I do not own Rise od the gauridan or its characters

The sight had caught his breath, stolen it away from his lungs. The fresh green grass and recently bloomed flowers swayed in the gentle breeze. The golmns were stationed at the tunnels, walking back and forth along the dirt path. Light poured down from above, golden with a pale pink tint that set everything aglow. Little googies were rushing around and for the first time in years, he couldn't bring himself to care if they cracked themselves open before Easter.

What was so shocking about this calm, easy day was the simple fact that his Warren was overpopulated. No, it wasn't Frost who would usually be freezing something by this point. No, it wasn't Tooth who wanted to take a look-see at his teeth. No, it wasn't North who wanted to re-decorate the Warren in various shades of revolting red. No, it wasn't Sandy, who usually just floats along on a cloud of sand, pointing and asking small questions.

It was others. Others like him. Pookas.

Impossible, his mind supplied, as dumb-struck as he was. His mind raced backwards as his body stood locked, looking down into the valley. Flashes of repressed memories rose to the surface at his unwanted call. And just like that, the setting around him changed.

He and some of the others had just arrived back at the village after hiding the eggs they all had made. It was a simple job since the village wasn't all that big, though it was growing. More children were being born, and with the newest advancement in medicines, they were living longer. A man had even created the cure for scarlet fever—something that had had the village in it's grasp just that past year. It was good to see that the humans were advancing.

The tunnels were unnaturally dark, but no one had thought anything of it. After all, they had spent the last week preparing everything for Easter and the children must betired. The women, who had stayed behind since it was their year to do so, were probably singing them to sleep. At the thought, Aster's mind went to his own children, and his Mate. He couldn't wait to tell them of all the new hiding spots he had found. Maybe next year his kits would be old enough to come along and—

At the smell of something burning, the fur on the back of his neck rose. He and the other stumbled to a stop in the inky blackness; something dark and uneasy filled them. It was a putrid stench, smelling like rotting meat and burning hair. The smell was so strong suddenly that he began to gag horribly, his eyes and throat burning.

A fire, he had realized. He shot into the gloom, his feet pounding against the cold ground. He could hear the others scrambling to catch up—he was the fastest Pooka in the village, and they wouldn't catch up to him, no matter how hard they tried. He felt the incline under his paws and rounded the corner it had led him to.

He had expected light—softly glowing green or blue, signaling nighttime. Not red. Never was it ever red. Not in all his years, not even when the chocolate had overflowed and mixed with the paint, not even when that human child had entered, had the light of the village been red. It was glowing red, past the veil of smog and towers of smoke that rose from the ground from heaps—

Heaps of bodies.

Corpses.

He made a strangled noise, skidding to a halt just in front of a charred body. Dried red blood had formed a circle around the corpse and had mixed with the dirt, creating a cruddish-mud. He felt bile rise up in his throat and forced himself to look away. Heat was quickly filling the village and the smoke was slowly choking out what little air was left. He had to find Kira and Ken and Maria. He had to find his children and his Mate.

Before he could move, though, he heard the sound of the others entering. He twisted around and could hardly see them in the haze even though they stood mere feet apart. Their faces expressed the horror he was just beginning to feel. He opened his mouth, tasted the ash and death in the air around him, about to call out when something black blasted past him, cutting his cheek. Whatever they were embedded themselves into the chests of the Pookas who stood at the entrance.

There was a sick sucking noise as blood bubbled around the wounds. His sharp eyes caught sight of what had fell his friends. The blade was gleaming black, with a sharp curve and was easiyl the size of his forearm.

They fell as one, their faces all wearing the same mask of fear, anger and shock. Their bodies crumpled to the ground and lay still, as though they were asleep. Their paws outstretched, a few legs twitching as the muscles twitched in death. He swallowed a shout, the world swirling around him in red, black; in death and smoke.

He dropped to the ground, all muscles tensed and at the ready should he need to move. His ears, trained to pick of the slightest of sounds, could distinguish the sound of feet—tiny feet running and tripping and falling and running again. His children. They were only five. They needed him.

