Hello readers!

I know a LOT of people hate me at the moment considering I'm posting story after story with only a few chapters for each.

I suck, I know.

And I'm about to do it again for this series.

The Mortal Instruments is one of my FAVOURITE fandoms to be apart of.

I have yet to finish the newest Cassie Clare book,City of Heavenly Fire, but I will be chipping away at it in my spare time.

I also am sorry to say that this is only a prolouge.

Please enjoy this prolouge and tell me what you think!

I will get the actual first chapter up as soon as I can.

Please review!

Prolouge

The night looked young to anyone who didn't have a watch. In all actuality, it was just past midnight. The moon was full and the sound of werewolves could be heard in the distance.

Tristan Silverfox, or as her mundane friends knew her by the last name of Silva, stood under the weeping willow in Central Park, waiting for the supposed group of higher class demons to show themselves. She was oddly alone and in normal clothes, barely a stitch of black.

You know what, let me just tell you about this girl.

She is full blooded Nephilem. Both parents in her family pure blooded also, as was her grandparents on both sides, all the way down the family tree. No one in the family was married ever to a mundane. Her mother came from Spain, resulting in Tristan's brown sugared skin and full figure. Her father came from Japan, giving her the almond shaped eyes and sharper features. She doesn't have an average appearance, though. She is a nice height, around 5' 6", and had a tremendous amount of curves to her. Along with her tanned skin, she has silver hair with layers upon layers to add volume and depth. Her bangs, oddly, are black, which accent her crystal blue eyes. This night she wore baggy blue jeans, black chucks, a black long sleeve and a red, loose belly tee above the long sleeve. Her hair was tied in a low ponytail, strand falling out of place everywhere. The only details that showed her Shadowhunter blood was the single unseen rune curled on the left side of her neck and the bow in her hand and quiver strapped to her back. She is around 17, and is known for her extreme anger which she got from her German grandparents from her fathers side. Though she is often happy and laughing, if something or one she loves is toyed with, she will pounce on the predator.

She stood there, under the willow, for only a half an hour before she heard the slithering and sickly sound of at least 5 Raum demons. The white scales, the tentacle arms, she didn't know which was worse until their stench filled her nose, making her gag, which she made noiseless so not to be caught.

She stepped forward, thankful for the soundless runes she had put on her feet and sneaks. She pulled an arrow from its home in the quiver, aiming for the leading Raum. Loading the arrow, she whispered to the arrow head.

"Zadkiel," she murmured, deathly quiet. The arrows lit up slightly, as did its brothers in the quiver. She breathed in, aimed, breathed out, and let the arrow fly.

Right to the vital area of the leader.

It released a bloody scream as it disappeared to its own world. She hid in the shadows of the tree again, waiting for the other demons to quit the search. After five minutes, they continued to march forward. She unsheathed another arrow, letting it dig into the next Raum, again hitting the most vital spot.

Upon the second attack, the demons trudged closer to her. She stood still, feeling the rune on her neck burn away quickly. Just as the Raums turned to leave, the rune was wasted, revealing her. Upon seeing her, they paused and she said one word.

"Shit..."

She quickly dodged the attacks that followed, putting the bow into the rather large compartment in her quiver. As she launched into the branches of the tree, she pulled a seraph blade from her belt. The blade was rather strange. Unlike most seraph blades, which looked new no matter the case, this blades handle was worn from the silver it usually bore to a dull gray with a very small amount of luster. The blade itself was curved to that of an Arabian sword. The blade had been a gift from her parents when she was little, the blades name carved into the adamas so never to be forgotten.

SPECHT.

German for NAKIR.

Tristan then stood from her branch and yelled aloud, "Nakir!" The blade sprung to life, the adamas glowing an odd gold color, the usual for the odd blade.

The Raums all began climbing, only for her to leap off at the last minute, slicing at the three that were still sucked to the tree. Two dissolved where as the third managed to dodge the fatal blow.

Tristan landed softly, looking up as the Raum leaped from the bark, its tentacles shooting towards her. She sidestepped and sliced them away, then sent a deathblow to the demons stomach. It screeched, black ichor spewing from the blow. The substance crawled down the blade and sprayed her hand, hair, face, and upper body. It gave a final scream before vanishing, leaving behind the foul stench of sulfur.

Tristan gagged on the stench, walking away from the scene and sheathing Nakir when she heard something.

Or more, someone.

"8 minutes, 36 seconds. You're getting slower."

Tristan turned to she a girl, about 19, with black hair in a braid past her shoulders. Her eyes were silver, like coins, and she was just a half a head shorter than Tristan. She wore all black, from her Batman tee to her black leather chucks. Tristan smiled.

"Hey, they are Raum demons. This is a new record for these guys. Cut me some slack, Whit."

Whit gave a grin, walking close to Tristan. Throwing a towel at her, Whit said, "Good point. Clean of your skin. We don't want you getting sick from that stuff now do we?"

A moment to describe this girl.

Her name is Whitney "Whit" Goldenwolf. She is 19, with, as mentioned above, black hair and silver eyes. Her complexion is pale in comparison to Tristan's honey skin. Using one word to describe her, the most used is "tomboy". She is protective of her family and doesn't take crap from anyone.

Now, the thing about parents is funny. Though her and Tristan were basically complete opposites, they did share one thing:

A bloodline.

Which meant that they were sisters. In the family tradition, the first born was given the father's last name, the second the mother's, and then passed back and forth through the offspring. The only time their last name changed was when they would be wed, so then it would be the name of their husband or wife.

At this time in both their lives, though, they would have both been chained into an arranged marriage and married by now. This was arranged by the parents usually. there was just one small yet crucial detail: their parents were dead. Both had died in a fight against a Greater Demon. The girls had then been sent to New York, and had been placed at the doorstep of their new family.

"So, how was my form, technique, all that jazz?" Tristan asked, handing the dirtied towel back to Whit, who shoved it in her back pocket.

"Rule #1," she started, grinning at her sister, "when you feel a rune fading, hide and then redo the rune. Don't stay in place where demons can see you and pray the rune stays for long enough."

Tristan began to walk backwards, still facing her sister as she said, "That takes all the fun out of it."

"Whatever you say, Ten-Ten," Whit said with a chuckle. She checked her watch, saying, "We better head back home. Dad's probably freaking out."

"He's always freaking out. You know how in manga, characters have those sweat drop things?" Whit nodded. "Well dad has the same thing, only instead of sweat, he sheds glitter.

Oh, did I mention their father was Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn..?

Oops...