Attention: Readers of Trapped- expect un update in the next couple weeks. I'm sorry about the delay, I have some serious family issues at the moment- but enjoy this fanfic on Mortal Instruments! One-shot. ∞= Switched POV
Running at incredible speeds, through impenetrable darkness.
Dozens of Shadowhunters were strategizing a way to kill him.
He used to have to fight for his life.
He used to be the Daylighter.
He used to bear the Mark of Cain.
But that was a long time ago.
A time when there was a war, a war with Shadowhunters and Downworlders and demons and angels.
That time has past, leaving him with it.
He no longer lived in that time. He was now a Child of the Night. No longer does he feel, no longer is he human.
He's no longer the hunted weakling he used to be when she was alive.
No. Now, he hunts.
It's been decades since he's gone rogue, and he has yet to be caught. No one can find him, and when he makes himself known, no one can catch him. They still try to catch him though, still try to kill him, because he betrayed the Law. But, they can't. No matter how hard they try, they can't. Even their very best- the Lightwoods- can't. But, he has a feeling that has to do with their past.
Most of the time, he can't remember the past, and he's grateful. Sometimes, he can remember though; remember the years that he was normal. Those times do not go well. Whenever that happens…
Terror.
Pain.
Anger.
It's so strong that he can't help it. If he tries to, it becomes worse. But no matter what happens- it doesn't change the outcome.
He kills.
He does it because of her, and that because of him she was killed. Just because he refused to accept what he was, that he refused to join a clan- they tried to kill him, and when it didn't work- they just had to go for her.
Because, they knew, she was the only thing that could get to him. The only thing that kept him sane, kept him human.
They were right.
But now, he has a feeling they regret it horribly. They were all responsible, even her friends. No, not in killing her, but killing him. They made him into what he is.
They made him into a monster.
Running at incredible speeds, through impenetrable darkness.
Dozens of Shadowhunters were strategizing a way to kill him.
He loved the thrill of the chase.
The chase when they tried to hunt him, when they tried to catch him. Instead, he catches them. Plucks them off one by one. He always won. He always escaped. He was never caught.
Until, he was.
It just had to be him. The only person he couldn't bear to hurt, the only person he wouldn't kill- given the chance.
He wouldn't kill him because of her, because he was her boyfriend. The only person she would trust more then him- was he.
"Why? Why are you doing this? Do you think she would approve?" The male questioned, decades older then what he used to be.
He snarled, unsheathing his fangs.
"Look, I'm not here to fight you. I just want to know- why? We were your friends. What happened to you?" He said bringing up painful thoughts.
"You…" the words rolled of his tongue with disgust and a hint of admiration? "All of you did this." His words holding such fierce venom, the very air turned cold.
"We tried to help. Hell, you helped us. But, once, was all it took? I knew something changed that night. When, you had a taste of mundane. You managed it though, until she—" He got cut off.
"Shut up!" He screamed, and the air dropped a few more degrees. He started walking towards the male, murder written on his face.
"Do not say it," He hissed.
"You know I'm right though! Once you had a taste, and the chance to be able to do it again- you took it. And you couldn't stop." The male shook his head, a smirk plastered on his face.
"Who knew you would become the Head of the NYC Clan that night, and be able to hold it, for decades! Who knew you would be the one Shadowhunters couldn't catch!" A smiled reached the male's face, and for a second, the male seemed happy.
He snarled, not caring anymore, he was going to take this bastard out. History no longer mattered; the present- the future- is what counts.
"And you know why I do this? Do you even know what I do? I'll tell you alright," growling he prepared to lunge. If he did, there was no way the male would escape.
"You know you don't want to do this, Simon—" The male said fear evident in his voice, but also accomplishment.
Suddenly, the world spun. No one had called him that since she died. That word, that single word, caused the past to flash before his eyes, show him what he used to be before this horrendous monster.
It showed him the time with her.
"Settle down, class!" the first grade teacher called out as she came into the room, holding the hand of a little boy. "We have a new student today! Everybody say hi!"
"Hello," the class said, looking at the boy curiously.
There was a pause as small eyes looked suspiciously at his fellow pupils.
As the silence extended, the teacher frowned. "Now, that's not very nice, is it?" she scolded gently. "What do you say when other people say 'hello' to you?"