He crept past the body and went down along the edge of the village. Should he call out? What had hit his men? There were smears, droplets and pawprints of blood on everything. It was as though someone had used red paint and splattered it everywhere. He found himself stepping into large puddles of it, staring into the already-glaszed -over-eyes of the dead.

He forced his body to move slowly, as to make no noise and alert whatever attacker there was of his presence, and forced himself to pause at every body, ripped into peices or not, and check for signs of life. The smoke burned his throat, and his eyes were welling with tears. He had found a young Pooka, only fifteen and a close family friend, torn apart, her in entrails laid on the stone walkway beside her. Her eyes fluttered open and she sucked in a sharp, pained breath.

"H-Help." Her eyes were filling with tears, "Make the pain stop. It—It hurts. I want to go home. I'm going to go home, right?"

There was nothing he could do for her.

He bent down next to her, nodding and murmuring false promises of helping her live through the night. He told her to close her eyes and that he'd take her home. What he did next was unspeakable, but he had to put the poor child out of her misery. Otherwise, she could be there for days without relief. He prayed that she would forgive him.

The smell of decay and urine was as heavily lain in the air as was the smoke and blood.

After what seemed like hours of blood-washed horror, he made it to the center of town. The houses loomed in the darkness, all lights out and some houses ablaze. Glass was scattered, reflecting the dull light and he sucked in a breath as some cut into his paws. Up ahead, only a few yards, was his house. He crept from alleyway to alleyway, praying that Maria had gotten herself and the kits to the secret bunker they had underneath the building. She had called him parinoid, and he was glad he thought ahead.

At the sound of running feet, he looked around. His eyes went everyewhere at once, but found only death and fire. The haze was thickening, creating an other-worldly appearance. Then, something bit his shoulder. With wide eyes, he staggeard sideways and found a small black animal on his shoulder. He punched it and it disappeared as though it had never even been there. He contiued walking,his shoulder burning and blood soaking his fur.

The bunker had enough food and water to last them months. It had blankets and heat and toys. It had everything they'd ever need-including a vent to circulate fresh air. Hopefully, Maria's parents were still visiting when the attack happened, and they were all nestled away deep in the earth. Maria wouldnd't feel the need then to run off as soon as he arrived-

His blood froze in his veins as he neared the front door, his heart hammering at his ribs. The world around him swayed suddenly and he lost his footing. Knees hitting the stone walkway, sending up a splash of foamy blood. Cold. There, on the steps lay Maria's parents. Their throats were ripped out, dark blood dried onto their fur and their eyes wide with shock. The steps had been crushed, splintering at though there had been a huge weight slammed into it. The door banging open in the breeze.

He forced himself to his feet, numbed with shock, but still praying, still hoping that his Mate and children were okay. He didn't care if they were hurt, as long as they were alive. They had to be alive. They couldn't have left him alone.

He lurched on unsteady feet up the stairs, past the bodies and over the threshold. The burning buildings around him gave him little light inside the house. Soon, gloomy shadows swallowed him whole. He felt his way into the kitchen, and dared to call out, "Maria? Are you here? It's Aster."

He heard movement upstiars and bounded up to the second floor, relief flooding through him. He made it to the landing and looked around. Nothing. Then, he heard footsteps on the third floor. He contiued upwards, already thinking over what they needed to do.

They were alive. They were alive. Thank you. Thank you so very much. They were-

He opened the attic door and was hit by the dead weight of something warm and limp. They crashed to the floor together, limbs tangling. He came snout to snout with his Mate, whose eyes were staring at him with an accusing glare. Her eyes were filming over, she weight suddenly too heavy for him to breath. She reeked of blood and death. He pushed himself up, choking on horror and sputtering. He watched her roll off of him, but couldn't bring himself to touch her. She-

"Daddy!" Kira cried. His head snapped up at her voice and he caught her frightened blue eyes - so much like his own - in the darkness.

In the gloom, he saw the shadowed figure of a tall, thin man. His skin looked ashen, almost grey, and he had wide golden eyes, as though he had been caught by surprise. Then, he flashed a wicked, cruel smile, showing of his gnarled teeth, all pointed with jagged edges and crooked. His grip on Kira's shoulder tightened and she squirmed, tears falling like jewels down her face.

