Author's Note:

Oh boy. Here I thought this was going to be the last chapter before the epilogue, and then I realized I was pushing ten thousand words before I'd even gotten three quarters of the way through what I wanted to include. Needless to say, it got cut in two. I know you guys were saying you liked longer chapters, but ten thousand words is seriously pushing my limit when it comes to editing. It just takes so long. So, yeah. One more chapter after this, and then the epilogue. We're almost through! I don't know whether to leap for joy or cry with despair... Maybe both?

Thank you very much to everyone who read the last chapter, reviewed, and/or marked the story as a favorite/follow. I truly appreciate all the support I've been getting as a writer, and find it amazing that so many of you are coming back for more. Please keep supporting me in the future. :D

PaperGirlInAPaperTown: Here it is! Hopefully the wait wasn't too agonizing for you. ;)

WinterCrystal1009: She is intelligent, but as I've said before the cloak helps a lot too. It's amazing what you can manage to figure out when you don't have ten thousand emotion-fueled thoughts racing around your brain.

Skyress1: You'll find out who it is. And the 'purr' wasn't a literal purr, it was just an adjective to describe the tone in which the words were said. Humans can say things in a purring voice too, if they're in the proper mood. It's sort of like saying someone growled out a word/sentence, if that helps. (Probably not, now that I think about it, because none of that helps you narrow down your guesses, does it?)

Silversun XD: Glad you enjoyed it!

Here it is, folks, the next chapter. Please enjoy, and do buckle up for this one, 'cause it's going to be a hell of a ride.


It was nearing midnight. Burgess slept, but not peacefully. Nightmares spread like wildfire, leaving not a single child's head untouched. Shrieks of terror and desperate screams for "Mommy! Daddy!" rang out all across town until the very air seemed to tremble with fear.

Excellent. EXCELLENT!

Everything was going exactly to plan. The nightmares were by far the best he'd ever created, and he could feel power pouring into him, revitalizing him—or, rather, his current body—like a desert plant is rejuvenated after an unexpected downpour. It had been centuries since he'd felt so alive; the feeling was absolutely glorious.

I will never give this up, he decided, observing the pathetic little town with a wickedly smug gleam in his glowing golden eyes. Now…

He turned to the north and waited expectantly. He'd been at it for hours already, practically since the sun went down and the youngest mortal brats had fallen asleep. Surely the Guardians (what remained of them, anyway) had heard the news and were about to…

Ah.

There it came, one of the wretch's pitiful yet dutiful slaves of black sand. Onyx, a tiny, useless voice in the back of his head noted, but he paid the notion little attention. Even with the wretch's impeccable memory, he found it next to impossible to tell the beasts apart, but that was mainly because he didn't care. They weren't nearly special enough for him to bother learning the subtle differences between them or remembering their names.

That they even had names was beyond absurd, like naming stones one found on the side of the road.

The stupid sand creature dipped its head and snorted. With the wretch's power surging through him, he understood it plainly:

The Northern Lights had been activated.

Moments later, a second beast approached, followed soon thereafter by a third. The blasted fairy and tiny yellow man had both been spotted, heading north to answer fat man's call. They may detest each other, the three remaining Guardians, but they were proud enough and stupid enough to still pretend they cared more about the children than their divisive squabbles.

Exactly as planned.

Knowing it would be another hour at least before the pathetic pests arrived, he leered as he dove toward the ground on a wave of fresh black sand.

He could certainly enjoy himself in the meantime.


The idiots did, indeed, turn up eventually. They arrived in a swirl of color and light, North redder in the face than usual and looking anywhere but at the others. The fluttering harpy was grumbling to herself, floating around with arms crossed firmly across her body. Even the yellow man, usually more sensible than the rest, was positively seething.

Oh yes, he mentally crooned. They're all ruined. Exactly how I envisioned!

They were arguing, and rather loudly at that. He decided he could afford to watch them for a while; let them rile themselves up even more, and in the meantime he could get a better idea of just how far the pathetically proud spirits had fallen.

"This is ridiculous North!" the winged bitch was uttering waspishly. "We shouldn't be worrying about Pitch, we should be looking for Jack!"

"Children must come first," North insisted for what must've been the thousandth time, if the strained impatience in his voice was any indication. "You know this Tooth! You know this!"

"I know that Pitch is only doing this to keep us from looking for Jack!" she insisted. By all the blackness in the universe, her voice was annoying. "We should do what I said we should do and ignore him until we find him. Besides, how are we ever going to stop him without Jack's magic?"

"Shh!"

"No, I won't 'shhh!'" The trio was in the middle of town, now. The fairy had whirled on fat man the moment he shushed her, and thrust a finger right into his chest. "You keep telling me to shut up, shut up, shut up! I'm so sick of you and your big mouth! If anyone should shut up around here, it's you!"

North's eyes were lethal in their rage. As the fairy's finger kept on jabbing him, he puffed up to truly stupendous proportions, and it was more than clear that it was taking every last ounce of self-will he possessed to keep from lashing out at her in retaliation.

"That is what you think?" he hissed, his fury quieting his voice until it was almost impossible to overhear. "You think I am loud? I am bossy? You think I am wrong to lead and encourage you?!"

Sandman said something with his symbols, but he really couldn't interpret them any better than he could tell the wretch's sand beasts apart. Whatever it was he said, it must've been quite scathing, for North nearly choked as his face turned purple.

"You too?!" he bellowed, making the yellow man wince in spite of himself. "You think this is my fault too?!"

They bickered and argued, talking over and around each other, the children and their duty completely forgotten. North even swatted at one of the tiny fairies buzzing near his head when it tried to peck him in retaliation for insulting the Guardian fairy. But in his aggravation, it seemed he'd forgotten about the swords clutched in his massive hands; as he tried to backhand the pesky little morsel, the much larger fairy nearly had her nose taken off. She dodged back just in time, only to fly right into North's face a second later to shriek and curse at him. Truly, the language falling from her tongue was absolutely obscene. She cursed him for nearly hurting her, and cursed him even more for attacking her fairy, which was now agitating the yellow man by flying dizzying circles around his head, twittering incessantly into his ears.

