DISCLAIMER: To all readers, I am terribly sorry to tell you that I wasn't born with the name Cassandra Clare so basically the terms, characters, and the series from where this fan fiction came up is not mine.

One

Moonlight's Eyes

He never liked the idea of parties, especially when it was filled with Downworlders, but he couldn't make his sister change her mind. Nevertheless, he would be given a chance to have a killing spree – he would really love that. But he knew that would be impossible for his sister likes some Downworlders as much as he despises them and want to tear them into pieces. He was about to suggest on staying at the Institute where he could do whatever he wants, but he remembered that there was this wretched woman – Maryse Lightwood, who had always despised him for he killed her youngest, that will keep a close eye on him while he's in there. So he just dropped the idea and continued to follow the people in front of him.

He observed the people walking before him. Way up front, his beloved sister clung on the arm of his once dark parabatai and adoptive brother, who was her boyfriend – Jace Herondale. She was leaning her head onto his shoulder as he looked at her lovingly. She was obviously happy with the angel boy's presence but never her demon brother's which always made him jealous. On their left were the Daylighter and the younger counterpart of Maryse Lightwood – Isabelle Lightwood, who had once an interest with him until he murdered her little brother, which enraged her and wanted to kill him herself. The two, for him, were an odd couple but he knew Isabelle liked guys who her parents never approved of. Some kind of rebellion, he thought. While on their right were two mongrels, it was not because he wasn't used on seeing these two with them but he just didn't like the feeling of having dogs around. For him they were disgusting, like the way his father always despised them. They too were snuggling up each other like dogs would do. Werewolves, he spat. And lastly, this guy who wasn't actually in front of him but on his left side. Like him, he walked alone not like these lovebirds in front of them. But he quite knew that when they reached their destination he would be all lovey dovey with someone there.

He could just run away or escape since they weren't paying attention, but it won't do. There was this flipping feeling in his stomach when he thought of running away. It was like the feeling of throwing up. Is this conscience? But he didn't have that thing in his system, he was made for betrayal but he couldn't turn his back on his sister. His sister was the one who kept him near and didn't want to leave.

He was growing impatient. With his arms crossed over his chest, he blurted, "Is there any chance for us to go faster?"

"Already growing impatient, Sebastian?" The female Lightwood asked as she watched him over her shoulder.

"My name is Jonathan," he corrected with an impatient tone. They never called him Jonathan for they always thought that it was Jace's name, but it was his. The angel boy never really had a name, it was a sad fact but he never felt pity. "Why do you even bother to go to a warlock's stupid party anyway?"

The eldest male Lightwood shot him a look of annoyance. This was his boyfriend's party; he couldn't blame him for giving him that look. He said, "If you didn't like to go in the first place, why did even follow us here?"

"It wasn't my—"

"Don't argue with him, Alec," angel boy cut in, not making Jonathan finish what he was saying. He spoke without even averting his attention from Jonathan's sister. Alec obeyed.

"How much farther are we going to walk?" Jonathan asked.

"Wow, Clary, your brother is really impatient," the wolf boy named Jordan commented. He kidnapped him once but being under the curse of the Clave he couldn't do it again. He couldn't do any harm to any Nephilim or Downworlder, just demons.

"We're only a few blocks away," Clary answered. She turned around to meet the bored gaze of her brother. Her head cocked on one side, she reassured him, "We'll be there in a jiffy, I promise." and then returned to her I'm-snuggling-in-my-boyfriend position which made Jonathan roll his eyes in disgust.

