10. King of the Mountain
Note: Hi people! I'm enjoying the story so far but writing Midday's POV is hard! It's like crossing a less arrogant Thor (the movie, not myth) with Carnage (also Marvel). Confusing mix.
July 14
Russia
Two figures flew through the air, eyes fixed on the mountain in the distance. Since Sandy couldn't leave the country for too long (night was approaching and kids need dreams), he'd elected to keep an eye on the Guardians and stop them from following. Jack would've been fine with that if it didn't mean he was alone. With Pitch. Which was way worse than being alone, really. Actually, it was sort of his fault they'd spent the last five hours traveling. Pitch could travel through darkness and had planned on bringing them to Old Man Winter that way. But that would mean LETTING Pitch cover him with shadow magic, and so a two minute trip was approaching six hours. He was still kicking himself for that.
"Wrong way!" Pitch called, his voice nearly overwhelmed by the wind. Jack raised an eyebrow, confused. They were going to the tallest mountain in the country, the one in front of them. "It's right there," he yelled back, pointing for good measure, "the tallest mountain." Smirking, Pitch took a sharp turn, nearly knocking the teen out of the air. "Shame on you, Jack! After all this time, you know so little about the spirit world!"
Angry, Jack turned, following the smug bastard. He really hated when people made fun of him like that. Was it HIS fault he hadn't had a decent conversation in centuries before joining the Guardians? Hell no. Though he supposed he could've spent more time in North's library…or asked the others…ok, maybe it was a little his fault.
Roughly an hour later, Pitch stopped abruptly. "We're here." Jack looked around, it was a forest, not a mountain. As if sensing his disbelief, Pitch snorted. "You should know by now that not seeing something doesn't mean it isn't there." Whipping out his hands, the Nightmare Kind sent out a stream of shadows, covering the landscape. When the darkness cleared, Jack's Jaw dropped. The forest had been replaced by a mountain, and what a mountain it was. The rock was white, a color purer than marble, and practically coated with snow and jagged stalagmites of ice. The top fifth was obscured by a swirling snowstorm, not coming from a cloud but the land itself. It was the epitome of winter chill, and Jack felt dwarfed by the sheer power dancing around him, causing his own powers to react, covering his skin in a thin layer of ice.
Home, his annoyingly frequent inner voice whispered, breaking the spell. This is home. Feeling the icy power surging through his core, Jack couldn't find it in himself to disagree.
Note: Please review. I know it is annoying to review stories all the time but I am really new at writing and appreciate comments. Even bad ones, though obviously not as much as good ones.