Disclaimer: You know I don´t own DP or… well, you know what I don´t own and all that junk.

AN: Fair warning, this chapter ends in a cliffhanger, so you might want to wait for the next one before reading it if you can't stand those. I apologize beforehand for any mistakes, since I still am lacking a beta, but I try to make do. Now read if you might, and enjoy!

Chapter 4: The darkness before Christmas.

For a moment, time seemed to stop. The wind no longer carried the sounds of Christmas Carols, no longer hummed soothingly nor blew with the distinct sound that seemed to emphasize total silence. No, it had grown so quiet that the lack of sound ringed in sensitive, furry ears for a timeless moment. The infinite, and yet so brief silence was interrupted by the beat of a heart that had all but missed a beat, startling his owner for a moment before he identified the source of the first *thump* that indicated the clocks all over the world had kept on ticking once more.

The lone beat was soon accompanied with another, then another and, all of a sudden, it seemed that the heart had decided to make up for his silence with an erratic, fast-paced drum that resounded in his long, furry ears.

"Pitch," The word escaped his lips before he could help it, and he could vaguely feel his whiskers moving slightly as every syllable came out. It was as if every sense of E. Aster Bunnymund had gone haywire, and he could now feel every drop of his blood flowing through his veins, every vibration on the walls, and every little caress the wind -which seemed to come back- was delivering on every inch of his furry body.

As if the shadows had heard the spite-filled name of the Boogeyman, the intensity of the darkness picked up speed at an alarming rate. The natural obscurity of the narrow alley in the middle of the night went from dark grey to pitch black, as something unnaturally dark started crawling up the walls with the fluidity of ink being spilled.

"Who is there!" Came a voice beside the rabbit, and he almost jumped at the very unexpected fierceness in the voice that had came out of such a scrawny-looking teenager. He could have even sworn that an... inhuman echo had accompanied the words that bounced in the walls, which responded with a hiss, before a very familiar, faint evil chuckle broke all around them.

"Come out, Pitch!" The Bunny demanded.

"If you insist," The voice replied and, without missing a beat, all the shadows in the walls jumped in a typhoon of absolute darkness, which twirled and twirled around like a vortex swallowing every ounce of light and happiness. Then, the vortex started taking an humanoid shape, until the big, dramatic entrance finally was done and over with, leaving a very tall man with a long robe which matched of the raven-haired newcomer, who, sporting a very foreboding smile leaned towards the seven-inch tall guardian of Easter, for once in his life looking down on the usually much taller guardian.

"How," Bunnymund´s eyes widened in disbelief, before a brief flare of fear struck his heart at the sight of Pitch Black towering down on him. "Impossible…" Bunnimund unknowingly gave a step back and gulped. Noticing this, a crooked smile rose on the side of Pitch's mouth.

"Oh, but it is possible," Pitch declared in a sultry, smooth voice tingled with sharp hatred, like razors wrapped with thin silk. "But, if you would like, I can try to pinch the nightmare away."

Bunnymund gave a second step back as his head reeled with a thousand questions that muddled up his mind until his thoughts seemed to become a black mess. After all, it was extremely hard to believe for the Bunny that, after taking practically centuries for Pitch to recover last time, the boogieman would make it back after just three; however, even though the fast comeback would have been enough of a reason to surprise any guardian, the true reason why the Easter rabbit felt so much shock was the appearance of their greatest enemy, or, better said, his new size… or, rather, his old one.

While Pitch Black had always been tall, it had been centuries, maybe even a millennia, since the Nightmare King had been so big. It was still fresh on the minds of the Guardians, though, because the time Pitch had been like this was in the dark age: the years of fear in which men of all ages were frightened of the night, even the bravest easily frightened of his own shadow; decades in which children didn't have any wonder, nor hope, nor dreams nor fun. It had been all when Pitch had been in the peak of his power. Back when the Boogieman was invincible.

It wasn't possible, it simply wasn't, and yet… there he stood, Pitch in all of his former glory, oozing an unparalleled oppressive power. A power he had no right having anymore.

"Awww, it seems that the itty bitty bunny is trembling," he cooed mockingly, before the fake sweetness vanished and his tone became dry, "why don't you sit," as soon as he finished the last word he sent a dark blast towards the Bunny, making him crash against a wall, hard. As soon as the body made impact, the wall cracked and bent backwards until it gave in and an irregular hole was now where many bricks —and the missing parts of others— had used to be.

Although going through a wall like that would kill pretty much every living being, the guardians, as spirits they were, were un-arguably… un-living. However even if they wouldn't just cease to be with such a simple impact, it had hurt the bunny like hell.

"Hey," He heard the teenager outside —Daniel Fenton… or was it Neil Armstrong?— call to Pitch, though he could not see the scene unfolding on the other side of the wall because of the soaring pain momentarily blinding his green eyes (plus, there kind of was a wall in the way).

The muffled sounds of a whispered discussion made their way to the rabbit's ears for a few seconds —though the words themselves escaped him completely— and a sudden scream pierced the air with such a desperate intensity, that it cut through the unconsciousness-beckoning haze in Bunnymunds head, making him force himself to go back in he game.

It must have taken Bunnymund a minute to regroup his wits after the scream, but as soon as he did he stepped out, instantly meeting the sight of one Pitch Black smiling smugly with a comparatively small figure limped unconscious on one of his arms in a way that vaguely resembled the napkin usually present in the arm of waiters in fancy restaurants.

Bunnymund scowled, perfectly aware that if Pitch had intended to leave while he was down he would have already been a goner; yet, here he was. It was painfully obvious that the King of Nightmares was simply standing up there, savoring his little victory.

"Enjoyed your little nap?" Pitch taunted with a small smile.