"Let her go!" Aster didn't even recognize his voice; there was a barely restrained fury backing his words. All the horror and dispair he had felt drained away, leaving only a burning desire to kill the man who held onto his baby girl, causing her harm.

The man turned to full face him, and Aster saw with relief that Ken was also unharmed. He was backed into the corner of the room, his tiny body shaking horribly. His eyes - the samcolor as his mother's - were wide and unfocused, seeing nothing.

"So, it seems I had missed one." The man grinned something awful and stepped forward, twisting his daughter's ears and making her shriek. There was a window to his immeidate right, and he looked twoards it, "Such beautiful destruction. So much red and black-simple perfect."

"You bastard!" He took a step forward, but as quick as lightening, the man had ablade to his daughter's throat.

"Ah, ah, ah," the man grinned. "We wouldn't want to ruin the fun," he bought the balde closer to the girl's throat, "Now would we?"

Ken, suddenly aware of his surroundings after hearing his voice, carefully crept along the wall, as quickly and as quietly as possible. He hid himsefl behind some boxes since he couldn't move any closer or else the man would see him. He kept his attention on the man in front of him, though.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his body quivering with rage. "Why have you done this?"

The man stopped smiling, cocked his head like a bird and seemed to consider the question. After a moment, in a very serious voice, he said, "I am the Boogeyman. Destroying goodness and creating darkness is what I do."

"The boogeyman isn't real," Kira's voice was shrill, "Daddy said he wasn't real. And daddy is always right!"

"Stupid girl!" He shouted, pulling her ears again, "I am real! I'm right here! I killed your lil' mommy! I. Am. Real." Aster tenced when the Boogeyman started waveing the blade around wildly, "This is why I've done it! You and your kind are spreading happiness and people are forgetting there is a reason to fear! The reason is me, Pitch Black, the Boogeyman!"

There was a small thump as Ken tripped among the boxes. Pitch's attention was diverted from his mad ranting and he looked over, as though annoyed by something someone had said. Without a word, he snapped his fingers and black shadows stoody up around him, aimed to the boxes-

Aster found himself moving forward without thinking, fear suddenly sour and strong in his mouth.

-and they cut through Aster's side and through the boxes beside him. Blackness swept through his mind, though he knes his body had fallen to its knees. He saw everything that he had just witnessed out there, only this time he couldn't control his emotions, couldn't detach himself the way his mentor had taught him. Gasping for air, all he could smell was fresh blood, fear and rotting meat. IT WAS TOO MUCH.

He fell forward onto his hands, blody, shaking like a leaf in a sudden tornado. He forced himself to look over his shoulder and wished he hadn't. His son's arm was laying where he could see, the rest of his body hidden among the boxes. His fingers were slightly curled, as though he were sleeping. Only, there was blood rolling along the hardwood floor, bright red in the dark room, and there was a lot of it.

His little girl began screaming and crying, begging for him to make it stop, to make the man go away, to make mommy and Ken better. She wanted her mommy. She was scared, so very scared. She promised to be good forever and evers if he made it all stop, made the man go away.

His attention was brought back to the man, who had thrown his head back and was crackling. He sounded like he had just heard the funniest joke of all time. Aster growled and pushed himself to his feet, the wound on his side opening further and spilling blood. Pitch stopped and looked down at the girl.

"Give her to me." Aster demanded, stumble a step closer. The world around him buzzed, darkening suddenly.

"Sure." Pitch shrugged and Aster felt relief. Pitch grinned again, "If you can catch her."

It took a moment to understand Pitch's meaning. The man heaved his daughter upwards and threw her with all his might through the window. Everything slowed. The glass expolded outwards, all relfecting the dull light form the low burning fires outside and she screamed in fear and pain, before dropping out of sight.

Aster threw himself fprwards, shoving past Pitch and jumping out. He caught her and she clutched onto him, sobbing and screaming. He curled his body around hers and watched the ground heave twoards them-