A/N- In my headcanon for A Home For Fear, Pitch is an earth-native fear spirit and doesn't have Kozmotis' background. If I did decide to incorporate the book canon into my fanfic, this is essentially how it would go.

Pitch stared blankly down at the locket that had been thrust into his hands by a certain frost spirit.. "Jewelry, Jack? Really? Do I seem like the type?"

"Don't you recognize it at all? It was yours, once."

Pitch snorted. "I don't know who sold you that load of crock, but frankly I'm a little surprised you bought it," he drawled, dropping the locket back into the Guardian's hands.

"I know about the Golden Age, Pitch," Jack said as the boogeyman started to turn away.

Pitch faltered, the name setting of something stirring far in the back of his mind. He shoved it down. "Doesn't ring a bell, I'm afraid," he said offhandedly.

"I know about the Lunanoffs. About the Moon Clipper. About the Golden General," Jack went on.

That last title struck a chord in Pitch and he froze, feeling a sudden surge of hatred stronger even than that which he felt towards the Guardians. The hidden thoughts stirred. Pitch whirled on Jack, features twisted into a snarl. "Shut up!"

Jack met his gaze with his own icy, resolute one. "I know about Kozmotis Pitchiner."

That name made the levees break. Memories crashed over him like a tidal wave, leaving Pitch reeling.

It was bizarre, remembering the Before. His thoughts were fragmented, alien. Individual concepts were fuzzy and indistinct, and all he knew was an overarching feeling of insatiable, ravenous hunger. The pitiful creatures that fled before him, before them, their screams and terror a feast to his senses, but it was a taste that only whetted his appetite. More. They needed more. They needed to grow and feed and consume until all that was left was the vast dark emptiness of the void.

And then, and then the creatures struck back, tried to fight. Warriors with weapons and armor that gleamed with starlight, forcing back the darkness, daring to stand against them. And the worst of them all, the Golden General.

How they hated him.

He harried them at every turn, blazing with light and purpose and righteous fury. He cut swathes through their ranks, stood in the way of their conquest, ruined everything.

And around his neck swung that locket.

"No…" The word dropped unbidden from Pitch's lips and he felt his knees give out beneath him.

There was light. Burning, agonizing light. Blinding pain, being forced backwards, rounded up, penned in. Rage, at first, at being denied their prey, their feast. Then came scheming, cunning, and cooperation. They knew the one who held them in this prison, and they turned all their focus onto breaking him.

For years the hated enemy stood strong, stalwart, unaffected, but they did not falter in their efforts, their whispers and tricks of the light.

And finally, a chink in that golden armor was found. The general's mental defences finally fell, they were able to worm their way inside his strange, singular mind, sift through unknown emotions and sentiment to find the secrets of this man. The locket, they learned, was what had given him the strength to defy them, or rather, it was the representation inside of it. His daughter, his driving force.

But played right, every strength was a weakness waiting to be exploited.

The screams were perfect. They had been plucked right from the enemy's mind, after all.

The terror and desperation was the sweetest thing they had tasted in a long time, but that sensation quickly paled to the rush of air from the doors being opened, the vicious, burning joy of freedom regained.

They fell upon the enemy in a frenzy. He would be the first consumed.

But the enemy had one last trick, one last way to stymie them, and instead of being consumed, they were merged, dark and light mixing to form grey shadows. They tried to disentangle themselves, but it was too late. They were dragged in, blended together, trapped inside this shell, this new prison. They were altered, warped, infected with humanity.

A single scream of rage echoed through the darkness.

The flood slowly ebbed, and Pitch dragged air into his lungs. "Did you really think that this would push me into joining up with you lot? Truly?" he rasped from the floor, his head buried in his hands.

Jack swallowed, taking a step closer to the crumpled boogeyman."You were a good guy. There's no reason why you can't be one again, Pi- Kozmotis."

Pitch laughed, a slightly hysterical edge to the sound. "You don't seem to understand, boy. You aren't speaking with Kozmotis Pitchiner." He raised his head, a gash of a smile splitting his face, baring jagged teeth. "You're talking to his murderer."