Pitch surveyed the frozen landscape from high up in the icy mountains. As far as he could see, there was nothing but white powder. The sun was shining brightly, and its rays were reflected tenfold by the endless screen of snow. It was bright enough that even Pitch might have gone snow-blind if not for the visor of Dragon's Lead he wore.

True to Lyrm's word, no light could pierce the dark metal. It not only stopped light, but it consumed light. All color and illumination were sucked away by the armor, leaving a path of gray in its wake. At first, Pitch was concerned about leaving a trail, but he quickly shook off such worries. There was no one here but the Guardians, and they would be dealt with soon.

About half a mile from Pitch's perch sat his target, a fortress built into the side of an ice mountain. Light glistened off the frozen peaks, beckoning for Pitch to come and snuff it out. His fingers caressed the hilt of his new sword, eager to do just that.

This was the home base of Nicholas St. North, the Guardian of Wonder who the children of the world affectionately called Santa Claus. He had invaded it once before, albeit with more stealth than he intended to employ this time around. Then, he had been trying to frighten North into summoning the other Guardians. This time, the Guardians were already summoned. Today was the summer solstice, and the Guardians were all present for their annual Solstice Council. Pitch would be up against high security. He chuckled. That was part of the plan. More security meant a bigger show with which to draw out his real enemies.

Pitch scanned the fortress. In the middle of the frozen cliff face was a large ramp. Two red banners waved on either side of the wooden structure. The ramp extended from the yawning maw of an ice cave set in the side of the mountain. It was this ramp that North used for takeoff every year on December twenty-fourth, when he made his global sleighride to deliver toys to the children of the world.

Today, it would serve as Pitch's way inside the base. The ramp and the ice tunnel behind it led straight to North's workshop; only a handful of scouts stood in the way. They would raise the alarm, but they would not be able to stop Pitch from making his way to the workshop. Once he was inside, he would wreak havoc until his challenge was answered.

"Onward, girl," prodded Pitch, tapping his heels against the nightmare's sides. "Let's go say hello."

The nightmare whinnied, reared back on her hind legs, and took off through the air, running across empty space as if it were solid ground. She moved like a bolt of lightning, zipping across the wooden ramp with a bada-doom bada-doom. Her hooves crunched against the icy floor of the tunnel, and a chilly wind whipped through the notches of Pitch's visor. They passed through clusters of icy stalagmites, sometimes running along the ceiling of the tunnel. Pitch relished every lurch and whip, as each clop of the nightmare's hooves against the ice brought him closer to vengeance.

Up ahead, something besides ice loomed among the stalactites. A large wooden structure was built in the center of the tunnel. Whether it was a watchtower or some kind of support, Pitch was unsure. A lone yeti looked down from the structure. The yeti's eyes widened at the sight of the approaching horse and rider. Large hands gripped wooden railing as the creature looked down, making certain his eyes did not deceive him.

As Pitch neared the structure, the yeti scrambled away from the edge of the railing and pulled a rope. A massive bronze hammer fell from the ceiling, swinging sideways and striking a gargantuan bell. Horse and rider whizzed past the wooden structure as the metallic ring sang out through the expanse. Off in the distance, a second ring met Pitch's ears. A third quickly followed, and a fourth and fifth. Soon, the air was wide awake with the sound of ringing bells. Pitch lowered himself against the nightmare, grinning viciously beneath his leaden helmet. The alarm was sounded, and they knew he was here. It wouldn't be long now.

When the nightmare burst through the opening of the tunnel, Pitch leaped from her back. Three armed yetis were waiting for him, carrying large bladed clubs and wearing leather battle armor. They charged him, bellowing in their guttural language. Pitch had always admired these creatures. They were wise, strong, and brave, a hearty race of noble giants. But they had chosen the wrong side. Pitch swung his free hand, and three daggers of pure darkness shot through the air. The warriors crumbled to snowy powder before Pitch's feet hit the floor.

Pitch cut down thirty yetis in similar fashion as he fought his way towards the workshop, leaving piles of snow behind him. They came at him in groups, hoping to overpower him with brute force. Their weapons bounce harmlessly off his leaden armor. Unfortunately for them, their armor was nowhere near as effective against Pitch's blade.