Ahhh, it was wonderful. The irreparable discord had him practically salivating. But like all good things, he knew it must come to an end.

With a careless flick of a hand, he commanded one of the black sand beasts. It dashed out of the shadows, slipped between the buildings, and disappeared down the main street. To the casual observer, it would appear as if it was simply galloping by while seeing to its master's wishes, but in reality it had intentionally made itself conspicuous enough to be spotted.

And, sure enough, North noticed it. A warning shout burst from his lips as he immediately took after it, leaving the other two Guardians to reluctantly follow. The winged one, in particular, was still sniping and snarling about what a ridiculous venture it was without Jack, that it was obviously a trick.

Yeessss…obviously. But you don't need to know that…do you? Not just yet, anyway…

Exactly as planned, the fleeing sand beast lured the Guardians away from town, deep into the nearby forest. There would be no wretched little brats to undermine his body's power this time, oh no. This time he was taking every precaution.

This time he would ensure victory.

"Well, well, well."

The Guardians shut up in perfect unison. In what had to be a purely instinctual reaction (nobody who hated each other as much as they did now would ever react in such manner otherwise), they raised their weapons and moved to stand back-to-back in a traditional—if rather clichéd and boring—defense position. They circled cautiously, peering into the trees, but only blackness stared back at them; he had yet to take physical form, and the sand beast had dissolved into the shadows, leaving the Guardians alarmingly alone.

"And here I thought the stories were all rubbish," he said, stepping out, fully formed, into the faint moonlight. He smirked at the Guardians, showing his teeth. They were not nearly as impressive as his real teeth, but they had the desired effect nevertheless. "Yet here you are, three little Guardians all alone. What? Frost and Bunnymund too busy to come? Not even for the children?"

They bristled at the mocking croon he added at the end.

"You know very well what happened to Jack," the fairy snarled, brandishing her sword, which was absolutely pathetic compared to North's own. Really, why did she even bother when it was little more than a metal stick? "You were the one who filled his head with lies!"

"Did I? I thought it was the rabbit I had conversed with, but…maybe my memory is finally failing me. Old age, and all that."

"There's nothing wrong with your memory! And you know damn well it was your consorting with Cassandra that got Jack all riled up! If she hadn't believed in you, he wouldn't have believed he wasn't worth fighting for, especially after you fed him that trash about being responsible for Jamie!"

"Oh, yes, the human. I'd quite forgotten about him."

She snarled something unintelligible and made to charge at him, but skidded to a mid-air halt when several sand beasts reared into existence before her. She fell back again, wide-eyed and spluttering, as more and more appeared out of the gloom.

"Well, well, now, what do we have here?" he said, deliberately drawing out each syllable as sheer delight coursed through him. Finally! Finally! It was finally happening! Exactly as he'd envisioned! "Three little Guardians, all alone." Still more black shapes appeared, adding to the Guardians' growing terror. He feasted on it, eyes half-closed as the pure pleasure of it washed over him, through him, filled his veins until they sang. "Perhaps I will thank the arbiter brat one day, but I doubt it."

A subtle flick of a finger was all it took to send the he black sand beasts charging. With ample time to spare, he leisurely summoned a scythe while his eager mind raced: Who he should strike down first? The fairy? It would be a swift and satisfying first kill, as she was by far the easiest target. But, no, that would be too quick, too easy. Leave her for last, let her see her companions die, watch as the knowledge that she was all alone and helpless dawning upon her, alighting the terror in her hideous purple eyes. Ahh, yes, they would become magnificent in their horror, wouldn't they? Sandman, then, perhaps? He was the strongest of the three by far, and the oldest, and past battles with the wretch had proven him rather difficult to overcome. No, no, that wouldn't do either. They'd be expecting that, they'd surely predicted he would go after the most powerful enemy first. He couldn't have that. Being predictable was boring, and after being stuck inside that horrible, rotting realm for over four hundred years, he was sick of being bored.

North it was then.

He sprinted towards the fray, lifting the scythe high over his shoulder as he went. Gleaming eyes fixed upon the yellow man, lips pulled back in a victorious sneer, he changed trajectory of his swing at the very last moment, leaving the pathetic dream weaver stiff with shock as he bypassed his yellow body completely and sought out North's bearded head instead. It was only by sheer happenstance that the fat man saw the attack coming—a slight turn of the head as he struck down a black sand beast allowed him to spot movement out of the corner of his eye. He dodged at the last possible moment, wide-eyed and panting as the very near miss caused sweat to burst out along his brow.

As he wrenched the scythe free of the ground, where it had become deeply imbedded upon missing North's skull, he leered at the fat Guardian as he came at him again, swinging with all his might.

This was going to be fun!


Even if the Guardians hadn't known about the parasite, it would've been abundantly clear to them that something was very off about Pitch tonight. The creature inside him had done a decent job mimicking the Nightmare King's smooth tone and mocking demeanor, but the rest of him just wasn't…right. His hair was a bit more disheveled than usual (a detail they would've readily ignored as sheer happenstance, if not missed completely, had they not known about the Boogeyman's current plight), and his eyes were wide, wild, very nearly deranged. Every single one of his teeth showed in a smile that was too wide, too elated, which combined with his piercingly glowing eyes made the Nightmare King look half-mad with manic glee.

