This funeral procession was silent and ominous. There was nothing but dread awakening the path as men carried the heavy, dark oak casket, luminous with golden petals and golden rims decorating all the edges of the coffin. Wildflowers were precisely decorated on top of the coffin in a wonderful assortment.

Mourners cast their heads down in respect as the casket moved down the quiet streets of the usual bustling town, all the magical people and demons lined the sidewalk, most of them wearing black. Many wept and stood there with stiff posters in unbearable feelings as the casket moved steadily. No one spoke. Everyone in Hell assembled as the coffin drew nearer to the wooden planks laid out and barks of trees lined up straight.

Thomas Pitch swallowed every once of heartbreak when he marched among the carriers of the coffin. Tears stung his eyes, but he would not cry. He didn’t deserve to. He made a promise to his best friend that he would save her at all costs, and he failed. Him and his boss.

The coffin was heavy as he lifted it up and down into the platform, his heart tearing inside of him as he, Caliber, Jackson, and two Princes of Hell placed the casket into place.

Lucifer was standing next to the wooden planks with a hard stare. He wore a heavy cloak that lay on his shoulders and white and black patterned cotton wool was around the cloak's neck. He wore his outfit as king of Hell in a harsh poster. His outfit was composed of a kingly suit, a red shirt buttoned up in golden, with a pentagon color of golden cuff links on his white cuffs. He stood tall in black pants with suitable shoes to complete his outfit.

He held a torch in his hand that wasn’t lightened up yet. When the men finished and lined up the left side of Lucifer, the Devil raised the touch in silence, looking at it as if it was a new arm he made for himself. He gazed back at his people and said, “Today is the day not only we will not forget, but we will never understand.”

Pitch saw his boss swallow down raw emotions as he continued with a heavy burden sigh. He nearly choked out the words, “My sister, she was never in the terms evil, but she was always one of us.” Many the mourners nodded their heads in agreement, “She was much different from any woman, any person, any demon I’ve known.” He inhaled as he could feel his soul erupt in horrible sadness he had never fathom before. “If Hell lived off of a magical crystal, she would’ve been that crystal. She made this place liven and made it truly a kingdom of Hell.” He scoffed, “She loved to do wild parties. I never met such a person who could give such a wow factor to parties…” Lucifer trailed off for a second in thought and cleared his throat, “No matter where you are,” he paused as he tried so hard to compose himself in front of his people, “I love you.” He scrapped the head of the torch against one of the planks and the torch sparkled into hellfire. “Rest in peace.”

Lucifer turned to the stacked logs and planks ready to be consumed. He stared between the gaps of the wood to the coffin and threw the torch in. The fire immediately started to spread throughout the dry wood. The Devil didn’t even seem to take a step back as the fires licked close to his pants and he could feel the burn through his body.

Pitch saw the others stay still in honor as everything burned. The mourners looked upon the built fortress of wood that was now ablaze in awe.

After a few long minutes that turned into an hour of remembrance silence, watching the flames go higher to the sky; Lucifer had taken a few big steps back and turned to his hellish people. He looked at them but never made eye contact. He breathed with a sigh, “My friends and I have agreed we will have an anniversary of her death each year in Earth’s days. That is a long time for us here.” He glanced back at the burning pile and lifted his hand to it. He made a fist and all the flames vanished slowly, revealing burnt wood. The smoke choked through the sky and the smell stunk in the air.

When all the smoke dissipate and all the high tall woods fell to the ground, there stood a black vase with a painted design of pink and indigo lilies drawn all over the vase like an antique.

Pitch saw the wonderful art standing there. Lucifer had asked him when everything burned, and when the corpse finally went into ashes completely, that there would magically be a vase that held the ashes in a marvelous stance.

Pitch had never been so grateful that his friend had asked him for such a simple spell from him. Lucifer could’ve asked Jackson or any warlock, witch, or wizard, but no, he asked him. Of course, Pitch wouldn’t be so surprised, but after what happened, the request was much more than a simple ask.

Lucifer nodded to his people in a dismiss. He took off his cloak as he walked to the vase and picked up the vase so gingerly that it seemed he was picking up something so breakable. He raised back up, going to his castle, feeling the warmth of the vase.

Pitch, Caliber, Jackson, and the Princes of Hell followed him. They walked into the cool comfort of the grand castle. Lucifer went to his office and placed the vase down, slumping into his leather chair. He glanced up at Pitch through his fingers covering his distrustful face, “I need to talk to Pitch alone. Wait for me outside.”

The men nodded in understanding and walked out. Caliber patted Pitch on the shoulder as they walked by, giving him a sorrowful look.

Pitch watched as they left and heard the door closed and clicked...click? Why are they locking the door? His heart started to pound inside him, but he remained calmly..

“Sit,” ordered Lucifer. He poured it into two glasses and pushed the glass to Pitch. “Want a cigarette?”

Pitch declined with a shake of his head. He gave a small sip of the bourbon.

Lucifer lighted up a cigarette and took inhaled, purposely not gazing his eyes directly at Pitch. “Did I do alright with the speech?”

Pitch nodded, “Yes.” He clutched at the thighs of his pants, not looking the strained look at his boss’s face, and knew it would be foolish to ask if Lucifer was okay. It was evident he was not. Pitch wasn’t okay either. He barely could bare the awful, sad pain that made him want to choke a sob or laugh hysterically.

Lucifer glanced at Pitch for the barest second and stated, “I would thank you for your help, but...I feel foolish in believing you could actually save her. I put all my weight on one thing and it collapsed.”

