Silence expanded the void and aches in the Infernals’ hearts. Nothing but the dreadfulness of the future was left scarred on the pavements of Hell. Mourners cast their heads down in respect. Many wept with an unbearable, sinking sadness, and others felt numb to it all. Yet no one spoke in the dim evening.

Where laughter usually rang in the streets, an eerie quietness replaced the bustling kingdom. The wind swept by, the only life on the solemn day.

The funeral was a short process of the Devil lighting a torch and putting it down on tree planks covering a coffin. The wood had immediately caught on a crackling blaze and burned for the entire afternoon. Infernals began to leave one by one as the blood-red sun sank in the horizon until only there were a few left, watching the fire dwindle into flickers of sparks dying out.

Thomas Pitch stood near the flames in quietness, his thoughts kept to himself as the hours passed in torment. He had failed and should’ve been the one burning into ashes. Fire reminded him of everything he detested, and he could never escape the clutches of it, taking away his loved ones.

Tears stung down his cheeks, and he couldn’t get rid of the modifying lump in his throat. He didn’t deserve to cry when he lifted the coffin onto the platform. Pitch shouldn’t allow any remorse for himself after what he didn’t do. The shame he held could be seen by everyone; there should’ve been a worse punishment for him to stand trial for his crimes.

These long days had seemed only like a nightmare he thought he would wake from. However, he was stuck in this agony that was by far the worst kind of torture that Hell could conquer.

When darkness finally set in and the fire died out, Pitch walked to the ashes that remained. Lifting his hands and his lavender eyes and glossing tearfully, the ashes swirled until they made a vase containing the dust of the deceased.

The Devil kneeled and picked up the black vase adorned with golden petals with his leather gloves. His black cloak lay on the pavement. He stood back up and swirled around, his cloak with golden trimming on the bottom flapping behind him. The four Princes of Hell and his sidekicks followed him.

They arrived at a magnificent castle that overlooked the kingdom of Hell.

The top floor of the Devil’s castle had the best view of his kingdom. It was where his office and meeting rooms were located. The Infernals arrived at the door in the dark hallway, the candles barely lighting the adored walls decorated with paintings.

"Pitch, come in with me. Everyone else, wait out here for me,” Lucifer instructed, and he opened the door to his office, entering and closing it with his friend behind him. He gently set the vase on his desk as if it were a breakable antique, and the slightest touch could shatter it into millions of pieces.

Slumping on a cushioned velvet chair, Lucifer poured himself a drink and put his feet up, his dressed shoes thumping on the desk. He didn’t turn on any lights; the kingdom below the castle shone through the window and cast light and shadow on the King of Hell. He stared out into his kingdom in taciturnity.

Unsure what to say, Pitch stood in front of the desk awkwardly. It was the type of moment you have no conversation to bring up to a stranger, but there is pain on both sides, and no one knows the right words to come up with to make everything a bit better.

“Thank you for giving me the honor to finish the funeral with a vase of her,” Pitch started, words fumbling out of his mouth, and he shook a little in his shoes, black and lavender vest, a silky purple dress shirt, and black pants.

Lucifer took out a cigar from a drawer and lit it with his finger, which burned brightly from the hellish flame. He puffed smoke into the room, but the scent wouldn’t last long in the office because it always smelled like Pitch—lavender. Maybe because the High-warlock spent most of his time here.

“I’m sorry, I wish there was more that I could do.” Pitch said, gulping raw emotions and nearly suffocating on his apology, for he truly meant it more than anything in this world. “If there’s anything I can do, tell me, and I’ll gladly do it for you.” He looked at his best friend, who refused to meet his eyes.

Unbuckling his cloak, Lucifer sat in his chair while he smoked. There were cuff links on the golden cuffs that had shiny red pentagrams. He slipped off his gloves and placed them on his desk. His chest rose and fell as a heavy sigh escaped from his lips. “I want to forget everything that has happened…” he trailed off, the window reflecting his bitter chocolate eyes glossing in disgust.

With a shake of his head, the Devil stated, “I just can’t.”

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Pitch was unsure if he should take a step forward to comfort his friend and speak. Pressing his lips, the High-warlock clutched his hands tightly into balls of fists. It was impossible to find the right words in this situation, but he tried to bring some kind of happiness into this despair. “Even with these awful past days, we still have wonderful memories to cherish forever and celebrate.”

Lucifer said nothing, his countenance blank with any emotions, and he bit his lips so hard that blood broke through the skin.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Pitch asked, and his lavender eyes were bright in wonderment, seeking to be helpful in anyway. He hated to see Lucifer hurting so much that he didn’t care about the blood trailing from his lips to his chin.

“There is actually something you can do for me,” Lucifer answered. He flickered his cigar in the trashcan and stood up, glaring at Pitch. “Get out of my sight.”

