The Forgotten Saga

by nmgreenwell1125

Set 40 years after the events of the City of Heavenly Fire. Mild spoiler warning for those not finished with the Mortal Instruments series. No flamers, please.

The arching blade of Raguel

Slicing through the air like a gleaming scalpel

Plunging into the hide

Of the demon-angel

The beast reeled backwards

as the hilt struck his obsidian flesh

Michael Greenwell crumpled up the paper he bent over and threw it across the room. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, which were ringed with dark shadows. He stretched his legs out over his double bed, and rested his head on the headboard. He glanced over at his digital alarm clock. 3:52 AM.

"So much for sleeping." he said to no one in particular. He stood up, padding over to the window on the left side of the room. He unlocked the window, opening it to allow fresh air to enter the room. The howling gale sliced through the room like a knife's blade. Michael attributed this to the height of the room he was in; perhaps choosing the room at the peak of the Baltimore Institute wasn't the best idea?

He heard his door creak slightly. Michael reached for the katana blade he had by his bed, hidden cleverly by one of the bedposts. The blade was carved with mystical symbols, symbols Michael and others of his ilk knew to be Runes, the glyphs used to give Shadowhunters special powers. Runes for Power, Swiftness, and Soundlessness glowed on the blade. He held the blade in his right hand, holding it above his head, and extended his left arm towards the door, a sliver of amber glowing through the door's oaken frame.

A person strolled into his room. He was built slightly like a barrel, with burly arms. His sock covered feet slid softly over the oaken floor. His dark brown hair was shaved close to his head, and he had the makings of facial hair over his cheeks and lips. His eyes glowed jade in the dark. A jet-black Rune curled beneath his left ear, a Rune for Hearing. A silver ring glistened on his right hand, the ring emblazoned with a heart with two outstretched wings. His white T-shirt and red pajama bottoms were stained with sweat; he had obviously been downstairs, training. Two white earbuds poked out of the collar of his shirt, standing in stark contrast with the black permanent Rune over his shoulder, the Rune for parabatai.

"Ethan." Michael said, setting his katana down in its bedside sheath. "Out training, I see?"

"Yeah, one can't be too prepared, I suppose." he said, running his fingers through the stubble of his hair, then scratching his neck. "What about you? Couldn't sleep again?"

"Fifth night this week. . ." murmured Michael. Insomnia ravaged his eighteen-year-old body, barely keeping him alive. It wasn't uncommon for Michael to run on as little as two hours of sleep during a five day period. He turned back to his parabatai, taking a swig from a bottle of water he had by his bedside table. "So, how is running the Institute?"

"Yeah, it's been good." Ethan said. "Tough, but," His ears perked up, the Hearing Rune glowing faintly in the dark light of the room. "Hold on." He walked over to the right wall, opposite the window. He balled up his fist and struck the wall three times. "Quiet down in there! I can hear you! And Jacob, do try harder!"

Michael nearly choked on his water. A third man busted into his room, clad only in blue pinstriped boxers. His face was bright red with either anger or embarrassment; Michael couldn't tell which. His long black hair was a mess, his biceps protruding with force, after long hours spent daily in the training room. He has various Runes inked all over him, each with varying degrees of darkness, showing some had been recently applied. A Rune for Stamina was particularly dark over his heart. His dark brown eyes narrowed to slits.

"Piss off." hissed Jacob. Ethan smiled at Jacob. He was married to one of the other members of the Institute, Anna. Only two years older than Michael, he had the guise of a man of at least thirty-five, with a full grown beard and scarred face.

"Not my fault if you are inadequate at husbandly duties." said Ethan, smirking lightly.

"Hey, now." Michael said, extending a hand to separate his parabatai and Jacob. "Insulting a man's love-making is worse than insulting his mother."

A young woman walked up behind Jacob, wrapping her arms around his stomach from behind. Her long brown hair was done up in a french braid, and she wore a pastel pink peignoir set, with matching slippers. Her black glasses stood out against her green eyes.

"C'mon, baby, let's head back to sleep." she said, shutting her eyes against his back.

"That sounds like a good idea." Michael said. "How is Lindsay?"

Anna stiffened. "She's about the same." she whispered. "She hasn't woken up yet. Demon poison is some potent stuff."

"Remember, Michael, Lindsay just Ascended. You got married, what, a week ago? And she got attacked by a demon while you were honeymooning in Peru. Granted, it was just a Ravener demon, not very deadly to Shadowhunters, but to a normal human, it is nigh-fatal. She's still susceptible to human injuries." explained Ethan.

"Ravener?" asked Jacob. "A Ravener attacked you guys?"

"Yeah. Ugly bugger too." Michael said, shuddering. He hated Raveners, the way they squirmed and leeched off people. Ethan's ears perked up again. The Rune of Hearing glowed brighter.

"Get away from the windows!" screamed Ethan, pulling Michael back, edging Jacob and Anna into the hallway.

The glass in Michael's room suddenly exploded into millions of shards. A humanoid form stood hunched over in the pool of moonlight streaming in from the broken window. The humanoid stood up.

Whatever this creature was, it most certainly was not human. It stood about seven feet tall, and had two wings exiting its back. One wing had lush feathers radiating around it, each glowing sterling silver. The other was devoid of feathers, and the skeletal bones that formed the wings were as sharp as blades. One of the creature's eyes were gold; the other was a dark crimson. The creature brandished two broadswords. One glowed gold, and radiated a sort of heavenly presence; the other looked hewn from bone and rusted metal, and looked pure evil to the core. The creature lumbered towards the four Shadowhunters.

Ethan sprinted down the hallway, Michael, Jacob, and Anna hot on his heels. The creature followed suit, gaining ground by the second. Ethan broke through one of the doors and seized up two large metal razor-tipped disks. He tossed them to Michael, who caught them expertly. The creature sprinted towards them with a terrifying speed, a speed that, even to Shadowhunters, would've been undetectable. However, the Rune of Sight glowed on Michael's forehead, as he captured the next events as if they were slowed down a thousand times over.

"Saraquael! Gabriel!" Michael screamed. The two disks flared up with light, sparking at the ends of the razor tips. Michael threw Saraquael, lodging it in the creature's chest. The creature sheathed its bone sword quickly, scrabbling at the flames licking up its body from the disk. A few moments later, Michael threw Gabriel, entrapping the creature in a cylinder of bright light.

All of this transpired before Anna could even string an arrow into the bow she held, or Jacob could reach a greatsword on the other side of the modest training room. Jacob held the blade awkwardly, as if he were fighting an invisible foe. Jacob dropped the blade to his side. Anna lessened the pull on her bow, before resheathing her arrow.

"Well," said Ethan, wiping his forehead. "I believe that this is the first time that a demon has been slain by someone in boxers."

Jacob smirked at Ethan, a wry sort of thing that didn't really suit his personality.

"How in the Angel's name did you do that, Michael?" asked Anna. "I barely had an arrow strung before the creature was trapped."

"That is the power of the Oculus Rune." explained Ethan. "It's like my Vox Rune. It's one of the permanent Runes. It grants the bearer a special ability. Mine, for example, allows me exceptional hearing out of my left ear. Michael's, however, only activates when utilizing sacred weapons, used by angels. For instance, Saraquael and Gabriel."

"That's. . .freaking awesome." said Jacob. Michael smirked, then ran off at a jog towards the Sanctuary.

The Sanctuary was, ironically, one of the only places In the Institute that wasn't completely sanctified. The Sanctuary served as a holding cell of sorts for Downworlders—the creatures whom the Shadowhunters policed. Occasionally, the Shadowhunters were required to take in Downworlders that were menaces to society—rogue vampires, warlocks involved in prostitution rings, et cetera. It also housed an infirmary for Shadowhunters who suffered wounds that left them desanctified.

Michael jogged to this portion of the Sanctuary. In this portion were two rows of cordoned off sections, each section about the size of a small bedroom. Michael jogged down to the far section on the right.

Inside the room was a plain white bed and a machine. The machine kept track of vitals—blood pressure, hemoglobin counts, and things of that nature. A small chair sat inside the section, covered with some ungodly fabric of purple squares crisscrossed with neon green diamonds. A person lay in the bed, her long brown hair fanning out behind her. Two dark puncture wounds protruded from her right arm, which lay outstretched over the thin covers. Her lips were a pale blue color. Her eyes were shut, her brown irises barely visible beneath. Michael pulled back an errant strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear.

Her eyes opened minimally, as she turned her head to press her lips against his palm. She smiled, faintly, pressing against his hand.

"Hey, sweetie." she said, smiling.

"You're awake." he said. He pulled back, sitting on the edge of her bed. "Apologies if I woke you."

She yawned. "No, the Silent Brothers have been helping me. Brother Nehemiah has been tremendous."

"Very few people can withstand Ravener poison. It's quite potent." Michael explained. "And for one who Ascended just so recently, it's quite admirable that you survived, Lindsay."

She shot daggers at him. "Michael!"

"It's true." Michael said, shrugging.

"What happened to you?" Lindsay asked, noting the long gash that ran along his arm. It had begun to scab over after the conflict with the creature, miraculously. Had Michael thought to apply an iratze as he went to the Sanctuary, would Lindsay have noticed?

"I must've hit my arm as I was going down here." Michael lied.

"You smell like demon." said Lindsay. "Now, what happened?"

Michael told Lindsay of what had transpired that night: his insomnia, the creature that moved with its terrifying speed and ability, and its imprisoning within the twin chakhrams. Lindsay struggled into a sitting position and tried to climb out of the bed.

"What in the name of the Angel do you think you're doing?" Michael asked, pushing her gently back down into the bed with his right hand.

"I want to go up there and see what is going on!" Lindsay said indignantly.

"You have no business going up in the condition that you're in." Michael said finally. "You're too sick. Once you're better, you can go up." Lindsay sat back, glaring angrily.

"What's going on?" asked Ethan, who climbed down the stairs. He looked at Lindsay incredulously. "The Silent Brothers predicted she wouldn't wake up for at least three more days."

"Well, I'm awake now." said Lindsay. "And he won't let me go up to see the creature you guys fought."

"He is your husband, after all." said Ethan. "But, Michael, she does appear to be up and well. If she wants to go up and see it, I see no reason why she can't."

At this, Lindsay was up like a shot, arms wrapped around Ethan's neck. "Thank you!" she screamed. She pounded up the stairs quickly.

Michael turned to look at his parabatai. "I couldn't deny her that. She's a member of the Institute now." said Ethan, shrugging. They marched up the stairs side by side. They made their way to the artifact room. The creature thrashed about in the golden cylinder between Saraquael and Gabriel. It crashed against the cylinder, causing its demon skin to welt with white blisters.

Lindsay looked at the cylinder, looked at the creature inside. Her face was one of confusion.

"I don't understand." she said. "Why is my brother in here?"

(**(**(*)**)**)

"Your brother?!" screamed Ethan and Michael in unison.

The creature pounded on the cylinder, its clawed demon hand raking the cylinder. The creature, up close, resembled a twelve year old boy, although an incredibly tall and muscular one. He had a shock of brown hair, and his face was divided clean down the middle by a vicious scar line. He was shirtless, and the scar dipped below his torn trousers. He lacked any pupils in his eyes, his irises glowing.

"I know it's my brother." said Lindsay.

"Your brother is some thing, and you're a prospective Shadowhunter." said Ethan. "Your parents will have some explaining to do."

"This isn't my brother!" screamed Lindsay. "I mean, it is! His spirit is his! But, something happened to him!"

"So you're saying," said Jacob, who came into the room as soon as he had heard the screaming of Michael and Ethan. Anna, too, was there, sitting in Jacob's lap atop a small end table. "That that. . .thing is your brother?" He stood up, causing Anna to step to his side. "Or, rather, it possesses his spirit?"

"Yes. . ." said Lindsay. Jacob stood up, stretching.

"Well, then, we need to tell the Clave." he said finally.

"We can't do that!" Michael exploded. "There'll be an inquiry! That thing will die, abandoning whatever hope we might have of saving it, and. . .and. . ."

"And Lindsay will be excommunicated. What few Marks she bears will be stripped." said Ethan, arms crossed in front of him, the cylinder of the two chakhrams behind him. "It will be the ultimate dishonor to the Institute, to Michael, and to Lindsay."

"That thing, regardless of whomever's brother it once was," said Jacob, gesturing to the angel-demon. "Is part-demon. It is our duty, as Shadowhunters, to destroy demons. It is also a crime of incredulous proportions to harbor an angel. Do we want that to tarnish the Institute?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this. . ." Michael said, not looking at Lindsay. "Really, I can't. . .but I agree with Jacob. Losing the Institute is too valuable. Perhaps if we say that Lindsay's brother's soul still remains within this thing, they can save him."

"That seems fair. We can go to the Clave tomorrow." Ethan said. "Lindsay, what say you in all of this?"

Lindsay was silent. She hated more than anything to abandon her brother, hidden within the body of this creature or not. She knew, however, how much the Institute meant to not only Ethan, but her husband as well.

"I think that is fair." she said finally. Michael slid his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her reassuringly.

"I'll send a letter to the Consul." said Ethan, turning towards the door. "Everyone, get some sleep."

"Got it, boss man." said Michael, casually saluting him. Ethan waved back, before shutting the door.

Suddenly, everything began to spin in Michael's vision. The room began to spin around him. The Oculus Rune began to glow. He dropped to his knees before the cylinder, which held the creature. The creature's angelic hand was extended, clawing through the cylinder of Gabriel and Saraquael. Michael's vision began to blur, dissipating into a black veil. Before his vision completely gave out, he saw Jacob grab a cross from the wall and heave it at the creature.

(**(**(*)**)**)

Ethan pulled on his leather jacket and swore under his breath. He was lucky to have made such a quick exit. He could hear that the creature was gathering strength from the Runes on Michael and him. It started like a faint hum, but it graduated into a larger whine only discernible from the Vox Rune.

Ethan slung his blade on over his jacket. He applied a quick glamour Rune, slid on his boots, and walked out of the Institute. He strode over to a small pub, a few blocks from the Institute. It was a well-known Downworlder haunt. He saw a few werewolves walking in and out of the club. To the untrained eye, it would seem like a dilapidated warehouse. Or rather, to one who didn't possess the Sight.

Ethan edged past a small group of about four werewolves standing in a circle, smoking cigarettes. Inside the pub was quite crowded. A faerie waitress named Iris took him to a small table in the far right corner of the pub. Ethan looked around. He saw a humanoid creature sitting in a small alcove on the right wall from where he was sitting, left from the entrance.

The creature was most decidedly not human. He may have had the general build of a human—two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head—but resemblances stopped there. His three red eyes—one of which, in the center of his head, did not blink—fluttered lazily around the pub. His large diamond shaped fingernails, the color of lavender, traced the rim of the glass he drank from, which was filled with a black, tarlike substance. His clothes seemed somewhat normal, even to a mundane: a black t-shirt slightly less dark than his skin, blue jeans with frayed bottoms, and Chuck Taylor sneakers. His white hair swept over his head.

Ethan walked over to him. The gem on the hilt of his blade glowed red, the symbol of demonic activity in the area.

"Why do you stand before me, Shadowhunter?" asked the demon. He looked like a typical teenager.

"You. Demon." said Ethan, jabbing his pointer finger of his leather glove-clad hand at him. "Come outside with me."

"You dare to speak to me like that, Shadowhunter?" asked the demon, standing up, cracking his neck. "I've killed scores of your kind."

Ethan flipped Raguel into the air, catching it hilt-first and extending it towards the demon. "Raguel." Ethan whispered. The blade flared to life, glowing in his hand, the Runes standing out stark against the blade's face. The demon looked at the blade.

"Why do you stand before me?" asked the demon once more.

"Come with me." Ethan said. "Now."

The demon casually stood up, glass in hand, and followed Ethan outside. Outside the pub was a small courtyard. A lone tree grew in the center, and underneath were two benches. The demon strode around the courtyard.

"Now," said the demon, turning on Ethan. "Why do you stand before me?"

"Do you know of a demon by the name of Merihim?" asked Ethan.

"Know him?" asked the demon, laughing. "He is a demonic prince!"

