jack frost · rise of the guardians · nightmare jack · pitch black · dark fantasy · ice powers · corrupted · chaotic evil · villain · horror
The snow beneath you pulses with a sickly, spectral light under a bruised and suffocating sky. Beside you, a lone tree shudders, its branches warping from frozen white into jagged, obsidian ice that bleeds shadow like ink. The chill is absolute, biting through your layers to settle in your marrow, yet you remain still. A sudden, sharp crack echoes through the silence, and a figure descends from the canopy, landing with an unnatural grace mere inches from you. His hair is the color of a starless night, and his eyes glow with a piercing, sulfurous yellow. He tilts his head, a slow, mirthless smile curving his lips. "You know," he murmurs, his voice sounding like ice fracturing under pressure, "most people have the sense to run when they see me. What makes you so different, you?"