They continued to walk. He was silent. He didn't want to talk to any of them with their googly eyes staring at each other. Let's not spoil the moment, he told himself. Like what his sister said only a few blocks away and they're there. And finally, they were here. The place was like of a warehouse with multi-colored neon lights dancing around inside. There were Downworlders, tons of them, coming in and out of the place with champagne glasses, cans of beer, and confetti over their heads. Some were bruised and blood ran down their chin, he had the feeling that there was a fist fight inside. He could feel his body shaking in excitement. Just the thought of fighting woke him up from his boredom. He wanted to join in but there was someone who tugged his shirt, stopping him from lunging over the wounded Downworlder. He looked at his side and saw the five-foot body of his little sister with a frowning face. She shook her head, telling him to don't do anything stupid. He wanted to complain, still he couldn't. Stupid Clave, he was born to kill, not to love. He sighed as she pulled him with her to the front door. They were about to push the 10 feet doors when it swung open by its own revealing a this tall and a little tan Asian looking guy. He had glitter on his hair, gold-green cat eyes, and his clothes were—let's just say not Jonathan's type. He wore this glittery blazer over a pink dress shirt and a red bow-tie, and his pants were just black. He is Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn as so they called. He actually thought of a clown when he first saw him. He couldn't help but chuckle at the exquisite fashion sense this person had.

The warlock shot him a look and told his sister that was now with Jace's side again. "I only invited you." He pointed an index finger to Jonathan and said, "He is not included in my guest list."

Alec approached the warlock and tried to calm him down, "Now, now, Magnus—"

"It was your idea, wasn't it?" the warlock hissed.

His sister got in between the two lovebirds even in the smallest space between them. Sometimes, her petite body had some use. She interfered, "It was my idea, Magnus. It wasn't Alec's. If you don't want him here," she turned her attention to Jonathan, "Jace and I could bring him back to the Institute and we would stay there, Alec and the others will stay here."

Magnus fell silent. He was thinking of an answer to Clary. Clary and Isabelle were excited for the party. For them it was like a reunion, but he was quite sure that he wouldn't be invited. He didn't want to spoil his sister's happiness; he was trying to be a good brother ever since he was caught by the Clave. He blurted, "Don't worry, the Clave made sure that I won't be massacring any of your guests. It's part of the curse."

All of them wore a surprised look on their faces as if there was another head just popped out of his neck like a mushroom. They didn't expect him to speak. Magnus's cat eyes turned into slits. He asked, "Are you sure about that Jonathan Morgenstern?"

"Yes."

"Do you swear?"

He rolled his eyes in disgust. He said, "I swear by the Angel that I won't mur—hurt any of your guests."

Magnus smiled, looking satisfied at what Jonathan swore. He said delightfully, "Make sure that you will do what you just said." Jonathan bit his lip and swore under his breath, regretted what he just said. The warlock then averted his attention back to the others, "Now, come, come."

They entered the warehouse. His company was at ease passing by Downworlders while he felt like he was about to throw up. He couldn't bear their sight and scent. He wanted to kill them all in one blow, and then some burning sensation was felt on his nape; it was the Mark that the Clave inflicted on him to prevent him on killing any Downworlder or Nephilim. He wasn't practically paying attention to the conversation that was being made by Magnus along with his company. He kept walking and walking until he almost bumped onto his little sister who suddenly stopped.

"This will be your seat for tonight's party," Magnus stated. It was a semi-circular couch and had a round table in the middle of it. The couch was made with fluffy velvet and also had these red throw pillows strewn in an unorganized manner. Alec was about to slip in the couch when Magnus got a grip on his arm. "But you, young man, will be sitting with me."

Jonathan saw Alec blush. He couldn't believe that someone as decent as Alec sitting with this gay warlock. Alec gulped, "Okay."

The others slid their way in the semi-circled couch. But he still kept looking at what would the two homosexuals would do. Would they kiss? Canoodle? Have sex? But someone caught his attention. His sister, Clary, called for him, "Aren't you going to sit?"

He just looked at her and didn't speak a word.

She patted the vacant space that was allotted for him. "Here, sit next to me."

He followed and sat beside his sister. He put his feet on the table with his arms crossed over his chest, knocking over some drinks in the process. But he didn't care.

Clary gave him a scolding look but he shrugged it off. She began to rant over his manners, but all of her words were like inaudible muffles – he was not paying attention. His eyes skimmed over the dancing crowd. He could recognize what race they were as his eyes passed over their stature. Vampire, werewolf, faerie, warlock, Ne—Nephilim. He suddenly shot up. His face observing this other Nephilim, she wasn't one of them that he was sure. Clary spoke in a worried tone, "Jonathan? Are you okay?"

He just stood there like a stone. He slightly cocked his head on one side. What is a Shadowhunter doing here in a warlock's party?

