Believe in Me

Fallen

Saying in advance: I procrastinated a little on well.. everything >.> Its three in the morning where I am right now and I have NO idea why I'm even trying to write decent with my head sort of swaying ._. but I promised someone I'd update tonight so ^^' here goes. Sorry if its a little typo filled and such. 

Jack ran faster than he had in a long time. He had slammed his leg against the ground in his steps so many times, it went numb, the pain just a sting everytime it touched. Though it wasn't comfortable, it was much better than the screamworthy agony that came from before. It had been, if Jack had to guess, thirty or so minutes since Death left the room, just enough time for the winter spirit to collect himself and stand again. His heart pounded inside of his head as he wondered what was going on back there. Had Death found Pitch and Ilia? Was the small girl hurt? Thats a stupid question, you heard her scream. But Jack pressed on with the question firmly planted in his head. He didn't want to drag his hopes down, the thought of someone so small and happy being hurt so badly yet again struck him, motivating his exausted frame to press on further. He refused to think of anything bad along the way for his sake, despite the challenge of it. The guardians weren't comign for him, did they not care or was it something else? Ilia was hurt, Death was hurt. What did he mean by, "I have an hour"? As each question popped into his busy, tired head he shoved each out one by one. The tile below him echoed louder than he wanted it to, but with little control over his already speeding legs anways, stopping to slow down and be more careful wasn't really an option. He just pressed on until there was a ching of metal from behind one of the plain black doors indented in the wall. A shout of a lunge. It was pretty assumable that the four spirits were the only ones, other than the fearling infestations, that were in the building. It had to be them. Jack rushed to the door, flinging it open and blue eyes widening in awe at the scene before him. Two black clothed figures rushed gracefully around each other, the sharp clash of metal and the scrape it made when pulled apart echoing throughout the dull, dark room. There was a swish of a bloodred cape; Death in all his glory. Against him, Pitch Black, weilding a blade longer than anything Jack knew had exsisted, made purely out of nightmare sand which was obvious from the glint in its black steel-hard blade, the faint light illuminating the teeny grains emplanted into the weapon. They were fast, faster than the eye could keep focus on, so their movements and lunges were like blurrs. Jack had never seen such an intense fight. Death was graceful but cunning, his slashes and swings being unpredictable and creative. He used the end of the scythe as well as the head to his advantage, slamming the cylender shaped black metal right at Pitch with heavy force if he got too close. When he backed up, the nightmare king would be met with the silver flash of the sharp, pointed blade, speeding towards him. The blood red eyes were narrowed slightly in focus. Meanwhile, Pitch Black wasn't backing down. The sword, though smaller, was faster than the scythe, swishing quickly at every angle Grey moved. Pitch stabbed forward suddenly enough that it almost hit its target, but anger fueling enough, the man of fear didn't aim for the black scabs engraved into his opponents pale shoulder. With Grey's cape flying around with his movements and the sleeve that would normally cover the wound torn off, there was no hiding it as he flew around. Pitch seemed to love it, glancing to the marks, laughing with a strangely sadistic pleasure then going back to his focus. In the background was Ilia, sitting on a table with her feet hanging; she was too short to touch the ground. Her green eyes flickered as she kept her gaze onto the fight. What Jack found strange though was that she wasn't frowning, she didn't seem scared. He almost sensed the faint trace of a smile, excitement flowing through the air just from her small form. The white furred tail swayed behind her as she watched, entertained, like any child might watch a badguy vs goodguy fight on a cartoon. Jack snapped out of his thoughts as the chilled voice spoke up, not speaking directly at him though he could tell it was to him. "Get Ilia out of here," he said without taking his eyes off of the smirking figure before him. "I sense someone nearby.. I assume it's your friends. Take her and go, I'll be there once I'm done here." The small face of the fox child behind him lost its excitement, her big, bright eyes lowering their glance to the floor. "But.." 

