Me and Mine

by Tao-Ri-Sarra

Sometimes all that separates a loss from a win is three simple words. Jocelyn never rebelled against her husband and so the Clave falls in the Uprising. Now Clary lives in a world covered in the blood that her father spilled to turn the world on its back for her. Valentine has won. Darkness is Coming. The only question is from where? Full desc. in CH1. Rated for later, SEBCLACE

10. And Collapse

"For a star to be born,

There is one thing that must happen:

A gaseous nebula must collapse.

So collapse.

Crumble.

This is not your

destruction.

This is your birth."

n.t.

"ASA!"

The group was closing in behind her, blocking out all of her exits in a way she had not considered. There were too many of them. Why weren't they rampaging forward, taking her when she was unprepared by their number of force? She thought for a brief moment that perhaps she was over assessing the situation, that perhaps she should put her archaic blade down and listen to them for a moment so that they could clarify what was exactly going on.

'They had to have a reason for doing this' she reasoned. 'They can't all be that bad.' She thought considerably of the way she had woken up. Obviously someone here had taken great care of her. She was covered and dressed still, and her hair was brushed. Although drugged, no other harm had been done to her but by her own hand. Maybe she was demonizing these people. There could be any number of reasons for her to suddenly wake up in a strange place, right?

The group tightened around her so that they were shoulder to shoulder and at least three people deep, and she heard the tell- tale sounds of growling, the snapping of jaws and her arm jerked up as she swept her arm towards someone that was much too close to her for her liking when she hadn't made up her mind just yet on them, catching nothing but air as the wolfish man with brown rimmed gold eyes backed off, only to circle her along the perimeter of the tightening circle.

Clary watched him, unnerved. He was the first to make a move, the first to likely strike her now too. He had put a target on his own head. Her hand tightened along the rock, and winced as it dug into her poorly wrapped hand, opening the edges of the wound with the pressure of her grip.

A soft voice broke through to her, and she whipped around to face a bewildered woman with wide green eyes that reflected her own surprise.

"Clary?"

"Mu- uum?" Her voice cracked bleakly, like she had gone days without water, but truthfully it was the strain. She could still feel the weakness heavy in her legs and her arms, and she swayed with the effort it took to stand as the tidal wave crashed around her and her bleary mind struggled to process why everything was happening and how to defend herself from the attack instinct told her was coming any moment.

She had not seen her mother since the day she had disappeared nearly seven years prior. The bitter reality that she forgot what the woman looked like hadn't bothered her as much as she supposed it should. She gathered pieces of her brother, of her grandparents and herself and tried piecing her back together. That collaboration gave face to her memories, made her connect to the woman she grew up without.

Jonathan remembered. He claimed Clary wasn't missing much by forgetting her. She wasn't that good of a mother to him, Clary supposed. All of her memories had been good ones, however, but Jace seemed to be of a similar mindset. They would have preferred her imaginary mother much more to the one that occupied their memories.

That vision, however, paled in comparison to the woman before her, but Clary knew immediately it was her. From what she could see of the thin frame in the darkness, it was angular in a delicate way, so much like her own body structure and Jonathan's. Ethereal. That was the word for it. The woman looked at her through eyelashes as long and delicate as her brother's too, but her face was an older version of her own. Her pale, glowing porcelain- like face was like looking into a hazed reflection of herself, but Clary could feel her jaw slacken as she tried to distance herself slightly, and the woman before her hesitated, but remained firm in her resolve. Jocelyn stepped after her; the frail hand that had abandoned her short sword at her side looked thin and bare as she reached for her daughter.

The young girl's eyes were wide, and she held the shard of rock before her like a weapon, brandishing it as she would her own seraph blade. If someone didn't step down soon, there would be irreparable damage done. She would not allow the pack to tear her daughter apart, but she couldn't allow Clary to take the strike either. Her responsibility to the pack and her family weighed evenly in her heart now.

Someone her age followed after her mother, thin as rail, but curvaceous. She seemed horrified, her bright eyes huge and set into her face behind thick lashes. The girl had wispy black hair that fell past her ears, but though she couldn't remember exactly where, she swore she had seen the girl before. Her mother's attention diverted to the newcomer for a moment as she murmured her name and held her hand out to halt the girl from passing.

