A/N -I was going to name this chapter "submission" or "consent", but I didn't want to give you the wrong idea about what it contained. As forewarning and an apology, any lemons that I will write will be done later, after Jonathon has all his plans in place and feels that it's an opportune moment to sweep in and turn Clary to his cause, as he's done with Jace. He needs to wait for her to feel reasonably safe and secure within his holdings, until she is no longer suspicious of him and begins to think that maybe - just maybe - his notions of the perfect world aren't as ludicrous as she had thought. There may be some that I decide to write before any Clary and Jonathon action, but I have yet to decide.
This current chapter is dedicate to Jonathan and how he is currently feeling and living at the present moment. There's a little hint to what he's endured at the beginning's of his stay at the start, but as I progress through TMK, the story of how Jace became to be Jonathan will slowly be revealed and hinted at.
However, for now, I'm going for 6 reviews for next chapter?
The whip cracked; a sound that he both loved and feared.
The prisoner's body was shadowed in darkness but Jonathan could easily recognise the features, in a way that only befitted dreams, of someone he once knew.
His grip on the handle tightened as he prepared to flagellate the body again. Jonathan's body thrummed with life, with excitement at being able to exact punishment on someone who had ruined his life for so long. Someone who he had been dying to see again, since the first feelings of detestation – when he first realised what this man had done - had festered into what they were now.
"You're bad, aren't you? Evil. Tell me you're bad, and all this can stop. Admit to all the wrongs you've done, all the harm to everyone's lives you've caused and all this pain and suffering will stop," the words all just spilled from his mouth without his realisation. He didn't know what he had recounted, but he felt that it was familiar. "Confess to me that what you're fighting for is evil, Jace."
Jace Herondale.
Jonathan despised him.
The whip lashed out for the second time, creating a long, thin wound across his chest. It looked as though someone had painted a red stripe down his front. He was proud.
His elation was interrupted by a stinging sensation on his own chest. Jonathan looked down, confused, to see an identical red wound on his torso. He looked to Jace but knew that the boy didn't have any weapon of his own; he was defenceless, as he liked it. He was vaguely suspicious and aware that injury inflicted upon Jace was injury inflicted upon himself, but his odium for him was far too great to stop on a hunch.
Jonathan continued with the punishment; lash followed lash, the crack of his whip being sweet music to his ears, which only resulted in his own grunts of pain interrupting and ruining the melody as an area of sliced flesh appeared. With every new whip, the pain and damage increased tenfold until Jonathan was on the floor, bleeding out and screaming, as he was compelled to finish his task.
All of a sudden, Jonathan was awake and covered in a thin layer of sweat, curled in the foetal position. Phantom pains from old memories ran up and down his back, crippling his body until they passed. He lightly pressed his fingers to the scars, reminding himself, as he did every day, of these wounds that Jace Herondale had given and caused him. It prepared him for what may come today.
Jonathan dragged himself out of his bed, and moved to the large wardrobe that he had been allowed. His brother had told him to dress nicely today and that he was going to be shown something important - something life-changing - which would forever change the war and any war after.
He knew that by "nicely", Jonathon meant that he had to dress like a prince. Weapons were to be left in his bedroom. His brother would be protecting him this time - or so he had said, but Jonathan trusted him.
He deposited his weapons on his bedside table, staring at them longingly for a few moments, before moving onto dressing himself. He thought he should wear saffron, but he had a strange feeling that bronze robes would be a better idea for what he might be shown, despite having as little information about it as he did. He buttoned his clock to the chin and pulled on his boots; he picked up his bronze crown from his bedside table and arranged it on his head, amongst his growing locks. After some deliberation, Jonathan sheathed a dagger and carefully hid it in the sleeves of his tunic; Jonathon could not find out that he had it.
As if some otherworldly force protected his sanity when he was inside his room, she reappeared as soon as he left it. He tried to keep his eyes focused in front of him, his mind concentrating on the route he took every day to the soldier's dining room, but he could feel her presence drifting nearby. It was difficult to ignore usually – she liked to talk to him and make him feel guilty and accuse him of wretched things, but she didn't understand that he was no longer who she had thought him to be – but sometimes, when the Angel rewarded him, she was silent, only brooding in the background. This was one of those days, and Jonathan revelled in it.
It was a sign of victory.
As per usual, the stairways and hallways were busy with demon patrols and other members of the court milling about the manor aimlessly, waiting to be called by Jonathon to fight or for his own personal reasons. Some possessed the bodies of the servants that had previously been tending to this manor, or their own personal prisoners that they had beaten out on the field; others continued to stay in their corporeal form. Jonathan didn't know what the difference between being in possession of a human body and staying in their own corporeal form was in their own culture, but neither did he pretend to know. He suspected, however, that if anyone knew (other than the demons themselves), it was Jonathon, especially since he had the most contact with them out of any Shadowhunter or Downworlder under his roof. Was it important in his own dealings with them? Jonathan didn't think so, otherwise he would know.
