In the dimly lit catacomb, shadows danced across the walls as Pitch Black sensed an intruder approaching.

"I know you’re there." Pitch states, standing near one of his tables, black sand floating around his hand as he begins to form a new nightmare.

“Only an idiot would willingly come around to have tea with the Nightmare King,” Pitch shot out, a brief note of humor twitching his lips. Pitch raised an eyebrow at the visitor, "What do you want?" He dryly asks, all but demands.