Believe in Me

Wont be Broken

Grey watched as Pitch's black boots clicked upon the black tile of the dark room. He dropped his mask of blankness, bloodred eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth pulled up, teeth clenched tightly in anger. His eyes squeezed shut at every attempt to work his wrists and ankles out of the tight bondings but to no avail, they were made to fit perfectly around their places, the nightmare sand hardening into something harder than steel. Pitch turned and rested on his black throne, his elbow resting on the armrest and his fist supporting his face. His grin indicated that he was amused at the struggle, raising his eyebrows as Death pulled too hard and jerked his wrist unevenly, giving a muffled growl of pain and frustration combined and biting into his lip. The nightmare king gave a small chuckle as the grim took a break, his head suddenly becoming heavy and falling back down in a bow, short, quiet pants losing their way out of his pale lips from the panic o trying to get loose. "Having trouble, Reaper? Just give in, its silly to keep trying... unrealistic even."  

"You wouldn't be too happy with what I see as realistic," The red caped man growled out, glaring back up. It would take either someone really brave or really stupid to not feel at least an inch of nervousness with those eyes, red and bright as fresh blood leaking through the white around it and formed into a deep, meaningful, intemidating glare. Grey felt his emotions starting to return to him, anger, hate, his dream reminded him of what happiness felt like... and he hated it. It made him weak in his mind. Sadness fueled him, it was defeat to himself and as long as he had nothing to lose, he had everything to gain. But now.. now he was weak, and the dark thoughts of how exactly Pitch would die if and when he got out of the thick cuffs holding him back from the neck, ankles, and wrist were flooding his mind. He definatally wasn't used to being so angry, but Pitch had found him out, tied him down, mocked him, and threatened the only thing he could truely say was worth even staying alive for. Grey wasn't strong at all, it was an image he put in his head. He didn't care about the humans, they hurt him, they mocked him, they hated him for something he couldn't control. If it weren't for him, the dead would rise and the evil would live on and the only way anyone would be able to leave their lives was when their skeletons finally took too much wear and fell to dust. And here he was.. Pitch didn't know it but he had won over something already. The wall Death put up to hide himself from the knowledge of his works, to mask the sinking of his already shattered heart when he heard the cries of the relatives, the screams of tragedy that seemed to follow him. The wall was breaking, cracking with the sudden burst of remembered emotion. Grey had hidden his feelings for so long in hopes that one day they would stop hurting him that he forgot he even had them locked away.. and now he was angry.. and it showed. The nightmare king looked down at the fuming figure a few yards away from his feet, seeming curiously interested as he noticed the angry traits in the once hard as a rock man. "Did I strike a nerve, Reaper?" He asked uncaringly though inside he smirked brighter than he ever had. Dominance.. Anger fueled rashness, rashness was anyone's downfall. You need to take advice from your own words.. a voice echoed in Pitch's mind. He shooed it away, he didn't want to hear nor did he care. A few minutes of watching the entertaining jerks of a struggle from the spirit of reality was all it took before the rattle of the chain on his neck fell silent and the only noise to be heard was the panting and coughing for breath, Grey's strong arms falling limp in their restraints behind his back. Pitch approached, crouching down on one knee in front of the gasping man, putting two fingers underneith his lowered chin and lifting the reaper's head for him. A glare raised with it, a glare of pure hatred and anger, a look that Pitch hadn't seen or expected from the cold mask of a man he was before. He smirked with bloodlust before pulling his hand back and watching Grey Loss' head drop back to his chest, hair falling in front of face to cover over the pale face like a curtain. "Now what can I do to you.." Pitch thought out loud, rising to his feet again and looking down at the tired figure with a smile too excited for the situation by far. "If I can break you, I can break anyone. Lets start with that, shall we?" The tall, grey skinned man reached his hand out and the nightmare sand came out of the walls, attracted to his palm like a magnet and, as if reading his mind, shaping into a dagger. The point was sharp but the blade was small, pure black from the hilt to the metal. Pitch clicked his fingers with his other hand, and Grey's restraints forced him to a standing position, the collar around his neck expanding higher to force his fallen head back up. His eyes were now weary, his fight was used up in his struggle, the only source of power now was the eyes, glowing with a demanding force at the captor, teeth still bared to give a fear inflicting look.. but Pitch wasn't scared. It just made him happier to see that he hadn't given up yet. It was like a game, he would win either way, it just depended how long it took, how fun it was to get to that ending. The clock was ticking. Pitch had around fifty minutes to ruin the canvas of a confident man with all of the fear and pain he could inflict, fifty minutes until his good work was shown off to the two who relied on the grim so badly, who didn't even know what was going on, their own sleeps filled with nightmares that Pitch had been sure to inflict on them everytime their young eyes closed in weariness. The ruler of shadows raised his black dagger, eyes searching for the perfect place.. finally fixing on his left shoulder. Pitch stepped forward, ripping off the already torn red cape from its place. He wouldn't need it anymore. Only the glorious deserved things like that.. he wanted this to be a broken spirit when he was done. Not a fallen hero. The still heavy breathing figure's red eyes narrowed slightly as his cape, the signiture from the man in the moon that had stayed with him since the very beginning was pulled right off of its rightful place on his shoulder. He hung his cape to his left side mostly so that it didn't get in the way of when he had to swing his scythe in battle. Sure he could always take it off and not have to deal with the trouble, but he had grown fond of it, saw it as a part of him. Now it was on the floor like discarded trash, the rips and tears in the red fabric standing out more than when he wore it.