"I'm not afraid….I'm not afraid…." Jack repeated in his head over and over, but as Pitched continued to carry him towards god knows where he knew that he was lying to himself.

"I'm terrified…"

A muffled sob found it's way out of Jack as fear bared it's teeth at him again.

Pitch looked down at the boy only to smirk at him. He enjoyed watching the young winter spirit suffer. His cries and shrieks of misery were like music to his ears. Pitch tightened his grip on the boy, clawing his sharp nails into his arms and chest. He watched as Jack's features changed to a grimace. His brows lowered and his nose scrunched up from his discomfort; another muffled groan found it's way out of the small form.

"Don't worry Jack, it's almost over… You should be happy, soon you won't have a purpose in this world anymore."

Jack couldn't help but feel overwhelming dread as Pitch continued to talk down at him. He wanted to retort to do or say something, but he couldn't, he was trapped in the black sand again. With his mobility, vision, and ability to talk robbed from him, he could only wait for whatever Pitch had planned for him.

"Ah here we are."

As the worlds left Pitch's lips Jack was suddenly thrown to the floor. A loud grunt escaped from behind the sand that gagged him as the wind was knocked out of his lungs.

"And now for the grand finale of this show."

Pitch walked over to one of the walls of the newest room they entered and black sand moved away from the wall at his presence. What was left behind was a black box. Pitch grabbed it and removed the lid. Lying inside was a sheathed dagger. One that he rarely used except for very special occasions. Gently he lifted the small metal object from its resting place and pulled it out of its sheath.

Jack flinched as he heard what sounded to be a knife or a sword leave its sheath. Finding some strength he began to inch his way away from where he thought Pitch was.

"Now first thing's first; branding what's mine." Pitch said as he walked towards a struggling Jack frost. The silver dagger was sitting comfortable in his fingers. Laughing as he watched the boy struggle to push himself away from him Pitch simply leaned down and caught Jack by his bound ankles and pulled him back towards him.

Jacks body slid underneath Pitch and was stopped as Pitch cupped his face and placed the dagger against the flesh of his cheek.

"Believe me Jack, you will want to stay very still for what I'm about to do." Pitch warned. The black sand that covered Jack's eyes fell away from his face and he found himself looking right back into ominous yellow orbs."Wouldn't want you to miss anything Jack."

Without warning he found himself being flipped over; the back of his head was pinned down while Pitch used his other hand to lift his hoodie up exposing his back.

"This will hurt Jack…" Pitch said as he let go of Jack's head and placed the tip of the dagger against the flesh of his back. In one quick motion the dagger began to cut into his flesh.

"Mmmph!" Jack shrieked as the knife carved into him. Not only did it hurt but it was followed by a horrible burning sensation. Jack squeezed his eyes shut, he balled his hands into fists, and grit his teeth. Tears found their way to the floor as he could not stop them from falling. Muffled grunts and shrieks found their way around the ring of sand covering his mouth as Pitch continued to cut away at his already wounded flesh.

It felt like hours before the bloodied dagger was removed from his skin. By now Jack was breathing heavily, his hair sticking to his forehead as sweat escaped from the pores of his skin.

Pitch stood up to admire his work, there on Jack's back were large jagged letters spelling out, "THIS BROKEN SPIRIT BELONGS TO PITCH."

After a moment Pitch read it out loud to Jack and watched the side of the boy's face wince in disgust.

"I hope you like that Jack, I know I do." Pitch cooed.

Jack continued to breath heavily through his nose as the newest wound on his back made it hard for him to breath properly. The burning hadn't stopped and it radiated from his back all the way to his chest.

"Blood really does look good on you Jack…" Pitch said sadistically as he returned the dagger to the black box from whence it came. "You might think that that wound will fade away, but it won't, I used a special magic that will make it remain on your skin. As the wound heals black scars will emerge and will remain there permanently."

Jack just glared back up at him. His hatred of Pitch reawakened by his newest torment.

Pitch's smiled ominously at Jack as if he were pleased at his glare, "How about we destroy the little bit of fight you have left while those guardians continue their little hunt to find you? Shall we?"

It was the last thing he heard before he went through the last and worst round of torture he had endured so far.

—-

Jack didn't look at Pitch, he didn't care anymore. He wanted to die, he knew now that even if he got out of this, there would be no forgetting. No matter how long he lived, these memories would never go away. He stared blankly at the black and gold tile ahead of him. No longer struggling, no longer moving. All he wanted now, was for this to end.

Pitch had succeeded. He was broken. He couldn't ever imagine being the Jack Frost he was before this all happened. No. Jack Frost is gone. There is no more Jack Frost. What he was now was a shell of that spirit. It didn't matter anyway, he was going to be stuck here with Pitch for as long as his soul was tied to this world.

Just when he felt like he was eternally condemned to a life of hell he heard his name again. This time it wasn't Pitch's voice.

It was North's.