“W-w-what?” Flinching from the Devil’s words, Pitch gasped and stared hurtfully back. “Y-you don’t mean that.” He stumbled to say anything, shocked beyond belief that Lucifer had announced that. The glare from Lucifer had him knowing that no matter what he said now, it would not be enough. Nevertheless, he had to try. “I’m…I’m sorry I failed you.” Tears ran down his cheeks uncontrollably. “I fucked up, but please don’t say that.”

“I felt foolish in believing you alone could save her.” Lucifer spat, and he scoffed at himself, staring past Pitch’s ghastly appearance. “I put all my weight on one thing, and it collapsed. I shouldn’t have relied on you.” He tore away, looking in his friend’s direction, and stared at the floor. “I only did it because I trusted you more than ever. I should’ve known better.”

“I had the antidote, but she left before she got the chance—” Pitch began, but Lucifer snarled a loathing look at him. Feeling his legs were nonexistent supporters, Pitch fell to his knees and never wanted to see such hatred towards him from his best friend.

Lucifer heaved out, “You are making excuses, Pitch.”

“No, I’m not, I promise!” Pitch cried; hot teardrops stung his face, and his vision blurred everything around him. “Please listen to me; I am so sorry.” The Devil stared with such animosity at him, and Pitch bowed to the floor, his body shuddering from his sobs. “I’ll do anything for you; don’t do this to me!”

With no hope left in him when Lucifer remained quiet, Pitch looked back up, and his lavender gaze beseeched mercy and reconsideration. His was over if he was kicked out of the only place he ever felt belonged to. He said the one thing that could redeem him and had been in his heart since the beginning was meeting Lucifer. “I love you.”

There was no pause in between the Devil’s responses. No mercy could be found in his eyes. The coldness in his heart outweighed any love he may have had. “You have been sentenced to death for betraying the Infernals.”

Pitch stared horrified at Lucifer, and he couldn’t breathe from what he had heard. No, he had to be dreaming this nonsense, right? Before he could protest anymore, Lucifer snapped his finger, and the office door swung open.

Two Infernals, sidekicks of the Devil, walked in. They stared at their boss for a command, seemingly holding their breaths.

“Get him out of my sight,” Lucifer growled, not locking eyes at Pitch.

Elena and Jackson, who were the sidekicks, hesitated to move. Lucifer seethed, “What are you waiting for?” The girl opened her mouth to say something, but the look from her boss told her there was nothing that could change his mind.

The Infernals lifted Pitch by his arms. He should’ve kicked away and screamed how wrong this was. However, the deadweight in his chest caused him to stiffen at Lucifer’s final decision. Right as he was about to be marched out the door, he swung around and ran to him. Pitch’s fingers reached out to the Devil, but Elena and Jackson grabbed his arms, so his hands barely skimmed past Lucifer’s shoulders.

“You know this isn’t my fault! Stop blaming me; Michael did this, not me!” Pitch shouted, but it seemed his words fell on deaf ears. He was yanked away from Lucifer and out of the office. Struggling to free himself from his friends, he gave up after a few minutes. He knew it was pointless to try to run.

Pitch could’ve teleported himself out of Hell and hidden forever. Yet, the shock of everything left him like a statue, unmoving and stoned white by what the Devil chose. Were the people he cared for and lived with going to execute him for his crimes?

He was more confused than ever about how he betrayed them. Even though it was absurd the way Lucifer picked out what his criminal offense was, it felt unholy. Pitch had betrayed the Infernals. He had failed on his promise that he could save her, and when he didn't, it was a twisted lie he didn’t mean to make. The Infernals trusted him more than anyone to treat her and save the race; however, he also broke that.

The High-warlock should’ve torn away from Elena and Jackson, dragging him out of the castle and into a portal to somewhere unknown. Deep within his gut, he thought he deserved this cruel punishment.

Finally, being let go by his friends, he tripped on his feet and fell. When he stared up at what his penalty would be, Pitch felt lightheaded, and the world swirled around him in a daze. No, Lucifer wouldn’t do this to him. Nonetheless, his doubt was proven wrong when the Archangel smirked at him, and Choirs bound his hands with a magic-proof cuff.

Michael raised his head in triumph: “Thomas Pitch, High-warlock, you have been sentenced to death for your crimes of deserting the Harmonies and siding with the Infernals. No High-warlock should have any favorites and forget his ways to balance the world. Not only have you forgotten to assist the Harmonies, but you have left the humans alone to face your kind by revealing that Galas do exist. You have been gifted to me by my brother for allowing you to do this.”

Looking back at his friends, he saw that they glared at the Archangel with detest, seemingly about to reach Pitch and save him. Yet, no one wanted to face the wrath of Lucifer’s madness. Pitch was to be the payment for the Devil’s grief.

As he was dragged away into the Celestial Realm for his sentence to be carried, he hoped Lucifer would change his mind and come rescue him like he did when they first met. However, Pitch was wrong when he was ruthlessly thrown into prison and forgotten by the people he had helped so long ago.