Jack Frost has gone.
Exactly fifty years after the Guardians' showdown with the shadow manipulating Pitch Black, the Winter Spirit has disappeared.
The remaining four Guardians called upon the Man in the Moon for help. He warned them that there was...
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Flashback Jack's POV Darkness. I open my eyes. Darkness, still. There's a coldness beneath my back, but I don't move. My eyes begin to adjust to the dim light. Three walls, and bars encage me. A thought strikes me, and suddenly I remember what happened. I stumble to my feet, glancing around rapidly. My eyes searching for my staff. My heart thuds loudly within my chest. It's not here. Suddenly I notice two glowing orbs in the darkness, and flinch backwards, before realising they are the eyes of the enemy. "Pitch. Let me out of here," I demanded coldly, trying not to allow the fear to soften my words. "Now, why would I do that?" He steps closer to the bars, and I see his shadowy form, and a smirk on his face. He's holding my staff. I grit my teeth. "What... what do you want from me?" He glides forward, going through the bars towards me. I swallow, and step back instinctively. My back reaches the wall. A cold laugh escapes his lips and echo around my small cell, and he stops right in front of me, his glowering eyes on mine. "Are you afraid?" A mocking tone. "Give that back," I go to grab my staff from him. He moves it out of my reach, smirking still at the fear in my eyes. "I don't want anything from you." Every word hangs in the air, surrounding me. "I just want you." My hands are shaking. I internally scold myself for being so fearful, but... Before I can react, he has taken my staff in both of his hands, and snaps it. I cry out, and my legs give way beneath me. I hit the ground, pain pulsing through me. "You think that was painful?" He laughs again, before placing his hands on each broken end. A dark sand floods from his hands and into the staff. Black spots dance in my eyes. Waves of pain hit me, like electricity, flooding through me. I can barely breath, let alone scream. Pitch's smirk pierces my thoughts, and the last thing I see is him smashing the two broken ends together before darkness once again encases me.
third person Jack stands. Only, it's not Jack anymore. He's wearing the same blue hoodie, has the same snowy-pale skin, has the same white hair. But one of his eyes is no longer a pale blue. It's a pitch black.