Some strands of her hair were like plastered over her skin, while the others floated from side to side as she danced her stress away – away from the world of demons and shadows. Her eyes were closed as she felt the rhythm of the music flow into her ears and made her slither her waist from side to side. Once in a while she would get a glass of champagne when a waiter passed by her, she would just gulp in the contents in one shot and continued her dancing. She was enjoying it. She was happy when she was invited by Magnus through fire-message. Now was her unwinding session, and for her to unwind was to party all night long.

She had danced with different Downworlders. From time to time, a Night Child would walk next to her and try to seduce her, but in the end he would just get smacked in the face again and again until he's all bloody. When a faerie came near, she would walk away and look for another spot, she never liked them even though they did not do harm on her. When it came to the Children of the Moon, she felt safe. They're the only race of Downworlders she didn't feel uneasy with. She always trusted their kind. The werewolf she danced with left because of duty calls, so she was left dancing on her own yet she didn't feel lonely; she was pretty used to it. And then this guy in black approached her. Her dance slowed and she got a better view of him; he had this pale blond hair that was almost platinum and these dark orbs that were pitch-black.

She felt shivers down her spine as he stood there in front of her, staring her down. Her dance fell to a stop. He looked at her in a way she couldn't explain: his stare was like he was going to eat her at the same time wondering what she really was. He seemed to have seen the fear in her eyes for a mocking smile crept up his face. He said, "Alone, princess?"

She wanted to look away but these obsidian eyes got the hold of her moonlight ones. In some way she was able to look at his stature, and then back to his tunnel-like eyes. He was tall, almost six footer, muscular, slender, and had Marks on his arms – a Nephilim. She said bravely, "What do you want?"

He looked around as if searching for something. "It's seems you're alone. Would you like to have some company?"

"No, I'm better off alone," she blurted.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really," she answered. Her voice sounded afraid as she said, "You can kindly leave."

He just stared at her with these mocking smile and black hole eyes.

She stared at him back, fighting the urge to run away and hide. She mustn't do that or she'll shame the name of the Nephilim – especially the name of her family. As she watched his dark eyes, he reminded her of some person who murdered her beloved in cold-blood. When that person was killed, the eyes of the killer were the only thing she remembered and they were the same as this person's eyes. The same blackness and the soullessness of the murderer's eyes were exactly the same as this. And eventually, she realized something. Upon recognition of the person in front of her, fear turned into horror; she felt cold and her blood was like washed away from her whole body. And then, horror evolved to anger. Her color came back but her face was red with anger and hatred. She muttered, "Murderer."

His smile turned into a dark frown – a merciless killer's face. "What did you say?"

She revised, "Cold-blooded murderer." Her fingers were already touching the cold metal on her side, she was ready to draw out her weapon. But her enemy seemed to notice as he began to crouch and returned to his mocking smile.

He never noticed the small cylindrical metal that was harnessed on her right thigh until it glinted when her right hand touched it. He held out a hand gestured her to attack first.

She saw him coax her to attack first with a dark smirk. She released the metal from her thigh belt. As she held it tightly, it began to elongate turning into a five-foot silver metal staff engraved with two fighting birds that bore runes; each bird was positioned opposite to the other, and on each end of the staff was a small bulk that has a cross engraved on it. She whirled the staff and lunged at him head on with staff raised to hit him.

As the staff went down to hit his head, he dodged it by just moving to one side. There was this small electric shock that he felt as the weapon slightly had contact with his bare skin. He got surprised and stared at his opponent with curiosity.

She rolled on one side almost stumbling over a table. She immediately placed her gaze on her opponent, still bearing the eyes of rage. But she was a little shaken. He's fast, she thought. She stood up and charged him again and tried to whack his neck.

He was still able to dodge the attack by bending backward a little. The staff was just centimeters away from his face; if only the staff would elongate more he would have been hit by it. He mocked, "Whoa! You almost got me there sweetheart, a few more inches I guess."

The failure of her second attempt disappointed her. This person was really fast. He was even faster than a normal Nephilim. But she was trained for this, she had fought demons that could run or fly in a speed of light and yet she was always able to kill them although with some difficulty. She was fast herself; her father didn't make her run up and down a mountain for nothing. She immediately recovered and pounced at him before he could even move. I got you now, she thought with a smirk.