Pitch flinched, not hiding the hurt passing his face that he knew he had come, “I understand, Sir.” He nervously twitched his fingers and blurted out as tears started to stream down his face, “Lucifer.” He hiccuped embarrassingly as he cried out his feelings, “I am so sorry. I failed you. I should’ve been the one who died. I wished I could replace her. I’m just…” He swayed his head in anguish and lowered his head, covering his face with his hands, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Lucifer’s voice was tight as he said, “You did fail me, but I was the one who was counting on one person when I should’ve been looking for other options. It wasn’t just your fault, but you undoubtedly crushed me.” He pushed himself up from his chair, tossing his cigarette to a dish, tears stinging his face, “And for that, I will sentence you to death.”

Pitch jerked up at Lucifer in wild, shocked hurtful eyes. He didn’t know what to say to that, he was speechless. He dug his nails into his palms and felt everything inside of him scream with terror. He wished he could’ve taken this reply like a man and nodded his head as Lucifer threw him in prison, but he exclaimed, “Lucifer, you aren’t thinking straight.” He stood up to face Lucifer in the eyes, but his boss averted them away, “Your sister died, it is completely normal to feel what you are feeling and act what you are acting, but Sir, maybe you should rest for a couple of days before making such a—statement like that.”

Lucifer finally glared at him, making eye-level contact.

Pitch wanted to run away from this place, hide. He had never seen such contentment of a look from Lucifer before, such pain and misery, but...was that hate that the warlock also saw?

The Devil walked around his large desk in his opulence office, running his fingers along it as he went to Pitch with a scornful look.

Pitch thought for a second he looked quite attractive in that state, just for a second. He gasped, “Lucifer, listen. Please, think about this.”

Lucifer gripped a chair, “Did I stutter, Pitch?” His eyes stared hard at his friend, “Or do I need to repeat what I meant?”

Pitch would not run from this, but his heart ached from what he heard. He wished this was all a hellish nightmare or some joke, but he knew this wasn’t. He stood up, his legs feeling wobbly from the anxiety and scariness pouring out of him. He smiled in a horrible fake way, “Come on, Lucifer.” He laughed dryly, “Let’s just talk this out.”

Lucifer narrowed his beautiful dark chocolate eyes, “I did what I wanted to say.”

Pitch clutched his teeth, “Lucifer...please.” His eyes watered as he gazed in such a deleterious gaze, “I love you. Don’t do this. Please, rethink this. Give a few days. As a therapist, I know this is horribly traumatic.”

In the next moment, Lucifer flung his hand across Pitch’s face with a hard slap, “I don’t need a damn therapist, I needed a fucking friend. You gave me your promise!” He breathed out an angry breath, “And I counted on you! I trusted you!”

Pitch’s cheeks stung so badly he almost saw stars dancing above him, but the stinging pain he emotionally felt was much worse. He broke out a sob, “Lucifer!” He was shocked that Lucifer had slapped him. It was not imaginary, because he felt it. He gripped the cheek as if to dim down some of the pain, “Please. I am so sorry.”

Lucifer screamed a roar and collapsed against his desk, “I believed in you. You were my friend.”

Were.

Pitch stared up at Lucifer, afraid to go and comfort him, but his feet betrayed him as he came closer to Lucifer. His hands barely shook as he placed a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, “I’m here for you.”

Lucifer threw a book across a room and fell to his knees, “Michael killed her!”

Pitch went on his knees, never seeing his boss act like this. “I don’t need a damn therapist, I needed a friend.” The sentence echoed in his brain. He said, “I’m here for you, Lucifer. You know I am.” He wrapped his arms around his friend and hugged him, “Lucifer…”

Lucifer embraced the hug for a few seconds and then slammed his hand against Pitch’s chest, flinging him back. He slammed against a bookcase, books falling down on him in a tumble.

Lucifer yanked himself up and yelled, “Get him.”

Pitch stared at Lucifer in disbelief as the doors flung open and Caliber with another Prince of Hell lifted Pitch up to his feet and put magic-proof handcuffs. The warlock turned to Lucifer, “Don’t do this.” His eyes begged to his friend, but Lucifer looked away and picked up a telephone on his desk and dialed a number.

Pitch watched and heard as Michael’s voice came on the speaker, “Lucifer?”

Lucifer said calmly, “I have Pitch. I'll meet you at my front doors.” He placed the telephone down without hearing a reply and walked to the doors, Caliber pushing Pitch forward.

Pitch screamed, nearly falling down as they passed Jackson and the other two Princes of Hell, “Lucifer!”

Lucifer walked in front as they walked downstairs. Candles flickered as they reached the doors. Lucifer turned to his friend and said, “Thomas Pitch, the high warlock of Hell and earth, you have been stripped from your title as a Prince of Hell and my sidekick.”

Pitch went pale as Lucifer opened the door and there stood Michael with John and Daniel.

Lucifer looked away as he said, “Take him.”

Michael stared at Pitch and then back to Lucifer, his golden eyes a scornful gaze. He didn't bother to question Lucifer about what he was doing, but the Archangel remained silent with a blank expression.

Lucifer snapped back in a glaring tone, “Yes, let's put down this diseased dog.” He nodded to Caliber who pushed Pitch to Michael.

John grabbed Pitch’s arm with a slight grin, “Seems like you do have a brain.”

Lucifer grabbed the doorknobs, and Pitch saw Elena walking down the staircase, looking at Pitch. She then looked at Michael and ran back up the stairs.

“Lucifer!” Pitch cried, horrified.

Lucifer walked backward, letting the doors close on themselves and the last thing Pitch saw was a tear running down Lucifer’s gorgeous face. The Devil turned on his feet as the doors closed with a bang.