The darkened corridor was scented with wax candles and flourished with pictures of the past. A red carpet followed the passageway up the stairs of the stagnant castle. Chandeliers lit the place. Metal spiked boots softened on the flooring, and Thomas Pitch’s footsteps bounced on the blood-red walls.
Holding a sword, the Galas feared and awed it, and the High-warlock wondered if all their masterplan was worth it. After taking the prized weapon from the Celestial Realm, he teleported into Hell. Pitch hoped the problems increasing throughout his life would disappear like magic when he showed what he had to the Infernals.
His mind was filled with the imagination of how pleased Lucifer would be. Would he get a pat on the back and some aged wine poured to celebrate their accomplishments? Heart drumming with nervousness and excitement, Pitch exhaled before knocking on the office door. He told himself there should be no reason to worry, yet his gut churned in the wrong direction about what he had done.
Pitch tapped on the oak door once and swung it open with the grand gesture of bowing down dramatically. Raising the sword high and feeling the heaviness of it, he was only able to hold it for a few seconds before dropping his hands down. A smile plastered on his cocky face as he proclaimed, “Nine years of our preparation have worked!”
Sitting on an office chair that looked more like a throne, Lucifer blinked at him and then glanced toward the sword. “Well done.” Even though Pitch only received a sadist smirk and the tiniest flicker of gleefulness, it was the best praise he had gotten for years.
The High-warlock sauntered over to the Devil’s desk and placed the sword in front of his friend. Tracing his finger along the coolness of the metal and then the angels’ wings designed between the blade and halt, Lucifer mused at the simplicity of it. “I expected it to be more ornamented.”
“I guess the simplest things can be the most dangerous,” Pitch stated, his eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings. Lucifer met his gaze, and he inhaled in wonder if his boss was going to say anything special. However, Lucifer went back to examine the weapon.
His impressive heist had him slumping into a cozy chair from exhaustion. Their first plan was completed, but Pitch was unsure what the next move would be. He saw behind the Devil’s visage that Lucifer was quenching for revenge for his beloved sister—even after all this time.
He was positive Lucifer would move on as time passed; however, the Devil seemed to fixate on vengeance for his siblings every single day. When Pitch freed himself from almost being slayed by Michael, he ran away, lost, and bewildered. Being alive, which he couldn’t fathom, seemed to be such a hard concept to achieve. The once-all-powerful High-warlock hid from the Galas he used to help. It took him a day to find a place to stay until he figured out his next step.
For two years, Pitch lived in secrecy at his aunt’s house. He longed for his friends and desired even more to see Lucifer. But from what his boss did to him, he was afraid to see the Infernals again, wondering if they would outcast him again or worse—kill him with their own hands.
Grief had taken any rational decisions out of Lucifer. Without giving him the benefit of the doubt, Pitch would’ve gone mad at Lucifer’s reasoning to execute him. Did he hate Pitch that much to have him erased from the world? Apparently so. That hurt the most, knowing his best friend couldn’t stand him anymore. Not only did Lucifer push him away, but he also gave Pitch to the other side to kill him in cold blood.
Yet as the years slipped by, the urge to see his home again—Hell—overrode his fear of what the Infernals might do to him. Pitch realized as he opened the portal to the Pit that he would rather die than never see his people again. So, with the burdened conclusion and not even his aunt being able to pull him back to his senses, he entered Hell with no turning back on his stupidity.
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Was Pitch shaking in his spiked boots when he confronted Lucifer? Yes, he felt a heart attack coming at his boss’s nonplussed complexion at his being alive.
Now he pondered if he would’ve been dead if he hadn’t taken a bold step. Wouldn't the Harmonies find him and finish him once and for all? Pitch stared at the Devil gazing fondly over the weapon, feeling his inquiries about the possibilities of the past give him a headache.