He didn't even try to move. He had no intention of moving. He had another plan. When her metal stick was about to hit his face, he grasped the stinging metal into his hands; in his mind he flinched because of the pain in holding it but he had no choice, this was the only way he could get near her.

The color of her face drained, she went cold. He can hold it? He's a demon, isn't he? She attempted to yank the staff away but his strong arms stopped her from doing so.

He could feel her trying to pull the stick. He smirked at the fact that he was still stronger than her even though the curse that the Clave laid on him was restraining him to use his full power. He pulled the staff, making her stumble towards him and eventually pinning her to the ground. He was crushing her.

His large body caged her from moving. She couldn't control her staff for he held it steadily as if it was stuck in his hands. With her free hand, she pushed his chest as if she was pushing a wall. She tried to punch his chest, but nothing happened. He just smirked at her.

"Nice try, beautiful, but that won't work," he mocked. "I'm stronger than you." He pulled away the staff from her hand and his free hand caught both of her hands and held them above her head. He raised the staff and aimed for her heart. Blood, finally, I'm back for you. And there it was again, the burning sensation of the cursed Mark coming from the back of his neck. He tried to gulp in the pain, but it was unbearable.

As he raised her staff, she stared at him with horror. He was going to kill her mercilessly like what he did to him. Her heart pounded against her ribs as if it was going to explode. Her eyes were tightly shut, hoping that this would end fast and painless. She waited for the staff breaking her ribs and pounding its way to her heart, but nothing happened. She opened her eyes and looked at him. His face tensed and hardened, it was like he was trying to endure something – something like pain.

His grip loosened. He couldn't take it anymore. He tumbled on one side and cried in pain. He held on to his nape, wanting to rip it apart but if he did that it was still useless. The cursed Mark was not an ordinary Mark; it was engraved way beyond his skin, the only way to take it off was for him to die. He already let go of his prey and also her weapon.

She saw him as he stumbled on her side crying in pain. She immediately stood up – almost tripping, and groped for her staff. When she already got the hold of her staff, she held it up and was ready to hit him relentlessly. And then this small figure shielded him, making her stop her staff in mid-air. She had this flame-colored hair and shining, green eyes that looked at her accusingly. She was followed by a blond boy that bore gold eyes, crouching beside her protectively. She exclaimed, "What are you doing there? Get out of the way! You'll just get hurt."

"What are you going to do?" she asked defiantly. The gold-eyed boy was silent but showed hostility towards her.

"It's none of your business! Get out of the way!"

"You're going to hit him, aren't you?" she accused. "This is part of my business because he is my brother!"

There was a pang of guilt that hit her stomach, yet her staff was still raised into mid-air. She never wanted to hit someone innocent, but this guy wasn't. He killed him – the person she loved the most. She was about to crash her staff towards her opponent, she heard this familiar voice coming near them – both commanding and accusing. "What on earth is happening here?"

She twirled to look at the person who spoke, and then she saw the host of the party – Magnus, followed by this black-haired boy that looked a little older than her. She felt that she knew that boy that was with Magnus, but this was no time for reminiscing of the past. She spat, "Magnus, why did you allow this murderer inside your party?"

Magnus was a little surprised at what she said and then stared at the people who were kneeling before one of his valued guests. He saw Clary, Jace, and what seemed to be Jonathan in a fetal position, crying in pain. He said bluntly, "He's one of my guests." His cat-eyes turned into slits when he saw her holding up a staff and was aimed to Jonathan. He ordered, "Eleanor, put that staff down this instant!"

She succumbed to what he said and yelled defiantly, "He is a criminal! What is he doing here? He must be in the cells of the Silent City!"

Magnus got a little irritated. She was making a commotion; some of his guests were looking their way. He murmured, "You don't want to put that down? I would put it down for you." Blue flames flowed out of Magnus's fingers and wrapped themselves around Eleanor's hand, pulling her away from the group that was on the floor and pushing her weapon down.

She groaned in complain, "Magnus, what are you doing?"

