Your eyes slowly open, thick grey smoke clouding your vision. You moan, touching your head where you were hit with a demons claw, oddly finding no lump. Brushing the thought out of your head, you slowly stretch your legs, hearing the satisfying pops as you stretch out to your natural height. You look all around, not sure what to expect. You only remember the chaos of what was going all around you. Demons crawling all around the city of New York, what was once times square. Instead of the bright and overwhelming sounds of big screens and the roar of the crowd, tall structures are toppled over, ichor covering every inch of what once stood as the large tower of screens. The city looked like a war zone. White noise filled the air, along with the cries and moans of those injured. The screams piercing the air disturbing the otherwise peace. Screams of people finding their loved ones, probably lying in a pool of pitch black ichor mixed with the bright red of freshly shed human blood, along with the slightly lighter shining red color of shadowhunter blood. You clutch your head in your hands, remembering more of the heinous war. Jonathon Morgenstern, white blond hair flying around his head as the cool breeze picked up. Bodies of fallen shadowhunters at his feet, his demonic laugh, a sound that you would imagine could only be found in the deepest pits of hell. His pitch black eyes boring into every soul, the look that caused you to remember why you were once afraid of the dark, this memory sent shivers down your spine, sending you into a spiraling darkness into a memory you never wanted to relive.

You remember the night the Clave sent you into the Brocelind Forest, looking for rogue vampires or werewolves, but you came across something much worse. Jonathan standing with his followers, a fiery red head by his side, fiercely fighting to get away, away from the cup that must have held something of great, dark power. Her eyes, a deep beautiful green, pierced through every thing that she looked, and when she looked at Jonathan, they had a look of utter disgust, a look that you only give the most vile creatures of the planet. Those eyes were haunting. You remember glancing over to a beautiful blonde. A blond with the only gold eyes you have ever seen. Eyes that you would have thought would have had so much life in them, but instead they were a hard and steely gold, showing no emotion. You tried your hardest to place them, remembering stories from just a few months prior of a man with golden eyes, but you had to admit to yourself, you never really did pay attention to the claves meetings, especially having just turned 18 three days prior. The only name you really ever paid attention too was the name of Jonathon, the man whose father killed your mother and brother.

The gathering in the Brocelind Forest turned dire. Jonathon gestured and an older woman was brought up to his stand, forced to drink from the same up the fiery red head kept trying to avoid. The woman turned into something dark, something sinister, something demonic, and something truly not natural. You cowered further into the cover of the dark trees in the night. Your senses were on high alert, just like your trainer had taught you. Never let your guard down. You were about to take off when you heard a demon rustling in the trees, crunching of the leaves that had fallen, the crunching that should not have been here. The demon started to come closer; your hair had caught in the breeze that alerted the demon of your position. You braced yourself for the worse, dying an unworthy death. You didn't even have a dagger in your belt. Yet, you still crouched down ,the fighting stance that your father always had used, the stance that had saved his life a few times, but the stance wasn't enough to save him self earlier in the year. You were preparing to spring forward when there was a slight disturbance in the wind around your head. An arrow had buried itself in the demons chest, rendering it useless. Its cries echoing around the silent forest, alerting the group of an oncoming attack, you quickly ran into the cover of the trees, further and further not stopping until you had reached the edge of the forest, and gathered back with the Clave at their camp in the Brocelind Plain.

That night was not unlike this battle. Screams had echoed around the entire city of Brocilind Forest, much like in New York. Only these screams were the screams of mundanes in agony, screams of shadowhunters in brief triumph, which were soon to be silenced as more demons circled around them, screams for those who were lost.

You break out of your memory and again look around. Bodies littered the ground, like confetti at New Years. Bodies of mundanes lying at angles not natural to the human body, and close by a body of a shadowhunter, who you could only guess, was trying to protect these mundanes from the unimaginable, only doing what Raziel had asked of them, and they lost their life in the process. You continue walking, seeing the death and destruction all around. Not one centimeter was left uncovered. Ichor coated the grounds; pools of blood were slowly making their way down into the cities drains, to then go to their water supply, forever tainting it, and leaving a metallic smell in the air, so strong you could almost taste it.

You try your best not to gag as you make your way down the street, aiming for the Institute that lay a few blocks down. As you approach the corner that would take you to the once magnificent institute you see children. Dead children lie in the streets near what you believe to be a schoolhouse. Their eyes wide open, mouths twisted in an expression of utter horror, an expression you never though you would see in innocent children's faces. Ichor stained their clothes and skin, leaving gaping fleshy holes still steaming through rotten flesh so you could see the ground in places where their organs once nestled in their warm fleshy bodies.