"Hi," the boy finally muttered.
"Good boy!" The teacher knew that the boy had had troubles in his old schools, but having been gullible and hopeful enough to think that teaching was a good career, she was naive enough to think that this child would soon integrate into the class well and was just a little shy. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for someone responsible who'd help her settle in. "Clary will be your guide for today!" she announced. "Won't you, Clary?"
"Of course," Clary answered, making her way forward. She was a member of the class hated by everyone else, having been given the post of 'Blackboard Monitor' by the teacher. She smiled sweetly, proud that she'd been picked.
The boy didn't want to be here, the girl annoying him. She was too cheerful, if you asked him. But, by the end of the day, he had a friend. That was more then he usually had.
A boy walked down the aisle of desks to present his teacher with his finished artwork, a scene from his favourite video game- Dungeons and Dragons. Accidentally, his hand knocked over a paint jar, covering another child's painting with bright green paint (admittedly that actually improved it, but that's not the point).
"Miss!" the child yelled in frustration.
"Shush," he demanded. It had been an accident, and he was trying his hardest not to be thrown out of school. He'd already had a few warnings, and he knew that any misbehavior could potentially be the last straw.
"Miss!" the kid yelled again, ignoring him. It had taken the child ages and ages to get that face (though it was probably more correct to call it a blob) right, and now someone had just come along and messed it all up. The kid demanded justice, and the kid was determined to get it.
Panicked, the he covered kid's mouth. A girl came up behind him, and walked to the child peeling his hand off the kid's face.
"It's okay, I'll help you with that," the girl said to the complaining child, and the kid grumbled an okay.
The girl flashed him a smile, and he could help but feel grateful. She had always been there for him, and wasn't going to let him get kicked out of school. He mouthed thanks, and handed in his art.
The boy was running through the store, while dragging his best friend along with him.
The mothers of the children were laughing somewhere behind them, about a joke the boy couldn't understand.
"Mommy!" The girl tugged on her mother's shirt, "Can I be a fairy?" The girl asked, throwing big puppy dog eyes in her direction. Her mother's face paled and seemed to try to make up a logical explanation- "Thanks!" The girl cut off before her mother could get a word in. The mother shook her head, but yet smiled slightly at the persistence.
The girl now dragged the boy, towards the selection of costumes. Before the boy could argue, she had shoved a costume in his face saying it was perfect for him, and that he must try it on.
He grumbled as he went into the change room, shedding his clothes and throwing on the costume. He looked in the mirror and stifled a scream. She was right- it was perfect for him, and it scared him.
"Come out! Let me see!" She asked impatiently but sounding excited. He walked out with his head down. When he looked up, his best friend was smiling widely, going on about how she knew it was perfect and blah, blah, and blah.
The mothers had just reached them, and when they saw him, his own mother smiled, meanwhile the other mother seemed shocked, and shook her head slightly before giving a forced smile.
He walked back into the change room, frowning at his pale skin, the red lips, the dark hair, at the costume that pieced it all together. He couldn't help feel uneasy. It was the perfect costume, so perfect it felt real. And he didn't like that at all, not one bit.
The club was blindingly bright, and deafening loud, and he loved every second of it. To make it even better he was here with his very best friend, the girl he loved but she didn't know it.
They danced, and talked, and danced even more. They were having a great time, even though it was only the two of them. It didn't matter, as long as they spent time together.
But, then something weird happened. She mumbled something about a boy, and a girl in a flowing silk dress, then three teens with weapons, and going to see what was happening. He didn't see anything, but she told him to go get someone- anyone.
That was the night that changed his life, and he hated it to the very core.
She just had to see him, while in Java Jones. The guy that was apparently in the club, the guy with the weapons and weird markings, who murdered someone.
The guy she was hopelessly in love with.
He felt betrayed, she was his girlfriend, but she'd rather kiss by her own brother. Admittedly, they were hopelessly in love before they knew they were related, but he couldn't help but be hurt.
He was supposed to watch out for her, make sure she didn't do stupid things like lick her fingers when they had a faerie substance on them that would get her trapped in the Selie Court. But, he didn't, and in return she was forced to be kissed someone she desired most, so he obviously thought it was himself.
They were going out.
But, he would never be good enough for her. He would never surpass her expectations like those of him.