As for his fighting style, it was completely off. On that front the parasite wasn't even trying to conceal itself, plain and simple. Whereas the real Pitch Black (or as much of the real Pitch as any of them had known) did not shy from using his strength, he tended to rely much more heavily on diversionary tactics, switching up his weapons and using the presence of shadows much to his advantage. This Pitch, on the other hand, was all brute force, swinging his scythe again and again and again as if it weighed nothing. He beat North back with sheer, brutal might, leaving Sandy to dash desperately to his aid. That, unfortunately, left Tooth alone and surrounded by Nightmares. She fought well, and held her ground as best she could, but there were just too many of them for her to possibly fend off alone. Sooner or later, they'd break through her defenses and—

With a blast of ice-cold wind, Jack Frost appeared in the sky. The Nightmares reared back, stunned by his sudden appearance. Ignoring them for the moment, the boy spirit directed his staff towards the parasite-ridden Pitch, sending a fierce, unrelenting wave of ice and snow towards him. It was May, and it was warm, too warm for his frost to linger long, but it was more than enough.

Protected by a hastily-summoned wall of black sand, Pitch stumbled back. His face contorted with an ugly mixture of shock and confusion and fury as Frost landed with a soft thud, a mocking half-smirk on his face.

"Hey there," Jack called merrily. "Remember me?"


"You will hold back as long as possible," Cassandra instructed Jack, who, for once, was listening with rapt attention and a closed mouth. "But you'll need to take great care not to be spotted; there will be Nightmares everywhere, and if they so much as suspect your presence the parasite will know it's a trick and flee. We'll never get another chance should that happen."

"How long will he wait?" North inquired.

"Until one of you is in trouble." She looked between North, Tooth Fairy, and the dream weaver. "Hold off as long as you can, and just when the parasite starts to think its victory is secured, Frost will appear."

"Not only taking it by complete surprise, but disturbing it much more deeply by making it reconsider its presumptive notions of an 'easy' conquest."

"Precisely," Cassandra acknowledged Tooth Fairy. She then continued to Jack, "Don't hold back your attacks, as that will only rouse its suspicions, but do not harm Pitch any more than absolutely necessary. He deserves to be spared as much pain as possible, and if the parasite gets it in its head early on that it can't win, it'll take off to try and save itself."

Bunnymund's fur ruffled indignantly. He growled, "Either disappearing with Pitch, or abandoning his body to die."

"Are you clear on all of that, Frost?" Cassandra asked, ignoring the Pooka's unnecessary input.

The boy spirit nodded, a look of eager determination settling onto his pale face.


Jack sent another powerful blast in Pitch's direction, forcing the infected spirit of fear to drop into the shadows. He reemerged a short distance away, panting open-mouthed in his rage.

"Frost," he hissed. He repeated it, over and over, the word becoming louder and louder until it was a shriek. "Frost. Frost! Frost! FROST!"

He launched himself forward on a heaving surge of black sand, flanked on both sides by charging mares. Flanked himself by North and Sandy, Jack met the charge head-on, a battle cry on his lips. While Sandy and North took care of the mares, Jack leapt into the air, intending to use the momentum and angle to his advantage and blast Pitch out of the sky with his wind.

Unfortunately, he misjudged either the strength of his jump, the speed they were travelling, or both, for he wound up colliding bodily with Pitch instead. The infected spirit of fear must've timed the attack poorly as well, for he hadn't quite managed to raise his scythe in time to stop Jack's rather…physical…assault. Shock from the unexpected blow caused him to drop the weapon, which promptly vanished into black dust. The Nightmare King snarled and clawed at Jack's face, as if the dumb parasite had temporarily forgotten that it didn't actually have claws right now. Desperately fending off those groping fingers, Jack pressed his hands over the Boogeyman's face and concentrated, forcing a thick sheet of ice to appear across his skin, temporarily blinding him, before leaping away to safety.

The parasite screeched in fury. It scratched and yanked on the ice until Pitch's fingers bled. Jack flinched as a nail must've caught on the ice and peeled off, judging from the sudden spurt of blood dribbling down Pitch's wrist. He hadn't meant for that to happen; he'd only meant to disorient the parasite for a while, and in the May heat the ice would've melted quickly with little adverse effect.

Unfortunately for Pitch, the parasite was too pissed off to think of that. And it clearly had no care whatsoever for the fact that it was doing far more harm to its own host body than Jack's ice "attack" ever could have done.

Jack didn't get to dwell on the guilt for long. A cry from Tooth alerted him to her current state of desperation: a Nightmare had nearly caught her wing in its teeth, and she'd only just gotten away in time. Even with her lightning-quick reflexes, it was growing increasingly difficult for her to evade injury as more and more mares surrounded her, isolating her from the rest of the group.

Leaping over the foray, Jack landed beside her and, with the aid of Wind, spun in a swift, smooth circle, the icy blast he conjured sending the surrounding Nightmares scattering for the trees. At least six were destroyed, by his count, but Jack was fairly certain the actual number was much higher. It was always difficult to count accurately whilst completing a maneuver like that.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"

As one, the Guardians flinched. Peering through the darkness, Jack saw that the parasite had finally managed to free itself of his blinding ice. Pitch's gray face was scratched raw, especially around the eyes, yet the parasite seemed hardly aware of the wounds. The eyes themselves could've melted stone, that was how bright and hot they burned in the wake of its towering rage. All traces of Pitch's usual smirk were gone; his lips were drawn back into a horrid sneer, turning his crooked teeth into a vicious snarl that would've done an animal-esque spirit like Salvaguard proud.

The atmosphere in the dark Pennsylvania forest grew heavy, stifling, charged and threatening, as if the very air surrounding them was about to explode at any moment. The Guardians recognized that dreadful feeling: the parasite, in its wrath, was drawing upon its immense magical power, completely disregarding the limitations of its current physical body.

Not good.

Almost as one, the Guardians stepped back, wide eyes darting between the Nightmares and the infected Pitch Black, not wanting to take their eyes off any of them for more than a moment. None of them wanted to answer the parasite's screeched question because, quite frankly, it would be a stupid thing to do. They knew a verbal response would accomplish nothing except riling it up even more.

