So this is an extended chapter from my other story, Immortal because I've been swamped with schoolwork and also have covid, but its had a few changes and will be an arc so I'd suggest skimming through even if you've already read it.
Reviews:
Aphrodite433: thank you! I'm glad I can brighten your day :)
Guest 1: I think he is evil too...
Guest 2: I agree, though maybe some black sprinkles too, Pitch loves his glam. Takes cake and eats it
Demi Clayton: I have a few half-written, but hopefully more will be coming soon!
Chapter 15: Nightmares
Jack was running.
He was in a forest, filled with sinister-looking trees that held sinister-looking branches. He did not know what he was running from but every now and then he would look back, afraid. Of what, he knew not, but something was telling him to run, to get away.
His bright eyes shone in the darkness, wide with terror. The branches and twigs snagged at his face, leaving painful cuts all over his porcelain skin, breaking his perfect exterior. Menacing twigs grabbed his clothes, ripping them to shreds, yet Jack did not stop. He begged his legs to keep moving yet they felt heavier with every step, like he was sinking further and further into quick sand.
His heart burnt but he did not know why. The forest was cold and dark and he could see nothing apart from a small, barely visible, orb of light up ahead in the distance. The promising speck grew bigger and bigger as he ran. His feet hurt. His head hurt. The muscles in his legs ached and desperately begged him to stop and rest but he ignored them, aiming for the light up ahead.
He could see it clearly now and he reached for it as he got closer.
"No!" The speck floated away as if scared of Jack, its hopeful light fading. He chased it like a madman. He needed to get to it, to reach it, to touch it. The light stopped just up ahead and with every ounce of energy Jack had left he ran to it, quicker than he had ever ran before. As if his life depended on it. Because, for all he knew, it did.
The trees all moulded together in his peripheral vision as he sped, looking like one big blur. His bare feet stumbled over wildly grown roots that were snatching at him, opening old cuts and creating new ones, the gashes shining with freshly drawn blood. Red spots followed him, leaving droplets on the dirty floor of the forest.
Suddenly he stopped, just infront of the light. It was a searing white light that hurt his eyes if he looked too hard, but it gave off a sense of peacefulness, hope and safety. Shakily, he reached out his hand, his finger brushing over its surface. It was soft and rough at the same time, it's course exterior deceptively comforting. It was enticing, enchanting him in its palliative rhythm.
He didn't move - he stood there, arm outstretched, fingers brushing the orb, eyes focused straight ahead. All his thoughts flew away as the bright light filled his vision, blinding him and, suddenly, he knew nothing except the thing infront of him, seeming to promise him peacefulness. He could feel the power radiating from it and succumbed to it, not knowing what else to do.
Without warning the tiny little speck grew until it was twice Jack's size, wrapping him in its warmth and light, embracing him until it swallowed him whole.
A sudden bright flash of light destroyed all the darkness in the woods, a strong gust of wind rushing through the area. The trees no longer looked evil, the sharp twigs flattened and softened, turning to smooth, light-brown bark.
There was no longer any trace of the white haired winter spirit nor the light that he had been chasing. All that remained in the now-normal woods were falling leaves and the moon, big and bright, shining through.
A burning sensation overtook him, but it was not the bad kind. Why did he feel... wet? Jack tried to breathe but instead swallowed a gulp of ice cold water. Panicked, he flailed, his legs kicking and thrashing, trying to move somewhere, anywhere. His hand made contact with a large rock, sending pulses of pain through his knuckles.
The light was fading away from him, moving above him. It stopped just as it looked light it was about to disappear, leaving only a tiny minuscule speck of brightness. Determined yet achy, Jack stopped thrashing and attempted to swim up to it, only to be stopped by a layer of thick ice. Panic seized him as he felt something wrap around his stomach, pulling him down into the unforgiving water.
Afraid, he tried to fight the downwards force he felt and punched the ice with as much effort as he could muster. He smacked it again and again but it would not break. He had to get out, he had to! Again and again Jack punched the ice, trying to get it to crack, to split and open. Crimson blood fled from his smashed knuckles, mixing with the ice water, dying the area around him a cruel red.