You loose your fight to not gag, and walk briskly away, trying to not think about what had happened. Yet you still fantasize what most probably happened, shaping the fantasy after what happened around you. Hundreds of demons crawling around, circling around their prey, just as they did with your tiny group of ten, knowing for sure the blackness of death would take all of them, but also knowing that dying this death, was better than another. You shake that thought from your head, mourning for your friends, fallen comrades, innocent mundanes.

Continuing down the street, you started to become even more sealed into yourself, praying to the angels that the worst of the damage was behind you, nothing you though would be worse than what you had already seen. But sadly, that thought was wrong. Turning the corner, you finally came to the institute. A body lay right outside the gates, surrounded by three others. The body was the fiery red head, whose green eyes pierced everything that she looked at; now her body now was lifeless, laying limp on the ground. You go to get a closer look when you realize that there is another in that group, lying right next to the redhead. Silent sobs racking through his muscular frame. The other threes sobs ricocheting all around the area. Bouncing off every building, filling the silence with them. You peer closer; getting a closer look at the mans features. It's the blonde, with the beautiful, yet cold, gold eyes, and the one who was next to the red head in the forest. You try to put names to faces when suddenly the dull, golden eyes stare up at you. The mans lips twisting into a grimace of disgust, yelling toward me, "Stop staring and let us be!"

You quickly look back at the group of three, hoping they didn't notice you, and luckily, they didn't, so you continue to stare your mind again struggles with names and faces, when it suddenly hits you. Clary Morgenstern and Jace Herondale. You wonder how you could have been so stupid.

Jace Herondale. A hero of the war in Alicante; possessed by Lilith, then by Jonathan. Sought after by the Clave. Jace Herondale. Your eyes then go back to the red head. Clary. Your eyes strain to see the features on her lifeless marred face, pale alabaster, marked only by a dusting of freckles and the marks of demon claws. Clary Morgenstern, creator of runes, lived a mundane life, part angel. You want to collapse. How could something this tragic happen to these people? All they had gone through, only to be paid with the grief and suffering of death.

Realizing that you had been staring too long, the others could see you any moment, you go to leave. The temperature suddenly turns a fraction cooler, gooseflesh forming all over your body, stopping you in your tracks. Looking around you find the reason why. Men cloaked in black seemingly float over to where the group stands.

You see Jace stiffen every muscle in this body, clutching Clary's lifeless body closer. There is a pause; the Silent Brothers take this moment to reach out for Clary's lifeless body, when Jace lashes out. Yelling, screaming. You grow uncomfortable, terrible memories again flashing behind your eyes, but you can't look way. You are glued to the spot.

Jace gathers Clary's body into his arms. Doing all he can to keep her body away from the Silent Brothers all while weeping and screaming, "Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa." Shaking, sobbing, his tears flowing freely into Clary's wild hair. You start to cry, praying to the angels that someone would end this poor mans misery. What did they do that made them deserve anything like this? All they had been through and this is all they get? You become angry with the world, these two people were the sole saviors of our people. Clary created the ruin that bonded shadowhunters to a downworlder, making each person more strong to defeat Valentine the first time. Jace, the only person who had enough strength to truly overthrow Jonathan. Now could two people so good, end with an ending so tragic, that even you can see that this isn't right?

Wrapped up in your thoughts of anger and desperation for a different ending for these two people, a sudden voice catches you off guard.

"Please leave us." A voice echoes in your head.

You turn your attention to the Silent Brothers, cloaked all in black, one looking closely at you, "Go now."

Your hold on the scene vanishes, your thoughts turn to thoughts of sorrow only, realizing that you really can't change anything for these two lovers. Just like you couldn't do for your own beloved. You start to leave getting around the corner when your steps falter once again. A heart-wrenching scream echoes around the city. The cry of a broken man.

You desperately want to turn back, try to comfort Jace. But you know for a fact that you wouldn't be much help. No one could see you. It was a wonder how Jace could. Jace's screams mimicked those of your loved ones when they saw your mangled, broken, lifeless body lying in a puddle of ichor. Only you were an unfortunate who had to see the sight of your loved ones breaking, left to silently cry and scream and fruitlessly left to try to comfort them, knowing for a fact that no one you loved would ever see you again. So you continue on going around the corner, continuing to cry silently, sobbing for the Jace who lost his Clary. You went to wipe a tear from your face looking to the right, and you see a body lying in tatters. The body was the body of the man you hate, Jonathon. You get a closer look, his white blond hair slowly becoming black as he soaks in demon ichor, and his blank, pitch black eyes stare up into the heavens. You slowly back away, continuing to watch as the vile mans body continues to turn black, just like his soul.

I wrote this in AP Government, probably not my best choice, but when an idea comes into mind, I must write! What did you think? I apologize for any error in this piece, all faults are mine. The Jonathan that is written is supposed to be JONATHON. A typo on my part, sorry.

Thanks so much,

Jemsrwe