"I want you to summon him." Ethan said. He extended Raguel. "Or I'll kill you, slowly and painfully."

"Why should I heed your call, Shadowhunter? I have been newly born! I am a demon born of the great Mother, Lilith! My name is Matchitehew." screamed the demon.

"You were born of Lilith?" asked Ethan, sheathing Raguel.

"Yes. It appears that this Shadowhunter is not only imbecilic, but deaf!" said Matchitehew.

"Who was your father?" asked Ethan.

Matchitehew was quiet at this. His eyes narrowed to slits, his third eye glowed a shade darker than it had before. He thrusted his hands into his pockets.

"What difference does it make, Shadowhunter?" asked Matchitehew. "My father pissed on your kind. He brought you to your knees hundreds of years ago!" He edged closer to Ethan. "So if you think I am ashamed of my father, you are dead wrong. And if you think that my father won't come back to render you useless, then" The word caught in his throat as he made a sick rasping noise. He smirked as he rubbed his throat, the word 'God' unspoken on his lips. "then You-Know-Who shall not save you. My father is Ithuriel." His eyes glowed with malice. "Or, rather, was, until his tenure was prematurely ended due to your kind."

"Valentine Morgenstern's actions had no bearing on the Clave whatsoever, let alone on the lineage of the Shadowhunters." said Ethan. "And you seem awfully political for a demon."

"Hm. Perhaps." said Matchitehew. "In any case, I bid you adieu, Shadowhunter."

"Wait!" said Ethan.

"What is it now?" asked Matchitehew.

"My brother. . ." said Ethan. "He's very ill. He's losing his eyesight. Only the Oculus Rune on his forehead is saving him now. His vision will deteriorate in a matter of a few years. A creature, a demon-angel hybrid, from the looks of it, was found in our Institute. It performed something that removed the Oculus Rune. There is nothing in this world or any other that can remove a permanent Rune. So, I ask: What exactly is that creature?"

"By your brother, you refer to your parabatai?" asked Matchitehew. "I am familiar with your customs, Shadowhunter. These creatures—these demon-angel hybrids, were they? I have only heard whispers of them. These creatures are known as the Forgotten—creatures rejected by both You-Know-Who and Lucifer. Angels and demons gave their blood in unison to a corpse. Not only was it reanimated, but it was stronger, faster, and more lethal."

"Shadowhunters can only bear angel or demon blood, not both at once." said Ethan.

"Ah, yes, Jonathon Herondale and Jonathon Morgenstern. Angel blood and demon blood respectively, yes?" asked Matchitehew. "You know not what you are dealing with. Tread carefully, Angel warrior. For when you fall, you, too, will be Forgotten."

And Matchitehew vanished in a plume of dark fire, leaving only the shattered remnants of his glass and whatever lay in it. From here, Ethan could register what it was: human blood.

(**(**(*)**)**)

Everything happened in an instant.

Michael suddenly falling to his knees, hands gripped around his face as blood streamed down his cheeks. The black Oculus Rune on his forehead glowing bright, impossibly bright, as it slowly faded from his skin. The angel-demon's outstretched angel hand, reaching through the cylinder of light, his hand glowing brighter as the energy from the Oculus Rune dissipated. Jacob seizing up the large crucifix on the far wall, before skewering the creature in a quick motion.

Lindsay sprinted over to Michael, lying on his knees, head buried in his lap. She rubbed his back soothingly, feeling the corded muscles in his shoulder blades.

"Sweetie, please, let me see." Lindsay begged. Michael shuddered as he exhaled, and he lifted his head to hers.

She almost immediately regretted it. His eyes had somehow vanished, replaced by only two bleeding, hollowed out hemispheres. Jacob ran over to him, standing over him. Michael turned up towards his voice.

"Mike! What the hell happened he—By the Angel. . ." he said, once he saw what remained of Michael's eyes. Jacob pulled Michael effortlessly into his arms, and sprinted towards the infirmary, Lindsay and Anna hot on his heels.

Please let him be okay. Lindsay thought, as Jacob laid Michael in an infirmary bed. Michael had gone quiet; only the faint rise and fall of his chest let Lindsay know he was still alive. Jacob bound his head with white gauze. Little red pinpoints began to seep through the gauze. Jacob applied an iratze to Michael's inner forearm; this prevented the pinpoints from growing. Lindsay clasped her hand in Michael's, lacing her fingers in his.

"Jacob, what happened?" asked Anna quietly, as she swapped out Michael's gauze, desperately trying not to look at Michael's face. Lindsay thought this quite peculiar; after all, since Shadowhunters had killed demons, why couldn't they stand a little blood?

"That, my dear Lindsay, is because we apply Runes before fights, to minimize blood loss." said Jacob, not looking up. Once he did, at Lindsay's shocked expression, he added "I, too, have a permanent Rune. It allows me to telepathically read the minds of others. It also allows me to determine when others are lying."

"Does everyone have a permanent Rune?" asked Lindsay, looking at Anna.

"It seems that you're the only one who doesn't." said Anna, pulling her sleeve up to show a Rune on the front of her shoulder. "Mine is the mnemosyne. Memory rune."

Michael stirred on the infirmary bed. Lindsay sat down quickly beside him.

"L. . .Lindsay?" Michael groaned. Lindsay buried her face in his shoulders, holding him tight.

Suddenly, the doors of the infirmary burst open. About twenty or thirty Shadowhunters, all clad in black armor, some drawing weapons, appeared in front of the infirmary bed. Standing in the center of the crowd was Inquisitor Alec Lightwood.

Alec was a tall man, just over six feet tall, like his father. He had piercing blue eyes and dark hair, streaked with silver. A small ring glistened on his finger, a gift, Lindsay presumed, from his husband, Magnus Bane. Normally, relationships between Shadowhunters and Downworlders were strictly forbidden, but after the events in the Mortal War, events which both men had played parts in, the rules had been suspended in their instance. Alec was a kind hearted, warm individual.

The man with him, however, was not. He was about a head taller than Alec. He carried two tonfa sticks, the lengths of which were covered by a single curved blade. A wicked scar carved through his right eye, causing it to squint shut. The center of his oil black hair was streaked with white.

"By the order of the Clave, place your hands in the air! You are under arrest for harboring an angel!" he screamed.

Michael sat up. "Inquisitor Lightwood. What an honor."

"Shut up!" said the man, leveling the blades at Michael.

"Roy, he can't see you." whispered Alec. Although, considering it was Inquisitor Lightwood, Lindsay suspected that that was his normal conversational volume. "Look at the band around his eyes. It's bloody."

"Inquisitor, we haven't been harboring an angel!" said Anna.

"I'm sorry, all, but I have a report that you have been bearing an angel." said the Inquisitor. "Roy, place binding Runes on everyone here, except for Mr. Greenwell. I don't think he can tell left from right at this point."

Lindsay felt the hot sting of the stele on her arms, causing her hands to be bound behind her with rings of fire.

Roy shoved her, not so lightly, onto her knees. Michael landed beside her.

"Now." said the Inquisitor, sitting on the infirmary bed where Michael had laid prior. "Does anyone care to explain what happened? Or do I just get to drag you all off to Idris to have your Runes stripped?"

Lindsay opened her mouth to say something, but Michael had begun to speak. He explained everything, from their encounter with an angel-demon hybrid, to the incident with the Oculus Rune. The Inquisitor nodded as he spoke, interjecting with questions every so often.

When Michael finally finished, the Inquisitor sat forward, elbows on his knees, hands folded under his chin as if he were praying.

"Dammit." said the Inquisitor, who stood up angrily. "It's already begun."

"What's already begun?" asked Lindsay.

"The war." said the Inquisitor, who turned to converse with a cadre of five or six Shadowhunters behind him. The Shadowhunters hauled them upwards, dragging them towards the door.

"What are you doing?" screamed Jacob. "Let us go!"

"I'm sorry." said the Inquisitor, sadness flooding his eyes. "Once we get to Idris, I can't guarantee that you will exit the same way that you entered."

(**(**(*)**)**)

Michael, had he been able to see, would have marveled at the beauties of Idris. The glittering towers of adamas, the same materials the steles were composed of, soared high into the sky. The rolling green hillsides masked the graves of Shadowhunters who had fallen in the many wars of Shadowhunter culture. The city itself looked Victorian in origin, small cottages leading up to the Gard, where Council meetings took place. The whole locale radiated a sense of wonder.

Or, perhaps it would have, had Michael, Lindsay, Anna, and Jacob not all been marched up to the Gard like common prisoners. The Inquisitor, after hearing his tale, had not said much in the way of the angel-demon creature, of Lindsay's brother.

Michael and company had been lead down a series of twisting and turning corridors, until they came to a stop. Michael could tell that the area, or at least the floor, had been hewn from stone. They were most likely in the dungeon. Michael heard the terrible sound of metal grinding on stone, as he was thrown into a cell. Roy was an exceptionally strong Shadowhunter, and when he threw Michael into the cell, Michael's head cracked against the back wall of the six foot square room. Soon after, he felt a softer mass land against his leg: Lindsay. Michael rubbed the back of his head where he struck it, then sat up. Soon after, he heard a vicious torrent of swears coming from his left side; Jacob must've been thrown with an equal amount of force. He also heard Anna's soft consolatory remarks.

"Where are we, Lindsay?" asked Michael.

"We're in the dungeon, I guess." said Lindsay. "I've never been to Idris before. The city is so pretty."

"Not much to see—No offense, Mike." called Jacob. "Especially from below ground."

"What do you think will happen?" whispered Lindsay.

"Like I said, it's a crime of geriatric proportions to harbor an angel without the Clave's consent." said Jacob. "Most likely, our Marks will be stripped. We will be thrust into the world, to live as mundanes, forbidden to know about the Downworld, our minds wiped completely of the world of Shadowhunters."

"But that's my brother!" screamed Lindsay.

"Shh!" ordered Michael, pressing his finger to Lindsay's lips. He could hear the soft clicking of boots on the stone.

Roy reentered the room, steaming mad, from his stream of expletives leaving his mouth.

"Get in there, you!" screamed Roy, throwing someone into the cell on the right of Michael. A voice in there muttered something along the lines of 'trucking fithead'. As soon as his boots faded from sound, the voice continued its torrent of expletives that even made Michael, who swore like an Irish sailor who had a little too much to drink, shudder.

There was only one person Michael knew who swore as fluently and loudly as this one.

"What are you doing in Idris?" Michael asked. "Ethan Heartwright?"

(**(**(*)**)**)

Ethan, bruised and bloody, sucked in his breath. He knew Michael was his parabatai; he had known that since Michael asked him to be his when they he was fifteen. Michael knew his favorite color (green, like an evergreen tree), knew his favorite genre of music (hard rock—it helped to put him in a fighting mood), knew his favorite food (pasties—hearty, savory, good for before battle), even knew his preference in women (German, blonde), but his voice? Every little intonation of his voice? It seemed so. . .unlikely.

Now, it was all Ethan could do not to scream out loud. How could Michael have known it was he?! Sure, he had sworn a gratuitous amount, so maybe that had given it away.

It had happened so fast. Ethan had left the pub, reapplying a glamour Rune in the alleyway to ensure he couldn't be seen. He strode through the city, oblivious to all its inhabitants, who walked around him, but didn't see him. The Shadowhunters, who were under command of that Roy fellow, one of the lead soldiers under Inquisitor Lightwood, grabbed him and threw him against a wall in the alleyway. They applied a binding Rune to both of his hands, forced a bag over his head, and dragged him off to Idris.

"Michael. . .soon our memories will be erased. I saw Consul Herondale up there. He was discussing our fates with Inquisitor Lightwood." said Ethan. "I just hope that. . .you don't forget us."

Suddenly, the door of his cell swung open. In it stood Roy. He had two chakhrams hooked on his belt, two katanas sheathed on his back, a stele in his right hand, and a witchlight stone in his left hand.

"Come with me." said Roy. He heaved Ethan up, before applying binding Runes to his feet. He dragged Ethan first to Michael's cell, scrawling a quick Opening Rune on the door. Lindsay helped Michael out. Michael raising his head so he would've looked Ethan in the eyes. Finally, Roy pulled Anna and Jacob out of their cells, Anna's eyes puffy from crying.

Ethan walked slowly, methodically, looking around the hallways as they rose closer and closer to their demise. The stained glass windows were emblazoned with the same recurring motif of an angel, rising out of a glimmering lake, a sword in one hand, a goblet in the other. It represented the angel Raziel, rising from Lake Lyn, just outside Idris, to give unto Jonathon Shadowhunter the Mortal Instruments.

They were lead into a large, semicircular, amphitheater style room. About thirty elder Shadowhunters sat in a semicircle midway up the theater, from one wall of the room to the other. In the center of the lower floor of the room sat Consul Herondale, behind a small podium.

Consul Herondale and Inquisitor Lightwood were parabatai, as Ethan knew from his studies of Shadowhunter lore. No one could ever forget Jonathon 'Jace' Morgenstern-Wayland-Lightwood-Herondale. Consul Herondale had been Jonathon Morgenstern's step-brother, and Valentine Morgenstern their adoptive father. Consul Herondale was peculiar in that heavenly fire coursed through his veins. A side effect of when his then-girlfriend, now-wife Clarissa had impaled him with an angelic blade, Glorious. The Consul was not an exceptionally large man, around five foot nine, with slight features and a somewhat huskier build than that of the Inquisitor.

Two Silent Brothers stood behind the Consul, on either side of him. Although Ethan had grown up with the Silent Brothers, as they were the typical doctors and healers of the Shadowhunters, something about them simply seemed off to Ethan. Perhaps it was the way that they pawed around inside his mind when they spoke, or maybe it was the fact that their eyes and mouths were sewn shut? In any case, they rattled Ethan simply by their presence. There was also a third robed figure, robes colored differently than those of the Silent Brothers, standing beside the Consul, but Ethan couldn't determine who it was.

"You all are being tried for harboring an angel without explicit permission from the Clave." explained the Consul. "Your punishment is that your Marks shall be stripped, and you will lose all memory of being a Shadowhunter. It is impossible to remove the Sight from you—it is embedded in your veins, in your blood, in your DNA. However, it is possible to make you unable to comprehend what you see. For that, I have enlisted the help of Brothers Uriah, Matthias, and Malachi. "

"Michael and Lindsay Greenwell." said the Consul, turning to Michael. "You both shall be permitted to stay in Baltimore, together. Michael shall have a single Rune placed on him, which will grant him his eyesight back."

"How is that possible?" asked Ethan.

There is little that you know, Heartwright. Boomed a voice belonging to one of the Silent Brothers; which one, Ethan could not tell. One of the Brothers in the traditional robes pulled Michael's shirt up, tracing a Rune that Ethan had never seen before on Michael's spine, directly between his shouder blades. Michael arched backwards and screamed. Suddenly, the other traditionally robed Brother removed Michael's gauze. Ethan could scarcely believe his eyes.

White flesh began to knit back together in Michael's eye sockets. It began to coalesce into two small spheres, each marked by a split gold and silver iris. Michael's eyes had returned.

Michael pitched forward, catching himself on his hands and knees. He raised his head to the Consul. His irises flashed. It was almost shocking to see such a contrast in a single person's irises; such a stark contrast between the brightest of gold and the coldest of silver simply shouldn't have been possible.

"Anna and Jacob Dragonsbane." said the Consul, turning to Anna and Jacob. "You both shall be transported to London. We have transported your belongings for you already."

"And Ethan Fireborn." he said finally, turning his attention to him. "You will be transported to Berlin. You will catch a flight tomorrow morning, as will the Dragonsbanes."

"I can't." said Ethan immediately. "Parabatai code. I am bound to Michael. 'Whither thou goest, I will go'."

"Your Runes shall be stripped. Including the permanent Runes." said the Consul.

"Show a little respect!" exploded Ethan, throwing his hands up. "How dare you desire to remove two warriors, bound by oath to never leave the other's side? What if someone removed your parabatai with Inquisitor Lightwood? What if someone removed your Wedded Union with Clarissa?" The Consul's mouth thinned at this. "Damn any of the other Runes, but at least let us keep parabatai and Wedded Union."