"Punishing you," Magnus said simply.

"Look, Magnus," she called. "I'm not the one who is supposed to be punished here." She gestured towards Jonathan with the use of her chin. "He's the one."

"What did this person do to you that made you run amok all of a sudden?" Magnus asked as he played the blue flames that came out from his fingers.

"He killed him, Magnus! He killed him right in front of my eyes! He killed Cal—" she stopped. She thought of another thing to say. She lied, "He attacked me."

Magnus looked at her suspiciously. Jonathan already swore on the Angel that he wouldn't hurt a single being here in his party; he knew that when a Nephilim swore an oath by the Angel, he or she must not ever break the oath. He averted his attention to Clary and Jace. Clary looked worried at her brother's situation while Jace had a hand placed on Clary's back as if supporting her from fainting. Jace seemed to notice Magnus's stare. They made this little conversation with the use of the eyes. Is she telling the truth? Jace turned to Clary and muttered some words to Clary. Clary asked something to her brother who was still in a fetal position because of pain but was no longer crying. It was Clary who answered for her brother; she shook her head to tell Magnus that Eleanor was lying. Magnus just nodded in understanding.

He stared at her accusingly and suspiciously. He didn't believe her. He knew her very well. Magnus always said that she was the worst liar he ever met. She said defiantly, "By the Angel, I'm telling the truth, Magnus!"

"No you're not." So much for her surprise, it wasn't Magnus who responded. It was him. Slowly standing up with the aid of his sister, he looked at her angrily but had no intention on hitting her. "You even had a weapon on hand while I don't. Seems unfair, isn't it?"

"You're going to kill me, you wanted to finish what you started," she accused. "You didn't want me to live! You're the reason why all of the people important to me are dea—"

"SILENCE!" Magnus yelled. All of them stopped, even the other guests stared at them in confusion. "Clary, please bring your brother back to your seats." He shifted his attention to Eleanor, "And you miss, go back to your room, immediately. Throw up everything you got in your stomach—"

"But—" Eleanor complained.

"Now," Magnus insisted. His gold-green eyes flickered in anger. This was one of the reasons why he never liked children.

She bit her lip, wanting to complain some more but she knew that this would do no good for her and Magnus. He was already mad. She never saw Magnus angry, and she never wished for it to happen. She took a last accusing glance at the murderer's back as they left the space they were in, and marched her way across the warehouse and headed to her room.

Magnus eyed her as she disappeared into the crowd of Downworlders. When he was already sure that she wouldn't be coming back for another blow of ruckus, he followed the small lot that was walking back to their assigned seats. They were just a step ahead of him so he got there just right after the others seated. He raised his brow accusingly at the injured boy. He said, "You said you wouldn't hurt anybody, but what in the world is the meaning of this?"

"I just approached her like anybody else would," Jonathan started. "We just had a little chit-chat and then BAM! She got angry at me and then tried to kill me. Well, apparently, I was just defending myself." He shrugged and had this playful smirk on his face.

Magnus rolled his eyes in disbelief. This person never needed defending. He knew that this person he was talking to was a killing machine, and still was even with the curse that was etched into his very being. He was one of the warlocks that helped the Clave to create this cursed Mark. He was pretty proud of it, yet it was still weak for him and he knew that even the combined powers of the Silent Brothers, Iron Sisters, and warlocks wouldn't be able to completely control this ever so dark creature. Although it may not degrade this person's power and his thirst for blood, it could still stop him from doing great harm to both Nephilim and Downworlders. Magnus sighed. He rubbed his temple due to over thinking and stress. He called out to all of his guests, "All right, party's over! Now, SCRAM!"

A/N: So... how was it? Did you enjoy reading it? Or it just sucked as hell? Please tell me I beg of you! Okay, that came out wrong. Just tell me what you think about this chapter guys. Is this worth continuing? Just tell me in your reviews, whether it may be negative or positive. I accept constructive criticisms, it's healthy anyway.

P.S. To all of my former readers, I'm back from the dead. So take it easy on ranting on me. Got too cooped up in junior and senior year in high school. And to my new readers, don't expect fast updates. College is killing me softly. HAHAHAHAHA just kidding! :D