Pitch slashed his blade across the midsection of a lone yeti warrior, reducing him to powder. The Nightmare King walked forward through the tunnel, searching for more defenders. He hadn't felt this awake in ages, even during his most recent resurgence. For as long as he could remember, he had relied on dark sorcery and minions to fight for him. Occasionally, he had summoned weapons from the shadows, but one-on-one combat had never been his preference. Yet, as he carved a path of destruction through the North Pole, it felt like he was inhabiting someone else's body. Maneuvers and strikes he had never made before were coming to him instinctually. Perhaps Lyrm's gift had come with a few bonuses.

Pitch had made his way to the workshop. He stood on a balcony overlooking a wide room hung with bright red banners. Below, large steam-powered machines pumped and cranked next to abandoned workplaces littered with unfinished toys. The workshop had most likely been evacuated when the alarm bells began to sound. Even the elves were gone.

Just then, more yeti's began filing into the workshop from the various entrances. They wore standard armor and carried large wooden shields. A yeti with a red sash around his shoulders barked something Pitch couldn't understand, and the yetis began to interlock their shields to form a protective shell. The front, sides, and top of the phalanx were protected by an unbreakable shield wall. The yeti captain glared up at Pitch and raised his sword, hollering something that Pitch guessed was a challenge.

The Nightmare King bit his lip, looking around for a solution. His gaze rose to the ceiling overhead, formed from ice and carved wood. The yeti captain bellowed once more. The yeti warriors pounded their shields, eager for Pitch to try his blade against their wall.

He ignored their challenge. With the same gleam in his eye that he had when he had dispatched the Sandman so long ago, Pitch raised his sword and concentrated. A missile formed from nightmare sand zipped through the air, bound for a single beam in the roof's framework. It hit its mark, shattering the wood with a loud popping sound. The yeti captain's eyes widened. Pitch stepped away from the balcony just as the room began to rumble. Cracks began to appear in the ice overhead. The yeti shouted once more, a command for his men to run. The phalanx began to disperse just as the roof caved in, and the warriors below were showered with several tons of ice and wood. Once he was certain the collapse was finished, Pitch walked forward to look over the balcony. Most of the yetis had escaped to safety, but a few piles of snow mixed with stray weapons and armor testified to just how devastating nightmare sand could be.

Pitch leapt over the balcony, landing on the wreckage below and looking around. A few yetis peered at him through the doorways. He snarled, feigning forward, and they shrank back in terror. He chuckled heartily.

"The door was open, so I let myself in!" he shouted, holding out his hands and taking a bow. His armor clinked as he stood up. He gestured to the piles of snow around the room. "Not exactly the nicest welcoming committee I've ever seen. What does a man have to do to receive a proper-"

CLANG!

Something hit Pitch right between the eyes, ricocheting off his visor and whirling through the air. A furry hand caught the projectile. The hand was attached to a very angry-looking human-sized rabbit. Above him on the balcony, the Easter Bunny looked down with boomerangs drawn, eyes narrowed, and ears twitching. The other guardians were with him: North stood at his side, towering over him, twin cutlasses in his beefy hands. The Sandman and the Tooth Fairy hovered over them, the former glowing with cosmic power, the latter wielding a golden rapier. And standing on the Easter Bunny's left was Jack Frost, his staff aglow with wintry magic. Pitch pointed his sword upwards at his enemies in challenge.

"There you are," he growled. He had pictured himself strolling in letting loose with some clever one-liner, but in the moment, all he felt was hate. "It took you long enough."

"WHO ARE YOU?" bellowed North angrily. The large man's face was red with rage. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY YETIS?"

"It appears I've destroyed them," retorted Pitch. "You'll be next."

North bellowed, a furious war cry, and vaulted over the balcony. Pitch smirked, preparing himself for the blow. The massive man hauled back with his right arm and struck Pitch in the midsection. Pitch felt the wind burst from his lungs as he was sent careening into the wall. He hit the wooden wall with tremendous force and landed facedown on the floor. Pitch moved an arm to his midsection. He expected that North had just shattered his ribcage, which would not have been fatal for the boogeyman. It would, however, be quite painful, not to mention debilitating.