Thomas Pitch couldn’t help but backtrack when he confessed his feelings to Lucifer before he was dragged away and brought to the Choirs. What was Lucifer thinking after he said that? Had his boss gone numb and discarded anyone else's emotions besides his own?
Closing his eyes to hopefully bat away his questions, he sighed at everything that had occurred to get him to where he was now. He couldn’t allow himself to drown in these pointless queries, or he would go madly insane.
“What are you thinking about, Pitch?” Lucifer asked, his head cocked to one side as he studied his friend in deep ponderment.
Pitch desired nothing more than to be truthful and spurt out if Lucifer had any feelings for him. His aunt had warned him that the Devil could not have any emotions. Nevertheless, he had seen him have every type of emotion. Sometimes Pitch thought Lucifer was more human than any mundane could be.
“I…” the High-warlock started and said something else that was on his mind instead. “I’m not sure killing your brother is the best idea.”
Snapping up from the sword, Lucifer glared at him. “What do you mean by that?” The Devil never liked anyone who questioned his plans.
With fingers running through his thick black hair and stammering over what to say, Pitch was unable to hide his discontentment. “Have you thought about the consequences if there wasn’t an Archangel? The world would become unbalanced." He licked his lips as he explained, “As an ex-High-warlock, I know that without him, we would bring destruction. There’s a reason we have Harmonies and Infernals, the Devil and Archangel, so no one controls too much power.”
“What’s wrong with too much power?” Lucifer responded with a disinterested look at his speech, going back to the sword. “I contain my Infernal well enough.” With a chuckle, he flashed a grin and walked around his desk in his black buttoned shirt, black dress pants, and shoes. “You know me, Pitch; I would be bored with the human world in hellfire and brimstone. There wouldn’t be anymore torment, and that’s no fun. Humans are resourceful and have abundant supplies of idiocy and flesh for my Infernals to feast on.”
“Without Michael, imagine a place without the Harmonies up our assess twenty-four/seven. They try to keep us in ‘line,’” Lucifer quoted with his fingers, “that they made up to keep an agenda I supposedly have.”
“One day I’ll burn Earth to the ground to make a point, but not anytime soon. I have no intentions until doomsday comes. When Michael is dead, our Infernals wouldn’t drop dead like flies, and we could build a decent army to take over all the Realms the Choirs built and freely shape the universe to what I want.”
It was strange to hear the Devil’s master plan. Lucifer hardly ever talked about ruling the world, but something about having the sword made him into the hellish leader people made him out to be.
Pitch flickered his eyes at a dark oak bookcase, and he muttered softly, “Do you think this is what she would’ve wanted? She loved both of you equally and desired for you two to be brothers for once, not enemies.” He should’ve shut up, but his High-warlock and friend sides came out, yet not only did he want what was best for his friend but for the world.
“She’s dead. This is what I want,” Lucifer said coldly and scoffed dryly. “This was our plan, and you have decided to back off.” Narrowing his chocolate eyes together, he seethed, “Are you working with Michael?”
“I would never!” Pitch answered in revulsion and took a step back in surprise. “I know we planned this together, but now I’m not so sure anymore.”
A sharp pang of guilt stabbed into his heart. Did he feel remorse for going against his boss's wishes? Or was he guilty of agreeing to help him tear the balance apart and cause destruction?
“We have the sword; Michael can’t do shit. We are safe,” Pitch said, forcing out a laugher. “Let’s take a moment to taunt the Archangel for slipping up the second time. The Harmonies can finally see what a failure he is. He couldn’t care for me, and now the sword he was supposed to protect has been taken right under his nose!”
There were a few moments of silence.
“I know you want him dead, Lucifer. I also want him to suffer for what he has done to her. It’s not only you that is scarred by what has happened to her,” Pitch’s lavender eyes glinted tearfully. “Yes, death is a great way to get revenge.” Then he smiled brightly as he added, “However, isn’t seeing your brother’s reputation being torn into pieces with there being nothing he can do about it even sweeter?”