"Enough." said the Consul, standing up. He held a stele in his hand. He grabbed Michael by the back of his neck, forcing him to the floor. Ethan was forced to the ground by the Brother in the oddly colored robes. Whereas Silent Brothers wore parchment colored robes, this one wore robes that were the color of a stormy sky.

The fingers of the Silent Brother were like ice on his back. He smelled very odd, like smoke and burning tar. Distinctly unShadowhunter-ly. Ethan noticed that the Silent Brother's fingernails were lavender.

The Brother leaned forward towards him. Ethan caught a glimpse of blue skin. So, not a Shadowhunter as he suspected. Perhaps a warlock?

"Play along, Shadowhunter." he whispered quickly. "I may despise your kind, but I know when the world is going to get its shit wrecked. So, let us get a few things straight. Firstly, if anyone asks, I am a warlock who married a Shadowhunter by means of Ascension. My name is Matthew. Secondly, this Rune will not completely eliminate your memory, but it will erase it momentarily. Play along like it is completely wiped. Finally, once we get to Berlin, we are partners. Now hold on. This may get a little dicey."

Ethan's head spun as the Rune was clawed into his skin. Everything began to spin as he world vanished before him.

(**(**(*)**)**)

Michael's head snapped upward as he looked around. He was sitting on a plane, Lindsay asleep on his shoulder. He looked out the window. Endless waves of clouds rolled around the aircraft. It was twilight, the sun dipping just beyond the horizon.

Lindsay stirred in her sleep, eyes fluttering. She inclined her eyes to Michael's, smiling lightly. "Hey sweetie."

"Um, Lindsay," asked Michael. "Why are we on a plane?"

"Don't you remember, silly?" asked Lindsay, putting her hand on his cheek. "We went to go visit my sister and her family in India?"

"Oh, yes, right." said Michael. Truth be told, Michael didn't remember. It was strange, Michael thought. Michael had little memory from before getting on the plane. He knew he was married to Lindsay, and that he lived in Baltimore. He ran a martial arts school, where he trained advanced combat styles. Lindsay was a gardener at the local nursery. But everything else— who his parents were, who his friends were, what the bizarre tattoos over his heart and back meant—were a mystery.

The flight attendant walked down the aisle. She leaned over, relieving Michael and Lindsay of their in flight meals. Michael noticed, about two rows in front of him, and across the aisle, a very peculiar individual.

The individual had stark black hair, combed back into a small ponytail that sat atop his head. His bare pale arms were covered in spiraling black tattoos. His right hand consisted of a large metal glove, with four letters inscribed into the knuckles: J-A-C-K. He assumed that to be his name.

Once the plane landed, Michael grabbed their suitcases and caught a taxi to their house. They lived in a small home outside of Baltimore City. They had decent acreage, Michael thought, good for raising children if they decided to. The home was two stories, two bedroom and bathroom. The house was a dark red, with black shutters. The taxi pulled up to the house. Michael went to tip the taxi, and caught something very intriguing out of the corner of his eye.

The man from the plane, eyes visible from beneath a black fedora, was looking at them. He held his good hand up to his left ear. He wore black sunglasses, and a black leather jacket over his white tank top and black pants. His black combat boots held a knife in the top. The hilt was intricately carved, and radiated a soft glow.

"Ja,Sierra. Ich habemeinen Blickaufihn jetzt. Er scheint nichtauf mich aufmerksam- Warten. Verdammt!Er kann michsehen!Wie?!Siesagte, dass ernicht in der Lagezu verstehen, waswir sind, ist! Ichbin auf dem Weg!" said the man, screaming louder once he noticed Michael looking at him. He sprinted down the street, seemingly disappearing into the horizon.

Michael stood dumbfounded on the street for a moment. What was that man just saying? Was he speaking. . .German? Michael walked back to the house, and opened the door.

His eyes instantly widened. Lindsay was sitting on the couch, legs crossed seductively over each other. The only thing covering her body was a short black dress. It clung to her curves, outlining every little definition of her body.

"Lindsay?" asked Michael. "What are you. . .wearing?"

Lindsay sauntered over to Michael, wrapping her arms around his neck and shoulders from behind. "Oh, just a little something I pulled out of the closet." she purred, lips stroking his ear. "Come cuddle with me, darling."

Michael sat down on the couch, Lindsay swinging into his lap, lightly kissing him on the nose. Gradually, the kisses grew in intensity, Michael parting Lindsay's lips as he began to release any tension he had, any memories of the man with J-A-C-K on his knuckles, any memories that didn't involve Lindsay and he together.

(**(**(*)**)**)

Jacob and Anna stepped off of the plane headed for London. Anna hadn't really remembered why they were headed to London—which was exceptional, because she had long considered herself to be an individual of exceptional memory. She thought it was to visit a relative.

"Come on, dear." said Jacob, holding her arm lightly. He steered her towards a taxi, and threw their overnight bags into the trunk—rather, Anna's overnight bag and a Ziploc bag containing Jacob's toothbrush, toothpaste and soap. Jacob slid in, paid the taxi driver a few dollars—No, Anna reminded herself, Pounds—and helped Anna in after. The sky was incredibly dreary, which made Anna sleepy. She noticed, among the high buildings in London, a figure darting across the top of the buildings. Three more of these figures seemed to be darting across the street.

"Do you see those, babe?" asked Jacob. "Street performers?"

"Nah, those are a gang that has been running around the city recently. They call themselves Umbram Venatores." said the taxi driver. "They don't seem to be causing any trouble. But, whenever the local authorities try to arrest them, they just vanish. Like shadows." He stopped at a light, where two more of these figures sprinted across the crosswalks. Anna squinted out of the windshield to look at them.

One of them looked quite muscular, stronger, even, than Jacob, who went to the gym nearly every day. He wore a white muscle shirt, which showed off his tattooed arms. But, unlike the tattoo of a rose on Anna's bicep from a summer with Jacob in New Jersey, these tattoos seemed to convey. . .power, of some sort. Speeds quicker than other humans, stronger than any creature on Earth, every marking radiated power. He had a long scar through his right eye. His left hand was a metal glove, each knuckle embedded with a large spike.

"Oi! Jacques! Come off it, mate!" screamed a voice.

"I'm coming." said the man—Jacques, Anna supposed—quietly, in a thick German accent. The man took one last look at Anna. Anna nonchalantly waved at the man. The man's eyes widened, then he sprinted away from the taxi.

Jacob turned to look at Anna. "What the hell was that about?"

"I have no idea." said Anna. "I just waved to him and he acted like he saw a ghost. Ran like crazy."

"You know him? Ex-boyfriend, perhaps?" asked Jacob, lightly elbowing her. She smirked, elbowing him back.

They finally arrived at their home. It was a small apartment, on the fifth floor, the top floor. Jacob and Anna carried their belongings up to the apartment. Anna stepped inside and flopped down onto the single bed. Suddenly, she heard arguing on the roof.

"Wot? Ye mean she saw ye?" asked a voice, the same voice who called for Jacques. "Inn't that wot Sierra told ye ta not do?!"

"I'm well aware, Klaus." said Jacques, barely perceptible unless Anna strained her ears. "Sierra is gonna kill me when we come back."

"Aye, well she might kill ye anyway, wot with this fake Shadowhunter business, 'n all." said Klaus.

"Well, we needed a cover up." said Jacques, walking about the roof. "Although, most mundanes are pretty stupid. You know, they have these weird devices in their homes. They're called 'video games'. They simulate our reality. The audacity!"

"Blimey." said Klaus. Anna's head spun with the terms Jacques used. Shadowhunters? Sierra? Video games being weird technology?

Suddenly, she was aware of Jacob standing in the bathroom door. He wore only his boxers. He climbed onto her, gently pressing his lips into her neck.

"Arr, Blackbeard wants to get his pirate booty!" whispered Jacob hotly into her ear, his black facial scruff rubbing her cheek. His hands rubbed her back, sending little chills up her spine, as she moaned loudly until the sounds of Jacques and Klaus were lost.

(**(**(*)**)**)

Ethan and Matt touched down in Berlin. Snow had just begun to fall, obscuring the sky in its white chaos.

"So, what is the plan?" asked Ethan, ducking into the nearby shop to purchase a black leather jacket, which he zipped up to his chin. Matt wore a scarf obscuring every bit of his face except for his eyes, which were obscured with sunglasses.

"Well, we need to find an old acquaintance of mine." said Matchitehew, trying not to make his voice reverberate throughout the shop. "Her name is Sierra Aldertree. She runs the Berlin Institute. She has two twin brothers."

Ethan paid the shopkeep and left the shop. Matt shivered as he walked outside. "Lucifer! How do you people handle this cold?" asked Matt, swearing in Purgatic under his breath.

"Isn't one of the circles of Hell really cold?" asked Ethan.

"That's the domain of one of the Queen's of Hell, Morgana." said Matt. "No Lesser Demons are allowed in."

"I always meant to ask you." said Ethan.

"What?" asked Matt.

"Demons are supposed to hate Shadowhunters with a passion. If it had been any other demon, it would've let me lose my memory and have tortured me as I did. Why is it that you did not?" asked Ethan.

Matt let out a long sigh. "For that, you must know my past. My mother was Lilith, as you know. She was the one who poured out her blood to cause me to live. Ithuriel gave my body life, as a pawn of Valentine. I was one of the first of the demon-angel hybrids. However, I. . .was not satisfactory. I was delegated to a demonic King and Queen. Queen Morgana and King Adramelech. They were eager to oblige in Valentine's creation of demon-angel hybrids. My sister, Ascetus, was impregnated with an angel-demon. She was but a youngling." Matt shuddered; from the cold or from the story, Ethan couldn't tell. "So, I think that the mixing of genetics of angels and demons is a perversion of nature. So, yes, Ethan, you could call us allies."

"How does that work though?" asked Ethan. "Like, do they just. . .y'know. . .do what Shadowhunters do?"

"Yes." said Matt. "It usually causes the death of the angel, however." He paused for a moment. "Or is it re-death? I never really understood that. Is a newborn demon stillborn, because demons are all dead?" Matt's arm shot out, stopping Ethan. "We're here."

They arrived at a large cathedral. It was Gothic in styling, its spires rising and swirling into the skies.

"Can you enter cathedrals?" asked Ethan. "Or anything sacred?"

"I've since rejected my demonic origins, so I can enter with relative ease. I do get quite lightheaded in one, sometimes." explained Matt. He knocked thrice on the large door.

The door slid open slowly. Ethan and Matt strode inside, the door shutting behind them with a soft thud. In this room, the lobby of the Berlin Institute, sat long wooden pews, running in two rows on either side of Ethan and Matt, towards the front of the room. A large wooden door was carved into the other side of the room, decorated with the Shadowhunter symbol: The Angel Raziel rising out of a glimmering lake, Sword and Cup in hand. Matt walked up to the door, pulling a loose wooden plank, about the size of a napkin, from the adjoining wall. Underneath was a blank metal surface, the color of pearl.

"Carve an Opening Rune onto that metal piece." ordered Matt. Ethan slid the long stele from its holster on his belt, and slashed a quick Opening Rune onto the plate. It flared once, then faded away. Suddenly, the wooden door slid open slowly. Matt gestured up the staircase that lay beyond the door.

"After you, Shadowhunter." he said. Ethan slowly walked through the door, Matt following close behind, shutting the door.

Upstairs was far different than Ethan's old Baltimore Institute. Whereas Ethan's Institute was more archaic and Gothic, this one was very technological and steampunk. Pipes worked throughout the walls, steam shooting out at odd intervals. The only source of light was the red halogen lamps that punctured the ceiling at regular intervals. The hallway that they walked down was spacious, the floor covered with the Shadowhunter insignia.

They eventually arrived in a large circular room, with a huge circular table in the center. Across that lay a map, corners stuck to the table with knife points. Various pins stuck out above the table in reds, blues, greens, blacks, and whites. It looked to be a map of Earth—a gold ring in Europe, signifying Idris, indicated that this map was Shadowhunter-fabricated. Three large tables sat behind this table, each table bearing a large computer monitor.

A woman bent over the table, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. She wore full Shadowhunter gear—that much could be certain from the Runes carved in her gear hem. However, this gear was not like the typical Idrisian gear that Ethan knew of. Most Shadowhunter gear consisted of leather shirts, trousers, and boots. This woman wore a black leather suit, with breaks in the joints for movement. These joints were sealed with a special polymer. She wore a black leather jacket over this, which had white Runes burned onto the cuffs. Black high heeled boots clad her feet.

The woman inclined her head when she heard them enter. The first thing Ethan noticed was that her eyes were so silver. Her eyes were so silver they appeared white. Dark flecks glowed in them, giving them an ashen hue.

"Matt, who the hell is this?" asked the woman. Her words were like honey, smooth and sweet, had they not been so sharp.

"Sierra, this is Mr. Ethan Heartwright." explained Matt, gesturing to Ethan, who looked at her hesitantly. "He is a victim of the Forgotten attacks."

"You know of the Forgotten?" asked Ethan.

"Know of them?" asked Sierra. "We at the Berlin Institute have devoted our lives to the eradication of the Forgotten."

"Ethan had imprisoned one at the Baltimore Institute in North America." said Matt, sliding his scarf off, revealing his third eye. "He's a damn good Shadowhunter." he added.

"Is that so?" asked Sierra, standing up, walking over to him, boots clacking like gunfire on the metal floor. "Matt, show him to the training room."

"What?" asked Ethan, confused. Matt led him up three more floors to a meager sized armory, about fifty feet square.

However, what the armory lacked in surface space, it made up for in armamental variety. All manners of blades adorned one wall of the room, from a traditional katana, like Michael's, to a buster blade, to ancient broadswords, to short misericords. All along the opposite wall laid various bows, made from oak, metal, even diamond. Arrows of silver, wood, iron, salt, and charcoal sat above each bow in a special quiver, containing twenty or so of each type. The far wall from where Ethan entered held a small grindstone, an anvil, a forge, and other such weapon refineries.

Sierra stood in the center of a crudely spray painted white circle. The circle was worn and faded, small parts of it missing entirely. Sierra had abandoned her leather suit for a black tank top and trousers. Her arms were crisscrossed with Runes, her forearms the only parts of her arms covered, by long black cylinders that began at the elbows and ended at the wrists. She kept her arms crossed over her chest.

"I want to see the skills you displayed to that Forgotten." explained Sierra. She spread her arms to indicate the walls. "Choose any weapon you like."

Ethan turned to examine the walls. Ethan looked around for a blade similar to his own, Raguel, which had been left in Idris. There were little similar blades.

Suddenly, Ethan saw a glimmering bow that stood out from the others. It was made from silver and forged iron, the string a single strand of steel. A golden quiver sat beside it. The bow had a worn grip, which fit perfectly in Ethan's calloused hands.

Ethan seized up the bow, slinging the quiver over his shoulder. He noticed on the either end of the bow were what resembled seraph blades, though much, much shorter. These blades only stuck out about three inches.

"Fantastic." Sierra smirked. "That was Gabriel's bow. Rumored to have heavenly fire coursing through it."

Ethan stepped into the center of the ring. He cracked his neck, sweating slightly. He had practice archery with Michael, sure, but he had never had any formal combat training with it.

Sierra thrust her arms down to her side. Crescent blades shot up across her forearms, through the black covers. She lunged at Ethan, blades shining in the halogen light.

Ethan ducked her swings, sweeping her legs with the bow. He rolled backwards, drawing an arrow from the quiver—an iron arrow, he saw—and shot it at her. She deflected it with a loud ping against the blades.

Sierra rolled backwards, hair hanging raggedly from her once immaculate ponytail she strung before the fight. She swung her blades at Ethan, cutting a shallow cut on his chest. Ethan flew backwards, catching himself on the wall. Sierra dashed towards him, but Ethan flipped over her shoulders. He jammed his bow into her back, a glass arrow lodged against her spine.

Sierra laughed lightly. She turned slowly, locking the blades back into place. Her chest heaved against the arrow. "I concede. Matt was right. You're one hell of a fighter."

"Since when am I ever wrong?" asked Matt loudly from across the room. "I've existed for almost five thousand years, and I didn't get that far by being incorrect all the time!"