There were just as many women as there were male demons, Jonathan supposed – they didn't have gender stereotypes that seemed to only belong to Mundanes – all seemingly ageless, and willing to fight and return to The Void, for however many centuries until they are reformed again, in the name of their king whenever he asked of it. There were four or five different demon princesses and one or two princes – all Greater Demons that hulked around the place – but their titles were only of value in Edom and as long as they weren't there, and as long as they were bound in loyalty to Jonathon, then they could do no harm to him or overrule a decision made by him. They were little more than ambassadors in this reality – and even then, his brother hardly paid their advice attention. Before he arrived, however, Jonathan assumed that his brother had paid them more attention and given them more privileges than now, since he would've had to entrust his manor to them when he left for battle with his soldiers; now the king had him, he was sent out to fight in his stead while Jonathon looked after the manor and everyone within it. Sometimes, the heirs of Edom were ordered to join their own soldiers in battle, copying the example of himself – Jonathan had an inkling that this was only because Jonathon wanted to be rid of them. Maybe it'd work, eventually.
Nevertheless, he did know, that once or twice, his brother had used some of the royalty for his own personal pleasure – but who were any of them to complain or refute him? Practically everyone within his manor – including the Shadowhunter Battalion and (he suspected) Clarissa, as Jonathan did himself – would be pleased to be chosen by him. No one would be forced or abused, they all knew that - but a king like Jonathon virtually begged people to worship him in any way they could – and as any faithful servant, they were more than happy to.
They were dedicated to him - and that was what Jonathan liked about them all; they were a unit.
Jonathan arrived at the hall reserved for the soldiers to enjoy their daily meals when they were staying at the manor, prepared to eat his meal there as he did every day when he was not escorted down by Jonathon. The demons greeted him as pleasantly as demons could, recognising him as someone with superior authority over them as both their General and Prince, but they were also aware that he was nice and good to them; they were slightly more than comrades now, after being in charge of them for so long.
His brother didn't invite him to eat with him and Clarissa often, as he believed that dining with his own soldiers would be good for their comradeship – but that didn't seem to be a fair argument when it came to Clarissa. She could do what she wanted as far as Jonathon was concerned; dining with her own troops to build a sense of comradeship didn't seem to apply to her, no matter how much she needed to build it.
Jonathan hated it. And he hated her.
She had arrived and taken everything that he once had for herself. Why should she be allowed to spend more time with their brother, of whom she hated, than he was? Jonathan had done everything that had been asked of him, and did whatever he could to please him of his own accord and even when he asked – and yet who had replaced him as next in line? Who got to be of his blood when she had no love or emotion other than hatred for their king? She didn't even want to be queen, or the Princess of Idris; all she wanted was the destruction of Jonathon, himself and all the demons that were caught up within them. She didn't understand what they were doing for the Shadowhunters – but he did. Of course Jonathan did.
Nevertheless, today seemed to be one of the days that required his presence. Perhaps it had something to do with what Jonathon was wanting to show him today, but he wasn't one to pass up an opportunity to be around his own siblings and have a respite from the demons that he was usually surrounded by.
Clarissa was waiting for him on the soldier's hall, her face slightly wet from tears, but her mouth set in a firm line. He wondered why she had been crying. She seemed loathed to be there, waiting on him in a room of demons that had no respect for her, but Jonathan enjoyed the sight.
In this room, he was superior to her.
When she saw him, she walked quickly over, steering clear of a few demons that were reaching out to grab her, while the others only leered. "Jonathan," she said politely, forcing the words out from her mouth. This was something that he could grow to love and relish. "Our brother would enjoy your presence in our private rooms. He hopes that you would accept his invitation; he regrets not having you around more often." She cast her eyes to the ground. "He tells me that he has important business to discuss with you."
"And why has our brother sent you to relay this information?" Jonathan asked stiffly.
She smiled bitterly. "Regretfully, King Jonathon says that I am to receive breakfast in my chambers today. I believe this morning is for you two only."
Jonathan bowed his head politely. "You're upset," he commented. "Perhaps I can persuade our brother to allow you to join us. I'm sure he wouldn't mind; whatever he has to discuss, can wait."
Her smile twitched. She wanted to impose on them, he could see it very easily; oh how she wanted to know what evils they were planning now. With difficulty she managed to say, "I think not. King Jonathon has made it very clear that my presence is neither wanted nor needed this time." She turned away abruptly and strutted out of the hall, presumably heading back to her rooms.
Jonathan nodded farewell to his soldiers and exited the room after Clarissa, heading to the king's own private dining room. It was technically reserved only for royalty, but Jonathon was the only one who actively used it.
"What a rare treat you're in for Jace," the wretched angel on his shoulder sneered. "Jonathon has decided to preserve your last shred of dignity by manipulating you in private instead. Perhaps he even has someone else for you to murder."
Jonathan gritted his teeth. How many times had he informed her that he was no longer Jace? "Jace," he spat the name, "would never be allowed so much. Jace is dead; don't speak of him to me again." He cast a glance at her presence over his shoulder. She was brooding, as per usual; being dead made her bitter and spiteful. "Besides, what happened to you wasn't even murder."
