Pitch's ears were ringing as he stared at Jack, the words echoing in his head. He's a Guardian of Childhood. All the man wanted to do was laugh in derision, but no noise would escape him. The boy stood tall, staring at him, and Pitch could feel the truth in Jack's words. At least the boy believed they were true. But how could they be? How could he, Pitch Black, the Nightmare King, be a Guardian of Childhood? He was nothing like the others.
Obscurus concurred, belting out a laugh that grated on the ears. "That pathetic thing, a precious Guardian of Childhood?" he scoffed. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" Jack demanded, turning his gaze back to Obscurus. "Because he has a collection of soul coins from children that would prove you wrong."
Memories flooded Pitch's mind, all of children reaching up in their last moments of life for a hint of reassurance. And none of them were afraid in the end. "Because of that look," Jack had said. And Pitch came back to himself, his heart hammering in his chest, blood pounding in his ears. Was he? Could he be? Was it possible that his power and affinity toward children, which he'd felt all of his adult life, were indications of his Guardian status? He began to giggle, elated with the thoughts that he might not be a monster, as Obscurus had led him to believe over the years.
Obscurus spun to face him. "Shut up," he said, a tinge of panic in his voice.
Pitch began to chuckle, his eyes gleaming silvery-gold again. He could feel the fear now, the fear that he'd never known was there before today. But he'd sensed it earlier, thinking it was the fear of death. But it wasn't death that Obscurus was afraid of. It was him. Obscurus was afraid of Pitch Black. He grinned, his eyes shining as his skin began to lighten and gleam in silvery light. Lunar grew excited and his glow brightened considerably, which only made the refracting light even stronger.
The Shadow Man's eyes were wild as he raised his blade, aiming to kill. Lunar threw his dagger quickly, and it struck the blade and knocked it out of the dark hands. The blades clattered to the floor, and Shadow Man stared in horror at Pitch as colors began to expand, sending away the shadows that were around him. They were screaming in pain, and Obscurus knew that he was next. He turned to try and run, but Jack swept his feet out from under him with a simple swing of his staff. His own white teeth were gleaming as he stared at Pitch, who was beginning to glow more brightly than even Lunar.
Jack giggled ecstatically, watching with great delight as the colors spread out, filling the room. And then Obscurus began to scream, cowering away from the light. Smoke rose from every inch of exposed skin, and he tried to crawl away, tried to find a shadow. Jack ignored him. The shadow beings that held the others were hissing, but they were still there, hiding behind their captives. That wouldn't do, Jack thought, so he looked around, and his blue eyes landed on the inky rainbow on the floor.
With a sweep of his hand, the blood solidified into ice crystals, and he raised them up and sent them spiraling through the room. As soon as Pitch's rainbow of light hit them, the room flashed and the fractals refracted every bit of color and light that radiated from the man, who was now clutching his stomach as he laughed gleefully. Jack began to laugh, too, as did Nightlight. Then Lunar's voice reached Jack's ears, joining in their laughter with such abandon that Jack knew that the man was truly a child at heart, the perfect Guardian for children.
"Prismatic fractals!" Lunar cried, spinning in place. "Oh, it's so pretty!"
Then there was a strangled noise, and Jack and Lunar turned to see North, Bunnymund, Toothiana, and Sandy gazing with wide eyes and open mouths at the rainbow that was Pitch Black, and then they reached up and gripped their heads. A whistling noise shot through the room, and then shadows exploded out of their skulls, sending them flying back to lay dazed on the floor. And Jack gave a whoop of triumph as the shadows withered away.
"It's gone, Lunar!" he laughed. "The veil is gone!"
For another few moments, the blinding glare of rainbow light permeated every inch of the room, and then it began to dim as Pitch's laughter tapered off. The light retreated into the center of Pitch's being, leaving him gasping for air as he wiped the tears from his face. Pitch looked a bit dizzy, so Jack hurried forward to kneel down beside him.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I… I think so," Pitch said, bemused as he looked around. His gaze landed on a heap of shadowy clothes that was whimpering.
Standing on shaky legs, Pitch cradled his wounded stomach as he hesitantly walked over to see a pitiful creature, Jack a single step behind him. The small form, weak and fearful, was huddled in a corner, shuddering in pain. Lunar and Nightlight walked over to observe what was left of the great Obscurus. They all felt great pity and disgust at the form. Jack swallowed.
"Can you send him on?" he asked.
"He's not dead," Pitch replied softly.
"Surely we can do something for him," Lunar said uncertainly.
Pitch raised his hand and formed a knife. Jack blanched, and Nightlight cringed. Lunar stared then nodded once.
"It is the best we can do for him," he said.
The Nightmare King didn't move for a moment, staring between the blade and the creature. Thoughts swirled in his head, and he spoke after a pause.