"Ilia, theres no choice. Go with Jack and get healed.. you dont want to be involved in this." The only problem Jack saw was how to get to the spirit of nature. She was on one side of the room, he was on the other, and between them was a duel between two of the most intemidating men the winter spirit had ever met. The small girl had other ideas though, nodding in a weak disappointment before jumping down from her perch on the table. First she was just standing there. Jack blinked. And she was at his side. He remembered how fast she was going, knowing he was only able to keep up with the wind's merciful help.. it was like the speed of lightning. Still, his heart and head were focused on other things. Death sensed a presence? If he said it was the guardians then it had to be... his stomach skipped as he took the small hand of the child at his side and ran out the door.

Pitch growled quietly in minor frustration as his two most vulnerable, well... only fear-filled spirits left, escaped. But what rose the fury in him further was the man before him, the one who's scythe kept slamming into his sword, who's cold, unforgiving eyes peered into him like he was reading his mind right then. Picking a fight with the purely invincable wasn't one of Pitch's best ideas, but the anger that filled him encouraged him so much.. he had to. There wasn't any choice, he couldn't disappoint himself knowing that he had a perfect oppertunity. Their mouths were silent, their blades were shouting more words of anger and hatred than either of them could ever express. Pitch took Grey's pride, threatened the only one he cared for, dragged him, the winter spirit, and Ilia into this all for his own entertainment. And Grey had taken away the only one Pitch loved who loved him back, so long ago but it felt so soon, her memory searing its way into his head.. no. neither of them could stop fighting, no matter what the risks. Within ten more minutes, the nightmare king noticed that Grey Loss' motions were starting to slow, tire out. He had always belived that Death didn't grow tired or hungry or thirsty or anything.. so why was he? Suddenly there was a freeze in the fight as Pitch felt his blade collide with something that wasn't metal. Frozen in the moment, the reaper looked down. The point of Pitch's sword was touching the stomach of the man before him, just stopped there like it was caught by an invisable force. The invincibility took effect, stopped the blade that might've killed him otherwise. The nightmare king thought deep back to his mind.. Grey's insane durability came from his scythe.. looking up, he realized that the red eyes weren't focused at him, but staring at the sword in thought as he planned his next move, panting. A slow but dark grin started to form on Pitch's face.. he, without any warning to be said, brought his fist up and punched as heavily as he could towards, not the man, but the pole of the scythe. In a quick motion it slammed out of Death's hand, bright red eyes snapping open as he realized just a second too late what Pitch was doing. The force that stopped the sword in its tracks vanished and with a quick jolting push, the nightmare king thrusted the cold, sandmade metal through and out of the center of the figure in front of him. Those same red eyes widened slightly, that once arrogant mouth coughing the familiar red liquid, the head of that prideful man bowing down as he tried to keep himself from collapsing. Death couldn't die.. Pitch knew this. No matter what happened, he couldn't die. And it was amazing to watch him suffer the should-be fatal blow, to see his confident form suddenly impaled by his own power. Pitch didn't want to be the anger he had been turning into, not to Jack and Ilia who had done little to nothing wrong, but this man, the one before him, had done it all. He deserved it and revenge was finally paid, and he loved every second of it. With another quiet cough, Grey fell to his knees. The sword Pitch weilded was longer than most, long enough to peek out of his back when he was stabbed through. The pain was beyond yelling, blood pouring from his center to form a puddle around his opponent's feet. The king of shadows smirked, looking down. Finally.. he got to see what he had wanted. With his head bowed in weariness, his breath shaken and him being at his knees, Death was as close to bowing as Pitch could force him to be. "See.. if only you had cooperated earlier, it wouldn't be this difficult," he cooed softly, gently as anyone would talk to someone wounded beyond their comprehension but still keeping his angry, excited tone. There was no reply before Pitch smirked, turning and walking out the door. "I'm pretty sure your little friend will run off  somehow to come find you.. I wonder how she'll react to this." With a laugh, the cold man strided down the black halls, fading into the darkness of his own shadow. 

Im so mean to Grey _ _ >.>'' I'm a little mean to characters I like ^^"''  Dont ask why, I really dont know. Maybe or maybe not going to update another chapter tonight, i know this one was short and depressing enough to say the least ._.'' trust me, it gets better from here. Just a few more chapters and there will be more smiles ^^"' Till then and after then, thank you for reading, and again, sorry for any mess ups, miss spells, or anything really else. Have a good morning/night/day!