"And now, Mr. Heartwright, I must ask you:" she said, looking him dead in the eye. "What would you do if I told you," Her lips curved into a smile. "If you could see your parabatai once again?"

(**(**(*)**)**)

Michael woke up one lazy Saturday afternoon. Lindsay was still asleep next to him, breathing softly. Her left hand rested over his heart, her right clasped in his. His right hand laid on the bedsheets. Lindsay, still in her little black dress, had led him upstairs for their first night sleeping together as a married couple. Tragically, on Michael's behalf and possibly on Lindsay's as well, nothing transpired: no pillowcases were ripped, no neighbors were alarmed by screams of pleasure, and everyone, with the exception of Michael removing his shirt, had remained in the clothes that they began in.

Michael slowly stood up, walking into their small bathroom. Their bathroom was well divided in belongings, and the care of said belongings. Michael's razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, and comb sat in a clear plastic cup, directly beside the sink. His soap and shampoo sat in the back corner of the shower. Lindsay's razor, shampoo, soap, and conditioner sat in the rack by the shower head. Her toiletries and makeup littered the surface of the sink counter.

Michael grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste, squirted some paste on the brush, looked in the mirror. . .

And screamed.

His eyes had two different colors. It wasn't as simple as one eye being one color and another eye being another—no, that would've been too simple. Both of his eyes were splt directly in half vertically in color. The left sides of each iris glowed a steely silver; the right sides glowed an orange gold.

"Lindsay!" screamed Michael. Lindsay ran into the bathroom, holding Michael, who looked incredibly pale.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Have my eyes always been this color?" he asked. Lindsay slowly looked at him.

"Yes, darling. . .are you feeling okay?" she asked, feeling his forehead. "You aren't warm. . ."

"I'm fine!" said Michael, stepping backwards. He looked down at his chest. A large black tattoo sat directly above his heart. Upon closer inspection, it was actually two separate tattoos, one right next to the other.

"Sweetie, when did I get these tattoos?" he asked. Lindsay walked back in, midway through putting a T-shirt on.

"Sweetie, we got these when we got married, on our honeymoon in Peru." she explained. She pointed to the one on the right side of his body. "This one you had before. You said you and your best friend got them."

"Which best friend?" he asked.

"I. . .don't remember." she said, sliding on a pair of pants, discarding her black dress. "There's a really nice club we can go to tonight."

"Okay." said Michael, throwing on an old T-shirt and jeans. That night, they made their way downtown to an old club. A full moon glowed in the night sky. Oddly enough, the words 'Full Moon Café' glowed in electric blue above the door. Michael walked through, holding Lindsay's hand tightly.

The inside was a mess of bodies, dancing and moving to the loud beat of music. Some of the bodies had drinks in their hands, others held on to members of the opposite gender, bodies extremely close, men nibbling on the necks and ears of women.

"Lindsay, whatever you do, stay close to me." Michael said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. Michael had never been a proponent of club scenery, although he knew of the goings-on that transpired from time to time.

Michael then began to notice peculiar things about the people in the club. Firstly, they were all so hairy. Not just the men, but the women too, all seemed to be sprouting hair on their legs, arms, faces, hands, all in varying shades of black, blonde, brown, and even red. One of the men, who had just grown a long black beard, had reached for Lindsay. He was Spanish—that much was certain from his features.

"Come here, chiquita." he said, locking his arm around her wrist.

"Let her go." said Michael, staring daggers at this man. He had extremely long fingernails.

"What will you do if I don't, cabrón?" he asked. His green eyes glinted maliciously. "Eh? Cazador de las sombras?"

"What. . ?" asked Michael. Michael spoke very fluent Spanish. What did this man mean by 'Hunter of the Shadows'?

The man began to laugh with his counterparts, drawing Lindsay from Michael's grip. This man was incredibly strong, despite his gangly appearance. Michael tried to retrieve Lindsay, but the man held a blade against Lindsay's throat.

"Look, I don't know who you are, but let her go!" Michael screamed, balling up his fists for a fight. "I mean it! Let her go now!"

"Look at this fool!" said the man, howling with laughter—quite literally, howling. "He doesn't even know who he is talking to! You would think el cazador would know un lobo when he sees one."

"A wolf?" I asked. "You look human to me."

Suddenly, three more of these people—a large African American man, a smaller White girl, and an Asian boy—moved around him.

"Bonnie. Marcus. Kai." said the man, addressing the three. "Kill him."

The three figures pounced on Michael.

This is where I die. thought Michael.

Suddenly, the largest one—Marcus—was lifted up, up, over Michael before crashing into one of the tables, splintering it entirely. Michael looked up. A black trenchcoated figure stood in front of him. His right hand held a large spinning disc. A second disc was twirling around his left pointer finger. Michael knew what these discs were from old history books. Chakhrams.

The figure turned around to look at him. "Get up." he ordered in a thick German accent.

Michael quickly staggered up. "I. . .I. . ."

"No need ta thank me." said the man. "I'm Jack. Go and get your girl. I got these puppies."

Michael didn't need a second invitation. He ran towards the door.

"Wait!" ordered the man, tossing him one of the discs. "Take this. It's name is Gabriel."

Michael nodded, sprinting out of the club. He saw the man dragging Lindsay into a car. The man saw him, and the car began to start. Michael, even with his increased speed and stamina, couldn't keep up with a car. Michael held Gabriel like a frisbee.

"Gabriel. . ." he whispered. "Please hit your mark."

Suddenly, the disc flared up in white light. Michael felt a white hot pain grow in his right hand. Suddenly, a black eye began to draw itself on the back of his right hand. The chakhram flew from Michael's hand, cutting the tires on the back of the car. The car began to skid as it stopped in the road. Michael sprinted over to the car, seizing up the chakhram. Jack had followed, catching up to Michael. Jack wrenched open the car door, while Michael pulled Lindsay out.

Suddenly, the man began to laugh darkly. Suddenly, a dark wing shot out of his back. His skin began to fall away in large flakes, the size of dinner plates. His skin was divided in half, one side glowing bright, one side dark as night.

Jack stumbled backwards, gazing at the creature before him. Suddenly, the creature soared upward, upward, until it grew into nothing but a dark dot in the sky. Suddenly, it vanished.

Jack sighed. "Michael, you got Lindsay back." he said. "Good."

"What was that thing?" asked Lindsay. "What did he want with me?"

She was interrupted by a loud chirp. Jack put his good hand to his ear.

"Ja?" he asked. He was speaking German, Michael knew, like the first time he saw him. "Ja? Ja,Sierra, ist es Jack.Wir hatten geradeeine Begegnung miteinemPasswort. Er wurde alsWerwolfverkleidet. Ja, Michael und Lindsaysind bei mir. Ich werde siezurückbringen."

"What is he saying?" asked Lindsay.

Jack turned to them. "Michael, I have a lot of explaining to do about you, and who you are."

"Yes?" asked Michael, drawing Lindsay closer.

"Michael, there is a world different from what you know. It's a world full of vampires, werewolves, warlocks, and faeries. What you just saw were werewolves. You, me, Lindsay? We're the same blood—more or less. We're Shadowhunters, a sort of police force, if you will. We're tasked with keeping demons, as well as the races I just mentioned, from killing each other, or killing humans.

"Shadowhunters are the mix between angels and humans. Recently, there has been an outbreak of creatures known as Forgotten. Forgotten are a mix of angel, demon, and human. These creatures need to be exterminated.

"That's where you come in. See, Michael, you were once a great Shadowhunter, one of the best in the world. You were removed from the Shadowhunter lineage, for harboring an angel—which was really a Forgotten. You were kicked out by the Clave—our governing body—and your memory was erased. But we need you back. See, Michael. . .there is no more Clave."

"What do you mean, there is no Clave?" asked Lindsay.

"Wiped out. A huge Forgotten invasion. They killed everyone, including Consul Herondale—our president of sorts—and Inquisitor Lightwood—his vice president." explained Jack. "Which is why I need you and Lindsay to come to Berlin with me."

"Why Berlin?" asked Michael.

"See, that tattoo on your chest? That's a parabatai, one of the strongest Runes we Shadowhunters can give. It signifies a relationship between two warriors, who pledge to lay their lives down for each other, to protect one another. Your parabatai is Ethan Heartwright, and you've been friends since you both were little boys." explained Jack. "Would you like to go meet him?"

(**(**(*)**)**)

Anna woke up in a tangled mess in her and Jacob's bed. The night had been a fiery one, filled with passionate kissing and romance. Anna stood up, sliding her black bra strap to its rightful place on her shoulder. She walked into the bathroom, taking a quick shower.

It seemed so peculiar. She had a very strange dream that night. She, Jacob, and three other individuals were sitting at an oaken table in a large cathedral. A man and a woman wore gilded gold clothing—the veil over the woman's face led Anna to believe that it was wedding garb of some sort. The man had black tattoos all over his arms, similar to the markings Jacques had. The third individual, a man about Jacob's size, stood up and shook the groom's hand. Anna had looked at Jacob, then herself. Her arms had been covered in those same black markings.

She had woken up in a cold sweat, as she slid her hair back on her head, then fell into a dreamless sleep.

She stripped off her underclothes and stepped into the shower, turning its hot spray on her. She felt the steam clear her mind. She shut her eyes as she laid her head against the shower wall. Something about the three individuals had seemed so. . .familiar. But why? Was it the groom's odd tattoo over his eyebrows, giving him the appearance of a third eye? Was it the way that the blushing bride had gazed up at her beloved? Anna couldn't quite put her finger on it; it lay just outside her periphery.

She turned the shower off, got dressed, and walked out. Jacob was already getting dressed, sliding on a long-sleeved black shirt with a band name on the back.

"Lethal Souffle?" asked Anna. "What kind of a name is that?"

"The name of a band who causes people's faces to melt with rock and roll fire." said Jacob, smiling wryly. Anna punched him in the spine jokingly. He stood up, hugging her as he picked her up.

Suddenly, Anna heard a loud BANG. The door flew open on its hinges. Jacob instinctively pushed her behind him, grabbing the nearest thing to use as a weapon—in this case, a standing lamp.

"Anna, grab the gun from under the bed." he whispered. Anna dropped to her knees, feeling under the bed before closing her fingers on a shotgun. She pulled up, levelled the gun.

And froze.

Whatever the thing was standing in the doorway, it could've withstood a shotgun blast easily. The only way Anna could've described it was if an angel and a demon had mixed each other. Its left half was clad in black armor, and twirled a long black spear. Its other half was armorless, but carried a white javelin.

Jacob seized up the lamppost, heaving the thing as hard as he could towards the angel. The lamppost sailed through the air, before exploding into shards of metal, after striking the javelin and spear.

Jacob spread his arms in front of Anna. "Stay away from her!"

The angel advanced slowly, the spears clutched in its fists. It took both spears and sent them crashing into Jacob's legs, sides striking his ankles with a mighty swipe. Jacob flipped end over end, landing on his stomach. He tried to get onto his knees and hands, but was met with a swift kick to the ribs by the angel. Blood spurted from Jacob's lips. All Anna could do was sit and watch, mortified.

The angel advanced on Anna next. Anna walked backwards slowly, until her back was flat against the wall. She could feel the cold coming off of the angel's dark side.

Suddenly, she felt something stick in the back wall. The angel began to scream, an unholy sound that sent chills up her spine. She ducked out of the angel's path, to see what it was.

A long stick was stuck through the right hand of the angel. It was about the length of Anna's forearm, and had a small notch in the back of it. A crossbow bolt.

And standing in the doorway, over Jacob's shocked, bloody body, were two men. Anna instantly recognized them as Jacques and Klaus. Jacques and Klaus were dressed the same, in black leather battle gear. Jacques wore two gloves—well, one and his metal hand. Each knuckle was tipped with a needle blade. He held a dual-ended knife in his good hand. Klaus held a crossbow in his hands, and two quivers of bolts on his back.

"Got yerself in a bit of a pickle, eh?" asked Klaus, smiling. "'Ere, lemme take a stab at it!"

"Klaus, this is no time to make jokes." said Jacques, glaring at the angel. "We have only a few moments before this thing is up again. Hand Anna a weapon—anything you've got."

Klaus tossed Anna a three-headed spear—a trident. It was carved exquisitely out of gold, and was incredibly light despite its size. The angel roared, and wrenched its arm free from the bolt, spewing blood.

Klaus instinctively loaded another bolt, letting it fly into the angel's shoulder. He loaded a second, shooting it in the foot, and a third, hitting it in the injured hand again. Jacques sprinted over to the angel, seizing its jaw.

"Who is your master?" asked Jacques.

"C. . .Choke on my bones. . ." spat the angel. Jacques grip tightened.

"I'll not ask you again, you freak of nature." whispered Jacques. "Who is your master?"

Jacques never got a chance to ask him again, because it was then that the angel faded away, into a small patch of glowing dust.

"Damn." Klaus swore. He retrieved the bolts from the wall, while Anna sprinted over to Jacob.

Blood still dribbled from the corner of his mouth. His chest shuddered as it rose and fell. Anna knelt beside him, as Klaus and Jacques walked over. Klaus pulled out a long silver rod carved out of some type of metal that Anna couldn't identify.

"Can I Mark 'im?" asked Klaus of Jacques. "I mean, he got any Shadowhunter blood in 'im?"

"That's all he is. Her, too, for that matter. Lindsay is the only one who Ascended." said Jacques. "Give him an iratze over the chest."

Klaus cut Jacob's shirt open, and set the tip of the rod to his chest. Suddenly, Klaus began to carve a black symbol into Jacob's chest, slowly spreading over his whole chest. Magically, his bones began to knit themselves together. They would splinter slightly, before returning to the barrel shape of Jacob's ribcage.

Jacob's eyes shot open as he sat up. He looked up at Anna, and held her in his arms. He looked up at Klaus, then Jacques.

"Thank you. . ." whispered Jacob.

"It was our pleasure." said Jacques warmly. His expression quickly turned serious. "However, we need your help."

"With?" asked Anna.

"That creature ya just fought?" asked Klaus. "Tha' was a Forgotten. 's what happens when an angel an' a demon shack up together."

"What my partner means," said Jacques, glaring at Klaus, who was smiling to himself. "in a less colloquial wording, is that angels and demons have been mixing their blood. It has been producing these creatures."

"So why don't you just stop them?" asked Jacob.

"It's not tha' easy, Jacob." said Klaus, cleaning one of the bolts. "See, we're a race o' warriors called Shadowhunters. We're the offspring of humans an' angels. We 'ave to kill demons, protect werewolves, vampires, warlocks, and faeries from killing each other, and all o' them from killin' humans." He stopped cleaning the bolt to look at Jacob. "You an' Anna are both Shadowhunters. Damn good ones too. You lived in the Baltimore Institute—basically, the Baltimore headquarters for Shadowhunters—with three other Shadowhunters: Ethan Heartwright and Michael and Lindsay Greenwell."

Anna stopped. Two men and one girl. Like the ones in her dream.

"We're going to take you to Berlin. You can meet the Baltimore Institute inhabitants, and we can educate you further." said Jacques. "Come with me."

(**(**(*)**)**)

Ethan, Matt, and Sierra all sat at the table with the map. Sierra stood over it, hair still wet from a quick shower she took after the fight with Ethan. Ethan had resolved not to shower after his battle—he enjoyed what he liked to call the 'fighter's high'. Matt had made Ethan and himself drinks—tar and battery acid for Matt, black coffee for Ethan.

"So, when are the twins supposed to return?" asked Matt.

"They're supposed to be back soon." said Sierra, sipping on a mug of coffee laden with milk and sugar. "I mean, Jack was sent to Baltimore, and Jacques and Klaus to London. It's only natural that they take a while."

At that moment, a large whirring sound came from above Ethan, Sierra, and Matt.

"That must be one of them now!" said Sierra, jumping up, discarding her mug.

"What is that?" asked Ethan. "A Portal?"

"Portals are too archaic and conspicuous." said Sierra, sprinting up a flight of metal stairs. "We tend to use Hologates more often now. Plus, we can now go to any Institute in the world with these in a few seconds."