"Clary!" Jocelyn cried, rounding on her daughter. Despite everything else going on, she had thought that her presence alone would sway the girl. As her hand approached the child, she knew otherwise. Clary was wound tight enough to battle her way out of the wolf den, regardless of who she would have to do in to do it. She turned at the sound of her mother's voice, her eyes wide and frightened, as she held out the archaic instrument like a weapon, daring her wolf guards to come at her. Even from here, Jocelyn could see her pulse jumping erratically as her eyes dilated, darting around the room. She would have made her father proud. The thought sickened Jocelyn. Taking another step closer into the opened circle despite her own better judgment, she brought herself so close that she could touch the girl's arm if she wanted to, but instead rose her hands to show that she was unarmed, prepared to talk her down. "Come now Clary. Put down the rock and we'll talk about this like civilized-"

"You-you've been helping them?" she cried out at last, the sound of it breaking her mother's heart. Jocelyn didn't have to meet her daughter's gaze for her to fully understand the rage, the hurt that was straining her face in the most heart wrenching of ways. Tears were threatening to burn away what little control she had gained of the situation, and the elder woman wondered if the same could be said for her child. She shook like a leaf, but the makeshift blade blazed in her hand unfalteringly bright as she held it before her, and the smell of blood struck her. It dripped along the crystal to patter along the floor and her pajamas were in disarray, stained with muck and the crimson that seeped out from artificial cuts.

That was what must have drawn them all here. They thought that one of their own had been hurt, and had come in a hurry to defend, to protect their pack.

The thin woman touched her fingertips deftly to her lips, her eyes pinching with worry lines around the corners like they often did when her children were young, and it was so reflective of the expression she wore whenever Clary neared a sharp corner, or broken glass, or her brother when he was having an episode, like anything and everything would break her, that Clary took a step back, distancing herself from the woman that so resembled her mother, the woman that she had so loved and despaired over for so long, only to appear now when she needed her least. Jocelyn wore the face now, Clary realized, but even her mother knew she couldn't protect her.

She was grown now, and on her own. She would defend herself. The wolf that circled her, that had been among those that cornered her first decided then to approach, treading too near and the young girl swung downward in an arc aimed for where the beast's head had been before it lunged away, circling with a fiendish snap of its jaws.

"ASA!" a tall, thin man snarled, coming into the room by a balcony that Clary had not yet noticed, and down the stairway that had been cut into the rock walls with a predatory sway to his form. A thick, muscular black man and a boy that resembled the one before her with thick calves and shoulders to match and a long, drawn out frame followed up behind the man to stand guard at the doorway and at the end of the balcony he had entered from. The entire wolf pack seemed to twitch to his directive, falling in line despite the descending man's scrawny nature and the half turned wolf stepped down immediately at the sound of his name, swaying backwards towards the wall and melding into the outer ring of creatures both humanoid and canine gathered in an unbreakable heard, with its ears back but its eyes trained on the young Shadow hunter. Clary let her eyes dart around the room as the man came to stand a few feet away from her mother and stopped when she did not respond to his arrival. He seemed to be the alpha here.

Jocelyn was at a loss, just as she knew she would be. She couldn't turn to look at the new arrival, not yet. She could feel his concerned eyes on her, feel the way the pack responded to his nearness to her, like it was suddenly safe for her to be that close to a live weapon. Yes, she helped the werewolves. Yes, she left her daughter alone for many years. But she had returned in time to protect her. That's what mattered after all, that she was safe now.

"Clary, I had to! You have no idea what your father has planned, what he was going to, what he-ha-ha" she choked on her words, so near hysterics that the tall, ragged man that had appeared with wispy brown and grayed hair pulled her beneath his arm and then close to his chest when she had stopped resisting enough to do so, his large hand supporting the back of her neck as he strained her into his shoulder. She had tried her best to pull back, to wrench herself free, but the man was persistent, and once he convinced her, she seemed to meld against him like putty. As Jocelyn's head settled against his tan throat and pulled his shirt to her face, Clary saw the mark on his left breast bone, or at least enough of it to recognize what the symbol once had been.

It was pale now, scarred beyond reason like it had been branded with a red- hot fire poker over and over to remove it, clawed at until the flesh was ragged and bloody, but Clary knew that gentle upward sweep anywhere, a Parabatai rune. A sharp tingle in her arm reminded her of her own partner. What would bring anyone to that extent, to burn their flesh off to be free of the memory of their partner? The look of it hurt her too think of any reason that she would take such extreme moves to remove the flesh that Simon had marked.