Unfortunately for them (or was it really to their fortune?), one of their number was exceptionally audacious, and his accented voice spoke abruptly from the surrounding darkness:

"Hello, mate."


"What about Bunny?" Tooth asked. Cassandra couldn't tell if the fairy's breathlessness was caused by anxiousness or excitement.

"What about me?" Bunnymund said gruffly. "Obviously I'll be stayin' here. Holding down the fort or whatever you humans call it."

He turned his back to them, ears drooping low over his hunched, furred back. The other Guardians and Jamie Bennett watched him with pitying eyes, but Cassandra felt no such sympathy.

"Don't be a coward."

Bunnymund bristled up at once, standing stiff and straight but still facing the other way. He growled, "I ain't a coward."

"Then turn around and face me."

He turned. Standing rigid as a brick wall, he stared hard into Cassandra's eyes. The look wasn't quite indignant enough to turn insolent, and there was a definite undercurrent of pain hidden deep within it. Despite those powerful emotions, though, the Pooka refused to blink.

"I will never forgive you for what you did," Cassandra began.

"And you shouldn't," he immediately replied, voice as unrelenting as his stare. "What I did was unforgivable. I know that."

"Good. That will make this part a lot easier."

He winced. While the rest of the room watched with bated breath, Cassandra stalked towards the table-perched Pooka. She bent down, just a little, so her nose was a mere inch from his. A slight tremble had taken up in his limbs, she saw, but Bunnymund clenched his teeth and braced himself to face the inevitable consequences of his actions.

"Did you know," Cassandra said quietly, "that because you attacked me, breaking your Guardian's oath and the rules of Mutatis Mutandis, if I refuse to choose you for the rite I am free to decide your punishment?"

"What?" Jack croaked before North hastily shushed him.

The tremble traveled to the Pooka's face, causing his lower lip to quiver for just a moment. He quelled it by pushing his mouth into a deep frown.

"You know this?" he asked.

"Issitoq told me. When we met in Ikiaq."

"Do—do you not intend to pick me?" He could scarcely believe it.

"I never did. I told you so from the very beginning."

He swallowed thickly, but squared his shoulders. "So what's it to be, then, eh?" There was no hatred, animosity or even blame discernible in his voice, just simple, quiet resignation.

"I want you to remember, E. Aster Bunnymund. I want you to remember what you did to me for the rest of your sorry existence. I want you to remember that you are an oath breaker, a manipulator, a liar. I want you to remember that no matter how many times you curse the dark spirits you hunt and sneer upon their very names, the same capacity for darkness resides within you, making you a hypocrite. I want you to remember that you were wrong about me, just as you were wrong about Pitch, and that nothing you can say or do will ever amend the wrongs you committed against us."

He was shaking by the end of her speech. His emerald eyes were very wide, and with her magic Cassandra could sense his fear rising as he awaited her sentence.

"Each year," she declared, "on the very eve you broke your Guardian's oath, you will be trapped within your realm, small and weak, just as you are now. You will remain there, in that state, for seven days and seven nights; let it serve to remind you of just how vile you can be, and give you time to consider the many, many reasons why you should never allow yourself to stoop so low again."

Bunnymund choked out, "But-but what if something happens? The ankle biters—!"

"Will survive. You still hold power over hope in this state; you'll be able to maintain it just as easily then as you have now. As for in the event of an attack…" Her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you should've considered the full ramifications of your actions before you attacked me—a child." Bunnymund winced. She continued in the same cool, detached voice, "Your friends will manage just fine without you. If not…well, then you'd better hope they can at least hang on until your time is up."

Bunnymund looked absolutely devastated. He was a fighter, a perfectionist and, above all, he was immensely proud. Being reduced to such a sorry state year after year would be nothing short of humiliating for him, and should anything happen to his precious believers while he was gone, he'd never forgive himself.

And yet… he accepted it. He accepted it with lowered eyes and a tiny nod, if only because he had no other choice. Being caged in his realm for a week out of every fifty-two was a far better fate than being dead, plain and simple.


The parasite reeled, temporarily dumbfounded by the appearance of Bunnymund in all his six-foot-one glory. The Pooka smirked as he tossed his boomerang. Completely distracted, none of the Nightmares managed to react in time. One was taken out by a sharp kick to the throat, while three others were demolished in quick succession before the whirling boomerang returned to Bunnymund's paw.

It was only then that the parasite seemed to comprehend what was happening.

"LIARS!" it shrieked. "LIARS ALL OF YOU!"

"Pretty rich, coming from you," Jack noted sardonically. He and the others had likewise seized the moment to pick off as many mares as they could.

The mares began to back away, tossing their heads and eyeing one another in confusion and growing concern. This wasn't what they'd been told would happen. This wasn't going according to plan at all. Their master's plans usually didn't turn out very well, admittedly, but they'd never gone this badly before.

The false-master was going to get them all killed, and they didn't even like him.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" the false one screamed at the conflicted mares. "ATTACK THEM! KILL THEM!"

They flinched, but bowed their heads in reluctant obedience and charged forward again, following the false-master as it bellowed and attacked the Guardians with a newly rejuvenated scythe.

Yet had the false one paid the mares any real attention, or even bothered to learn their names, it would have noticed one very telling fact: Onyx was among those that held back, refusing to obey. The mare's head was up, ears cocked forward, eyes narrowed and calculating as she watched the false-master strike again and again and again in a mindless frenzy of swings.

If Pitch had looked mad before, he looked positively insane now—hair flying all over, robes tattered and matted with blood, spit shimmering on his chin where it had been flung by harsh, furious breaths through an open mouth. The parasite battered and beat the Guardians with little care for its own defenses, striking Tooth Fairy's hasty parry so hard she was knocked to the ground with a cry of pain, only to lose its scythe a second later when Sandman's whip caught its host body around the wrists and flung it away from the group, into the trees. It scrambled to its feet with a snarl, the scythe reappearing almost instantly. Nightmares had to literally scatter out of the way as it charged forward again, teeth bared like an animal.

