*Add epic song here* I HAVE RETURNED! TAKENO, MEET YOUR CHAPTER! I hope you like it, here it is, delay no more. For you, fellow reader, I hope you fasten your seatbelts, because remember the description that got you here? Dark themes, shape-shifting Pitch and stuff? I fulfilled my promise. More is to come, if you like, do tell me.

After Jeremy annoying me because I didn't give him money for GTA V, I decided to use his beautiful name as one of the spirits. Not because I love him, but because I need this money and he doesn't shut up.

Last of all, Stats say to me Brazilians passed here, so if you come from there, leave a review goddamnit, I don't want to be alone anymore. É sério vei, da o review logo. É o botãozinho sussa ali em baixo. Plz.

PandaAttack2109: Happy to see people understanding why I write such stuff. The eating-metal-thing will be brought up on the future, stick to it. Love you! Keep cool, keep nice, keep awesome.

ConejitaYaoi: I am happy you like the idea of an uke Pitch, there should be more PitchXNorth. I am a lover of plots so it may take some time for me to get them in real action, but I will try to make it sooner for ya. :D

I heard to write this (So you may find lyrics): Saint Anger, Metallica. Genre: Heavy Metal

Disclaimer: Don't own it, don't own Metallica, though James owns my heart. Even if he doesn't know it. Enjoy!

Chapter 7 – Meet the Beast

It was amazing how Jack seemed to attract trouble. Pitch shouldn't speak of it though, he wasn't any better, himself had the gift to do so, nothing seemed to go right with him.

"Slow down Pitch, I'm going to fly off this thing!" Jack yelled right on his ear, and he was sure Gehenna under him laughed mischievously and ran even faster on the skies. Pitch wanted to hit his head on the closest wall he found, when it was ended.

He flew off from North's workshop and was ready to bury himself on his Lair to keep him from destroying or hurting anything, when Jack had to cross his path. On that state, he simply roared to the younger spirit to get away from him, together with other burning awful words that simply hit the heart of the winter spirit. When he noticed what he had done, his anger simply melted away.

Pitch couldn't believe on the goodness on the heart of the boy, for when he finally got him from where he was hidden, explained him with sincerity, Jack so simply forgave him of everything he had done. They weren't that alike then, it seemed, for the Nightmare King knew he couldn't forgive someone that easily. But Jack did, and seconds after was like he didn't say nothing at all. Surprisingly, his anger was nowhere to be seen, and he was simply tired.

Jack saw this, and Pitch slowly left the true slip out, painfully slow, telling the winter child what had happened on the Workshop. Only for him to almost snap again, hearing from the boy he cared the most to simply say he was a arrogant, spoiled Boogeyman and North was right in the first place, that he, mighty Nightmare King, was an alcoholic, and not the normal ones, but the stubborn and blind ones.

He was without words on that, one thing was North say it, the other was Jack saying it. North he cared for, he wanted to please, yet such affront wasn't believable, while Jack was very much an apprentice or a son, if he said it, what could he do?

He certainly wouldn't harm him, nothing would change his mind from it, and at the same time, it sounded sincere and innocent, in a way that Pitch couldn't argue and simply try to understand.

Maybe it was true. Probably it was, yet he understood not, he found not any sort of abstinence, any sort of dependence to justify. He simply drank to savor and relax, it slowed him on the body but made his mind somehow sharper, it was great to plan things or simply wonder about things as a whole. He wished he had time to think, before of course his path was crossed awkwardly by a fire spirit.

It was near winter around Burgess, so Jack was on his little heaven, and the fire spirits were there planning nothing good. When Jack saw them though, he was ready to run or attack, and the fire spirits to burn the winter spirit out of existence. Hurried and fast explanations was everything he got, and he could only assume that the fire spirits wanted Jack's head for he had interrupted their plains on slowing down winter.

Fire spirits had issues and were aggressive toward winter spirits, that everyone knew, but yet Pitch wasn't waiting for that number being behind one. Jack was a Guardian, it was explained, yet it wasn't justified. Nine against one, it was unfair. Pitch hadn't returned to his full power yet, and while he could take them down with his scythe easily, fire spirits knew how to deal damage and he wasn't sure if he could defend Jack or heal himself properly.