Pitch inhaled, then exhaled steadily. He felt no pain in his abdomen. Experimentally, he rapped his knuckles against the armor. Nothing burned or stung. The armor really was impervious to weapons. North was fast approaching. Pitch hauled himself to his feet and extended his sword in a taunt.

"I know you've got more than that, old man."

TING!

Three blades clashed as the two combatants locked steel. More accurately, they locked steel and lead.

"Who are you calling old?" growled North, glaring down at his opponent. Up on the balcony, Jack started forward, but Bunny touched a boomerang to his shoulder.

"Let North have him," he said. "Whoever this hoon is, he's just wiped out a lot of North's friends."

Pitch cocked his head. The Guardians still didn't recognize him. The fact that he was covered in black armor probably had something to do with that, he reckoned. That would make this much more entertaining.

With an inhuman roar, Pitch mustered a burst of strength and shoved North back several feet. The larger man stumbled to right himself, momentarily thrown off guard. That was all Pitch needed. The Nightmare King leapt through the air, aiming a backswing right for North's head. North raised his swords defensively, but Pitch's momentum was too great. There was a bright flash of light as the two magical cutlasses were shattered, and then the light was sucked away by the leaden blade. North stared at his broken weapons in shock.

"Now," said Bunny, and the Guardians leapt into action.

Four Guardians charged Pitch at once. He hefted his blade and assumed a defensive stance. The first strike came from Tooth. She let out a war cry as she thrusted with her rapier. Pitch parried her thrust and sent her sprawling with a kick to the hip. Bunny stood back and let fly with his boomerangs. They bounced harmlessly off the leaden armor. Then the Sandman was on him, bearing down with his whiplashes of pure Dreamsand. Pitch took evasive action, but quickly discovered it was unnecessary. A lash struck him across the arm, and instantly it began to dissolve into wispy gray mist. Sandman looked at his empty in utter confusion. Pitch didn't have time to be impressed. A cold sensation hit him in the back and began to spread. He turned around just in time to be slammed across the visor with Jack Frost's staff. The armor didn't give.

Pitch clenched his teeth. With a brutal bellow, he lashed out in rage. Jack dodged the strike, floating as the blade passed beneath his feet. The Guardian raised his staff for a downward blow, but the staff hit Pitch's sword instead as the latter blocked. Pitch shoved, pushing Jack away, then prepared another strike.

Before he could, he was hit in the side of the head with something heavy. He turned to look just in time to see North's fist rushing to his forehead. The impact did little more than stun him, but that had been the plan. Arms wrapped around his chest from behind, and Pitch found himself lifted into the air. The rapid wingbeat in his ear told him it was Tooth. He didn't remember her ever being that strong before.

"Bunny!" shouted North. "Show intruder your new toy."

"Gladly," replied Bunny. Bunny held a colored Easter egg in his hand. It had a symbol painted on the side, a multicolored mushroom cloud. "Happy Easter, ya dill!"

Bunny hurled the egg through the air. Pitch felt Tooth let go of him, and the egg hit him squarely in the cuirass. Suddenly, the world became as bright as a hundred thousand suns, bursting with every color of the spectrum. Pitch cried out in pain, shielding his eyes from the intense light.

It didn't last very long. No sooner had the world lit up with color than it began to gray. Pitch's armor and sword began to hiss as they hungrily devoured the explosion of light. The Guardians stared, dumbstruck, at the sight. Pitch opened his eyes. His armor was coursing with eldritch power now. A subdued voice seemed to whisper to him from inside his helmet: More.

"Enough!" shouted Pitch. The Nightmare King raised his sword, blade pointed down, and drove the tip into the piece of wreckage he stood upon. A shockwave went out from where he stood, and the Guardians were sent hurtling into the walls. Every bit of color was sucked from the room. Only the Guardians remained ungrayed. They looked up at him from the corners where they had collapsed, eyes wide with trepidation. Pitch relished every second of it.

"Oh, this is precious," he chuckled, walking down from the rubble pile. "Not so fierce now, are we?"

"Who are you?" demanded Jack as he stood shakily to his feet.

"And what is it you want from us?" added Tooth as she pulled herself into a sitting position.

