up. "You look just like you."
He chuckled and stood up. Holding her hands, they walked side by side slowly into the light. She looked up at him and grinned, "Now we can make up the time we didn't spend together! You and I, we will always be with each other. Time has no meaning. Right dad?" He ruffled her hair playfully and answered, "Right. Forever, dear."
So~~ this is it! Thank you all for reading this story! I hoped it was fun to read and satisfied you! I'll be back with other stories! Soon...I hope hahaha I'll have to wait and see. Until then, many thanks to you all~! :D