So here they were, Jack almost squeezing the soul out of him as Gehenna, his favorite Nightmare ran like a bolt on the skies, what Pitch was used to, but Jack was almost biting off his tongue. Pitch inhaled as he moved back and prepared one black sand arrow, and sent it flying from over his Nightmare in movement to the heart of the fire spirit that flew just too close.

"You killed him?!" Jack squirmed and gripped on his chest for dear life even tighter. Pitch rolled his eyes, yet they had their pupils small, the beast he was, was on a thrill. He wouldn't do anything out of his control, yet the thrill was something fantastic, it controlled whole body and mind, bringing him to want a fight cost whatever it cost.

"No, now stay quiet." He said, as he fired other arrow and missed another fire spirit by inches. Gehenna was the Nightmare that fed him since he arrived at the Workshop, and she of course had a place even deeper on his heart. She was the only survivor, the only Nightmare that saw his defeat and fought on it, and she had now title between other, she became lieutenant, and a Nightmare Pitch really cared for.

She when not checking on others Nightmares, she was around him on the form of an anaconda, following him and consequently being known by the other Guardians. They knew about the single Nightmare that didn't look at them like if they were food, and brought news to Pitch. She was smart, and showed that even more by evading every fireball thrown at them. Pitch thanked her for that as he prepared another arrow and shoot.

It found its way on another fire spirit and he fell, snapping out of his senses and falling straight toward the snowy forest floor. Pitch cared not if it was too high and they probably would get killed by the fall, they should know better than attack Jack. Of course, Jack was annoying and interrupted every good dark plan one could try to make up, but yet it wasn't a good reason to try to kill him and Pitch on the mean time.

Blasts of ice were useless, they were few and against the fire spirits who flew together they easily melted, causing Jack to hit his back uselessly in frustration. Pitch forced himself to concentrate as he shoot again, and the number of nine spirits decreased to four, five were down and already growing distance.

"Pitch, lower the height, let's go down, they won't follow us anymore." Jack said over the sound of the wind, Pitch really had to agree, if they kept that pace they would go away from Burgess, and if alone there, who knew what the fire spirits would do to the sleeping children? He didn't need to speak as Gehenna turned and lowered the heights, flying closer to the trees and communing with the shadows beneath.

He could feel like if he was but a shadow himself what lay beneath them, the forest was perfectly seen, and he could also see the bodies, not exactly see, but if he closed his eyes he could see them, as everything else. A supernatural sixth sense, another hint that made him wonder what exactly he was.

Yet, it was useful and he wouldn't flame it now. He smirked as he saw the bodies of the fire spirits on the snow floor, four were alive, but the five he sent down were severally hurt from the fall.

The Nightmare stopped on the edge of Burgess which was closer from Jack's lake, and the winter and dark spirits jumped out. Sniffing the air, Pitch could tell, there was fear on the wind, but it wasn't from the children sleeping around.

The night was still young, and he could see Sanderson hadn't passed by yet, but his Nightmares and Fearlings were already working. He had made an agreement with him, they would give children Nightmares or dreams on different times and days, on a plan which no one would interfere with the other's job, and keep the balance.

Some children were his for the day in Burgess, others were Sanderson's, but now wasn't this fear he was feeling but another's. A more powerful fear, one able to sustain his body for weeks. A fear that would make him stronger, better. It was fresh, it was eternal, was shiny red and absolute black. It was his to hunt, his to fed, and his to rejoice on.

"Jack, keep on the shadows with Gehenna for the case if they come to the city, the woods are dark now and I can check it faster than you would." He said, and he could see Jack ready to argue, but a deadly glance shut him up. There was no time to argue, and he needed Jack to hear him at least once, for a good cause.

In the start it really was a good cause, but every second he was on it, it became tainted and dark. The hunted became hunter, and his lips were dry, making him wet them with his tongue in anticipation frenetic and anxious.