"Very good questions," replied Pitch with a point to each of them. "I'd hoped you would figure it out on your own, but I suppose the armor does create a bit of an echo." Pitch sheathed his sword and raised his hands to his helmet. He pulled it off and held it under his arm. The Guardians gasped. Pitch looked back at them with no small amount of satisfaction. He was enjoying this very, very much.

"Pitch!" shouted North as he picked himself up. "Come back for more beating so soon?"

"You say as you pick yourself up off the floor, North?" Pitch clicked his tongue. "I think I'll be the one administering the beating this time. Then again, it looks like I already did."

"Nice armor," snapped Jack sarcastically as he leaned on his staff for support. Jack's breaths were heavy and labored. Pitch held out his arms with a flourish.

"Do you like it?" he asked, before sending a blast of nightmare sand into Jack's face, knocking the Guardian down again.

"Where'd you get it?" demanded Bunny, who was up on his feet again, boomerangs in hand. A dangerous light twinkled in the Easter Bunny's eyes, one Pitch had never seen before. It went beyond anger.

"Ah, yes," answered Pitch. "Well, if you must know-"

"-It was a gift."

The voice echoed through the desolate workshop like the toll of an evil bell. The Guardians all tensed, looking around for the new speaker. Bunny's ears twitched. His eyes were wide open. He crouched low to the ground as if to pounce. . . or to hide.

"So these are the Guardians. . . how disappointing. . ."

Pitch's gaze rose to the hole in the ceiling. Thick gray fog billowed down from the outside, branching off into scores of swirling tendrils. Each tendril hit the floor and dissipated, leaving a figure behind. Each figure was the same faded gray as the fog, with eyes that glowed an empty crimson. They carried black leaden blades like Pitch's, albeit more crudely fashioned. Recognition dawned on Pitch. These were the sleepers from Lyrm's cavern. They were awake now, surrounding the Guardians.

"What are they?" asked Tooth, looking around in horror at the menacing figures.

"And who's speaking?" added Jack, eyes fixed on the opening above. Bunny also stared skyward, his knuckles white as he gripped his boomerangs more tightly. He looked frightened. Pitch frowned, irritated that the attention was no longer on him. But still, he had won, so he continued to gloat.

"That," answered Pitch, "would be my benefactor."

A new column of fog began to descend into the workshop, much larger than the previous ones had been. It swirled round and round in a spiral shape as it drew closer to the workshop floor. The Guardians pulled together in a defensive huddle. They looked weak. Pitch's grin stretched from ear to ear.

"A pleasure, Guardians. . . to meet you face to face."

A physical shape began to manifest from the column of fog, an enormous reptilian face with a horned brow, teeth like sharpened bananas, and fierce glowing eyes as red as North's coat. Only the head of the wyrm emerged from the fog, but that was all it took. Bunny looked up at the face as if he was looking into the face of Death itself.

". . . Lyrm," he croaked.

Lyrm's eyes flared, locking gazes with the Easter Bunny.

"E. Aster Bunnymund," hissed the ancient wyrm. "You look weary."

"And you look. . . well-rested. You're supposed to be asleep for another few centuries."

"Yes," Lyrm replied, slithering around the Guardians. "I've dreamed of this moment. . . many times over the millenia. And now. . . here we are. Just as in elder days. I'm a little. . . nostalgic."

"Bunny, what is this thing?" asked Jack with more than a hint of fear in his voice. Pitch closed his eyes. There was much fear in his old foes. He felt stronger with each passing moment.

"He's called Lyrm," answered Bunny. "He's an ancient spirit of despair. I walloped him once before."

"You put me to sleep," corrected Lyrm, "for five-hundred lifetimes of an etherling."

"How long is that?" queried North.

"Too long," snapped Lyrm, slithering up across the wall. "But my long sleep is finally over, thanks to what you did to the Nightmare King. He dreamed of his defeat at your hands. I saw your face in his dreams, Bunnymund. And when he awoke from my spell, I awoke from yours."

"You're welcome," said Pitch with a bow. Lyrm reeled on Pitch, his eyes flaring brighter.

"Silence," the wyrm hissed. Pitch didn't appreciate being spoken to in such a way, but he knew better than to anger the dragon.