He didn't have angel blood, like they did. He was just a patheticmundane that wasn't worthy of their acquaintance.
He stormed off into the night, leaving them calling his name, leaving this life. He would be fine. He didn't need her, since she could even respect him, and he would be more then grateful to get away from those awful Shadowhunters.
He didn't know where he was going, why he was going there, or what he was doing, but he didn't want to think. He just did.
He realized too late when, Raphael, of what he done, confronted him. He'd gone here. But, why?
He remembered pain, then peace, and then a nagging thought at the back of his mind. He didn't know what it meant, only that it wasn't particularly pleasant.
Then everything went black.
The steel burned, but he knew this had to happen. She didn't want to do it, but he made her.
That haunted day, the day that made him invincible. He was bestowed with heavenly power, power he shouldn't hold.
She did it to him, for his own safety. That's what they all thought. But, truthfully, each time it saved him, it was curse, more blood on his hands.
Blood of guilty, blood of innocent, the blood of the dying.
But, it was blood. His only weakness. The only weakness he would allow himself to have.
The only weakness the Mark of Cain would allow him to have.
Euphoria.
That was the only thought he would allow to enter his head.
The sensation was purely mind numbing.
A thought kept telling him to stop, but he didn't want to.
Euphoria.
For once, he was allowed to experience something that wasn't pain.
He couldn't help but feel the pulse weakening, the steady blood flow slowing, the figure becoming limp; but, he should stop…no he wouldn't stop- he didn't want to stop.
He stared in horror, at the little girl he had almost killed. But, somehow thought nothing of it.
Monster.
He shouldn't exist, horrible things happen because of him.
He could have killed her. He was still killing her.
Hands latched onto him, pulling him away, away from the girl. He knew he could have easily overpowered them, but he didn't. He let them drag him away, screaming at him in utter disgust.
But, somehow, he couldn't feel guilty. For once, he felt alive, well as alive as he could be. He knew he should make himself feel terrible, but a low hum ran through his veins, making him feel as if he could sprint ten marathons.
Euphoria
A heavenly feeling withhold a dark meaning.
For once he was aloud to experience something sacred, but not without a price. And, terrifyingly, it was a price he was willing to pay.
And nothing would stop him.
Her blood was stained on his hands.
He closed his eyes, before making himself stare at her, as the snow fell beautifully around them.
Nothing should be beautiful while she was dying.
She was shivering in the cold, even while she bleed, and he couldn't do anything to help her.
The wound was too great. Nothing, no rune, no warlock, could help her.
She had minutes. Even seconds.
And the only person she had in those seconds was he. He would be selfish to keep them to himself. Carefully, he cradled her body, gently picking her up bridle style.
And he ran. The night of New York melting in a blur, as the wind whipped around them.
Moments later, they were on the doorstep of the Institute; he couldn't go any farther.
She stared into his eyes, and a small smile spread on her face. She had love and worry and the years they had known each other, all wrapped into one. A tear leaked from her eye, and he swiftly brushed it away.
She was dying because of something he did. Years ago, he let someone else die, because he was foolish. Now, they were getting back at him by killing her.
He had lost feeling a long time ago, but for a split second, he felt again. And, in that moment, he made his decision.
He pushed the hair away from her face, bending down, caressing her slightly. She smiled and seemed to want to say something, but he slowly stopped her.
"Simon…"
"I love you," he whispered to her, knowing it was the last time he would say it. The last time she would hear it.
He walked into the Institute. He caught fire, burning from the heavenly fire, and he ran, trying to get her somewhere, so she can be with her love.
He found them and laid her down at their feet. They looked at him, their faces holding surprise, anger and worry, and mostly they were wondering why he was doing this. He was going to die too, now, but with no one to mourn him.
His old girlfriend was there, staring at them both, one alight with fire, and the other wounded and freezing at her feet. She started screaming at him to get out, to leave before he died too.
She was crying, screaming at him, looking desperately between the girl on the floor and him.
So, without a second glance, he ran out just before he would have died. He collapsed in the snow, extinguishing the flame. He hurt all over, but knew in roughly five or ten minutes he would be as good as new.
He knew she wouldn't have made it, but at least she could spend a few moments with her love, and best friends, and close family.