"With Gehenna? She will bite my hand off!" Jack complained and he didn't needed to stare at the Nightmare to see the almost smirk the shadowy horse held. 'I will cease it for once. Go hunt, milord.' Her voice was evil but smooth on my mind, but in a thrill such things were ignored.

"Just don't touch her that much, climb on and don't annoy her, let her do the walking, be just an extra pair of eyes and keep silent." Pitch muttered and Jack sighed before he jumped on the back of the Nightmare as she ran into the dark alleys, diving into the shadows, and when one would hit the wall strongly, she simply dived inside with Jack like if in some sort of portal. Pitch smiled evilly, she knew what ran on his mind.

Stepping into shadows himself he teleported to the forest, the woods were filled with snow , which made the gold and red of the clothing of the fire spirits even easier to spot. Not that he needed colors anyway. He wanted to hunt, and don't be spotted. Closing his eyes a bit his senses and acknowledge of things seemed to drift off, the hunter and the beast dictated the rules, and Pitch simply desired he could do such things more times.

Silent as death he moved, he couldn't even feel his muscles moving, he was untiring and eternal, a natural hunter, and noises weren't heard, they didn't even exist, as darkness and long strides carried him forward. Every movement had grace, natural and fluid, his eyes adjusted to the black and white scene, and as they always did when there was lack of colors, they became silver, and reflected light, like a wolf's eyes.

Strides got faster as the tracking of the scent got deeper, fresher, new on his lungs, and the flux was even faster, his movements were long and graceful, if not deadly, different from Bunnymund where his animal movements were frenetic and fast, like the rabbit he was, Pitch was an elk and a panther, dark, noble, long, flexible and deadly. The thrill of the hunt brought the animal side on him, and when he became the beast, he was nothing less than the mightiest one. He was a predator, made to slaughter.

His eyes became golden as he got closer of the preys, when they were silver they most didn't differ colors, but they knew and could feel even more details than the golden ones, they acknowledged not only his perspective, but instead he could see from many spots at once, he was one with shadows, and at the same time, more sincere with them.

His golden ones were for colors, they were the facade, the mask, and they protected him from light and anyone who would try to get the truth out of them. Consequently, the last one became more common. Golden eyes pierced from the darkness, as now he already had the surroundings on his mind, he would study the Prey, and what better than colors? He stopped, quiet on his dark shadow spot as he studied and listened.

"I'mma scared Jeremy, lets go 'way, it was foolish to attack Frost when Pitch was with 'im." A woman muttered, pulling the sleeve of a young man, his blond hair was wild but he cared not as he looked at the shadows and searched, his steps made the snow melt and he almost had to drag the other fire spirit, as she seemed frozen in fear to move.

"The way Pitch spoke, there was no way to tell he was on Jack's side. Besides he was an ally for ages, I was sure he would only act and then join us." He said and every hair on Pitch's hair went up, an inborn instinct of alert, driven by understanding and possessiveness. Jack did nothing bad, they were simply hunting him because he was a frost spirit. It wasn't unusual, but the number showed it wasn't only of intimidation or to leave a warning, it was for a kill.

"What a jerk! That creepy bastard was an ally! He just ruined it all by siding with that monron" The woman muttered, laughing of her own joke and relaxing a bit. The man though paid no mind, and Pitch could see how he was far more intelligent than the stupid blonde at his side. He acknowledged Pitch's power and was searching for his way to his fellow allies. A candle can be easily blown out, but a whole conflagration was far harder to be turn down.

"Less talking more walking, I am not sure I can cast a flight spell again and we should find the others soon, isn't safe here, Pitch probably know these lands as his lair is nearby, it's dark and he is pissed at us. We are in danger, it isn't training." He said and the woman pouted before following. "If we regroup we might report to the Emperor, you know he won't be happy to know we failed him in such menial task. He wanted Jack's head badly, he is one of the stronger winter spirits lately, since MiM have a special liking on him and he is a Guardian."

