AN: Ok, this chapter isn't as complete as I would like it to be, but I felt bad after making you guys wait, so I'm posting it. I might add a bit to the end of this chapter for a little more closure, but don't expect much! It's been a rough week, going back to school after winter break sucks as always, and parents are…parents. Anyway…the next chapter will be from Pitch's perspective, so you'll hopefully get the feel of some ulterior motives at work here. Yeah, enjoy! Follows, faves and reviews are GREATLY appreciated! /AN
Chapter 2 – Loneliness Crawls
A shadowy figure, surrounded by a shifting dark cloud penetrated only by two gleaming amber orbs, stood (if one could call it standing) under the arch of two saplings no more than a couple staff-lengths before Jack. The intensity in his (it's?) eyes matched that of a wolf stalking a rabbit, and this predator was startlingly close. Jack leapt back out of instinct, almost tripping on his feet in the process, a yelp of alarm tumbling from his mouth before he could stop it. A toothy grin crept smugly across the stranger's concealed face and the shadows surrounding the figure writhed as if dancing, fueled by the boy's uncertainty and surprise. The boy straightened a bit, and returned his staff to the defensive position level with his chest. He hastily fought to regain his composure as he met burning amber eyes, which glinted like two candles in the dim light, with his own icy blue glare, a mixture of defiance and wary curiosity written in the white-haired teen's expression. The menacing amber orbs, masked in a shifting, shimmering cloud of what looked like—was that black sand?—blinked at him before the owner of the eyes; a tall, shadowy-grey man, materialized between the two saplings. Tendrils of the black sandy stuff curled and uncurled at the man's feet as if beckoning—no, daring—the winter spirit to take a step closer.
Jack's eyes widened behind snow-white bangs when the figure stepped out of the shadows, but he was consciously aware of the fact he desperately wanted to appear unafraid. This was important when coming into contact with other spirits, and although he didn't have much experience, he had managed to pick up some street smarts in his 300-odd years of being Jack Frost. The small number of immortals he had come into contact with over the years—spirits that usually disapproved of Jack's way of making mischief-received full helpings of sarcasm and attitude from the teen, and had, for the most part, left him alone.
This one was different, however; it was clearly malevolent. Along with the shadows emanating from the strange man rushed gales of cold unease that washed and crashed over Jack like a tidal wave, causing his innards to twist and his mind to scream. His instincts yelled at him to run, to get away, but Jack had made a habit of acting on impulse and shoving away even the most sensible thoughts; so he stood his ground, staring down the dark spirit and not bothering to wait for the man to make the first move. After a moment of tense silence, Jack unclenched his jaw and spoke boldly, hoping his words came out more confident sounding than he was feeling.
"Who goes there?"
Shadows fell from around the man's body and twisted downward to creep slowly towards Jack's bare feet in response. The source of the noise that had startled Jack was now revealed. In the man's hand lay a brittle, dead twig, snapped from a nearby tree in passing. "He did that on purpose," Jack thought with a sudden sickening realization. The mysterious dark spirit had wanted to be seen. As if on cue, the grey hand gripping the small stick dropped it carelessly to the forest floor.
Jack could now make out the man's details more clearly; his face had a grey complexion and was gritty looking, similar to the black sand that danced around his black-clad legs. A sharp, wide nose and a thin, dark line of a mouth adorned the man's triangular face, and his cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut steel, making his appearance similar to that of a crudely chiseled rock sculpture. Black, oil-slick hair shot out from the figure's head at a sharp angle, pointing towards the back; and in the middle of it all, two menacing candle-light eyes flickered, almost amused. Jack, met by a lack of verbal response, tried again. This time the slightest bit of uncertainty tinged his voice, and the words caught ever so slightly in his throat before making themselves heard. "Who are you?"
A corner of the man's razorblade-like mouth lifted slyly and he spoke, condescension dripping like syrup over his words. "I think you know. Not going to start with an introduction? That's a little rude, even for you, Frost." The man's voice was as dark as night and deeply silky, as alluring and mysterious as the shadows that he commanded. His lip curled up in a sneer at seeing Jack's look of shock at the mention of his name. "How do you know me?" Jack shot back, cerulean eyes narrowing in accusation. After a half-second of thought, he decided maybe he didn't want to know; this time he didn't wait for a reply. "Look. If you're just here to freak me out, fine. But I have things to do."
With that Jack turned on his heel, not interested in lingering around the dark man's presence any longer. He was admittedly intimidated, to say the least, and unease bit at him as he turned his back to the stranger and prepared to push off; there were always other places in need of winter. This didn't go quite as planned, however. Before the ball of Jack's right foot even left the ground he heard the stranger say something behind him—he spoke darkly, quietly, but the words came across just as threatening as if he had yelled them. Worse, Jack could almost hear the creep's sneer as he spoke.
"Not so fast, boy."