She snorted mirthlessly. "What would you call it?"
"Natural selection," he replied simply.
She disappeared.
"Ah, brother, glad you could make it," he said as poured over some familiar documents whilst eating his breakfast. His golden crown, as ever, was slanted atop his head – not quite in the danger of slipping off, but not quite firmly seated amongst his own white locks. It gave him a boyish look, but Jonathon was no boy.
Sometimes, Jonathan thought he never was.
Contrary to Jonathan, he was cloaked in blood red but his hands were covered in grey gloves. Red for calling down enchantment, he recalled – but he dared to believe that Jonathon would've informed him if they were to call enchantment down; they had done it before, only a few months ago, and it was no secret. Yet, grey was for knowledge best untold; and that was exactly what they were doing. A secret enchantment? He should've been told so that he wore the appropriate colour, but he supposed that the colour for summoning wicked powers wasn't too far off.
Jonathan bowed his head.
"Take a seat," Jonathon said needlessly, waving his hand at the selection of empty seats around him without looking up. "I don't know why I have to tell you every single time."
Jonathan did so, choosing to sit opposite his brother. He had expected him to be seated at the head of the table, as he usually did; but perhaps he only did that when he had someone there to assert power over.
"Must I always be the one to speak first, Jonathan?" He said tiredly.
Jonathan didn't know what to say in reply. If his brother didn't speak first and direct a question at him personally, how would he know that he was able to speak?
The king sighed. He finished writing something on one of his documents, and then hid them away from his brother's sight. He folded his hands under his chin, resting his elbows on the table; Jonathon looked at his brother curiously. "What I am going to show you today, Jonathan, must stay between us and no one else. Not even Clarissa must find out about this, okay?"
Jonathan nodded, smug that he would come to know something important to which Clarissa was still oblivious. "Of course, brother."
Jonathon smiled. "Fantastic." He pushed up from the table and indicated for Jonathan to follow him out of the room. Jonathan was hungry, having not been allowed a moment to eat, but he wasn't going to ask the king to stop; he hurried after him. "Now, you need to remember that what you're going to see is a work in progress. They're not quite ready to be brought into the war yet; there needs to be a little more research conducted on them, but once they are ready…" The king smirked at Jonathan, his eyes alight with excitement. He was visibly quaking with eagerness to visit his new creation; Jonathan's stomach too, was filled with butterflies. Jonathon grasped the side of Jonathan's face, looking deeply into his eyes and preparing to make a promise; he moved closer to Jonathan and lowered his voice so that none of the demons milling around them would hear their secrets – not that any paid them particular mind.
Jonathan's eyes closed. He quivered.
"Dear brother," he said as soft as Jonathan had ever heard him. "You will be the first to have one."
"And Clarissa?" Jonathan asked bitterly.
He seemed amused. "Oh, Clarissa couldn't handle one of these. Perhaps she would, later, when a runt would be born." He leaned in to his ear; his words caressing his body. "I would give you the alpha. Or any other that you wanted."
He didn't what know or understand what he had been promised, but he knew it had to do with his new secret weapon. Jonathan assumed that it was an animal of some sort with the words "runt" and "alpha", but where were they being hidden? Jonathan didn't think there was anywhere within the manor that he had not been or known to exist – or anyone else, for that matter – and yet, this beast was a secret. This massive beast – it had to be, to be of any use to Jonathon in the war – was hidden somewhere in the grounds and no one knew about it.
He was slightly relieved that he had decided to bring his dagger with him.
"Where are they?" He asked quietly, watching Jonathon suspiciously.
He smirked, and revealed a stele that had been hidden in his robes. "Somewhere only accessible by portal. You understand that it has to be this way, so that I remain the only one to know its exact location, yes?"
"Yes," he replied.
Jonathon nodded, and began to draw the portal rune. Once it was complete, he stepped through, not even bothering to order Jonathan to do the same; but he didn't need to be told. His curiosity was enough to cross through.
When he reappeared on the other side, he was on the upper level of a dimly light auditorium. His brother was leaning over the railings, quaking even more visibly in the excitement and awe of what laid below them.
"Brother," he called. "Brother, come look at this beauty."
Strange noises echoed in the chamber; ones that he could only imagine hearing in reality. The sounds of fantasy, the kind that only sounded in nightmares.
Putting one shaking foot in front of the other, Jonathan moved towards his beckoning hand. Roars and screeches grew in volume. When he reached the railing, he gripped it with white knuckles; all his strength left him as he peered over and the only thing that kept him on his feet was the support that the railing provided him.
"They're still young," his brother told him. "Too young to train as of yet, but they'll be ready in a few months."
Young. Jonathan could barely breathe. Young. How had Jonathon managed to create these? These weren't made from any demon or Downworlder, and he had never seen anything like it in Edom.
They were destruction incarnate.
"They can't stay here forever, Jonathon. They've almost outgrown this place already," he whispered.
"Oh, I don't plan on keeping them here forever."
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