"If he were in my position, he would leave me that way to make me suffer."
Jack nodded. "But you are a thousand times more merciful than him."
"True," Pitch replied, then leaned down.
Jack and Nightlight turned away quickly, unwilling to see the moment of death, but Lunar watched with sad eyes. When Pitch straightened, the whimpering had stopped, and Lunar placed a hand on his back to comfort him. Pitch took a deep breath then pulled off his coat and covered the body of his deceased foe. He then stood up and grimaced, grabbing his stomach. Lunar smiled.
"We can ease your pain."
"I know," Pitch said. "But not yet. We've still got a lot of work to do."
"What?" Nightlight asked. "He is dead. What more can we do?"
"The children, Nightlight," Jack said. "He has to send on the children. There's probably a hundred."
"No," Pitch said grimly, stripping out of his shirt as he conjured a clean knife. "There are seven hundred and sixty-four."
Silence greeted those words, and Pitch took the opportunity to make strips of cloth from his shirt. He wrapped his middle tightly, cinching the cloth with a hiss of pain. As he was tucking in the end of the makeshift bandage, a groan sounded out from across the room.
"Manny?" North asked, his voice shaking. "What happened? Did we win?"
The four people turned to see the other Guardians staring around as if they had no idea what was going on. Jack frowned.
"They can't help," he said softly to Pitch. "None of us can."
Pitch nodded. "Get them back to the surface. Take the map. Prepare food and drink for me. I'm going to be exhausted after this."
Jack nodded, and he and Nightlight walked over to help the Guardian's up. Lunar watched then clapped his hands.
"Well, let's get going, Prism. I assume you can pinpoint each one of them?"
Pitch glanced down at his old friend. "You're going with Jack and the others."
Lunar snorted. "No, I'm not. I'm not leaving you alone to send seven hundred and sixty-four children to the other side. Just one hurts your heart. You need me, whether you'll admit it or not."
The dark man's eyes burned as tears prickled at the corners. It was a relief to hear Lunar say that, to say that he would stay with him through the difficulties. "If you insist," he said softly, blinking away the tears.
"I do. You all be careful," he called to the others.
Then Pitch turned and led him across the room toward the tunnels, following the sobs that tore at his ears. Lunar's soft, natural glow meant that they didn't need to bring a fire. They had all been thrown down in the heat of battle, but still, they glowed on the floor, and they stepped around them, plunging into the dark depths of the earthen tunnels.
They walked in silence, Pitch following his senses. He was almost overwhelmed by the enormity of the task before him. Over seven hundred children were crying in these tunnels, and he didn't know if he could stomach sending them all on. But he also knew that once he started, he would not stop until they were all safe and sound on the other side. He saw the form of a little boy, and he slowed, glancing worriedly at Lunar, who nodded encouragingly.
Taking a deep breath, he knelt down and placed a trembling hand on the boy's shoulder. Immediately the silvery form brightened, and the boy stopped crying, blinking up at Pitch as if he'd just come out of a daze.
"Hello," the boy said. "Who are you?"
"Prism," Pitch responded, remembering the way the little girl had denied his real name. "And what's your name?"
The boy, whose name was Drake, told a similar story as Alicia had. He was stolen from his home planet and tortured and raped by Obscurus until everything went dark. And then Pitch paused, turning to look at the wall across the tunnel. It was glowing slightly, the outline of a door clearly visible to his keen eyes. He nudged the boy and pointed.
"Would you like to go there?" he asked.
Drake's eyes widened, and he nodded, but it was hesitant. "Is there stuff to do there?"
"Of course," Pitch replied. "You can sail in boats and play games and have as many adventures as you want."
Drake looked fearful, and Pitch did what he always did when faced with a fearful child. He touched him gently and smiled at him, and he could feel the peace spread over the boy's soul and this time he knew that he was taking away that fear. And Drake smiled, so Pitch stood up and offered his hand.
"Come along, little dragon," he said, winking. "They are waiting for you."
The boy took the slim hand and allowed himself to be led over to the wall. His face held such wonder, and Lunar couldn't help but ponder on what the boy could possibly be seeing. For he saw nothing but a wall with nothing out of the ordinary, save for a slight shimmer that told him something powerful was happening. Drake took his hand back and reached up to his chest, pulling out a soul coin and holding it out to Pitch, who took it and nodded.
"Go on, Drake," he said. "I'll see you there one day."
Drake turned, looked around, then gave a whoop and dashed into the wall. Lunar saw the outline of the door for a brief moment then it was gone, along with the shimmering. Whatever had happened was over now. And Pitch looked tired, leaning against the wall as he gripped his wounded stomach.
"Seven hundred and sixty-three to go," he said tiredly.
