Another reposted chapter because it is now beta-ed!Hurray to Shadowhisper!
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Chapter 6

You wander aimlessly in the noisy streets, looking for interesting locations while in the process trying to figure the abandoned whereabouts of your heart. It's been awhile since you were so free to simply be you- not Lord Chris, not the mythological son of the Charmed Ones or the one who caused his brother's death. No, you can simply be- Chris. Plainly yourself.
And you like it. Doing nothing, thinking about nothing. But you know it can't go on like that. Winter has already passed without you even noticing.

You see snickers and doubts becoming to rise among your followers, and you doubt yourself. Can you do it?
Do really you want to?

You know you have to. But it's hard. You don't want to die.
You've never wanted to. Nevertheless it seems to be your ultimate goal, the only thing to which your life is heading. The only thing that can bring you down.

When you were a kid, you heard your mom's swearing that you have some sort of a death wish. And they were worried about you.
They shouldn't have. After all, you are the only one from your family who managed to stay alive.

Not that you expected to. You never thought you will be the last Halliwell alive. You never though you will be the reason for being the last one. Somehow, that doesn't comfort your conscience.
From wherever it came.

You will never forget the day that brought you down. The day that sometimes, when you have a few minutes of peace, you think of and wonder how your life would have been if you hadn't made that mistake so long ago. If you stopped and thought for just a tiny moment that when you slew him, the rest of your family was destined to be next.

There was time when you were ashamed that you were the ender of your family. That what outside forces could not do for centuries, you have made in one well planned tactical attack. But history always teaches you that empires are falling from the inside, and in the empire that was called Halliwell, you were the sinner.

But that's ok now. It doesn't bother you so much anymore. You even found a few very convincing arguments in favor of your actions, ones that can soften the impact of the guilt, that damned feeling inside you that no matter how potions and spells you have tried, it simply never went away. It was there to stick. To stay forever like a brand on your heart. Just like the mark on your forehead, that treacherous sign that doomed everyone and everything you cared for.

You wish you will someday cease to remember what you have done. You wish you will someday no longer wish to forget. You wish that you will someday remember that this is where all began, and by living you are desecrating further the dead. You wish. . . you wish you could wish just one more time before even that lonesome flame will go forever.

But you know that this is nothing more than a lie, something you want to believe in. need to believe in, even, maybe. It's easier to feel that way; it's just how you're supposed to be feeling. Guilty. Yet as you play that awful scenario over and over in your mind, the horror pictures are passing too vividly in front of your eyes, the guilt is abandoning you. And you smile.
This is when you know that you are not worthy of redemption. You never were.

And this is fine. You were never a real believer of the Ultimate sacrifices that your entire family worshipped every time they sent another lower demon to do their dirty work, and watched him die.

Despite yourself you smile when the memory of fighting the Source of all Good is evading your thoughts. Ha, those were days…

In fact, that's the only battle you remember. The only battle worth remembering.
After all, it did kill Aunt Phoebe.

You've always thought it was better that way. She was going soft. She fell in love with The Source, an angel!
You're sure that the rest of your family felt the same way, only diplomacy made them hide their true feelings. She has been a bad name for all demons. She got attached.
And was vanquished by the source of her affection.

Well, whatever can be said about this world, and you do have a lot to say about the sickly white that rules it, it does peaks your curiosity.

After all, if Aunt Phoebe hadn't fall in love with Cole, she would have been alive. Paige wouldn't have met you all. And evil had a fighting chance. You wouldn't have to run all the time, to hide.
Ad then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't have to spend the rest of your life trying to give evil a chance, maybe then Wyatt wouldn't have turned good and Adam wouldn't have betrayed you. Maybe they both would have been alive today.
If it wasn't for Aunt Phoebe.
Maybe Bianca would have been alive.
Maybe.

So you take a big breathe and as the night falls, hiding all intentions from the eyes of the world, you emerge from hell. Because even Satan cannot dwell in the land of sinners forever. New souls have to be collected.

You reach there, the outside, and you wonder where you are going from here.
There could be said a lot of things about life, but one thing it isn't- boring. It has the tendency to come back at you in the most impropriate time and throw something at you to make you feel better. Or worse.
What it also tends to frustratingly do is to make up its mind about things, and make you do them. Throw elevators in your way to prevent you from going to darkened allies when you are not needed there. And you're not joking about it.

It has a way that you hope many times that human beings had- to make even the most casual things feel important. Coming home, for example. What can be more natural?
Except, it's not.

You know that you have to pass their doorstep, but something is stopping you. Maybe a little signal from the world. And you want to take it, want to so much, but then necessity comes and bangs it ugly head to show you the reality, and you are met with no choice. None whatsoever.
Great.

Being a tyrant has a lot of advantages. For starters, you get to do whatever you want. You weren't really the rules-follower type, so that sat quite nicely on you. In fact, that's one of the parts that drove you to the throne in the first place. But every side has a downside, and the one with tyranny- you're not used of hesitance. Of doubts.

You do what you want to do, and if you woke up in the morning and decided that sector 8 needs to be eliminated because they didn't sell you a toffee- so be it. But now, you don't have legions anymore that would do whatever you tell them to. Or at least, not yet.

Eventually you will, when you come home. Well, the future. Your real home. But until you could do that, you will first have to pass that damn doorstep to your old house. God, it's mocking you. You can feel it

Can one kill a doorstep?

What about a doormat?

Inhaling deeply, cursing the universe and promising yourself that you will kill decently someone when you're over with it, you knock on the door.