Jack Frost felt sick. Watching the parasitic spirit reduce a man he'd once loathed yet grudgingly respected into a mindless battering ram of flesh was absolutely appalling. If the Guardians had actually been trying to destroy Pitch, they could've easily done so numerous times; that was how many careless openings the parasite left in its ferocious but truly foolish attempts to destroy them. Upon being presented for the fourth time with the Nightmare King's unprotected back, Jack decided enough was enough. He lifted his staff and pointed it right at the Boogeyman's spine, preparing to blast him off his feet with a burst of icy wind.

Maybe that will get it to stop and think for half a second.

However, in the scant moments it took Jack to summon his magic, the parasite sensed the gathering power and quickly determined what was happening. It swung around, shoulders first, to defend itself, a curse building on its tongue as it lifted the scythe high…

…only to be met by a newly-materialized Cassandra Fisher, who, with a firm and resolute hand, drove a black sand dagger deep into Pitch Black's chest.


"You sure about this?" Jack whispered. Given what he'd just been told, talking any louder just seemed…obscene.

"Absolutely."

"But Pitch—"

"Wants to die," Cassandra said, interrupting the Tooth Fairy before she could even get properly started. "I didn't understand at first, but I do now. When I was near him, I could sense his greatest fear, just as he could sense mine and everyone else's. He seemed shocked, and almost frightened, by the fact that I could sense it. I think it's because he didn't want the parasite to know just how badly the infection had affected him."

She looked at them all, one by one, right in the eye. "Pitch's greatest fear is that he'll never be happy. He didn't want to be a spirit, just as Frost didn't want to be one. But as you all already know, Frost had fun, he had the hope of being believed in one day, and in the end he had Guardianship. Pitch has nothing, not even hope, because he's long since learned and accepted that being infected by the parasite is a death sentence. He's never had the chance to be himself, or the freedom to enjoy being a spirit…not that he ever could've enjoyed it, I think. Even in the memories, it was clear he didn't like the idea of scaring people and couldn't understand why he'd been chosen for such a thing. By now he frankly detests being a spirit, but has resigned himself to suffer through it until the parasite is through with him."

"Good god," Jamie Bennett breathed, placing a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the words even as they left him. His face was pale, awash with horror. He, better than any of the others, even Jack Frost, knew just how devastatingly powerful and overwhelming such feelings of hopelessness could be.

"That's why the rite was initiated," Cassandra explained to them. "Issitoq knew Pitch had been infected, and was well aware of the detestable the circumstances leading to his infection, but couldn't do anything about it because the parasite hadn't broken any laws. Its very existence is dependent upon possessing other spirits, and not even Issitoq can undermine that. Yet the parasite is intelligent enough to recognize that unless it convinces its hosts to agree to its presence inside them, grievance after grievance will be filed against it until some day, inevitably, Issitoq will side with the host's loved ones. Losing a host in such a way would not only mar its pride, but being summoned to Ikiaq again and again and again would prove far more aggravating than its short temper could ever cope with. So, to spare itself that aggravation, it resorts to cruel tricks and cunning half-truths to convince spirits that being infected is actually a good thing. Legally speaking, as long as it does not tell a lie while luring a spirit, or force itself upon another, Issitoq can do nothing to interfere.

"Yet with Pitch, it finally crossed a line. He'd only just transformed, and knew absolutely nothing about the spirit world. Again, legally speaking, the parasite had done nothing wrong, but in destroying any chance Pitch had of being independent and fulfilling his true duty as the spirit of fear and shadow, Issitoq was finally granted the ability to initiate the rite of Mutatis Mutandis."

"A hell of a risk," Bunnymund noted in a quiet voice.

"Yes, but he had no other choice. For hundreds of years you Guardians failed to notice that Pitch was infected, and after that debacle in Burgess twenty years ago Issitoq understood that drastic measures had to be taken. The rite was literally a last resort—if I had failed to figure out what was going on, then there really was nothing else to be done for Pitch."

Glancing down, she reached out and touched the folds of her cloak, fingering the material thoughtfully.

"While I was in limbo," she said, "the parasite revealed to me that the cloak was actually Pitch's idea. Obviously they wanted to gain an advantage over you Guardians, but I think it was also a matter of Pitch besting the parasite at its own game for once. He did the exact same thing to the parasite that it had done to him many centuries ago: used truth to cleverly cover a lie. And when Pitch succeeded, he then played me in much the same way he played Frost twenty years ago."

Looking up from the cloak, she met their startled expressions and informed them, "Think about it. Under any other circumstances, Issitoq would've taken great offense to my being tricked into accepting a gift. As you five were so eager to point out, I am human, I am a child, and at that time I had absolutely no understanding of how the spirit world worked. The reason Issitoq said nothing against it, though, apart from the obvious fact that no laws were broken, is because he recognized Pitch's true intentions. Pitch bent the rules to his favor, yes, but it didn't undermine the rite in any way because he wants to get picked. It's no different than Frost asking to be chosen, really; he was simply doing it in a very roundabout way. Even the magic infused to the fabric was a fantastic hoax on Pitch's part. The parasite bought into it because it assumed that, being a child, I'd be naturally inclined to side with the Guardians, and wanted an insurance policy against such a thing. But in reality, Pitch wanted to give me the ability to make a completely rational decision without the burdens of personal sentiment and childish reluctance to take life. I am young, far younger than Issitoq ever intended me to be as the arbiter, and I took an early liking to Pitch. He understood these things, and knew that without the cloak's magic I wouldn't be able to do what needs to be done, or, heck, to even see the situation for what it truly is."

