"I don't see why we need to free Pitch in order for this to work." Hittite snarled as she glared at  Furor.

Furor gave her a cold glace, his monstrous form and temper were already forming on his fetchers "Pitch has a army. A loyal army that has no imperfections. They don't have a will, they don't have opinions, and it doesn't matter if they are eliminated. More will show up. They are the perfect toys for this..." His lips snarled into a unnaturally widen gin, literally stretching ear to ear. "game." 

Hittite crossed her arms "But Pitch is a pathetic alley otherwise. So he can get a couple of kids to wet their pants. Great. But I..." The room shook, objects began to levitate as the walls bleed a red so thick it began to blacken as it pooled onto the floors. Her eyes glowed like to flashlights as her shadow raged tossing objects left and right. "But I am TERROR! I'VE DRIVEN A MANY TO MADDNESS. I-"

Before she could finish, long fingers enclosed around her throat as she was shoved against the wall and pushed down to the ground. The objects crashed. The shadow stilled and scurried back to its owner. The tension in the air was thick as the blood soaked through her white and torn gown.

Furor looked at her with an eerie calmness. His form flinched, shifted, bubbled and gurgled in a shade exact to the red on the walls. He even smelled like freshly spilled blood, and it was the only scent that dominated the room. "That may be so, Hittite. However-" he leaned closer, taking a sadistic enjoyment of seeing her shiver in horror. He was in a quite aw of how the panic rolled off of her in waves.

She was terrified. And he was fascinated.

Furor forced his mind to go back on track. There was a plan, a system. He could have all the joy's and spoils of provoking this amusing reaction later.

He release her throat. His form settled back into a nicely dressed, clean shaved man. The earlier excitement eradicated from the air. "You don't have an army. You may have the talent and power. But you don't have the resources I need."

She quickly scrambled to her feet.

He narrowed his eyes "As "pathetic" and powerless of an alley that you deemed him to be. Pitch is organized, and admiringly resourceful." He gave her a one armed shrug "and you're, not."

Furor had to give credit where it was due. Instead of whimpering or cowering back like Furor had desired, Hittite held her head up high in defiance. Nearly boasting of the fingerprint bruises that scattered across her skin on her neck. Suddenly, Furor was paralyzed in place. No doubt it was her magic at work. "That may be true. But Pitch has never won. Not even once. Despite the fact that he could form an entire army, all it takes is five Guardians to beat him."

She release him. "I propose that we take the army and kill off the 'commander'.

He raised a brow "and how do you suggest we do that?" Furor crossed his arms "both Pitch and his Nightmares are tied. Kill him, and we lose the army."

Her grin widened "We'll find a way."

Furor's teeth gleamed. He was suddenly looking forwarded to working with his new partner.