A/N: Ok, I feel like this chapter took forever, and I had a hard enough time starting it, but once I began just writing the rest flowed pretty easily. So, here's some more action for you! Enjoy, read, and review! Thanks!
Chapter 4 –You'll Come Undone
Jack had already made it a couple of feet in the air, staff in hand, when he whirled once again to confront the owner of the threatening velvet voice. The winter spirit raised his weapon and glared once again, having had enough of the stranger. "Listen—"
His protests were abruptly cut short as a stream of shadowy sand broke free and shot from the writhing mass where the dark spirit stood.
Before he had a chance to think, the thin, gritty whip-like tendril of black sand curled and locked itself as tight as a vice around his ankle and yanked downward, slamming the winter spirit onto the forest floor where he lay sprawled on his back, winded and gasping for air. Jack's ribs groaned in protest and his lungs heaved to take in cold breath as he struggled to sit up. He swallowed hard when he looked up and realized the grey-skinned spirit no more than a foot away from where he lay propped up on his elbows, towering over him with a triumphant, less-than-friendly smile playing at the corner of sharp lips. "I'm glad you decided to stick around for a bit," the dark spirit purred, half an eye on the boy and half an eye on his grey fingernails. He seemed to disregard the seething white-haired teen that lay before him as if he wasn't an imminent threat, his staff clutched tightly in hand and pale jaw clenched.
However, as many had learned before him, keeping only "half an eye" on Jack Frost was not a wise decision. In a flash the boy tilted onto his back, gaining the momentum he needed to spring up and onto his feet. With an unexpected, wild cry, Jack sent a blasting spray of blue ice shards that exploded from the crook of his staff the stranger's way.
Pitch was caught off guard. The boy was used to defending himself, certainly. Maybe he had underestimated his fellow spirit, for the time being. Pitch didn't wasn't terribly interested in a fight, but if that was what it had come down to, fine.
Because of the short distance between himself and the deadly staff the frost spirit wielded, the Nightmare King had less than a split second to sidestep the icy explosion, but with a nimble hop to the right managed to dodge the attack. The icy blast grazed past his left shoulder, sending a chill running down his entire left side. He snarled and advanced, brandishing his blade and preparing to at least give the boy a good bash on the head with the butt of it. However, Frost wasted no time in leaping back to put some distance between him and the Boogeyman before firing another icy explosion that crashed like an avalanche on the surrounding trees, knocking accumulated snow off of nearby branches in a flurry of white powder.
This time, Pitch tried another tactic. He used the cover of falling snow to drop into the ground as a shadow where he slunk across the surrounding tree trunks, half-hidden and potentially lethal in the dim light. He let a toothy grin split his face as he watched the boy spin on his heel, his eyes undoubtedly playing tricks on him in the twilight. The prickling of fear in the air was enough to fuel the Nightmare King as he lingered in his weaker shadow form. He spread to the ground, a dark silhouette against pearl-white snow, and slunk towards the boy who backpedaled after trying and failing to shoot the shadow form with a blast of ice. Fear was now clearly visible on Frost's pale face, and the cords in his neck strained as he startled, feeling his back pressed against the nearest tree. The boogeyman inched nearer until he swam through both the boy and the piece of timber—and all that filled the dim air was silence and the sound of the winter spirit's jagged breathing.
Oh, is this fun, Pitch thought—it had certainly been a while since he had been able to scare anyone that could actually see him. It was a special kind of treat, seeing his reflection in the winter spirit's clear blue, pure eyes. But the fun would have to come to an end, for now, anyway.
The shadow crept towards Jack, inch by inch along the snow-dusted ground, backing him up until he was neatly pinned against the trunk of a nearby tree. He had learned by now that his powers didn't work against shadows—he'd have to buy time until the malevolent spirit changed back into a tangible form—but plans for an escape melted like his own creations on a summer's day when the shadow dove straight through him where it disappeared out of Jack's peripheral vision.
The winter spirit froze, anxiety taking form and prickling up the back of his neck as he stood stock-still in the muffling silence that ensued. He took a second and allowed himself to breathe, air rushing out in small, ghostlike puffs that matched the rhythm his own drumming heartbeat. He had to get moving—this wasn't going anywhere good. However, Jack's thought process was interrupted once again as he heard the voice of the stranger—this time the tone was flat, almost bored, and it came from right behind him. Jack jumped and stiffened at the sudden proximity of the voice—it was being spoken directly into his ear. "Frost. I came to talk." The statement itself wouldn't have been threatening at all had it not been accompanied by the sound of a blade being drawn, like nails on a chalkboard.
A newly-formed lump rose in Jack's throat as the cold, sharp edge of the dark spirit's shadow scythe materialized centimeters away from his own neck, positioned directly over his throbbing jugular. He blinked and strained his eyes down to examine the blade—it shone black as an oil slick, and it seemed to be made of tiny, sparkling grains of sand that caught what little light was being filtered through the trees. Jack swallowed again, hard. His voice cracked a bit and the defiance in his words was gone as he chanced a quiet inquiry, tipping his jaw up slightly to distance his pale throat from the blade that currently rendered him and his staff immobile. "So…what happens now?"
"Tsk, tsk," came the mocking reply from over the winter spirit's shoulder. "Impatient, aren't we?" the dark spirit drawled. Jack grit his teeth before biting his tongue as he realized that back talking would most likely not help the situation.
"Don't worry, little frost spirit." With that, Jack heard the spirit snap his fingers, and panic twanged through his core like an instrument as darkness crept inwards from the corners of his vision. The shadows slunk in, forcing his fear back down his throat as they smothered his consciousness and squeezed his mind shut with a strength he could not withstand. The last sensation Jack felt was that of falling backwards slowly, as if suspended in thick liquid, as he slumped limply to the ground. The dark spirit's last remark barely made it through his ears and to penetrate his mind, and it was as quiet as a whisper from above. "Time will tell."