Believe in Me

Overpowered (3)

The first thing he realized when his eyes fluttered open was the difference in the floor he was laying on. The texture was wrong compared to what he remembered collapsing on, the ridges in the hardwood gone and replaced with a smooth, almost concrete-like ground… a texture that was somehow more familiar than he hoped for it to have been. Jack sat up quickly, reaching to his side to pick up his staff but realizing that his hand only met the hard tiles of the grey flooring. He looked to his side, stood quickly and spun to examine the entire circumference of the room hurriedly, but the wooden cane was nowhere to be found. The first feeling that rushed up through him was panic… then he realized in somewhat of a delayed thought just where he was. After that, the anxiety surging through his veins was completely real. His heart began to beat faster to his dismay, going at a rate to where he could hear the steadily rapid thuds practically echoing around him. He wanted to hush it but knew it would do little good. Pitch could smell fear like that, and though Jack didn’t WANT to be afraid, this room brought back memories he wasn’t quite ready to face yet…

It was a large room, a vast but dark throne centered in the middle of the back wall, the entire rectangular space painted in shades of grey or black, no color to be found except something that appeared to be a large stain of dark brown scattered in one specific corner. The brown spots were on the floor, on the walls… all around. Hanging above the large dried puddle of a substance Jack was positive was blood were a few sets of chains, dangling and clinking together slightly as the crisp air rusted them. Flashbacks weren’t something he was used to, mostly because he had only obtained memories of times before becoming a spirit around a year ago, but multiple images flickered into his head. Grey was in those chains, Grey’s blood was on that floor. Jack was also in those chains, Jack’s blood was also on that floor… Who knew who else had suffered in that corner at Pitch’s cruel hand? And where was Pitch? He doubted he would be left alone, unbound, if he had been taken like he had. Pitch wanted revenge on him for all he knew. It somewhat frustrated the snow-haired spirit. The nightmare king had been harming children, haunting them out of his own selfishness. Jack could understand his pain, probably more than anyone else. He had been alone for three hundred years, unable to be seen, unwanted completely… he knew what that felt like! But that didn’t make it alright to hurt the innocent to get attention, that didn’t make revenge right! He had gotten what he wanted, he beat Jack to death’s door and back multiple times, laughed through it all, left a scar that would never heal on the winter spirit’s arm…. Why wasn’t it ever enough? Was this truly a sane man who kept repeatedly capturing and attacking him? Pitch was wrong, but never really evil… everything he did always made sense to Jack in a way up until now. Now he was just… insane. He didn’t taunt humans with nightmares, he made their lives a living nightmare by keeping them from death for a few days. Jack still remembered that one day when it seemed like he had killed Sandy, the horror clear as day even now, nearly a full year later… but now something like that was more of a risk. Anyone could die now, anyone could be caught now, and the hope and faith that they would eventually win, that good always overcame evil… well… that was  fading into a miserable reality. Grey had been right from the start, not trusting the good side just because they had the right morals. He had known from the beginning that life never dealt things out in such a biased way as to give the best cards to the ones who had the best intentions. Pitch was winning… and they were trapped. Their morals wouldn’t save them. The winter spirit felt reality falling over him, weighing his heart down with a stone-like power that he hadn’t felt in a while. He didn’t understand. What was going on with Pitch to make him so much worse? Was he so angry with his repeated failures that he was giving in everything to finally earn a victory over the guardians? Or was it something else?

“I see you’re awake.” The voice was cold, uncaring, echoing from behind him. Jack didn’t even need to turn to recognize that voice, but it had gained an even duller, darker tone. The winter spirit clenched his fists at his sides, deciding halfheartedly what he was going to attempt to do. He was weaponless, but Pitch was going to attack him whether he spoke or not. He couldn’t control the fear of being beaten again, he couldn’t keep himself from being afraid, but he could tough out that fear, at least leave a mark before he was once again lost in that realm between consciousness and not, lost in the pain that wouldn’t stop multiplying… It was going to happen anyways… there was nothing to lose.