She glanced pointedly at Frost, who looked away, pale cheeks tinted slightly pink. He understood her unspoken point quite clearly: 'Just as your childishness and personal sentiments stopped you from seeing the truth in Antarctica.'

"I'm going to give Pitch his death," Cassandra continued in a matter-of-fact voice. "It's what he wants, and Issitoq confirmed that while I cannot take a participant's life for superficial reasons, once I make my decision I may take the selected spirit's life if I so wish. Death by my hand will be more dignified, and far less painful."

Ever the pessimist, Bunnymund interjected. "That's just it, kid. With the parasite there's bound to be pain. It won't have it any other way."

"That's why we're not going to give it a choice in the matter. The parasite is extremely narcissistic, arrogant to the point of being stirred to an irrational rage if it feels it's been in any way insulted. You Guardians are going to rile it up for me, so when I strike Pitch down it'll be furious beyond any known point of return."

"What good'll that do?"

In spite of the cloak, Cassandra smirked at Frost. "It will make it irrational."


For a single, surreal moment in time, nothing moved. Not even the leaves on the trees above their heads. And nothing breathed. Not even Pitch's parasite ridden body. It was as if the entire world had frozen the very instant the dagger sunk into Pitch's flesh.

They stared into each other's eyes—he stunned by what she'd done, she wholly incapable of emotion because of the cloak.

But he could see her complicated non-expression.

And he knew.

…then…then…the moment was broken. Pitch opened his mouth and emitted a loud, ragged wheeze as his damaged body tried to suck in air. He stumbled back a single step, the scythe in his hands disintegrating into black sand that scattered away into the dark, before losing all strength in his legs. Collapsing to the ground with a dull thud, he stared up at the night sky, his robed chest—still bearing the dagger—rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to draw even the shallowest of breaths.

From his dying form, a whirling black shape emerged. The tainted essence flung itself at Cassandra with such speed it was almost indiscernible to her human eye. Even the Guardians barely managed to react before the parasite's disembodied form collided with her, knocking her to the ground. A furious snarl and a flashing glimpse of jagged teeth was all Cassandra caught of the creature before claws pried her mouth open.

"Cassandra!" several voices rang out, but Cassandra was only vaguely aware of them. All she could think and see and feel and hear was the horrible black magic forcing its way down her throat, choking her, suffocating her, as it wormed its way deep into her body.


"I don't get it."

She would've sighed had it not been for the cloak. Instead, she answered Frost plainly, "I'm going to have it infect me."

"WHAT?!"

Her ears rang as seven voices rang out in unison: the five Guardians', Jamie Bennett's, and Barb's. The last was the only one Cassandra really cared about, and she didn't dare look to see what was sure to be a devastated expression on the blonde woman's face.

"Cassandra," Barb began hoarsely, "you can't!"

"I can," she replied, "because I'll be just fine."

"Now look, kid," the rabbit spirit said in as gentle a voice as he could muster, given the tremendous shock he'd just received. "I know this hasn't been easy for you, and I get you wanna help Pitch, but sacrificing yourself isn't the best way to go about—"

"It won't be a sacrifice. I told you: I'll be fine."

"How?" North asked. A question mark appeared over Sandman's head at the very same time.

"Until the rite is complete, I am protected by its rules. Even if I take Pitch's life, until I transform and fully assume his role the rite is still technically in effect. Something the parasite is bound to forget once we piss it off."

Tooth Fairy's amethyst eyes were enormous. "It'll attack you," she said in what almost sounded like breathless awe, "and will try to infect you. But Issitoq won't let it. He'll protect you."

"Blimey," Bunnymund murmured.

Nodding once to Tooth and completely ignoring Bunnymund, Cassandra turned to the spirit who stood silent and watchful by the door, a faint smirk quirking one corner of his mouth.

"Once it's forced out again," she said to him, "I will strike it down. That will be my vengeance fulfilled, leaving only yours."


It was agony. Everything inside her burned as if on fire. Her organs felt simultaneously squeezed tight and stretched taunt. Every one of her bones creaked as if threatening to splinter and shatter outward at any moment.

The magic—thick and black like tar, and just as putrid—gathered at a single focal point deep inside, near her heart, before lashing out at her spine and travelling up and down and out, across every limb and through every vein and into every capillary and even into her brain.

Once it touched her head, the roaring began.

"YOU BITCH YOU BITCH YOU BITCH! I WILL GUT YOU FROM THE INSIDE! I WILL SHRED YOU OPEN AND FLING YOUR WASTES ACROSS THE ROOFTOPS OF THAT WRETCHED TOWN!

"YOU WILL REGRET DOING THIS TO ME!"

"No, I won't."

That quiet declaration didn't stop the thundering of pain and magic throughout her body, but it did silence the shrieking.

…for about half a second.

"What did you say? What did you say to me?! WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"

It fell silent again, and because the thing was now inside her head Cassandra knew it was thinking rapidly, processing what she'd just said.

…then…

"You're not afraid," it hissed. "Even that wretch was frightened, and he knew what was coming, he agreed to it."

When realization finally struck its stupid, tiny brain, it was already too late. Cassandra had been pushing back against the parasite's invasion all along, for what little good it would do, and now there was another force inside her, one that dwarfed even the parasite's impressive strength. The new, unspeakably potent magic struck fast as a whip, but with the heat and precision of a surgeon's laser. It simply reached into her body, seized hold of the parasite's disembodied form, and smoothly wrenched it out again.

Shrieking was the only defense the foul creature had against such immeasurable influence. And that, of course, proved absolutely useless in the end.

Cassandra blinked, and just like that she was alone within her body once more. Panting and sweating and a bit sore, but otherwise none the worse for wear, she watched the shapeless black mass of the parasite as it was flung carelessly to the ground. Issitoq's far-reaching presence vanished into the wind as if it had never been, leaving the rest for Cassandra to deal with.

Gladly.