It was like if someone kicked his stomach at full strength, they wanted to kill Jack for some useless reason, to kill him because he was far more powerful than many fire spirits. They wanted Jack's head, his Jack's head.

Pitch ached, every muscle ached, he wanted to destroy, to torture, to make the worst at this guy and that bitch after him. His rage wanted to be freed, undisciplined and wild, it wanted to take over, and for the first time in ages, he wondered if he could leave it to be freed.

He was holding himself for so much time now, Jack was far, every innocent's life was far, and the thrill was maddening, he wanted to behave, he wanted to be good, he wanted to find some sort of redemption, but he was a monster and even with his denying, he couldn't change it.

The Guardians didn't know how it hurt, how it hurt on the depths of his soul to keep himself from killing, from slaughtering, from torturing and letting his rage go free. It was being contained for ages, and it was destroying him.

His knees faltered and he held on the closest tree from falling down. The thrill was yelling at his face, calling him into every indulgence, into every pained spot he had, and promised to heal it, if not forever, for a while, at least while he indulged on the need of cataclysm and blood. It hurt, the fight simply hurt too much...! He had never tasted such thing, when he didn't fear hurting something he cared, it was easier.

Now though, resisting was foolish. It kept repeating on his head how everything he cared for was far, that if he left it takes over now, he would have time to get to control again and return. Return to the control of what he knew not, but that he would return to his good senses he probably would. No one would witness it besides those two.

They deserved, they wanted to kill Jack, they deserved.

He couldn't stand anymore the pain, that was far worse than any physical pain, it was one of inside, like if a snake had spawned inside of him and it grew and grew, it twisted its long strong body inside him, tearing from the inside organs and bones, opening the space for its growing body, the scales burning with their harshness, as they itched and cut his insides like small infinite razors.

A line of black blood ran down his mouth and he wiped it with the back of his hand. His eyes were set on the prey, they were the ones to blame for that pain, they were the ones who called upon it! Their fault! Their! He shook his head and he couldn't stand it anymore. He dropped on fours as he yelled, pure pain and hatred on his yell sent fear inside the fire spirits' heart, and he cared no more for his cover.

He heard yells but he couldn't understand them. His vision went blackish and that snake inside him changed his body, stretching his back and making them wider, larger, and stronger. His arms followed the frame, pain unbearable, yet he could feel his muscles changing, his body changing, his clothes being tired out as they were just too tight for the new body. Legs became stronger, and they didn't bow to the front anymore, knees now bowed back.

Hands? No. Enormous pawns held shiny black claws, that mixed with the black fur made for the cold. His head changed, getting longer and mouth wider, now opening on an angle he couldn't before. Behind waved a long tail, made for equilibrium.

Pitch could feel the strength on this new body, the human body wasn't made for hunting, for killing. Even his teeth weren't the best for hurting, nails weren't made to fight, legs weren't made for long and run-for-your-life races.

This one was much better. He now was much better, this body answered any kind of need of his. The thrill was able to work easier here, the rage now had the control. He could answer the call, his own inner call for mayhem and blood. Once on fours, as he knew he was meant to be, how he was faster and deadlier, he stood on the back pawns. He wasn't a wolf, he was a werewolf.

It was the perfect balance of man and wolf. He was better on his four pawns, but when he rose to his two back ones he was taller than before, his mind was sharper than it have ever been, but he could easily tell he was far taller than himself before. He couldn't see his skin, only the black fur that seemed to absorb every hint of light and taint it in darkness. He threw his wolf-ish head back and scream on the pain.

What came out though, was the grow of a wild beast, a mix between roar and growl, as his jaws opened on their maximum to release it, the claws unsheathed, claws longer and more made to hold and tear than wolf's usually were. He had a new body to set his bloodlust and anger out. A new body to fed and care for. A body of his own, better than the one of before. And he was ready to make the pain stop.

After that, as if it wasn't before, thinking became some sort of blur, he didn't need deep thoughts, the fast ones and basical were what he needed. He knew he was hungry, and his prey was fleeing, trigging the chase.

Oh, and how mighty he was on the chase.

The chase master. Lord of the Hunt. The Nightmare King.

