RISE? GUARDIANS… THING WHA? OH GOD I'M SO GOMEN

THE ULTAMITE EQUALIZER

Jackson Overland is sinking. He's slowly drifting closer and closer to the bottom of the lake and though he tries to swim the thrashing of his limbs is slowed and muted, in a sense, by the cold that seems to stab into his skin like a blade. His vision, dulled and slowly growing black, is gazing helplessly at the hole in the ice that seems to be miles away.

He's running out of air, he realizes, as his lungs burn and the somehow fiery lash of cold that punctures his skin with ease. His legs kick uselessly; arms flail and reach in the blind hope of a child that someone will save him.

But no one ever does.

His body grows still, eyes drift shut in the appearance of sleep. The water fills his lungs and the cold infuses with his innermost organs, both working to shut down his organs one by one. And they do, methodically. Lungs, heart, brain. All are eventually wiped out with a casual compression of water or the biting crawl of ice.

Jackson Overland has sunk.

But if he were still conscious, still coherent, he would have seen the skeletal hands reaching for him from beneath a flowing black cloak through the inky black of the water, would have felt their strangely dry touch on his face, would have heard the sigh that rang with the rattling of bones.

But he does hear what comes afterwards, clear as day despite the water that should have muted it.

"Oh, child." It says, and though the face is covered the clink of bone on bone that follows each syllable is enough to fill the gaps of what lies beneath.

"You are much too early."

And then he shuts down, fully and completely, only to wake up a second later. But when he does, in truth, he wishes he never had as he slams with a harsh smack onto marble floors. He's soaking wet, he knows, and his clothes hang off him in their drenched state. He gasps, taking air in greedily, and pushes himself into a sitting position, looking around the room, mildly wondering if he was hallucinating.

It is a room of stone and metal, perfectly cut and carved, as though meant to last eons. Marble, quartz, silver and gold, they all litter the room, which is so massive that he cannot truthfully see any of the walls, or the ceiling for that matter, as all edges seem to just go on until infinity.

It's dark, not to mention gloomy, with its massive pillars of rock and alloys, as well as the light smell of dust and age, almost akin to that of an ancient library he has once visited. It's also cold, not the damp freezing of the lake, but a much more bitter, if not biting cold. The most prominent thing, however, is that it's almost empty. Excluding the spires and pillars, the room has no furniture, no inhabitants save for himself. He looks around, a show of worry across his face as he tries to gather his wits.

Was he in hell? Had one of his tricks been enough to damn his soul to eternal pain and suffering? The idea scared him more than he'd like to admit, despite the inner voice of logic saying that it was much too cold and desolate to be the fiery inferno in his mind. He turns his back, trying to see some sort of exit, some sort of escape.

But when he turns back he's not quite alone anymore.

Where there once was air, a dark oak desk sits, tall and impressive, with a small chair in front. Behind it, however, is another chair, currently occupied.

"Jackson Overland?" The question is asked by the figure behind the desk, and he can hear the clattering of something he is really hoping isn't bones as it talks, but he nods to the question anyways, not trusting his voice.

The figure –for there is no way that is a person, he realises as a hand of bone waves at the empty chair in front of the desk- nods its head back, and with a voice as old as the moon itself says, "Sit. We have much to discuss."

And he does sit, in a daze, as he stares at the cloaked figure that had brought him, one he has only seen in nightmares and in children's tales.

Death.

"Now." The voice calls from under its hood of shadows. "Do you wish to explain why exactly I was told to fetch you? As I said before you are much too early."

He sits in stunned silence, too petrified to speak as fingers of bone drum along the tabletop. Death, for who else could it be, looks bored for lack of a better term, as they lean their head on the hand not filling the silence of the room with the constant tapping of bone on oak.

"Not a talker, then?" They continue, flicking through a stack of papers on the desk before selecting one and drawing it from the pile with practiced ease. Jack shakes his head, once again not even trying to speak, knowing his voice would crack.