"So what's the plan?" asked Bunny, stepping forward and away from the other Guardians. "You're mad about the spell, yeah? You come here for revenge?"

Bunny twirled his boomerangs, and returned them to their sheathes. Jack took a step forward, but North pulled him back. Bunny stood to his full height and looked Lyrm dead in the eyes.

"Then you're here for me. This is between the two of us. Leave the others alone."

Pitch's eyes flitted back and forth between rabbit and dragon. He had to admit, he was impressed by Bunny's courage. It took a lot of the stuff to stare down an ancient wyrm. Lyrm lowered himself to the floor, staring back at Bunny with an expression Pitch couldn't read.

"You are brave, Bunnymund. . . to stand between me. . . and your friends. . ."

Pitch looked up at the wyrm, then back to Bunny. Bunny kept his gaze trained on Lyrm.

The dragon moved like lightning. He opened his jaws wide enough to swallow an elephant whole and rose high into the air. A blast of gray fog erupted from his fanged maw, consuming the other Guardians.

"No!" shouted Bunny, spinning around and tripping. His face smacked hard into the floor, but he pushed himself up with what strength he could muster. He was too late. The other Guardians were consumed by Lyrm's evil breath. The dragon closed his jaws, smirking down at the cloud where the Guardians had stood a moment before. He lowered his head, his face hovering just above Bunny's ears.

"Let's see if their loss. . . will break your spirit."

Bunny watched in shock as the fog cleared away. Had he truly just witnessed the deaths of his closest friends? No, no he hadn't. There were, standing to their feet!

He froze. Something was wrong. They were alive, but something was different. Their color had faded, leaving behind only gray. Their eyes were glazed over, glowing and red. They stood motionless, expressionless, and lifeless.

"Mates?" croaked Bunny. "Mates!"

They couldn't hear him, and if they could, they were powerless to act. Lyrm closed his eyes, breathing deeply of the gray fog that filled the workshop.

"Yes. . . it has been so, so long. . . but I remember the taste now. . . your despair always tasted the sweetest, Bunnymund. You have. . . nothing left. Now, wallow in your despair. . . as I have done."

Bunny cradled his face in his hands. His shoulders heaved as he wept. There was nothing he could do as his former associates walked past him blankly, taking their places at Lyrm's side.

Pitch cleared his throat loudly.

"Well, it's been fun," he said as he began to back away towards an open doorway, "but we both got what we wanted. I'll be off now. Nightmares to spread, dreams to destroy, places to be. Farewell."

He turned to leave through the doorway. Movement flickered in Pitch's peripheral vision, and he jumped back just in time to avoid being crushed beneath Lyrm's tail as it slammed down to block his exit.

"Ah, yes. . . the Nightmare King. . . my loyal guide. I thank you for leading me here. . . to my nemesis. . . to the Guardians. . . but now, I think your usefulness. . . has reached its end. Time to return to the fold."

Pitch looked up at the dragon with wide eyes.

"We. . . we had a bargain!" he stammered, drawing his sword. Lyrm looked unimpressed.

"Yes," hissed the wyrm, "we did."

Pitch tried to run, but his limbs locked into place. He was paralyzed, powerless to move as the wyrm opened its mouth. Fog began to billow up behind the dragon's uvula. Pitch cringed as the blast came, a burst of foul-spelling despair mist that would render him a proxy. Suddenly, a weight slammed into his shoulder, and he found himself tumbling head over heels down a hole. He tried to grab onto something, but everything was smooth, devoid of handholds. He tumbled through twists and around turns, over loops and under drops, until at last he hurdled out of the earth and sailed through the air. His head smacked into a tree trunk, and he collapsed onto his back. He lay there, panting heavily. He had been a millisecond away from ending up like. . . like the Guardians.

But he had been saved. He pulled himself, looking around to see where he had been sent. He was in an immense forest, with towering redwood trees expanding in every direction. It was night, and the sky was full of stars. The moon loomed in the sky. Pitch couldn't make himself look directly at it. Instead, he looked behind him, in the direction he had come from, and froze. There, with his arms at his sides, fists clenched, teeth bared, and ears pulled down over the back of his head, was the Easter Bunny. His eyes bored into Pitch's, burning with anger.

"Pitch," he spat. "What did you do?"