"You can do it, Prism," Lunar said. "One at a time. Then we'll tend to your wounds. All of them."
Shadows raced up Pitch's face as he blushed, and he quickly turned away. The implication wasn't just for physical wounds. But he felt that the mental and emotional wounds he had were too messy for such a clean, perfect person as Lunar. Lunar frowned, grabbing Pitch's hand, and spun him around.
"Why do you do that?" he demanded. "Why do you always turn away from me, Prism? You never used to. We talked about everything. We were open and honest, and then you pushed me away. I understand that Obscurus wounded you when he took you, but why didn't you speak to me about it?" Pitch didn't respond, so Lunar snarled in the language of power, "Tell the truth!"
Pitch cringed, and the answer poured from his mouth before he could stop himself; the language of power could not be ignored. "Because somebody as perfect and wonderful as you doesn't need to know about the pain of an abusive mother and father who would beat me, and an abusive community that put me down every day of my life, and the pain of having your innocence torn away from you. And I don't want you to know that I'm just a scared little boy who never really grew up, and I'm confused and scared every day of my life that you hate me, or that you will hate me, because of stuff I can't control."
Lunar stared up at him, surprise in his round, shining face. "You think I'm perfect?"
The blush came back, hotter and darker than before. "I… Yes," he said reluctantly. "You've never had a nightmare, and I've lived one my entire life."
"I never had a nightmare as a child," Lunar corrected. "But that doesn't hold true now. And I've been living one, too, Prism. The day you left for Earth and told me you were never coming back without giving me a reason was the beginning of a nightmare for me. And when you started to attack children, it only got worse. That was not the boy I knew."
Pitch stared for a moment. "You've had nightmares?" he asked faintly. "And it's all my fault. I ruined you." The man crumpled to the ground and began to cry. "I'm sorry, Lunar," he moaned. "All I do is ruin things."
Lunar sat down right beside him, a smile tugging at his lips. "I'm ruined, am I?"
A strangled moan came from Pitch as he cringed away from Lunar, but Lunar grabbed his hand and refused to let go.
"You listen to me, Prism," he said sternly. "I am not ruined because I've had nightmares. You are not ruined because you've had nightmares. And neither of us is ruined because we've been living a nightmare for so long. A nightmare goes away when you wake up, and I think we're starting to wake up."
Pitch hiccoughed, shivering as tears poured from his soul, which ached so badly that he was afraid it would implode. "B-but I dragged you and your parents into my nightmare. You heard Obscurus. H-he never would have at-attacked the Moon Clipper if I hadn't b-b-been there."
"Was that true?" Lunar asked, tilting his head.
A nod was all that Pitch could manage. Just remembering the Tsar and Tsarina made him cry even harder. He could hardly breathe through his pain, and he tried to tug his hand away from Lunar, ashamed of himself, but Lunar tugged back with more force, and Pitch found himself cradled by his old friend as he sobbed on Lunar's shoulder. He let out a soft wail and clutched at the little man, unable to see anything through his tears.
Pitch Black cried his heart out, releasing all of the fear and pain and shame that had been bottled inside of him for longer than generations of Earthlings' lifespans. Lunar held him gently, murmuring comfort just as his mother and father had so many years before, running his fingers through Pitch's dark hair and just letting his friend cry. His own tears, of pain for his friend's pain, of anger at Obscurus, and of sheer relief that Pitch didn't hate him as he'd feared for so long slid down his cheeks.
Neither of them knew how long they sat there, holding each other as they cried, but it finally tapered off, and Pitch drew back, rubbing at his face in a childlike manner that made Lunar giggle. Lunar wiped his own cheeks, and he blinked up at Pitch, whose shadows were considerably lessened. He looked almost crystalline again, though there was still some darkness to his complexion.
"You look like you feel better," Lunar said.
Pitch leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling of the tunnel. "I do. Thanks, Lunar. For… For not hating me."
"Me hate you?" Lunar asked, nudging him. "I thought you hated me. I thought that was why you left."
"No," Pitch sighed. "I left because I didn't want to make your light fade. I was afraid that Obscurus would hurt you as he hurt me."
"But we were practically grown up then," Lunar argued. "I think I could have handled him. I am a Lunanoff, you know."
"I know," Pitch said, smiling a genuine smile. "But at the time it seemed like the best option."
Lunar considered this and they sat still in the dark tunnel, which was lit only by the Tsar's glow. Then Pitch stood up and held out his hand.
"Let's get back to work, shall we?"
The Man in the Moon nodded and took the proffered hand. "Seven hundred and sixty-three to go," he agreed. "Lead the way, Prism."
They turned to face the dark tunnels and began to work their way toward another poor soul, both of them considerably lighter and happier than before. It was a good feeling.