"Well. This," They wave the paper, only slightly larger than a sticky note, in his face. "This, says that you're not supposed to be dead yet. Nope. Not for another… four thousand years, yeah, give or take some change." They nod to themselves after checking the paper.

"And yet, here you are." The methodical drumming stops as they lean closer to him, as if expecting an answer. Jack looks deep into the shadows of the cloak and, upon seeing nothing but inky black, opens his mouth and begins to talk.

"The. The ice. It was too thin. Emma…" His eyes begin to fill with tears, and he furiously wipes at them until he feels right to continue. "Emma was in trouble. I saved her. But the ice broke-"

"And then you sunk." The hood nods, before tenting their skeletal hands and propping them under what must be a chin. "But- ugh." They sigh that bone rattle sigh that Jack is slowly starting to grow accustomed to and shake their head. "I swear to god Manny's out to kill me."

"Who-"

"Doesn't matter."

Jack quickly pipes down, bowing his head, still shivering. Death stops rooting through their desk and looks at him, if the cocking of their head is anything to go off of.

"I'm not going to eat you, kid. But really then, Jackson Overland, since that idiot rock has asked us to wait, I will ask you one question." Death says with a huff, looking skyward into the never ending ceiling.

"Do you play chess? I'm afraid this world is frightfully boring, and games do make the time go faster."

The child merely shakes his head, stating that his father had tried to teach him with little success.

"A pity. I forget, have they invented poker in your time yet? Or am I getting mixed up again?"

"If it has been I've never heard of it."

"Damn. When you come back perhaps I shall teach you, it's quite fun. Very well, what do you suggest?"

Jack honestly has no idea, but he's always been fond of card games and if he was going to play against Death itself he was going to pick one he was good at.

"What about Go Fish?"

"So then," Jack says through a mouthful of taffy that had sometime materialized during one of their many games, "Andrew Burgess gets the great idea to push Emma in the mud!"

"Oh my god, he didn't!" Comes the scandalized reply. "That little bugger! Got any fives?"

"Go fish. And yeah, then I punched him and he ran home to his mum, and I ran home to my mum before his mum could show up and then I had to hide on the roof before they both could skin me. Got any twos?"

"You must be able to read thoughts boy," Death sighs, handing the slightly worn card over. "This is at least the fourth time you've beaten me."

"Fifth." Comes the casual reply, as they had indeed been playing for quite a long time, and Jack had very quickly warmed up to Death, finding them a rather fun person to be around despite the... deadness.

The skeleton made to say something, only to be interrupted by a loud squawk and a rather scary looking bird perching on their shoulder, digging its black claws into their shoulder. If Death felt any pain at this, he made no show of it, simple patting the bird lightly and asking, "Yes, Hades? What have you been up to my pet?"

The bird shrieked again before taking off, flinging itself into the darkness. An awkward silence followed.

"Obnoxious, that one. But." Death stands, and motions for Jack to do the same. "It's time for you to head on back, kid."

"Back where?"

"To the mortal world, dull as it is. You've got a lot more ahead of you, if this is any indication." The paper from before is waved in his face, this time more playful than judgemental. "But seriously, it is time for you to get on with your next chapter."

There's a distant rumbling in the distance, and the ground begins to shake. Random objects go flying from the desk, clattering to the floor. Death simply pats the boy's shoulder, nodding softly.

"Just a tip," They say quietly, "Hold your breath."

Before Jack can ask why, the roar reaches a crescendo, and Jack is frozen in fear as a massive wave of water rushes into view. He only has time to heed his new friend's advice before he's sucked under, the force of the hit forcing him into slamming his eyes closed.

When he opens them he is at the bottom of a lake, his name is Jack Frost, and he can't remember a single thing.

Four thousand and some change years pass. Jack Frost becomes a guardian, gains a family, and relives his memories. So when the time finally comes that his era reaches an end, he is not afraid. As the children stop believing and he fades away, it's with a sad smile.

When he lands, this time with more grace, on a marble floor, he begins to look for a dark oak desk.

And when he hears the words, "I do believe I promised to teach you poker?" Come from behind him, his grin is as bright as the moon.