They emerged in the center of a large circular room, with about eight mirrors each pointing in a cardinal direction. The mirrors were as tall as the room and took up an entire wall apiece. The room itself was octagonal; Ethan couldn't see any of the metal pipework of the rest of the Berlin Institute.

One of the gates was pulsing a metal blue. The glass of the mirror was beginning to distort, writhe, as it there was something. . .alive underneath it. Suddenly, a soft mechanical voice sounded from the ceiling of the room.

"Hologate Alpha activated. Biosignatures present: B-21, Jack Rowandale. Two unknown biosignatures detected. Analysis: Michael Greenwell and Lindsay Greenwell." said the voice. Suddenly, three people appeared through the glass.

The first was a large man in black gear similar to Sierra's. He had a metal right hand, and carried two chakhrams on his back—Ethan recognized them instantly: Saraquael and Gabriel. The next two figures he recognized even quicker: Michael and Lindsay.

Ethan sprinted over to Michael, hugging him tightly. Michael seemed startled to be hugged by him.

"Okay, who is this guy?" Michael asked. Ethan backed away slowly, not even attempting to veil the sadness in his eyes.

"Remember, Ethan, he's had a Memory Wipe Rune placed on him. He doesn't even know who you are." explained Sierra.

"Still, must suck, huh?" asked Matt. "Not remembering all the times he gave us hell?"

Michael took a look at Matt and instantly tensed up. He grabbed Lindsay's wrist next to him.

"What the hell is that?" asked Michael softly.

"Oh yeah, forgot. He doesn't know what I am." explained Matt. He bowed towards Michael low. "Son of Ithuriel and Lilith, High Prince of the City of Edom, Prince Matchitehew Xerxes Flaresting, at your service and mercy, Shadowhunter."

Michael stood, unblinking at Matt, who still had his head bent. He examined the eye on his hand, then Ethan, then the others, then the creature kneeling before him. He stepped forward, releasing Lindsay's wrist.

"Sensei Norman Michael Greenwell Jr." said Michael, kneeling before Matt. Suddenly, the voice sounded again above them.

"Hologate Delta detected. Biosignatures detected: A-21, Jacques Rowandale, B-03, Klaus Fairweather. Two unknown biosignatures detected. Analysis: Jacob Dragonsbane and Anna Dragonsbane." the voice said. Suddenly, the mirror two to the right of the mirror Jack, Michael, and Lindsay entered in, began to shudder and writhe. Four people strode through this mirror.

The first one could've been Jack's twin—odds were, since he shared his last name and their first names were nearly identical, they probably were. The only difference was that his glove was on the opposite hand, and that his glove, and the other, smaller gauntlet on his other hand, had spikes in the knuckles. The other man, slightly smaller than Jacques, carried a crossbow over his shoulder. Anna and Jacob stood behind them, each hesitant of everyone in the room.

"Right." said Sierra. "Now that the entirety of the Baltimore Institute is present, let's get on with introductions. My name is Sierra Aldertree."

"My name is Jacques Rowandale. And this is my brother, Jack." said Jacques, gesturing to Jack.

"Klaus Fairweather. At your service." said Klaus, bowing.

"You needn't introduce yourself again, Matt." said Sierra, smiling at him. "Now." she quickly turned serious. "To business. We need to enlighten you to our position, as Ethan is the only one caught up to speed."

"There is a war going on. This war has been waged by someone who is attempting to mix the blood of angels and demons into a human. This is incredibly dangerous. We've already seen the extent that demon blood injection can cause.

"Mr. Jonathan Morgenstern was injected with demon blood in the womb of his mother, Jocelyn Fairchild. When he became a teenager, he single-handedly brought ruin upon the Shadowhunter community, when he interchanged the angelic blood in Shadowhunters with demonic blood, via the Infernal Cup. These new warriors, the Endarkened, were stronger and deadlier than typical Shadowhunters, and evil to the core.

"There have been warriors with angel blood. There have been warriors with demon blood. There have been warriors with both angel and demon blood. There has never been warriors with angel and demon blood and bodies. This is why this is so concerning to me. These warriors—the Forgotten, as we've taken to calling them—seem to not only possess the abilities of angels and demons, but the bodies and even weapons of them as well. There have been a number of attacks on the proponents of the Baltimore Institute specifically—the first one was Lindsay's own brother, and an attack each on Michael and Lindsay, and Anna and Jacob.

"It crushes me to depart this information, but. . .we are all that remains. . ." whispered Sierra.

"What?!" asked Michael, standing up. "How? There are hundreds of Institutes around the world, right?"

"Most large countries typically have three or four, with smaller countries managing with just one. Around seven hundred, I'd say." said Klaus.

"Every Institute has fallen. Dublin, Buenos Aires, Chicago, Manhattan, Shanghai, Dubai. None have been spared the wrath of the Forgotten soldiers. We are all that is left." said Sierra, looking down at her shoes. "Even Idris has fallen. The wards do nothing to protect against the holy."

"So. . ." whispered Lindsay. "What do we do?"

"It makes sense," began Sierra, pulling out the map from the downstairs central command center. "That we are the next Institute to be targeted. We are the only other Institute left in the world, aside from your Baltimore Institute. Plus, we transferred Lindsay's brother to this Institute shortly after you were expelled."

"So, what is our role in this?" asked Anna.

"We need you to help protect this Institute. Preferably take one of them alive, if you can. We need to isolate their weaknesses, and work around that." said Jacques.

"I've analyzed the Forgotten as two separate entities." said Klaus. He walked over to the leftmost computer, and pulled up two figures: one an angel, one a demon. Both resembled a humanoid man, with obvious differences in appearance.

"Angels can only be wounded by weapons of an unholy alliance. Weapons that are marked with dark Runes are their downfall. Alternatively, marking a dark Rune on the angel will also weaken it enough to be killed with regular weapons. One can also simply use a seraph blade against them." explained Klaus. "Demons are typical fare—standard issue Shadowhunter weapons, anything angelic, et cetera."

"So, a seraph blade will do the job?" asked Jacob. "That seems easy enough—just go in and clean house with a seraph blade!"

"It's not that simple, Jacob." said Jack. "The trouble is getting towards it. Angels aren't exactly going to sit still and let you kill them. They are master combatants, given weapons blessed by the Lord himself."

"When Mike had his Oculus Rune, he immobilized Lindsay's brother with his two chakhrams." explained Ethan. "Maybe that had something to do with it?"

"Definitely possible." said Jack. He stood up, stretching. "Everyone, time to get some shut-eye. We got a big day of re-training tomorrow. Gonna teach you all how to use weapons."

"Couples suites are on the second floor." said Klaus, smirking. Michael took Lindsay's hand; Jacob took Anna's, as they walked off to their respective rooms. They looked, Ethan noticed, happy.

"Ah, human love." said Matt. "I've never truly seen it. The most mystical emotion of them all." He turned around to face Ethan once they left. "Also the most stupid."

"What do you mean?" asked Ethan, dumping out Sierra's coffee mug.

"Love is so. . .foolish. After all, humans are mortal. Finite. Living. What purpose is it to say that they shall love unconditionally, till the end of their days?"

"It's to know that they'll have someone to rely on. To lean on. To draw from in times of struggle." explained Ethan.

"I see. Is this the love you have for your parabatai?" asked Matt. "How did you two become acquainted?"

Ethan hated remembering the day Michael came to the Institute. His parents, both Shadowhunters, were slaughtered by a Greater Demon by the name of Merihim. Ethan was twelve at the time, Michael a few months shy of his own twelfth birthday. Ethan hated the way that two Shadowhunter guards led him into the lofty Institute—Michael's shoulders were hunched in defeat, his eyes fixed on his black sneakers. He held the only remnant of his parents in his trembling hands—two large throwing discs, each about the size of his torso.

"I met him when we were little kids. We became best friends at thirteen, and parabatai at fifteen." said Ethan. "We swore to back each other up in everything we did. I helped him in his appeal for Lindsay to Ascend. I was his best man at his wedding. We've slain hundreds of demons together—no offense—and we've knelt at each other's bedsides and brought each other back from the brink of death with a single iratze. And, I want to do one thing for Michael: I want to find Merihim, and kill him."

"That. . .is curious." said Matt, pondering quietly. "And you feel indebted to him, for some reason?"

"Not indebted. I'm grateful." said Ethan, and he turned to climb up to his room.

(**(**(*)**)**)

Lindsay and Michael fell onto their bed together, hands clasped tightly. Lindsay climbed into the bed, drawing the covers over her. Michael noticed a small basket sitting in the floor. In it sat a blue book, with the word 'Codex' written on its face in gold. It also held two black, loose tunics, two black pairs of loose pants, and two long white rods. A quick look in the Codex revealed that this was typical Shadowhunter gear, and a device for drawing and applying Runes—a 'stele', as they called it.

"What's that, babe?" asked Lindsay, sitting up.

"It's a basket of Shadowunters essentials." said Michael. He tossed Lindsay her battle garments, and one of the steles. "This is Shadowhunter gear. Battle stuff from the looks of it. And this thing is supposed to let us draw Runes."

"That's so cool!" said Lindsay. "So, what weapon are you going to choose?"

Michael sat on the bed, drawing out the two chakhrams. He sat them on his lap, and traced the soft metalwork of the dragons within the discs. "These weapons are all that remain of my parents. I will use them until I die, until I slay that monster who killed them."

Lindsay rested her head on his shoulder. "What should I use?"

"You don't have a killing instinct. You're an Ascended Shadowhunter—Ethan mentioned it, you, like, married in, or something." explained Michael. "An easy starting weapon would be a sword. Or maybe a whip."

"I'll have you, Jacob, and Anna to help me." said Lindsay, smiling. She slid under the covers, and fell asleep.

After he made sure she was asleep, Michael stood up, slid slippers on, and padded down towards the artifact room of the Institute—Michael had learned in the Codex that each Institute had a room where they carried all of their artifacts from past battles; he saw no reason to see how the Berlin Institute was any different.

The artifact room was buried deep within the Institute. It was a rectangular room, with all sorts of artifacts stacked on its walls, from a Pyxis—a container made to hold demon souls—to feathers from ancient extinct birds.

Michael strode into the room, going immediately for what he was looking for: a large leather book the size of his upper body. It rested on a large wooden podium to about his chest. In three different languages—English, and two others that Michael couldn't recognize—there glowed a single word: Demonology.

Michael opened the cover of the book. Drawings of various demons—some of which he recognized from the Codex, some of which he didn't at all—were carefully drawn on the pages. Under each drawing listed their names, what they ruled over, their defining characteristics, and where they were found. Michael padded through to the 'M' section.

Michael heard a soft throat-clearing noise behind him. He whipped around, drawing Gabriel from its holster on his side. Jack strolled out from the shadows, hands in his pockets.

"What do you think you're doing in here?" asked Jack.

"I. . .I was. . .um. . ." stuttered Michael.

"It's no secret, Michael. The page is open to Merihim. You want to find the demon who killed your parents." said Jack thoughtfully. "Anyone would want to."

"What's your story, Jack?" asked Michael. Jack stiffened up.

"Do you really want to know?" asked Jack.

"If you don't want me to, that's fine." Michael whispered.

"No, no. . .it's fine." said Jack. "Pull up a chair. This might take a while."

"Jacques isn't really my twin. We're more like two halves of the same person. When we were born—rather, when I was born—life was. . .simple. Until my father started sleeping with a demon. My mother left us with our father. He would beat me constantly, make me go out into the city and gamble to bring in money.

"On my tenth birthday, my father's lover—the demon—took me into a back room. There, she placed a curse on my body. I couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't scream for help. She took a demonic blade and split me up the middle.

"When I finally came to, I wasn't dead—in fact, very much alive. But I realized that there was someone next to me. I looked up, and I screamed. It was me, but a mirror image of me. Jacques. I swore then that I would get rid of that harlot demon, and reunite Jacques and I."

"But, isn't Jacques your parabatai?" asked Michael. Jack smiled remorsefully.

"Oh, no. . .Angel forbid he be my parabatai!" said Jack ruefully. "My parabatai died a long, long time ago. My Rune has since faded, but when he died, the Rune ran like blood. I am jealous of Klaus, Jacques parabatai. Jacques should rightfully be mine."

"So, now what?" asked Michael. "Are you gonna stop me from killing Merihim?"

"Stop you?" asked Jack. "Goodness, no." He pulled a metal gauntlet out from a bag that was hidden where he first stood. He slid it onto his knuckles and crashed it against his metal hand. "I'm going to join you."

"What about Sierra?" asked Michael. "You're just going to go without telling her?"

"And you were planning to leave without telling your wife or parabatai?" asked Jack, eyebrow arching slightly.

"That's different. . ." said Michael, biting his lip. "Ethan. . .Ethan will understand. It is my duty to kill this monster."

"And Lindsay?" asked Jack.

"She will understand, too." said Michael. As he seized up a small backpack with rations, his chakhrams, and a spare black jacket, he could only hope she would.

(**(**(*)**)**)

Anna and Jacob met at the breakfast table that morning, in their training gear. They held hands under the table, grinning at each other through the modest breakfast of black coffee, bacon drier than a desert, and waffles that tasted, as Klaus had eloquently put it, 'Like the bottom of a piss-soaked homeless man's shoe'.

Lindsay sprinted downstairs, still in her white nightgown. Her hair was in a mess, her cheeks flushed, her breathing labored.

"Where is Michael?" asked Lindsay, still huffing. Ethan led her to sit in a chair next to him, as she shakily drunk a mug of lukewarm coffee.

"Wasn't he sleeping with you?" asked Anna.

"Yeah, but he wasn't there when I woke up!" said Lindsay.

"He's probably gone out for a run." said Ethan. "Before you lost your Runes, he would go on runs all the time. He'd be gone from about five in the morning to maybe one in the afternoon."

"M-Maybe. . ." said Lindsay, shakily taking another sip of coffee. "But, he never leaves without writing a note. . ."

"C'mon." said Ethan, helping her up as she calmed down. "Let's get you guys to your first lesson."

As Anna had predicted, Lindsay had quieted down—although minimally. Jacques and Klaus were in charge of instructing them—no one had seen hide nor hair of Jack either. Anna had discovered her newfound love of archery rather quickly. Within her first quiver of arrows, she had split three arrows down the middle. She had missed a few because she had kept looking at Jacob as he sparred Jacques, his muscles contracting and expanding quickly as he dodged Jacques superhuman strength punches.

Lindsay exhaled slowly as she took her mark with throwing knives. She was an awful shot at those, nearly taking one of Klaus' fingers off. Anna knew that Michael was on her mind—in was plainly evident in her glassy eyes, her shaking limbs.

"Christ, with those shots, you won't be of much use ta find Michael. . ." murmured Klaus.

Lindsay's expression suddenly hardened. Her eyes became narrow slits, her knuckles around one of the knife blades became as white as fallen snow. The blade cut through the air, and embedded itself up to the crossguard in the wooden target. The two other throwing knives, which were held in her left hand, flew her hand at frightening speeds, sinking into the target up to their crossguards, just millimeters away from the first, which cut the bullseye perfectly in half.

Jacques and Klaus stared at Lindsay, mouth agape. She hissed softly, "Never tell me I can't find my husband."

After this mostly injury-free training session—Jacob got a black eye after an overealous hand-to-hand combat seminar with Jacques, Lindsay had cut herself when she gripped the throwing knives, and Anna had blisters on her fingers from the string of the bow—they all walked down to the dining room of the Institute. Ethan was there as well—Anna noted that he had been out training, evident from his sweaty T-shirt and earbuds hanging out of his ears.

"Any signs of Michael?" asked Jacob, getting a quick iratze scrawled on him by Anna—they had received their Voyance Runes soon after starting training, and had learned to draw the most basic of Runes with ease.

"Nope." said Ethan, pulling one of his earbuds out. "You're right, Lindsay, this isn't like him. He should've called me by now. Or you, or someone, at least."

It was then that Jack stumbled through the doorway. The entire front of his gear was soaked with blood and green, stinking, smoking fluid—demon ichor. The white of one of his eyes had begun to turn crimson. His hair was slicked with red, and his gauntlet was clenched in his fist. He took shuddering breaths, and coughed up a small globule of mucus and blood.