From here, he could hear the crying, the last words, and the torturing silence that came after. He could hear the pain.
He stood up, his body badly charred, maybe with third degree burns. Sadly, he would heal, while she wouldn't, while she was already gone.
He always imagined that she'd die of old age, a dignified Shadowhunters death. He would have never thought she would die at eighteen.
He felt no more, the pain gone; the cold wouldn't dare touch him. He was numb. The moon was high in the sky; the stars twinkling as the snow feel peacefully.
It was beautiful, but nothing would compare to her radiance. The emerald eyes, the fire hair, the silk skin. But, she didn't love him.
His skin was already mostly healed, the colour returning with each second that past.
The door to the Institute flew open, and a heartbroken male with golden hair stood starring murderously towards him.
He strode into the snowy air, too angry to feel the cold.
"You!" The male screamed with tears plastered on his face. "You did this!" He screamed while rushing up to him. The male pulled out a knife while screaming, "Ezekiel!" and watched as it blazed alight.
He stood calm, staring at the heartbroken male without emotion. He did do this, in some twisted way.
The new head of the New York Vampire Clan was out to get him. Because of him, he let an innocent girl be turned into a monster, a bloodthirsty monster that wanted him. And since she couldn't have him, she went for her, the only person who still gave him the ability to feel, the only person he loved. And he couldn't do anything about it.
He would get his revenge, no matter how long it took. He had forever on his side after all. This was who he was, who he was meant to be, and he was going to do what he was meant to do. He would do it for her.
He knew the male would regret killing him, not when he was her best friend. Before he was harmed, he disappeared into the night without a trace, leaving the male alone.
The male lunged at him, murder clear in his eyes. The male was angry that he allowed this to happen. That he caused all this pain.
The male lunged but he was already gone. The male ended up impaling the snow, which quenched his dagger. He had fled into the night, as he should. The male knew that he wouldn't see him anymore, not with her gone.
Though, he knew, he would always be watching from a distance.
He knew that he would have finally accepted this world, finally accepted what he is. He just hoped it was for the best.
"Who did this?" The male whispered to the wind, knowing he was listening.
"Maureen," the wind echoed. The male knew it was he who answered, and knew that whatever happened, he would take care of it. He had no doubt he would get vengeance, but just hoped that the tables wouldn't turn.
And, despite everything, he knew he could never kill him, and somehow, he knew he could trust him.
Hopefully, it was mutual.
Running at incredible speeds, through impenetrable darkness.
Dozens of Shadowhunters were strategizing a way to kill him.
He used to have to fight for his life.
He used to be the Daylighter.
He used to bear the Mark of Cain.
But that was a long time ago.
He loved the thrill of the chase.
The chase when they tried to hunt him, when they tried to catch him. Instead, he catches them. Plucks them off one by one. He always won. He always escaped. He was never caught.
Until, he was.
It just had to be him. The only person he couldn't bear to hurt, the only person he wouldn't kill- given the chance.
He wouldn't kill him because of her, because he was her boyfriend. The only person she would trust more then him- was he.
"Simon—" The name echoed in his ears.
He retracted his fangs. He no longer was living, so he didn't have to do many thing human did. Feel, or breathe. But, he for this very moment did.
"She once told me that it doesn't matter what you are, but what you do with it. You're smart- think about it. Think about who I killed." He started walking away, preparing to run if he wanted to fight.
The male stood there speechless, fazed at the fact. He seemed to go over it mentally.
It was true- he only killed those who have killed someone themselves.
"Wait!" The male tried to grab his attention, so he stopped for a second.
After a few moments of silence without a word, he spoke.
"She once told me a child's rhyme. It meant nothing then to me, but that was then. Maybe now, you can understand." He paused and started walking again.
"Goodbye, Jace."
The male stood there astonished, frozen in place. The wind seemed to whisper the words, like a melody to an ancient lullaby.
"Black for hunting through the night, for death and sorrow the colour's white.
Gold for a bride in her wedding gown, and red to call enchantment down."
A blast of wind and the vampire was gone. He was once again alone in the New York alleyway.
He wondered if he'd ever see him again. He knew this time; he had let himself be caught.
He never understood him, understood his ways. The male knew there was much more to the story, much more then the cold mask. Much, much more.
But, maybe now, he could finally understand why.