As the writhing mass on the ground began to take solid shape, Cassandra called forth her magic. Black sand rushed to her hands, twisting and compressing into a familiar weapon: a scythe. It was smaller than Pitch's, and far less unwieldy, with a shorter handle and narrower blade, but it felt quite comfortable in her grip. She was smaller than him, after all, and not nearly as eccentric. With fresh, clean magic surging through her body, she swung the weapon effortlessly, the motion rattling the charms of her bracelet against her arm. Up went the scythe, up and over her shoulder. Then with one swift, flawless motion, it came down again.

Just as the parasite emerged, fully formed, in all its hideous glory, she cleaved it in two; it barely even had time to bear its ugly fangs at her. The two halves collapsed to the ground and immediately broke apart, disintegrating into thousands of wriggling snake-like shapes, just like in her nightmare.

They scattered in every direction, seeking the safety of the trees, yet none of them made it far. For a pair of gray eyes heavily laced with acid green appeared in the gloom. They sat above a wide, menacing smile that promised death.


"I told you mate. Even if we get it out of him, even if we manage to strike it down, how the bloody hell are we supposed to deal with all the fragments?"

"I believe that is where I step in."

The announcement pulled several startled exclamations from the group. North and Sandman literally leapt apart when the voice spoke from behind them, as if they feared being stabbed in the back. Barb and Jamie Bennett both sneered, while Tooth Fairy's tiny trio chirruped in terror and hid behind their queen.

Frost looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon, he was so disgusted and enraged.

"You!" he snarled, thrusting his staff right into Morsoi's face.

"The hell is he doing here?!" Bunnymund cried out at the exact same time. His emerald eyes seemed fixed to pop out of head. "He can't get in here without—"

"An invitation," Morsoi finished in a smooth voice. He smirked, the green in his eyes brightening for a moment as Bunnymund's fur ruffled crossly. "And I had one," he added, casting Cassandra a pointed look.

"You?" Betrayal was written all over the Pooka's face, despite the glaring fact that they hadn't trusted or even liked each other since the very beginning. His words came in a breathless rush. "You would let him in here? Do you know what he'd do to me, to my realm, if he ever got it in his head—"

"Do you honestly believe me fool enough to attack you, Aster?" the spirit of pestilence questioned, instantly snapping Bunnymund's attention back to him.

"Why not?" the Guardian snarled. "You attacked Sophie!"

"Attacked? My, what harsh accusations these are. Please, Jack Frost, enlighten your companions as to what really happened."

"You tricked her," Jamie hissed. His fists were clenched at his sides, yet his face was stark white, betraying the terror and fury Cassandra could feel rolling off of him in waves. "You tricked my sister, goaded her into breaking the rules and losing her belief. You had no right to do that!"

Morsoi's eyes narrowed as they fixed upon the trembling human.

"Do not presume to know what is or is not within my rights," he breathed in a deadly soft whisper. "Would Issitoq have spared me had I slipped but a single toe out of line, given the initiation of Mutatis Mutandis?"

Jamie hesitated, but Bunnymund and Frost had no such reservations.

"You're nothing but a dirty rat!" the former snarled while the latter hollered, "You really wanna die, don't you?!"

Cassandra swung her hand in a sweeping motion, sending a blast of black sand coursing through the room. It vanished before it could touch or harm anyone, but all of them, save Morsoi, flinched regardless.

Into the stark silence that fell afterward, Cassandra said coolly, "This is not the time for petty grievances. Mr. Bennett, as much as I despise what happened to you and your sister, Morsoi is right. Issitoq would have stopped or punished him had he been committing a crime. As for Coach Sophie: she's a grown woman. Regardless of what Morsoi said to her, it was her own choice to come and speak to me."

"It's his fault!" Jamie insisted. Tears flooded his eyes and choked his voice.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I am not going to get drawn into that debate tonight. Either way, hanging onto the past isn't going to make you feel any better."

"Sophie's still your sister," Barb said quietly, laying a gentle hand on the man's arm. "She's still alive and well, and she still loves you. Let that be your focus now, not on him." She cast Morsoi a brief, searing look. "He is nothing compared to her."

Drawing a deep breath in through his nose, Jamie closed his eyes and held very still, as if counting in his head to calm himself. When he opened them again, he gave a brief nod to let Barb he was all right. She offered him a tiny smile in return.

With that that crisis averted, Cassandra redirected their attention to more important matters.

"I called Morsoi here because we need him. Regardless of your quarrels," she said, temporarily raising her voice to silence Bunnymund before the Pooka could utter a single furious word, "we need to consider the nature of our enemy. The parasite can be struck down, yes, but it is as you said: if even one of its parts remains, the creature can regenerate. We would never be able to destroy so many pieces with just the six of us—"

"Nine," Barb interrupted, trying to include herself, Jamie and Salvaguard in the count.

"No. You three need to stay out of this."

"Cassandra—"

"No." Her response was firm. "Without magic you two are defenseless, and outside of your home Salvaguard's strength and ability to defend you become limited. As the weakest links, you would only become the parasite's primary targets."

Barb's lip quavered. "You expect me to just sit back and watch you kill someone?"

"You will not watch. You will be at home, safe, far from where the parasite or any of its lingering parts can reach you. The same goes for you," she said to Jamie Bennett. "You will stay with Barb again tonight. In her house, Salvaguard is untouchable. He will keep you safe, if only because you are in his realm."

Salvaguard shook himself, ruffling his fur, but said nothing to refute what Cassandra had said. Barb looked down at him, betrayal shimmering in her eyes, but she understood. Salvaguard's limitations weren't the Cadejon's fault, just as it wasn't Barb's or Jamie's own fault that they'd been born human, without magic. Barb swallowed thickly and looked away, defeated.