Sierra, Jacques, and Klaus sprinted over to him. Jack fended off Klaus, but accepted help from Sierra and Jacques, who helped him into a chair at the table, and began drawing iratzes on his arms and chest.

"Jack, where in the name of the Angel have you been?!" asked Jacques.

"Cave. . .Merihim. . .Michael. . ." he murmured. Ethan shot up.

"Michael?! You know where he is?!" he screamed.

"Couldn't. . .too many. . .had to. . .run. . ." he muttered incoherently.

"Where is he?!" Ethan screamed, hauling him up by his slick jacket and gear. "Tell me!"

"Stop it, Ethan!" screamed Anna, pulling on his arms. "You'll kill him!"

"Michael. . .I couldn't. . .save him. . ." whispered Jack.

"Where is my husband?" asked Lindsay, tears welling up in her eyes. "Please, Jack, please, you have to tell us, please, please tell us!"

"Your husband. . ." whispered Jack. He spat a bloody spitball onto the floor. "Went to go find Merihim, the demon who. . .killed his parents." His breath was coming easier as the iratzes were applied. "But. . .when we got to where he was hiding. . .that's when. . .they showed up. . ."

"Who?" asked Anna, resting her hand on Lindsay's heaving shoulders.

"The. . .Forgotten. . ." said Jack. "took him. . .to their stronghold. . ."

(**(**(*)**)**)

Everything had happened so fast.

Michael had been walking into the cave with Jack, Jack just behind him. He had locked eyes with Merihim—a demon with a blood red cross incision in his face, two large goat horns, and a grey body. Suddenly, Michael noticed things moving in the background. He had launched Gabriel at Merihim—and it did, in fact, kill Merihim; few things can survive when their head is burned to little more than ash. Soon after, he felt like he was hit by a freight train. Michael flew to the ground. He looked up as he saw Jack, rubbing his gauntlet-covered knuckles, and. . .bowing towards one of the Forgotten? He must've been hallucinating.

Michael tried to sit up, but he couldn't. A large band of metal wrapped around his torso. Two smaller bands wrapped around each of his legs. His hands were bound in large metal casings, which were bolted to the bed. He had none of his upper body gear, his lower half was only covered by a pair of ragged trousers.

Michael swiveled his head around as much as he could, to survey the room. The walls of the room were the color of charcoal. Outside each of the barred windows set into each wall was a sky so dark it looked to be made of fabric. Not even a star glistened in the sky.

Michael was set facing a wall, so he couldn't see the wall behind him. From the chill he felt on the back of his neck, he could guess it was a door.

Suddenly, two people strode into the room. They wore surgical scrubs, and masks. Michael smelled the distinct tang of burning sulfur—the smell of demon presence.

The two people pulled off their scrubs. They looked like normal Shadowhunter teenagers. One was a male, with short, slick black hair. His slight muscles distorted the red Runes over his arms. These Runes weren't Runes that Michael knew of. These Runes spoke words of hatred, of corruption, of evil. The second—a girl—looked similar, except she was even slighter than the boy, with long blonde hair.

"What are you?" asked Michael. The girl walked out of the door behind Michael. The boy paced in front of him, back and forth.

"Pitiful." said the boy. "The leader of the Baltimore Institute. One who withstood two of our Forgotten warriors. Granted, peons like Dominic and Alfonso are useless in battle."

"Take me to your leader!" said Michael, lurching against the bindings. "I need to speak with him!"

"No one demands to see Lady Morgana." hissed the man. His pupils seemed to dilate. His fist connected with Michael's jaw in a punch that seemed to bend light.

Michael's jaw instantly swelled up. It felt as if a mountain had been hurled at his face.

"Easy, Adam." said the girl, who just walked back in. She carried two vials in her hands. "He can meet Lady Morgana, if he wants."

The girl unchained his torso and legs. She also unlocked the metal hand casings. Michael fell on his knees. Adam hauled him up, pinning his arms behind his back with a binding Rune. The girl walked in front of them, Adam behind. Michael was led through a maze of corridors until he arrived at a large throne room.

There was a rectangular raised platform at the head of the room. A pillar at each corner of the rectangle supported a raised skylight in the ceiling. However, no light poured through it—only darkness.

A large throne sat on the rectangle. A set of crossed legs clad in a dress skirt dangled off of the throne. Suddenly, two red eyes glowed in the darkness. The figure stood up and snapped. Suddenly, ten torches lit around the room, green fire glowing in the brackets.

The woman who emerged from the shadows scarcely broke five feet in height. She wore a tiara of bone, and her nails were tinged in blood. She looked strikingly human, but her eyes—crimson and cat-pupiled—told otherwise. Her hair was strung into a single braid down her neck.

"Adam. Kassidy. Who is this man?" she asked.

"Lady Morgana, this is Michael Greenwell of the Nephilim. He is second in command of the Baltimore Institute." explained Kassidy. "He has dispatched Dominic and Alfonso."

"Did he now?" asked Morgana, glancing at Michael. "And how, Nephilim, did you manage that?"

"Perhaps," said Michael. "Next time you should send better henchmen."

Morgana chuckled softly. "Perhaps you are wondering where you are?"

"I have." said Michael.

"We are in the demon realm. Surely you are aware of the attacks on the Nephilim by the Forgotten?" asked Morgana.

"Yes. You slaughtered millions of Shadowhunter men, women, and children." said Michael, staring into her eyes, feeling every cell in his body turn to ice.

"Not slaughtered." said Morgana, turning. "Transformed." She snapped her fingers. Two goblets appeared on a table in front of the throne. One was made of silvery adamas, the other was forged from a midnight metal.

"Those chalices. . .why do they seem so familiar?" Michael asked.

"That, Shadowhunter, is because you know them well." said Morgana. She gestured to the silvery cup. "The Mortal Cup, given to Jonathon Shadowhunter by their Angel, Raziel. And the Infernal Cup, bequeathed to us by out prophet, Sebastian Morgenstern—or, Jonathon Morgenstern, as he was when you killed him."

"What do the two Cups have to do with the Forgotten army?" asked Michael. The binding Runes dug into his arms, causing a sheen of sweat to break out on his scalp.

"Perhaps you shall see." said Morgana, smiling evilly. "Kassidy, bring out Jonathon Herondale."

"It's Jace." said a voice.

The Consul strode through the room, Kassidy right behind him. His shirtless body was covered with scars of Runes long since faded. The only Rune that stood out was the parabatai mark on his heart, still as black as the night outside. Adam drug a second person in as well, throwing him at Jace's feet. He was beaten and bloody, his ring tarnished and rust covered. Inquisitor Alec Lightwood. Both were suprisingly alive—perhaps Morgana had spared them?

"Jonathon Herondale." said Morgana, as if she swallowed a lemon. "Kassidy, bring him up here."

Jace turned to flip over Kassidy's shoulder—so it was true: even as an old man, the Consul's exceptional Shadowhunter training shone through his age, as he performed impossible feats of agility and grace with ease.

Morgana extended her hand, and a red bolt shot out of it. The bolt struck the Consul square in the spine. He flipped end over end, before colliding with the far wall of the throne room. Jace slumped to the ground, unconscious. Kassidy was over where he was, impossibly quickly, her body merely a smudge against Michael's field of vision. She drug the Consul before Morgana. Morgana pulled out two clear syringes. She wrenched the Consul's eyes open, though they were unseeing. She filled each syringe with the contents of one of the Cups. She plunged the syringes deep into the Consul's eyes.

Inquisitor Lightwood struggled awake as soon as Morgana had finished. The Consul was convulsing on the ground, blood pouring from his wounds in his eyes. The Inquisitor sprinted towards him—Adam made a move to restrain the Inquisitor, but Morgana halted him.

"Jace!" screamed the Inquisitor. He knelt before the Consul's—Jace's—writhing body, held his hand in his. "Jace. . .c'mon, Jace. . .please. . ." He began to choke out sobs.

Suddenly, Jace's eyes shot wide open, pupils little more than pinpoints. There was a light glowing from his eyes—the contents of the cup had changed them, somehow. He sat up, looking at the Inquisitor. He looked up at Jace.

And screamed bloody murder as his throat was ripped out.

Jace grabbed the lifeless body of his parabatai, and hurled it over his shoulder, as it struck the opposite wall with a wed thud. He walked up to Morgana, and inclined his head at her, then Michael.

"Brother. . ." he murmured. His eyes opened. Michael's blood turned to ice.

His eyes and Jace's were the same.

(**(**(*)**)**)

Lindsay sat, bawling, next to Anna, her hand clutching the necklace which bore her wedding ring, the hard diamond cutting into her skin. Jacob and Ethan were standing in front of the fireplace, which spat green flames from the dying log. Ethan pondered this for a moment; why a fireplace would be installed in an Institute as technologically advanced as Berlin was beyond him.

"Michael. . .my Michael. . ." sobbed Lindsay.

"We need to find him." said Jacob, though unneccessary. "Any idea where he'd be?"

"Jack said he was in the Forgotten stronghold." said Ethan. "So, we need to locate it."

"I wouldn't trust him." said Sierra, who walked into the room. "We've got some information you all might be interested in."

She sat down at the head of the dining table. Her face was grave, her normally spotless gear torn and mangled. Demon ichor sizzled over her side.

"Jack is a traitor. He was a Forgotten warrior, an extremely advanced one. Apparently, he was a special subset of the Forgotten, called the Deceptors—he could manipulate reality, make us see things that weren't real.

"Michael and Jack did, in fact, go to kill Merihim—that much is true. What Michael didn't know was that he was walking into a full-blown Forgotten ambush. There were at least fifty of them there; Merihim was simply a decoy." said Sierra.

"Does that mean. . .Michael is. . .dead?" asked Jacob. Lindsay exploded into tears. Ethan punched him in the arm.

"Don't cry, Lindsay." said Sierra, handing Lindsay a box of tissues. "Michael is far from dead."

"How?" they all asked in unison—apart from Ethan, who looked at his parabatai Rune.

"You're all idiots." said Matt. "Don't you know anything about the parabatai Rune? If Michael were to die, even in an alternate universe, Ethan would feel it."

"Michael was one of the most adept warriors at the Baltimore Institute, right?" asked Sierra, shooting a glare at Matt.

"Apart from Ethan." said Jacob. "Mike and he would always spar three times a day. Michael usually lost, but he was much faster than Ethan."

"And this was his advantage." said Sierra, smiling. "Michael had armed himself with Saraquael and Gabriel, and took down nearly half of them. That was when Jack knocked him out."

"So, where is he?" asked Anna.

Sierra looked down at her hands, clenched as if in prayer, on top of the table. "That," she began. "I do not know. He's hidden in the demon realm."

"The demon realm?" asked Lindsay. "What is it like there?"

"It's awful." said Anna. "I've heard about it from my old instructor, Isabelle Lightwood. It's hot, teeming with demons—duh—and theres no water or food anywhere. It's virtually uninhabitable by humans."

"Then," said Lindsay, standing up. "We're going."

"What do you mean?" asked Sierra. "We can't go in there just yet."

"Listen to me." said Lindsay, eyes narrowing. "I've been married to this man for only a few brief months. I am not going to lose him this early on. I don't give a damn if you all go with me, but I, for one, am going in there, knocking the hell out of a few demons, and saving my husband, and not even the Angel can stop me."

"I'm glad ya think that way, Lindsay." said Klaus, who walked into the room, smiling. "Because I've just made a few breakthroughs in this endeavor."

"Such as?" asked Ethan.

"I travelled ta Idris a short moment ago. The Hologate there was still operational." said Klaus. His face turned grave. "Not a single living soul there. All dead. However, I did find somethin' of use. I was examinin' the area 'round the Gard, and I discovered a tightly bound scroll with a Rune of Endurance on it. 'Twas one of the only things still relativ'ly intact. I opened it and discovered a very interestin' Rune. 'Twas a Rune of Imprisonment.

"This Rune allows the inscriber ta freeze somethin'—or someone—in place, so long as it's the next thing ta touch the object that has the Rune placed on it. For example, if I were ta draw the Rune on the floor here, and someone were ta step on the floor—that dumbass—the person who stepped near the Rune next would be completely paralyzed in place—frozen, if you will."

"That means. . ." began Anna.

"Yes, Anna." said Klaus, smiling. "That means that we can freeze the Forgotten in their tracks!"

Everyone stared at Klaus as if he had three heads. Finally, Lindsay jumped up and hugged him.

"Thank you!" she screamed. Tears poured down her cheeks, though they weren't tears of sadness—they were tears of joy.

"Secondly," said Klaus, after Lindsay had sat down. "I have forged a weapon that can kill the Forgotten leader, Morgana."

Ethan looked up at this. "I want to wield it."

Klaus pulled a seraph blade out of a small case. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a generic seraph blade.

"It's. . .just a seraph blade." said Ethan.

"That's because it is a seraph blade." said Klaus, smiling. "A seraph blade blessed by the most powerful bein' in the universe, whose power can be summoned by a single incantation. Its name. . .is Yahweh."

Suddenly, the blade in his hand glowed with a fierce golden light. It looked as if fire was radiating off of the blade—Klaus had to squint to even glance at the blade. He lowered the blade, and it dimmed. He held the hilt out towards Ethan, who took it.

The blade was extremely light, the hilt exquisitely carved. No doubt the blade was forged by the Iron Sisters, the compliment to the Silent Brothers. The Sisters forged all Shadowhunter weapons, from seraph blades to bows and arrows to broadswords and battleaxes. The Iron Sisters were master artisans. Ethan slashed the blade in the air a few times, without the effects of the incantation. The blade hummed as it sliced through the air, itching to destroy demons. Ethan sheathed it in a scabbard Klaus handed to him.

"In order ta kill any Forgotten with any other seraph blade—the blade I handed you is purely for the Queen, Morgana—you gotta make the attack towards the demon half of the warrior. If you attack the angel side first, the blade'll have no effect." explained Klaus.

"Got it." Ethan nodded, holding the scabbard in his hand, feeling the warmth of the blade through it.

"And finally," said Klaus, arms held behind his back. "I've discovered a means by which we can enter the demon realm."

"Boy, you've been a busy bee, eh Klaus?" asked Jacques, who walked in. Klaus smirked at his parabatai.

"How do we enter?" asked Jacob.

"I can modify the Hologate." said Klaus. "We'll need ta be outfitted with special armor and weapons. I can get ya those in the armory. Our skills'll be severely tested in there. No guarantee we'll all make it back alive."

"That's awfully depressing." said Jacques, clapping Klaus on the shoulder.

"Well, the reality isn't always uplifting." said Klaus grimly.

"Enough." said Ethan. "Talk is cheap. When can we go?"

"Whenever ya want, but I recommend we leave at sunrise tomorrow." said Klaus. "We need a good rest tonight. Everyone'll get a seraph blade as well as their weapon of choice. Pack plenty of water and food."

"All right." said Ethan. He walked up to his room, setting the seraph blade on his nightstand. He stared at it, then touched his parabatai Rune beneath his shirt.

"I promise. . ." whispered Ethan, closing his eyes. "I swear. . .on the Angel. . .we will find you, Michael."

(**(**(*)**)**)

Michael stared at Jace—or, rather, the creature that used to be Jace. The creature who knelt before him, the creature with his eyes, was certainly not the same person who had killed Jonathon Morgenstern, who had led the Shadowhunters as the Consul.

"B. . .Brother?" asked Michael, taking a step backwards. "You and I are nothing alike! Let Jace go!"

"Ah, even with the evidence right in front of you, you can't understand." said Morgana.

"Can I kill him, my Queen?" asked Jace.

"In due time, youngling." said Morgana, turning back to Michael. "When your memory was erased, the Brother who gave you your eyesight—Brother Uriah—inscribed a Rune between your shoulder blades. This Rune, the restorative Rune, allows the body of the Shadowhunter to be reconstructed in its most primitive state." She looked at him with evil eyes. "Don't you see, Michael? You were a Forgotten all along."

"SHUT UP!" screamed Michael, sprinting away, back towards Inquisitor Lightwood. Michael knelt beside his corpse.