Turning with wonder, she looked at the horror of her mother in another man's embrace, her head tucked exhaustively in his shoulder as her hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt, "You're another Shadow hunter!"

The man turned wide, silvery- blue eyes to look at her in surprise.

They held her for several moments, and Clary let the blade fall to her side. These were her own people, their missive the same. She could not harm her mother nor the man that held her, She knew neither of them really, but how different could they really be when they were raised to believe the same things? Seeing the change in the young red head, the way her body half slumped forward in defeat, the thin man pressed a soft kiss to her mother's forehead, he turned his grey- blue eyes to look at her, his hand strongly supporting Jocelyn at the waist as he nodded to the girl.

"It's proper time we've met Clary. I'm the pack leader here, Lucian Greymark. But as you're a part of my family, you can call me Luke."

The name broke something deep inside of her, as recognition flooded her entire system.

He was her father's parabatai. His dead parabatai.

Clary ran.

XOX

The room swam in and out of his vision, groggily slamming him back into reality that he had failed himself again in a way that only he could. Jonathan didn't have half a clue how he ended up in his room again. He had a vague recollection of the strong muscles of his father 's chest holding him as he weakly fought him off, turned off by the idea of ever surrendering to the older man, but he could only assume that that had been the man trying to take him back to his bedroom, though the actual act was a haze.

One he wished he could forget.

This was nowhere as comfortable as using Jace or Clary, nor was it as pleasurable. With them, all parties walked away sated, or at least he did. Now, he was weak and in agony with no one around to soothe the flames that ate at him. His veins were a burning mass of agony still, but it was ebbing away at long last, the thrum of angelic power subduing him from the inside out. He couldn't lift his arms enough to scratch his nose, he was as weak as an infant child, but at least he had been thrown on the armchair comfortably, even if it had looked a bit carelessly. His leg was hitched shamelessly over one of the plush arms so that his foot un- tucked itself from under the fur throw that had landed haphazardly over his limp form. It was cold in the room, but he could do nothing about it as he was. He couldn't even hope that his legs would hold him right now

If he didn't know better, he would have thought he had a hangover, seeing himself hanging like he was. The thought brought a smile to his face. Perhaps that would help the edge, what with Clary and Jace both gone.

Gone.

His stomach tightened. Ah, yes. That was the reason he had broken down, the reason for his momentary weakness. He had vowed to never return to this, and yet here he was, muddling in agony. He had let his father do as he pleased and for what? So the man would hold him momentarily, speak endearing falsities that would tear him apart when he came to and realized that they were all lies as his father tore him apart? Jonathan never believed the lies that everything would be fine, not even when he was a child. Why had he bought them last night? Why had he even listened in the first place, when he knew his father only spewed lies?

Because Clary wasn't there to whisper softly, to make sure he knew that everything would be alright because she loved him, to be reaffirmed by Jace that there were things to fight for, to hold fast to your resolutions. He had no one now, no comfort. It was suddenly fine that he was freezing. Perhaps it would take away the pain at least for a little while.

Looking to the window off behind him, he had a good start when the wind outside moved his curtain, the flutter a sure fire sign that the pane had been left open. He vainly tried to order his body to obey, to get up to close the window and assess the likelihood that an intruder had passed into his bedroom and was still here. There was, after all, no way in hell that his father would allow any entrance to his home now.

He couldn't, still, not yet.

He heard the settling noise of fabric as it drew nearer. Feigning sleep, he let his head lull off to one side. He could smell them now, drawing nearer, the ripe smell of fruit, anise and blood, the mixture bitter and sweet on his tongue so much that it cut through the smell of the burnt wood in the fireplace at his feet. It made his breath hitch. They were practically upon him now, and he tried to lower his breathing to a lull as he felt a pressure settle over the arm opposite his legs, but he lacked the complete control he needed to complete the act. He jumped instead when a frigid hand brushed the underside of his eyelids sharply, a nail scratching out the path of the water line behind the finger tip.

Cool, soft pressure brushed his lips, and he fought hard not to make any noise as the intruder kissed him with a gentle, closed mouthed kiss. It was the kiss his mother used to give him and Clary when she tucked them in, the kind he tried to replicate with his sister before she demanded different treatment and he was the only one left to care for her. It was a heart wrenchingly warm action, one he felt incapable of but he gave his pale representation whole heartedly, because if the girl felt she was loved she would remain. The kiss didn't take nor give, simply it was, and made a statement of affection that he didn't know how to reciprocate with his family, let alone a stranger.