"Let go of him, Pitch," Bunnymund demanded, his paw going to his back to retrieve twin wooden boomerangs —his usual choice of weapon— doing his best to form an impromptu plan to save the teenager while being so obviously outmatched.

"Oh, aren't we feisty?" Pitch slurred, and started giving small paces towards the wall on his left (Bunnymund's right), each step allowing him to move further than should be humanly possible, giving the impression of sliding delicately on ice. "But I'm afraid," he placed the grey fingertips of his free hand so near the surface of one of the bricks it almost seemed like he was touching it. But, despite the lack of actual contact the brick stared cracking soundlessly. "I'm afraid that I can't do that, I might wake up the poor thing."

Not thinking it twice, Bunnymund made a move to retrieve the teen out of Pitch's grasp, only to be launched back by a wall of darkness. Bunnymund shook his head, a feeling of dread blossoming in his stomach, and dearly wishing for some backup. Still, despite the hurt and the fear, which felt undeniably real, the guardian of hope was still maintaining a certain degree of denial, a little voice that kept on repeating that this had all to be a dream, that any minute now his eyes would drowsily open and he would be back in the Easter Island, lying on top of the magical grass on his den, enjoying the warm breeze instead of putting up with the cold wind of December.

Memories of happy ours lazing around, reading books, smelling the flowers and practice throwing his boomerangs around, were interrupted as a certain memory flashed in the back of his head: he had opened his eyes while he had been sprawled on the soft green mattress made of grass that rose from the ground just at the perfect length, only to find that North's emergency call had interrupted the expanses of perfect sky by placing an aurora borealis on his normally blue of his oasis. 'It better be something good' Bunnymund remembered saying out of frustration as he had become aware that he would be needing to leave the coziness of his warm den, to bare out the chilly, unmerciful tundra that is the North Pole. He had contained a sigh as he tapped his leg on the ground twice, and let himself fall down further into the earth, into a tunnel that connected his home with Santa's workshop —or, rather, the snow-covered nearby area of the candid, yeti-filled workshop, towards which he hoped as fast as he could to prevent his hinder legs to suffer from frostbite.

Shaking off his head from the memories dancing on his pounding skull, Bunnymund tried to move his body from the ground, and failed. The rabbit could feel every muscle of his body protesting and screaming as his new battle wounds made themselves known. Still, he simply could not stay there, he had to rescue the kid (teenager… whatever…) from the clutches of Pitch. He would never forgive himself if he failed to save the life of one children so obviously in danger, specially not when the only one with any chance of helping said children was himself. He stood up. His legs wobbled, and fell forwards in all four.

Pitch, who so far had been unmoving and silent looking down on the beaten-up guardian, with an obvious arrogant smile placed on his pale lips, finally poke. "Need a hand?"

Bunnymund, still unable to stand up, growled, looking up towards Pitch and trying to kill him with his glare. However, the only thing he produced was to lit further to the sadistic spark shinning in the evil silver-gold eyes that seemed to reflect an absent light, adding another layer of creepy to the mocking face.

"You must be wondering," Pitch began, giving a step forwards. "About what is going to happen now… oh, yeah, I can see it in your eyes: the fear. Oh, such a beautiful fear. Fear for the fate and the pesky little children of Earth, fear for existence and, of course, fear of me," he grinned wickedly, "How the mighty have fallen," he purred, his purr hiding a hiss.

"I won't give up, I'll defeat you," Bunnymund declared in a fierce voice, knowing full well that he might not be able to back up his last exclamation, then added "you will be defeated, just like you were the last time."

"Last time," A scowl formed on Pitch's face as he practically spat the words. But then calmed abruptly, all his normal straight expression was back instantly and abnormally. "A lot have happened since that time, rabbit, a lot indeed..." Pitch began absently, then his focus was back on the guardian, then down to the limp teen on his arm, "oh, so much indeed," he shifted the Daniel Fenton —the new size of the King of Nightmares new size making it look like he was carrying but a little toddler— then crawled the unconscious, taking a black lock out of the pale face of the closed blue eyes. Something akin to love —frighteningly so— shone in the eyes of the wicked man as he observed the 'sleeping' face.

"Let him go," Bunnymund, repulsed in a way beyond any repulsion he had ever felt before, and was able to summon enough strength to stand up —even if somewhat limply— then took out a boomerang with each hand, ignoring the winces his body produced with each movement.

"Tut, tut, tut," Pitch wriggled the finger he had used to caress Daniel's face and then moved it up to his mocking lips, "shoosh, let's his wonderful little nightmare go on for a little longer, I'm sure this is past his bedtime." Bunnymund could feel black tendrils start to wrap themselves around his feet, and was unable to wriggle out of them as they tightened their hold as they made it up his legs, torso and arms, leaving him trapped in a black cocoon all the way to his neck.

"I'm afraid it is time to turn off the lights," Pitch looked up to the night sky, to the glowing full moon. "Say goodbye to your guardian, old friend." And then the darkness slowly, agonizingly to, started to climb Bunnimund's neck, making his heart pound out of fear. It was the end, he knew he couldn't get free; he could no longer breath as the darkness squeezed the air out of his lungs; he could no longer feel his body, too numb from the pain, too paralyzed by fear; he could no longer hear anything beyond his own heartbeat, which was becoming slower and fading away, just like he felt himself fade away…

The knowledge that everything was over sank, his soul no longer having any strength to fight unconsciousness. His veiled eyes flustered close, though it didn't made any difference to the rabbit who could no longer feel his eyelashes and were unable to see any light beyond the darkness that enveloped him. The guardian of hope, having lost all hope himself, fell down to oblivion.

To be continued…