He couldn't try to remember the details, it was the key, if he kept the memories as unfurled, it was better. Now though, the feast was served.

He cleared the woods, and brought it to his territory, the most closed side of the forest, which the darkness seemed just too much, and only a clearing on the middle of the woods had the light of the moon bare, without branches and trees to make it fall on lesser strays.

Smaller flashes of light that would fall on black fur and end there. There was nothing else to see on that black fur, which would move with the smallest wind, yet the skin of the huge creature made of muscles and strength under it would not.

They first saw glowing orbs, white light being reflected from their flashlights and torches, and then the white teeth glowing unholy on the darkness. If they didn't freeze in fear, they ran, and if they ran, he got them.

The werewolf had fluid large movements, exactly as he had before when human, he had now as werewolf. He was fast, faster than a normal horse if in a pain field, for that he was sure. He was fast as lightening, not that his prey needed such speed.

He wished they needed. His claws entered flesh and was like if pain disappeared completely, giving pleasure instead. Addicting, the hunt made the pain go lower and lower, and when he got them, it disappeared, diving his senses in a dark, unholy pleasure. When it started to dismiss though, he couldn't bear it, and ran to the other victims.

They had all died though and back on his conscience he knew he shouldn't get out of the forest. He wouldn't get out of the woods. The light didn't hurt his eyes anymore, he was stronger on the darkness, but the moonlight didn't harm him anymore. So when he returned to the clearing, he didn't bothered to move the corpse from where it stood.

He tainted the moonlight, he was stronger, his existence made the light somehow glow, but he was unaffected by it. The silver floated around him, dust, magic, he couldn't tell the difference, he simply knew it shined and that he cared not.

He was a beast, he always knew that, but he was kept away from the pleasure of being one. Why? Why if he was indeed a beast, what was the matter if he simply agreed and accepted what he was?

Maybe was because he was too powerful, if he was released on the mankind, he would kill them all and the times would be over. The same to spirits, they would be slaughtered trying to stop him. Now though, he rejoiced and defiled, laughing on his bestial way of the stupidity of those who choose his fate. What they wanted to hold back was free, and wouldn't be stopped.

Teeth dug into flesh, tearing open what was already destroyed, but now in smaller bits. The blood was warm, and it was the most refreshing thing he had ever tasted, he shouldn't have tried to mix with mankind, he was a monster and that was just what he needed.

Barely chewing he swallowed, and the muzzle was soon wet and dipping with blood. Feeding was a thrill itself, and every second he swallowed more and faster, getting used to the body that he was born to have.

The sounds could be heard from meters, the wet dark sound of a beast feeding on the recently killed victim, it was unholy, unnatural, yet, very much natural. The shadows his frame cast were enough for make he see how wonderful his new body was, he shouldn't have hold that anger, he wouldn't hold it, never ever again. The body was only bones, there was no magic able to bring this one back, he mused.

Claws opened the ribcage, and he couldn't only lick his mouth, loud and soundly. Jackpot. A mouthful was swallowed and he didn't stop, the sounds could be heard from the city maybe, but he didn't care. Now was his time of indulgence, was his time of rejoice and freedom. He was what he meant to be.

"P-Pitch...?" He heard, and all of his psyche broke down in tiny pieces. He had no reaction, the beast was perplex, he was perplex. Ears were at full height as he turned his face to look back. His tail sweep faintly in anxiety, as on his back pawns he rose and gazed at the frame.

If a face could break hearts, Jack's did. He stared at full horror and fear, pools of blue ice and only a dot on the middle. Tears ran down his face, on eternal waterfalls, and his whole frame did shake, he could see. He was a beast, a monster, but he did love, and he did think.

He was loyal, and it gave him pain to see the smaller spirit in such terrified state. He moved away from the open carcass, his front pawns almost touching the floor as he stood a bit curved, gaze on the boy.

Don't run... for the love of everything good on the world, don't run...

Jack turned and ran.