"As I was saying, the six of us alone cannot destroy so many pieces. There's also the chance that in its desperation, the parasite may throw caution to the wind and try to infect one of you. All of you, including your yetis and your fairies, are susceptible to becoming hosts. And Bunnymund doesn't command nearly enough stone eggs to prove suitable. Besides, they're too slow."

"What are you suggesting then?" Bunnymund asked suspiciously.

"Morsoi's sprites are not living beings made of flesh. They are mere specters, like ghosts or wraiths. Call them whatever you want. The point is they do not have hearts or souls or pulses, which means they are useless to the parasite because it cannot infect them and take them as hosts. There are also a lot of them."

"We cannot have that many sprites descend upon Burgess, no matter their intentions," Jack interrupted in earnest.

"They would sicken the children," North insisted, eyes wide with alarm.

"We wouldn't need all of them," Cassandra said, "only a few dozen."

Frost growled out, "That's still too many."

"I can keep my sprites under firm control, Frost, make no mistake about that," Morsoi replied, cold yet impeccably smooth. "However much or little power they exude is purely by my will, not theirs."

"And what reason do you have to not hurt the kids, eh?"

"I don't know, Aster. What reason do I have to do any of this?" Morsoi turned to Cassandra with one eyebrow quirked in question. "Your message was intriguing enough to lure me here, arbiter, but I doubt you expect me to do this simply as a favor to you."

"Of course not. I know how you spirits are with gifts and owing favors."

His lips twitched at the corners, a cunning little smile. "Well, then. My part of the bargain is clear; what do you have to offer me in return?"

"A fair exchange: you help us destroy the parasite, and I will help you with risk management."

The Guardians exchanged confused looks, wondering what she meant. Barb glared, but wisely kept her mouth shut. Morsoi understood perfectly, yet the words still made him eye Cassandra warily.

"You have already agreed to help me," he said slowly.

"As I recall, the only one of us who made a promise that night was you."

Eight pairs of shock-filled eyes locked upon Morsoi, who stood silent for a long time. It was obvious what he was doing: replaying the scene in Barb's living room through his head, reliving the memory and going over it piece by tiny piece, closely examining each word and every minute detail.

Then he smiled broadly, showing all his teeth.

"You are right," he said. "You did not agree. I stand corrected."

He didn't sound displeased by the unexpected revelation at all. In fact, he seemed quite delighted, almost thrilled and (oddly enough) rather amused by the prospect of being proven wrong.

"In exchange for my promise to help you," Cassandra said, "you will help me deal with the parasite. And as payment for not harming the children or Burgess or any of the Guardians during this venture, you will get two additional things you've wanted."

"Oh? And what would those be?"

"Revenge, for one. Surely you've wanted to teach that wretched beast a lesson for being so arrogant as to believe it could swindle you into helping it take over the world. It even caused you to give up on the Plague, after all that hard work you put into making it so grand."

Morsoi's eyes were so very bright they were almost completely green. A faint tremor had taken over his body, although Cassandra could not fathom as to why that was. Surely he wasn't that excited by the prospect of killing, not after doing it for four thousand years.

"And the second thing?" he breathed, as if he dared not break the intensity of the moment by raising his voice any louder than that.

Cassandra forced the corner of her mouth into a smirk. "Entertainment."


According to plan, the Guardians kept well away from the parasite's many writhing parts. They watched in grim silence as the spirit of pestilence and plague eyed the piles of black serpents with mocking disdain coloring his handsome features.

"It is time you learn what happens when you attempt to deceive and use me," Morsoi practically purred around a cruel smirk. A quick glance into the nearby trees widened that horrible smile further still. "Although it seems I am not the only one who has debts to collect."

The parasite's parts—rendered temporarily immobile by the shock of Morsoi's appearance—bolted as if shot out of a cannon. Morsoi made no move to follow. He simply stood there, surrounded by trees and shadows and watching Guardians as his sprites streaked through the darkness. They tore those hideous pieces to shreds, squeals like strangled piglets ringing in the air as they were slaughtered by the hundreds. Nightmares, too, led by Onyx, stamped and bit and ruthlessly ripped the broken parasite apart, excising all the rage and vengefulness that had built up inside them over many grueling years of servitude.

On and on the massacre went, sprites and mares swarming through the forest like dark specters until a single shrieking form was all that remained of the once-fearsome parasite. Cassandra could see now why the parasite hated to be seen in such a state; it was absolutely pathetic to look at.

The writhing shape was presented to Morsoi by a dutiful sprite, which bowed deeply before scuttling away on its impossibly long arms. Morsoi's tongue slipped out to curl across his upper lip, a look of savage pleasure burning in his acid green eyes.

"I see you, Dybbukol," he hissed triumphantly. "And I have outlived you."

With that, he tore the wretched thing in two.


He wouldn't last much longer.

She'd really wanted to kill him instantly, to ease his suffering as much as she could, but doing so would've sped up the transformation process, creating a serious risk of her plan backfiring. As much as she wanted to help the spirit everyone knew as Pitch Black, she didn't want to become the parasite's next victim.

From the way he looked at her as she crouched over his sprawled form, she could tell he didn't hold it against her.

His eyes were gray now instead of gold, the color of afternoon shade. There was a small smile upon his lips, which trembled from the force of his wheezing. It ached to look at him, but she kept her hood pushed back and made herself watch. The very least he deserved was to see a friendly face as he departed and know that he was grieved.

It took a bit of effort, but he managed to rasp two small words:

"Thank you."

Blinking hard to fight back her tears, Cassandra somehow managed to keep her voice steady as she replied, "Go now. Be free." She then bent low and whispered his name—his true name—into his ear.

When she straightened up again, it was to see such deep gratitude and relief and warmth reflected in his gaze, Cassandra very nearly had to look away. But he broke their locked gazes first, turning his eyes upward to peer between the swaying leaves at the thin sickle of silver moon.

Two weak, ragged breaths later, he was gone.