Chapter Text
Even when Pitch Black had begun his reign as the Nightmare King, the Greater Abyssals had remained locked away. They were things of terrible power, and would answer to no master but their own insatiable hunger. In the past, Pitch hadn't feared them, but he didn't care to let loose something he couldn't control, either. He'd kept them asleep in their pits, and by the time of his ignominious defeat at the hands of the Guardians, he'd all but forgotten them.
A grave mistake, and one he'd had much cause to regret.
So far, only one had awakened. Pitch hadn't noticed, not at first; his thoughts had been occupied with escaping the Nightmares before they could trample him to death. He'd managed to take refuge in the armory, and had successfully hidden there for days before he realized that there were fewer and fewer Nightmares roaming the halls. Without their infernal noise, he started hearing it as it stalked the keep.
The one time Pitch dared to leave his sanctuary, he caught the Abyssal stampeding a herd of Nightmares before it, picking them off one by one and devouring them like a greedy child with a box of sweets.
The worst part was that it noticed Pitch before he could flee; it knew he was there, and it was just saving him for last.
Pitch locked himself back within the armory and barricaded all the ways in. He listened to it snuffle about outside his sanctuary for days, listened to the screams of the Nightmares it consumed (it had to be dragging the poor, doomed things close just so Pitch would have to hear), and he listened to the horrible silence as it sat outside and waited like a cat at a mouse hole.
In the end, the Abyssal grew impatient and tried breaking in through the outer wall. It had been a relief; the attack gave Pitch something to do other than think. He actually managed to wound the abomination enough to drive it back and allow him to flee, clinging to a broken pike. The Abyssal returned to easier prey, biding it's time. After all, it was getting stronger, while Pitch could only grow weaker. He skulked and scurried through his own lair and desperately wracked his brains for a way to stop the Abyssal before it could eat him.
All the while, one thought ran continuously through his head.
Don't let it get out! Don't let it reach the rest of the world!
He didn't bother to consider why that was so important -- it just was, and he didn't have time to waste on self-examination.
Pitch had known the moment the Guardians breached one of the gates; he was still the Nightmare King, no matter how weakened he was, and he'd worked so hard to keep the ways into his realm closed that it was almost like a physical blow.
Of course they would come. Better to finish him off when he was still wounded than risk giving him time to recover and come at them again.
It was tempting to lead them to the Abyssal, but he dismissed the plan almost as soon as it formed in his mind. If that thing devoured even weak little Jack Frost, it would grow powerful enough to break through the gates and into real world.
No. He needed to either kill them himself or get them out, and sadly, he knew he stood a better chance of the latter.