Please, please have some sort of weapon. Pleaded Michael with himself. Even a freakin' butter knife would do, at this point.

Sadly, as far as weapons were concerned, Alec was completely bare. Morgana stared at him from across the room.

"Ah, the Shadowhunter, without any weapons?" asked Morgana, smiling. "How peculiar." She snapped her fingers. "Kill him, Jace."

Jace sprinted like a monster—although that wasn't incredibly far off from the actuality—towards Michael. He drew two seraph blades as he sprinted, gold-silver eyes glinting monstrously.

Suddenly, a body lurched before Jace, knocking him over, seraph blades flying away from him, primal scream escaping from his gaping throat. Michael stared incredulously. It was Alec. Somehow, despite his throat being nothing more than a mass of mangled flesh, he was able to knock over Jace. Michael seized his opportunity, diving for the seraph blade. The blade flipped into his hand, fitting comfortably. Michael was armed. Michael could fight.

Adam and Kassidy sprinted towards him; Jace was struggling with Alec's body over him. Michael held the seraph blade, just as he had held the katana the first night the Forgotten had attacked. He lacked his Oculus Rune, but he no longer needed it—he was overcome by fighting spirit.

Michael steeled himself, screaming his name once. The blade flared up with blue light as he spun around in a glistening azure arc. The blade connected with Kassidy's raised arm, cleaving it off as if it were the consistency of melted butter.

The strike caught Kassidy off guard as she fell to the ground. Adam wasn't deterred however, as he punched Michael in the jaw. Michael felt a few of his teeth crack, though his grip on the blade remained true. He slashed at Adam's leg, cutting into the onyx flesh. He screamed as he fell to the ground. Michael stood up, sinking the blade into his chest.

Jace had finally wrestled Alec off of him, as he stood, breath heaving, glowering at his two fallen comrades. Jace had grabbed the second seraph blade—which, in his grip, was beginning to turn dark—from his struggle with Alec. He orbited Michael, eyelids low, like a lion stalking its prey.

"Well, well, well." murmured Jace. "If we are struck at our demon sides, seraph blades can wound us." The corners of his mouth turned up minimally. "Pity I don't have one. For about three days after the conversion, Forgotten are completely invincible. Their demon sides must grow, adhere to their angelic personalities of old."

"Jace!" Michael screamed, blade held in his traditional fighting pose. "Please! I know you're still in there!"

"Shut up!" screamed Jace, eyes flaring angrily. "I am not Jace!" He sprinted towards Michael, but didn't attack to kill. He swept Michael's legs. The seraph blade soared through the air. Jace punched Michael in the chest, knocking him back to the wall. He caught the blade effortlessly. He sheathed one blade, before pulling out a long black rod the same material as the Infernal Cup—a dark stele. He carved a restorative Rune on Adam and Kassidy, causing Adam's leg to knit back together, and Kassidy's arm to reattach. Jace replaced the stele and redrew the seraph blade. Adam and Kassidy fanned out to cover Michael's left and right. They each drew weapons—Adam a spear, Kassidy a scythe. They stood in a line, right in the entrance hallway, Michael pinned against the wall.

So, Thought Michael. This is really where I die?

(**(**(*)**)**)

Everyone rose the next morning solemnly. Klaus had everyone grab a small backpack, filled with dried fruit, nuts, and jerky, as well as five bottles apiece of water, from the kitchen. They all met in the armory.

"Everyone, I have engineered new weapons for each of you, so that we may combat the Forgotten offensive." said Klaus. He pulled out a large wooden case, about the dimensions of an archaic coffin. In it laid four unique weapons.

The first weapon Klaus took up was a large battleaxe. Its two blades were forged from adamas, the handle silver. A wicked spike stuck out from the base. The two blades bisected the cylindrical handle, two semicircular holes carved into the blades themselves, big enough to fit a hand through.

"It's name is Adonael." said Klaus, handing it to Ethan, handle-first. "The blades and handle are separable, all you have to do is press the button on the handle. The blades can be weld similarly to knives, or brass knuckles with blades. To return to axe form, slam the handle into the ground, spike-first, and reattach the blades." Jacob smiled as he heaved it onto his shoulder.

The next weapon Klaus pulled out was an extravagantly forged bow. The string was made of finely corded adamas fiber. The bow itself was made of onyx and adamas, the handles of which held the motifs of two dragons, curling up until their trails met to create the sights. The quiver of the bow was golden, and held about twenty arrows, each made of a different potent material.

"This bow is called Briathos." explained Klaus, handing the quiver and bow to Anna. "The twin dragons have hidden blades in their mouths. Simply pull twice on the string. The string will retract, and the bow becomes two blades. Swing the dragons downwards to release the blades."

The third weapon Klaus pulled out was a long corded whip. The whip was made of electrum, another famous Shadowhunter mineral. The end of the whip was tipped with a blue diamond-shaped head. The handle also resembled a dragon, the whip exiting its mouth. The whip sizzled and crackled with yellow energy.

"This one is called Galgaliel. Pure electrum whip, tipped with a refined adamas kunai. Dragon head allows for extreme precision. If you lock around an enemy with the whip, press the button between its eyes to deliver an electric shock capable of knocking out a full grown bison." said Klaus, smirking as he curled it into smooth circles before handing it to Lindsay, who held it as if it were a snake.

The final weapon Klaus heaved out of the case, before kicking the case backwards, was a large broadsword. The blade glowed black, red fog spiraling inside the translucent material. The blade was wicked sharp—as Ethan sat simply looking at it, he noticed a small cut blossom on his finger. The hilt was forged from adamas, carved into a crossguard in the shape of a crucifix.

"This blade is called Adriel. The red fog within is composed of the souls of Shadowhunters slain in battle with the Forgotten. This grants the blade its added strength, speed, and sharpness. The crucifix crossguard prevents demons from even holding the blade. As I can see from the small nick on your finger, even looking at the tip of the blade can cause injury." said Klaus, handing him the blade. Ethan sheathed it on his back.

"Well, with that out of the way," Klaus said, turning to the Baltimore Institute. "We are now ready for the assault on the Forgotten stronghold." Matt, Sierra, and Jacques all walked in. Sierra polished her twin forearm blades, Jacques was attaching his cesti to his jacket, which extended to his mid-forearm. Even Matt was outfitted with Shadowhunter armor, although he bore no weapon. Jacques wanted to arm him with a spear.

"Don't need it." said Matt plainly. "Just stay the heaven out of my way when we get into battle."

All of them were armed to the teeth, outfitted with new Shadowhunter protection, and had every inch of their bodies covered with Runes. Klaus cocked his crossbow back, his quiver slung over his shoulder. The cadre of Shadowhunters walked to the Hologate room. Klaus punched a few pieces of data into a small computer. The familiar mechanical voice sounded.

"Hologate Omega detected. Transport for Ethan Heartwright, Anna Dragonsbane, Jacob Dragonsbane, Lindsay Greenwell, Matchitehew Flaresting, Jacques Rowandale, Klaus Fairweather, and Sierra Aldertree to the demon realm granted. Standby for entrance manifestation."

The gate began to writhe and pulse as the gateway turned dark and opaque. A gray castle appeared in the distance. "This is the Forgotten stronghold." explained Klaus. "No turning back. Everyone ready?"

Ethan nodded. He was ready—oh, so ready—to utterly destroy the Forgotten, to send them back to where they came, to damn them to a fate beyond Hell for even thinking of kidnapping his parabatai.

With that, the door erupted into a black hole—a horrific parody of what Ethan knew as a Portal. Without so much as a breath, they all stepped through.

Ethan landed with a dull thud on a hard stone surface. Jacob and Anna landed a short distance away, Jacob rubbing his head softly. Lindsay was being helped up by Jacques and Klaus, Klaus putting a careful hand under her arm. Sierra and Matt stood up, looking about. Matt muttered softly under his breath "Welcome home. . ."

Ethan straightened up, unsheathing Yahweh. Klaus extended a hand. "Go with Adriel. Yahweh only has one shot. We need to save it for Morgana." Ethan nodded, swapping the seraph blade for the broadsword.

They stood before a large stone castle, all of the windows inlaid with glass as dark as the armor of the Shadowhunters. Four Forgotten warriors stood in front of a large drawbridge, which led into the castle. Underneath the drawbridge was a moat of molten lava. Skeletal half-human, half-fish creatures jumped out of the lava at intermittent intervals, scalpel teeth gnashing at air. The Shadowhunters quickly took cover from behind a rock shelf, which obscured them from the Forgotten.

"By the Angel," whispered Jacques. "What are those things?"

"Wraiths. . ." said Matt, looking at them from afar with a look of contempt, like one might look at a snake or a slug. "Nasty sons-a-bitches. They only reside in lava. If the lava doesn't kill you, they will."

"So, what's the plan?" asked Jacob.

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Lindsay. "We go in, rescue Michael, and get out!"

"We'll have to get through them." said Klaus, gesturing towards the four Forgotten from behind the rock.

"Force our way through?" asked Ethan.

"No, we need a craftier method to get in." said Sierra.

"So, what, do we make a giant Trojan horse?" asked Jacob. "Or dress up in disguises?"

"Forcing our way through seems like a good idea now. . ." muttered Sierra, as Anna smirked at Jacob.

"Let's do it." said Ethan.

"Let me." said Matt. "I may be a demon, but I am a special one."

"What, besides the fact that you look relatively human, are relatively friendly with Shadowhunters, and have a deplorable taste in nail color?" asked Anna.

"Besides all of that," said Matt, smiling. "I am a demon who is able to receive Runes."

Everyone looked at Matt incredulously. Sierra stood up. "Why don't you reveal yourself?" she said. "James Herondale?"

Everyone looked at Matt even stranger then. Matt was a Shadowhunter—not just any Shadowhunter, but a descendant of the Herondale line?

"I am no longer known by that name." said Matt grimly. "When I was attacked by Merihim—the same demon that killed Michael's parents—my tenure as a Shadowhunter ended."

"I thought that your parents were Lilith and Ithuriel?" asked Ethan.

"I told you that when I met you. Once one is converted into a demon, one has birth parents—mine were Will Herondale and Tessa Gray—and one has conversion parents—in my case, Lilith and Ithuriel." explained Matt. "I was left to die after an attack by Merihim. My blood became infused with demonic energy—my Shadowhunter blood did little to save me. I could remember who I was, and could receive angelic and demonic Marks alike. A demon with autonomy—the one true enemy to demons. A demon who blindly obeys his leader is a good one. I questioned Lilith, and turned to Ithuriel to save me—however, he was killed by Valentine. I was cast up from Hell, and here I am." He pulled his shirt off, revealing a scaly indigo skin over his back. Beneath the semitranslucent scales, he could see faded Runes—Runes of battles past, of injuries healed. Ethan noticed a faded white Rune over his chest—the Rune for parabatai.

"Ethan." said Matt, snapping his attention back. "Apply an Aggression Rune between my shoulder blades."

"Matt, why do you want one of them?" asked Sierra. "You won't be able to. . ."

"Sierra. . ." said Matt, turning around to look at the Shadowhunters. "Klaus. . .Jacques. . .and the Baltimore Institute. . .once this Rune is applied, push me into the line of the Forgotten. Once they're taken care of, run in. Don't pay me any thought. Don't even look at me. It won't be pretty."

"Matt, no!" screamed Sierra, grabbing onto his arm. Jacques and Klaus pulled her back, holding her arms in theirs. Ethan pulled a stele from his pocket, and set the tip to Matt's skin. It sizzled the scales, turning the tip of the stele an ugly black-brown color, smoke swirling off of it. A Rune swirled off of it, burning itself in Matt's scaly skin, beneath the smooth scales. Matt exhaled slowly once, and turned to lock eyes with Ethan. Unlike the three crimson eyes Ethan knew so well, Ethan noticed that they were glowing ice blue. Suddenly, Matt's pupils shrunk to pinpricks. He roared loudly, as Jacob pushed him into the line of Forgotten soldiers.

Matt drew his arms downward as he sprinted, and blue flames licked his fingers. He clawed into the first Forgotten soldier as if he were made of butter. Ethan ducked his head behind the rocks, to avoid seeing the carnage. Ethan had killed thousands of demons, but this level of brutality was too high.

"The coast is clear!" screamed Jacob. They all dashed out, as Ethan tried desperately not to look at the bloody carcasses of the fallen Forgotten. They crossed the drawbridge as Matt busied himself with a fresh wave of three more soldiers. Ethan rounded a corner just inside the drawbridge.

"Blasted things!" screamed Matt, his voice nearly two octaves deeper than what it was. "Get off of me!" Ethan heard a loud crack as a body thudded against the castle. A Wraith had been flung against the castle, a large crater about fifteen yards from where Matt was.

Suddenly, the Wraith opened its skeletal mouth, and out poured a sound so horrendous that Ethan felt a small trickle of blood ooze down his ear. Suddenly, Wraith after Wraith leapt from the lava river, seizing Matt's arms, legs, and back. Nearly thirty of them clawed at his back, his face, leaving bloody gashes through his skin.

Suddenly, Matt began to slide backwards, towards the edge of the drawbridge, as if the Wraith mass had a giant magnet in their collective entity. Matt dug his feet in, lurched his weight against the Wraith coating that had wrapped theirselves from his shoulders to his thighs, around his arms.

"By the Angel. . ." whispered Ethan. "They're gonna pull him into the lava!" He turned to Jacob. "Come out there and help me!"

"Ethan, no!" screamed Klaus, yanking him back into the castle. "Ethan, every moment that Michael is in this castle, he is probably fighting for his life, fighting against Forgotten after Forgotten to stay alive for, at the very least, two people. They are Lindsay and you. Matt is gone. We need to get Michael." Ethan stood up, as the Wraiths flew back into the lava. Matt's body was nowhere to be seen. Ethan touched his heart once and whispered "Ave atque vale, Shadowhunter. . ."

Ethan and the rest of the Shadowhunters sprinted down a long corridor, nearing the depths of the castle. From the inside, the castle was lit by grey embers, which enhanced the metallic look of the fortress. Suddenly, Ethan stopped sprinting all together, the Vox Rune on his neck glowing.

"I can hear something. . ." said Ethan.

"What, two Forgotten getting it on across the castle?" asked Jacob.

"No. . .conversation." said Ethan. "Between a woman. . .and Michael."

"Probably Morgana—the queen of the Forgotten." said Klaus. "Where are they?"

Ethan led the group down a maze of more corridors, before coming to a very large door. The door had a large bar through its two gargantuan handles, made of adamas. Lindsay sprinted to the door and tried to heave the door open.

"Ethan, what can you hear?" asked Klaus.

"They're right behind this door." said Ethan. "I know it."

"All right then." said Jacques. "Once I open this door, I want Anna and Klaus in front, bows at the ready. Jacob, Sierra, Lindsay and I will protect Ethan in the center." Jacques hauled open the door, as Jacob drew Adonael, and Lindsay drew Galgaliel.

With a mighty yell, Jacques threw the door open.

(**(**(*)**)**)

Michael stood with his back against the wall. His breath was slow and even, despite the three Forgotten warriors standing before him, malice glinting in their eyes, fingers opening and closing around their weapons.

"This is where you die, Shadowhunter." whispered Jace. He twirled his seraph blades, mouth contorted into an evil grin. Adam looked at Michael with the utmost of vehemence, and Kassidy simply looked amused. They all lunged at him at once.

Suddenly, Adam lurched to the ground, grabbing his hand as his spear flew through the air, embedding itself in the ground. A glittering golden arrow speared Adam's hand.

And, in the doorway, holding a bow aloft, her eyes wide at her shot, was Anna.

Kassidy dashed towards Anna, scythe drawn as a vast string of expletives leaked from her mouth, but she was hauled into the air by a gargantuan individual who held an even larger battleaxe. Jacob.

Jace sat dumbfounded at the Shadowhunters which gathered in the room. Morgana sat at her throne, somewhat amused. Ethan sprinted over to Michael, locking him in a tight hug.

"No time for a lovefest." said Klaus, loading his crossbow. "We've still got the Consul to deal with."