Pitch jumped on fours, and ran to the chase. His long legs and pawns were fast, and if Jack hadn't started the flight he would certainly have been caught. The trees were close and there was no free access to the skies, so Jack flew and evaded trees and branches, closer to the soil than he would have liked, knowing of the beast behind him.

He stalked, but as he followed, there was a moment when he couldn't see Jack anymore. The Nightmare King froze, and his nose went to work again, he couldn't let Jack get away, if he got, he would forever think he was a senseless beast, one that would harm him on sight, he would never, ever harm him. He couldn't let him get away, so he used his nose to find his scent, track him back.

Like that was slower, but efficient. Jack had a single scent, a cold but rare one, sweet but refreshing and soft, like a rare snow flower that Pitch couldn't put a name on. He knew he was getting closer with the temperature and degrees that lowered suddenly, a small change, yet he could tell the difference. Following the scent of the younger spirit, Pitch lurked on the shadows, and his eyes spotted the winter spirit closer of a tree.

He was on the floor, bruises and scratches filled his skin, his face was of pure terror and, at the same time, exhaustion, pain. His staff lay far, and he could only assume then he was flying when he hit one branch and fell. Pitch crawled closer, his breath and movements silent. He wanted to cry, to apologize, and to make sure he wasn't hurt. He would never say it loud, but he cared just too much for Jack. He wanted him to be safe.

He would be safe, he mused. Jack would be safe if he had kept a good distance from him. If he lost control, if he got angry with the boy just like he got with North, he would kill him, it wasn't a supposition, it would be fate.

He was dangerous, he shouldn't have tried to be human, he knew he wasn't a human in the first place, he always knew. And North, the simply memory hurt, how could he let such innocent, simple remark change him in that way?

There was a reason why he was the demon, the enemy, and it wasn't luck. He hadn't asked to be like this, yet he was a monster, he was dangerous, and should be feared, hated, kept away. He whimpered, his ears lowering and touching the back of his head. He could see Jack jump on the direction of the sound, and Pitch stepped out of the shadows.

His four pawns were made to snow it seemed, as they left big footprints but they were light and soft. Jack screamed in fear, and it echoed on the depths of Pitch's mind on a way that made he want to yell back. Jack should knew he wouldn't harm him, that his fear was nothing close to his own, for he was scared as well, worried, hurt. It was the case when both the prey and hunter here frightened of each other, and no more one was prey, and no more one was hunter. They became two hurtful defenders of their own.

Jack tried to get to his staff, but he couldn't move when Pitch held him down. One pawn on his arm, as his head full of blood came to touch the chest of the winter spirit. If a beast could cry, he would have cried, but no tear came from his eyes, except for the whimper that ringed on his throat. Jack's nails dig on his skin as he tried by all means to be freed, but he could not.

Just stop fighting, just for once. Angelus glaciem.

He was in fear, and bringing all the strenght left on him he tried to take away the fear from Jack, his magic not giving any signs of working. He couldn't do magic in this form. He simply laid there then, letting Jack fight him, his nails pierce his hide and fists try to budge his body from his, but he wouldn't react, he wouldn't move.

He simply accepted every angry and fearful hit, waiting to be understood. The last thing he could try though was when he moved slightly and licked the side of the winter spirit's face, before lowering again and resting his head against the smaller chest.

At once, the nails stopped trying to harm and fists calmed down, his fingers then digging in his fur, getting on the smaller, inner fur made to fight the cold, and staying there. He wasn't forgiven, he wasn't accepted, Pitch knew it, and he just stood a bit more, his own broken heart keeping him from moving.

"Pitch... why? Why you killed 'em, why you're like that...?" The questions came and Pitch simply curled tighter, before leaving a whimper flee from the insides of his soul. Somehow Jack understood, and simply changed from holding on his fur to pet it carefully, his cool fingers were soft and sweet on his skin, and Pitch left himself drift off.

He knew not why he was like that, but he knew why he killed them. Because they harmed his small angel of snow. Pitch didn't regret it, not even if cursed him for the eternity and would make Jack and all the Guardians hate him as well. He would certainly do it again. He was a beast.

A possessive beast.

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