His jaw slackened and a tongue darted between his teeth as the cool hands petted him lovingly. He was tempted to kiss the soft mouth hovering over his, to deepen the delicate and withheld affection. Jonathan despised taking the submissive role, even if there was nothing for him to take from the other party.

After several moments the mouth left his, the warm pants of breath sweeping tickilishly along the bridge of his noise, rustling his eyelashes and the stark bangs that hung limply down his forehead. One of the cold hands entwined in his hair, claw- like nails scratching there too as the being lifted his head enough to pet the back of his neck.

"Open your eyes." A soft voice implored, so heavily accented and broken that he knew who it was immediately, and her hand brushed along his strong jaw and over his full lips to delve lightly along the edge of his teeth. Her blood dripped along the teeth she brushed. Had he unintelligibly bitten her or had she done it herself? The taste of her blood was bitter like she smelled, and it was salty on his tongue. It made the ragged feeling in the back of his throat go away, like smothering a fire. A soft weight settled in the curve of his hips and he could feel the warmth and curves of the female that straddled him. The drastic change in temperature made him shiver. "It's me, love."

His breath rushed up to meet her teasing finger, and his tongue darted to swipe the drip of blood gathering along the pad before it had the chance to drip to the back of his throat. The act made him feel all the more cannibalistic, all the more wickedly inclined. She didn't seem to mind, as she left her hand where it was. "Aline. You're bleeding."

"And you've been poisoned. I'm fixing the problem."

Her tone was bitter, as if she knew he had done so to himself, that he was incapable of taking care of himself, but perhaps he was. His head lolled back as he let her do as she pleased and she cut her palm with a blade, pressing it to his lips. Admittedly, the life blood she gave him was making him feel better. It was like Novocain was being wiped away from the inside of his being. She seemed displeased with him, but felt that she was helping the situation. Jonathan was unsure which actually was helping him more at the moment, time or the gore dripping languidly down his throat.

"You didn't come." Aline whispered softly. She mutely slid lower, her head laying tenderly on his chest , her dress the loudest part of her as it shuffled back into place beside him with her face within reach of his own, "When you didn't show I got worried-"

"Yeah, I had other things I had to deal with." He cut her off, already tired of her and her games. He had no doubt that she would surprise him again, but he didn't have the strength to go anywhere let alone entertain. If she knew enough of what he had done, then surely she knew that there were things that came before her, a practical stranger.

"Obviously."

She seemed bothered by the brush off, miffed in a way Clary never got. Her eye twitched as she rearranged her skirt, thinking carefully about her words in a very off- putting way. Were many women this way? Everyone he knew just outright said what they thought to him, at least the ones that mattered did, and if the others didn't what did he care? He wasn't listening to them anyways. "Well perhaps we can go now and-"

"You need to leave." He still didn't have enough strength to lift his own head, let alone go gallivanting around god knows where doing who knows what with a psycho little tart who climbs in uninvited into other people's-

Suddenly, he was full of strength, and his body shot up abruptly alert as he looked about the room, panicked. How could he have been so blind? She had slipped into his room unnoticed by anyone. It was too close for comfort that she appeared only a few days before, a new face from a distant land, and the very same day she had come his sister and her plaything disappeared, stolen from her room.

The tiny girl withdrew, obeying him for once since he had met her. "Don't let him poison you again, my love."

"FATHER!" his voice almost broke as he tried to follow after the girl out. It was too late, however. By time he was on his feet, the young girl had disappeared out the window, disappearing into the brush below. "MARYSE!"

But it was already too late, even if someone did come, the girl was gone and he had no strength to stop her, and he was left with the knowledge that who had stolen his family, his peace from him, had just kissed him, fed him their blood.

And he had liked it.

XOX

There was no direction that she had given thought to, she simply ran, shoving the shell-shocked werewolves out of her way in her desperate escape. Some fell to the ground, a few jumped out of her way, and others collapsed into one another as they scrambled to follow after her. She couldn't be caught, she couldn't go back. Her mother was betraying her father with his Parabatai. The thought was nauseating, and just added more fuel to her need to escape.

She took the path down unknowingly, only knowing forward and away, and back.

The sound of feet slapping against the wet slate stone behind her echoed rapidly, melting away to a fluid pounding noise that she could only assume was that of the werewolves giving over to the change to track her down, some taking alternative paths as she was too far up to know for certain which way she went.