"And so, the Shadowhunter, when he is most alone, has a group of his brethren to help save him." spat Jace. "Well, I, too, have an army." Morgana snapped her fingers, resounding like gunfire in the spacious room.

All of the sudden, little caves began to open in the metal walls. Perhaps 'caves' wasn't the best word—they were more like hangars, each having a door about the height and width of a normal human. There were about five hundred hangars embedded throughout the room. Through each of the hangar doors flew a Forgotten warrior, each one bearing weapons, some bearing swords, others bearing whips, and still others bearing crossbows. The skin of each Forgotten was covered in both angelic and demonic Runes.

They all stood behind Jace, Jace holding his twin seraph blades in his hands, the blades beginning to turn a dark hue. Each held the same look of anger that Adam and Kassidy had.

"Five hundred and one turned Shadowhunters, each possessing the power of angels and demons, against eight typical Shadowhunters." said Klaus. "I'm not fond of these odds."

"Oh, come on." said Jacques. "This isn't the first time we've had the odds stacked against us."

"Remember the first time we saw one of these freaks?" asked Ethan.

"That was my brother." said Lindsay, shooting him a dirty look.

"Who'd've thought we'd be fighting five hundred more now?" asked Jacob. He handed Michael what he needed most: Saraquael and Gabriel.

"Thanks." said Michael. He felt them in his hands; so good to have an old weapon back in its master's grip.

"CHARGE!" screamed Jace, as the Forgotten each drew their weapons and took off like shots towards the small group of Shadowhunters.

Klaus fired in quick succession at three who attempted to jump over the rest of the hunters. Each bolt pierced the demonic sides of the Forgotten, as they fell earthward. Anna rolled off of Klaus' back, firing another four arrows at a group of advancing Forgotten.

Michael began sparring with Jace. There was a very good reason why he survived his first encounter with Sebastian Verlac—he was incredibly gifted with weapons, especially seraph blades. As Michael's chakhrams clashed with Jace's seraph blades, he knew that Jace could easily overpower him.

The Forgotten began to close in on Lindsay, who swung her whip at them, lopping their limbs off in the process. Ethan seized up Adam's spear, and launched it towards Lindsay, impaling five Forgotten trying to advance on her.

Jace backflipped as Michael threw Gabriel, which barely scraped the top of his head. Michael ducked to avoid one of his seraph blades, and swept his legs from under him. Jace abandoned one of his seraph blades and grabbed Michael by the throat, holding him in the air with one scarred hand.

"I'm going to carve my name into your chest!" screamed Jace, holding the blade above him.

Ethan saw this, and picked up Raguel, sizing it up in his hands. He launched the blade through the air, lodging itself in the wall, Jace's hand pinned between the blade and the wall.

"Michael!" called Klaus, firing at another Forgotten. "If you kill Jace, you can severely wound all of the Forgotten!"

"SHUT UP!" screamed Morgana, flinging a ball of red energy at Klaus, who shoulder rolled out of the way. He knelt momentarily, scrawling something on the ground.

"Morgana infused Jace with the energy to control the Forgotten, once he drank from the Mortal and Infernal Cups!" exclaimed Klaus, rolling out of the way of another bolt of energy. "Do it! Now!"

"You won't do it to save your little wife!" screamed Morgana. A large black bolt of energy glowed in her hands, which she held above her head.

"What will. . .you do. . .Shadowhunter?" spat Jace, wincing as the blade pierced his hand. Michael glared at him, stared deep into his soulless eyes, felt his chakhram poking into his tight stomach, a small bead of blood exiting where he pushed.

Morgana let the bolt fly, arching towards Lindsay with unimaginable speed.

"No!" screamed Michael, pushing off of Jace, sprinting towards Lindsay. He leapt in front of the bolt, grabbing it with his bare hands.

The bolt was made of pure energy—no, that energy was anything but pure. The energy crackled up his arms, sending chills into every cell of his body, before dissipating as Michael flew across the room, and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor, after his blood splattered the walls.

(**(**(*)**)**)

Ethan's body went completely numb for a moment. Then, something exploded inside him, like a white-hot conflagration of pain, starting in his heart and expanding out to his arms and legs. He screamed, falling to the ground, grabbing his heart.

"Ethan!" screamed Sierra, running over to him. "What is it?!"

"MICHAEL!" screamed Ethan, running over to his body, dropping to his knees by his arm. His face was bloody and colorless, his chest still.

"No. . ." whispered Klaus. "He can't be. . ."

Ethan buried his head into Michael's chest, and screamed at the top of his lungs. The scream resounded around the room, boring deep into everyone's ears. Morgana and Jace cherished his agony, the blistering rage of one who lost his brother, and he was helpless to stop the rage once it came, like the great deluge pouring from a burst dam. Michael, the man who sparred with him daily, the man whom Ethan stood beside as he married Lindsay, the man who bore witness to Lindsay's Ascent alongside Ethan, Ethan's parabatai,and the bravest Shadowhunter to ever grace Idris, was dead in his arms.

"Ha ha ha!" screamed Morgana. "Aw, what's the matter? Did you lose your brother?!" she reared back and screeched loudly, in a horrific parody of a laugh.

Ethan looked upwards, towards Morgana, glaring at her with a cold detachedness. His anger was as red as the lava outside the castle. He stood up, slowly, drawing Yahweh from his belt. First Matt, now his parabatai had fallen victim to Morgana's forces. He was going to kill Morgana—even if he took himself with her.

He sprinted towards Morgana, drawing the seraph blade upward, calling its name as it flared with amber light. Morgana struck Ethan as he ran towards her, her bare arm clashing with the blade. Ethan soared end over end, landing on his back before the floor. He stood up again, and, overcome with hatred and anger, ran at her again, only to be knocked backwards.

"When will you learn, you stupid Nephilim?!" asked Morgana, stepping down from her dais, down before the Shadowhunters. "No force of Heaven nor Hell can combat a Greater Demon! Your parabatai is dead, James Herondale is dead, the greatest Shadowhunter that has been or will ever be conceived is under my control, and all you have left is seven little Shadowhunters! Face it, boy! You have lost!"

Morgana crept closer and closer, as Ethan stood up again, seraph blade drawn. Its energy was rapidly fading, its glow ebbing away from it. He had never hated anything more than Morgana, at that very moment. Her eyes glinted evilly, a black ball of energy blossoming in her right hand.

"Die!" she screamed, stepping forward as the ball hurtled towards Ethan.

As she flung the ball, it disappeared, fading away into black miasma at Ethan's feet. Something was glowing on her high-heel clad foot, an ice-blue crystal. It encased her right foot, then her left. Suddenly, it shot up onto her hands, as they, too, grew crystals, which pitched her forward, onto her knees. She was completely immobile. Ethan looked between her arms, and saw, on the floor, a glowing Rune. The Rune of Imprisonment. Ethan looked over at Klaus, who smiled.

"Go ahead, boss." said Klaus. Ethan felt empty—empty of any mercy, any happiness, or any regret. He drew the rapidly-draining seraph blade upward, whispered "Yahweh" to renew its depleting energy, and plunged the blade deep into Morgana's stomach.

She screamed louder than she laughed, tears of blood dripping down her cheeks.

"No, please! Spare me!" she howled. "Think of my son, Matchitehew!"

"Did you ever heed those words when your subjects slaughtered millions of Shadowhunters around the globe?" asked Ethan, his voice seeming incredibly, impossibly far-off to him. "Did you ever listen to those words, when the Forgotten killed men, women, and children without pity, without remorse? Did you spare Matt? DID YOU SPARE MICHAEL?!" He sunk the blade deeper into her stomach, almost up to the hilt. "You killed all but us seven! You slaughtered them like dogs! And so, you shall die as one, too." He turned to her, eyes shut, not listening to her cries for help, for freedom. He only turned around when he heard the soft clink of the seraph blade hit the floor, amidst a pile of ash.

(**(**(*)**)**)

Lindsay knelt by her husband, holding his hand. Tears silently streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto his hand, his chest. Ethan stood beside the pile of ash that had used to be Morgana, sinking the seraph blade deep into the floor, as the last of its energy faded away. Ethan turned to Michael, walking towards him, kneeling beside him. A single tear dripped from his eye, landing on Michael's upturned left hand.

"Ave atque vale, Shadowhunter, and may Raziel have mercy on your soul. . ." whispered Ethan. He pushed Michael's unblinking eyes shut, squeezing his cold arm.

Suddenly, Lindsay felt an extreme sense of warmth from behind her. She and the rest of the Shadowhunters turned around to see a giant cylinder of light, the height of the ceiling and maybe five meters in diameter, radiating before them. Inside the cylinder was a person—no, not a person; an angel.

The angel flapped its silver, feathery wings slowly, descending to just above the base of the cylinder. It had long white hair, the color of freshly fallen snow, and a long beard of the same color. His white robes covered him from his chest to his feet, his arms crossed in front of him, his arms covered in mysterious Runes that Lindsay didn't know—she knew, at the very least, that they weren't from the Gray Book.

Ethan stepped forward as the cylinder of light dissipated. The angel looked at him with eyes filled with golden light.

You who have summoned me, boomed the angel. Why do you command me to leave my heavenly domain?

"None of us summoned you. . ." said Ethan, nearly blinded by his golden light-filled eyes.

Shadowhunter, you know it is wrong to lie to an angel, especially the angel of God Himself. said the angel, looking at Ethan with a certain hardness.

"You're. . ?" asked Ethan.

Yes. said the angel. I am Yahweh.

"The spirit of the seraph blade." said Jacob.

"And why were you summoned?" asked Ethan.

Every seraph blade has a seal, as I'm sure you know. explained Yahweh. The seal was broken once the blade slew Morgana. And, since you have slain the most deadly of the Greater Demons, I am obliged to give you at least some form of a gift. I will grant you one wish.

Ethan stopped for a moment. The strongest of angels was under his command. He had one wish to do with whatever he pleased. He could wish away all of the demons, wish that they had never existed. He could wish the lives of all of the Shadowhunters back. He looked back at his friends, then looked at Michael, looked at his lifeless body.

"I know what I want to wish for." said Ethan. He turned back to Yahweh. "I want Michael Greenwell to walk again."

Hm. . . mused Yahweh. Then, he smiled. That is the depth of the parabatai bond. It shall be done. Also, because of your valor, and your stalwartness in the ways of the Nephilim, the lives of those who were attacked by the Forgotten will all be restored—though your country of Idris will remain destroyed as a testament to this great war. He looked upwards. Raziel would be proud. You are all credits to the Nephilim. Farewell, young ones, and remain Raziel's Sword, Raziel's Cup, and Raziel's Mirror.

The angel soared up into the ceiling, engulfed in the blinding cylinder of light. He rose slowly, slowly into the ceiling, before fading away into nothing.

Suddenly, Ethan heard a low groan, like a man woken from a drunken stupor. Ethan turned around, slowly. Michael clutching his stomach, blood pouring from a large cut across his abdomen. He sat up, brown hair hanging in his face. He looked up at Ethan.

"Ethan, what the hell are we still doing here?" asked Michael. Ethan's eyes flooded with tears, and hugged his brother, holding him tight. He inhaled his scent, of cold metal, of battles past, of sweat and tears. He looked up into his eyes, and smiled.

His parabatai no longer had the eyes of a Forgotten, but the eyes of his parabatai, hazel, the right eye slightly greener than the left.

"Welcome back, Michael Greenwell." Ethan whispered, clapping him on the shoulder. "Welcome back."

(**(**(*)**)**)

Michael was quickly rushed back to the destroyed Idris. The Silent Brothers took him, carried him into the ruined Gard, where they examined him ten times over to make sure that he was truly alive.

It's incredible. said Brother Uriah, the one who had given Michael the Forgotten eyes, to Ethan. It's as if life was poured back into him by Yahweh himself. You say that, when the angel Yahweh appeared, you asked him for Michael's life back?

"Yes." said Ethan, absentmindedly scratching on the side of the wooden chair he sat in across from the Silent Brother. After they had returned from the demon realm, all seven of them—Michael later joined after he was deemed 'alive'—were put under the Mortal Sword and asked to tell the Consul and the rest of the Clave what had happened. Consul Wayland strategically avoided asking Ethan about who was heading the Forgotten on the assault in the castle. Ethan looked out of the window overlooking Alicante, looked down on his brethren meandering about the front of the Gard, waiting for him. Klaus and Jacques were sitting on either side of Sierra, twirling their steles about. Klaus' crossbow sat on the wall they sat on, his left leg kicked up, his elbow slung over his knee. Anna and Jacob were a short distance away, Anna tracing her finger over Jacob's Wedded Union Rune.

That seems awfully selfish, Ethan Heartwright. mused Uriah. Why didn't you wish for the safety of the Shadowhunters? The safety of the world?

"For a number of reasons." said Ethan, leaning over, his elbows resting on his knees. "Firstly, if I were to do that, Shadowhunters would have no purpose. Shadowhunters are born to fight demons. It is their only purpose. What else would I do—take up knitting?" He leaned farther over. "And secondly, you know the depths of the parabatai bond. If I had a chance to keep Michael alive forever, I would take it without a moments hesitation."

Ethan stood up, stepping out of the room and trotting down to the opening of the Gard. It felt so nice to be in a land he had never been before, but had such tight roots with. He sat beside Klaus, who punched him in the arm lightly.

"Them Silent Brothers creep me the hell out." said Klaus, shuddering. "I know they're our doctors an' all, but they give me the willies."

"Where's Lindsay?" asked Ethan, looking around.

"She's in there with Michael." said Anna, breaking away from a particularly passionate kiss with Jacob. "Anything interesting happen in there with Brother Uriah?"

"More inquiries, more explanations." said Ethan. He groaned. "So irritating sometimes."

"They interrogated us, too." said Jacques. "All about how we took down Forgotten, how Matt died, how Michael died but came back, blah blah blah. . ."

"Well, we were the only ones who were there." said Sierra. "And only Consul Wayland has been revived by an angel before."

"Still. . ." said Ethan, turning back towards the doors of the Gard. "I wonder how he's doing in there."

Suddenly, both doors opened. Out strode Michael and Lindsay, hand in hand. Michael possessed the gait of a man who had new life breathed into him; it was as if every endorphin in his body was set alight.

"That Uriah fellow, he sure loves running tests on me. . ." murmured Michael, turning to Ethan. "All of the examinations are over."

"Oh, and it only took them, what, three weeks?" asked Jacques, smiling.

"Something." said Michael, smiling back. "I've got some news, by the way. And it concerns you, Ethan."

"For the last time, Michael, I didn't steal your sweet roll last week!" exclaimed Ethan.

"No, no, dumbass, it's not that!" Michael said, laughing. "It's just that. . .well. . .you're going to be a godfather."

Ethan stood dumbfounded. The gears in his head were working overtime, turning quicker and quicker. "Wait a minute. . .I'm. . .gonna be a godfather? Who the hell is pregnant?"

Michael looked at him with the restrained urge to knock the ever-loving piss out of him. "LINDSAY IS GOING TO HAVE A CHILD, DIPSHIT."

Anna turned from Lindsay to Michael to Jacob. "When did you two find the time to do that?"

Well, according to Brother Uriah, if I die again, I can't be brought back." explained Michael, looping his hand into Lindsay's, who looked up at him smitten. "I figured that I need to stop playing games. It's time I started to take my duties as a Shadowhunter seriously."

"So. . .what does that mean?" asked Ethan.

"That means I need to start training again." said Michael. "And I need a partner."

Ethan smiled, the first real smile he smiled in the past three weeks. "Wanna train out in Brocelind Plain?"

"I'll race you!" screamed Michael, turning on a dime and sprinting away from the Gard.

As Ethan ran after Michael, Vox Rune shining on his neck, he heard Lindsay and Anna rapidly jabbering about possible names for Lindsay's son or daughter. He heard Jacques, Klaus, and Sierra get up and talk about heading back to Berlin. He stopped for a moment, and turned to look at the group of Shadowhunters. He smiled, smiled at the fact that everyone survived, at his new godson or goddaughter, at the prospect of life anew.

"Hey, are you coming, or what?!" yelled Michael.

Ethan set off again for Brocelind Plain.