He kept pounding the ice with his fist until he could no longer hold his breath. His lungs screamed for air but his oxygen had long since ran out. His vision was blurring and his lungs were burning yet with all his might he kept punching and punching and punching, hoping for something, anything to happen.
His desperate attempts weakened until his attempts were fruitless. Rapidly losing consciousness, the invisible rope around his stomach siezed control, dragging him to the bottom of the bottom of the lake. It felt soft, like snow, and with a small 'thud', Jack landed on the floor, closing his eyes and giving in to the darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer surrounded by water but an empty abyss of pure black. Jack felt himself falling though his surroundings stayed the same. He kept falling until he smacked the cold, hard floor. Bright light assaulted his icy eyes as he stood up, groaning from the impact of the fall.
Oddly, he was now stood in Santoff Clausen, the Guardians lingering infront of him, looking like ghosts. Their eyes dark red and bloodshot, their jaws unhinged looking as if they would fall off their face at any moment. Their posture was strange, like it was taking all their effort to simply stand. They had their weapons held out threateningly infront of them, pointing them at Jack, their glistening surfaces shining in the dark room. None of them looked real: they were too blurry, too undefined as though he were looking at them through a vat of water. Yet their voices rang out as clear as crystal.
"How could you Jack?"
"You coward."
"What have you done?"
"You betrayed us! You don't deserve to live, Jack Frost!"
"No!" He tried to scream, to tell them they were wrong, but no words escaped his mouth, only a choked sob arose from his throat.
The Guardians words cut through him like a knife, more and more insults tumbling into his head, racking his brain. He screamed and fell to the floor, clutching his head, begging them to stop. But they didn't. The voices echoed again and again and he felt like any second it would split open and break. The Guardian's voices mixed with a spiteful-sounding British accent and, though he couldn't see its owner, he could practically hear the smirk.
They shouted and screamed at him, all slurring together into one voice, one loud, sinister voice.
He didn't know what they were: memories or nightmares, but the corrupted images kept rolling in. He yelled and cried out, pleading for the torture to be over. But they wouldn't stop, engulfing him in fear and misery. And the more he begged, the more he yelled, the worse the visions got. They became less surreal, less glass-like and the voices became louder, less liquified.
His head hurt as his bashed, bloodied knuckles grabbed his white hair and pulled it like a lifeline. Not like it was doing anything but the physical pain blurred his mind a little. The voices were still there and so were the images, playing infront of him as if they were newly recorded videos off a camera.
Jack shrank back onto the floor as each new image haunted him in a different way. He shook violently, sobs echoing from his thin frame, rocking forewords and backwards when one last image appeared. It was everyone he had ever loved. Dead, on the floor in heaps. The kids he had so fondly watched grow up. The animals that kept him company over the years.
The Guardians.
Tooth's wings were snapped, her feathers in disarray. Bunny's intriguing patterns on his fur were covered by thick, dark blood, long since dried. His hair was matted, stuck together in clumps. North looked so small, so weak despite his large figure. His whole body was splattered with bruises as if an artist had become angry and thrown a can of purple paint at him. Sandy was not there. All that remained of him was a lonely pile of dull sand on the floor.
A malicious voice whispered to him from above "It's all your fault Jack. It always is. Look what you have done."
As if on queue, each corpse sat up, staring blankly at Jack. Their eyes were black, their skin was sunken and hollow. They were all suddenly too thin, their clothes hanging off their shoulders, making them look evermore sinister. With zombie-like movements, they began to walk towards Jack, grabbing him, pulling him closer, choking him.
He gasped for air as the bodies piled on top of him, crushing his lungs and holding his limbs in place.
"It's always your fault Jack. Always."
Their numb voices echoed around the room until the scared winter spirit could take it no longer.
He cried out, gasping, clutching his head, rocking back and forth like a baby. The bodies piled around him, leaving him not only physically paralysed but numb with fear. He could not move even if he was able to.
"It's always your fault Jack."
"Always,"
"Always,"
"Always."
That was the last thing he heard before he fell back into another restless sleep, forever plagued by his nightmares.
As the A/N from the last chapter, this obviously doesn't follow on.