Only a few footfalls reached her ears now, and though she refused to stop or reduce her speed, it eased her worry that they would catch her and punish her disobedience. Group think was big with Lycanthropes and the subcategories of the species like Kitsune and Nekomata, and going against an indirect order was punishable at worse by death.

She could hear a voice of one of her pursuers, a female that cried out sharply, begging her to stop. How she wished she could listen to the voice for a moment, turn back and head back to where it was brighter, closer to the surface. It was getting colder the further she went and the damp air had a stench to it that was starting to churn and tighten her stomach in a way she had yet to experience.

The light at her feet had dulled to palely guide her way but not enough now that her location was given away. It made her momentarily curious as to why when something sharp scraped her wrist.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Clary almost gave a shout of fright. She'd expected a wolf to have caught her, or something humanoid. What met her gaze was canine but it was not a werewolf. The eyes that stared blankly in her direction were blood red and milky looking, set off by the set of exposed, shark- like teeth that were bared at her as the beast ran along her side, awaiting its next chance to attack.

With a sharp cry, she roundhouse kicked it away from her, scrambling to keep moving as the sight of what followed her was much worse than what she had initially assumed.

Hell hounds, six of them.

"Clary!" Looking up to the balcony above half in panic, she saw the thin girl that had accompanied her mother running after her, her face wildly responsive to her surroundings, "Clarissa, DUCK!"

The red head obeyed just in time to almost miss what was going on. With a slick move, she grabbed hold of the railing and threw herself off of the second floor. The black- haired girl dropped atop one of the monstrous dogs like she mounted it to ride, her ankles digging in hard as it fought to throw her off of its back, and the girl collared it with a bit of chain that seemed to appear out of nowhere, and then she strained upward until its head entirely snapped off and its headless body crumpled to the floor as the thin girl rode it down. The severing of the head left them both covered in a splatter of blood, and the girl tossed aside the mount she had slayed. Clary got a better look at the sword the girl was using when a second demon dog came at them. The hooked blade swung out of nowhere, slamming through the beast's head and then threw it into the wall as the spinning girl withdrew the blade in the same twist, and in the next fluid motion from rising from the strike grabbed the Nephilim by her shoulder and slammed her expertly into the wall and to safety as she slashed another of the beasts as it tried to leap on top of them. The blade caught it in midair by its rib cage and it gave a sharp cry of pain as she yanked the blade upward. Blood exploded over her again, and she tossed it to the side as well. For a brief moment, Clary thought of Isabelle fighting beside her, until the sharply boned girl leapt up and turned to glare at her for a moment. In under a minute she had cut down three demons.

"LUCIOONNN!" she bellowed out her warning, her voice desperate and heavy with tension as her breast heaved as she scrambled up after another of the beasts that tried to evade her by climbing up the wall, "THEY'VE BROKEN THROUGH THE GATES!"

The thunderous sound of hundreds, if not thousands of creatures rose up in the hallway as the pack responded in turn to the girl's cry. Clary could hear them, the sound of them rushing to help their sister in her fight. There were more of the hell hounds coming, seemingly to have melted from the walls, and those that the girl in the over sized clothing were melding back together again and rising to join the battle.

A rumble sounded louder and nearer as the werewolf pack arrived, crashing into the fray one by one. Glancing for a moment around the room, she saw the wrath, the fierceness of those that had arrived. They would protect, they would win. Her savior had melded into the mob, and Clary lost sight of her, but hoped she would be alright.

Without a second glance, Clary took a last ditch effort to escape as everyone nearby came crashing into the small tunnel.

"CLARY!"

Deeper she ran, ignoring the familiar bite at her skin as the demon's acidic blood ate away her thin clothes. Her lungs were beginning to burn, the exhaustion setting in deep within her muscles as she tried to flee further and farther, and she yanked the top off as she went, abandoning it against a wall.

Too soon, she came across an iron bared gate, the scroll work as decorative as it was practical, winding swirls that imitated an inferno. She found it open, and slid behind the door, shutting it right away. The click of the lock barely worried her as her heart raced, already having been attacked by one of the most well-known tracking demons. Clary let herself rest momentarily, her head falling against the grate as she took in the surroundings that had eluded her thus far. Something was inscribed in the metal, the delicate churning of the iron almost made it impossible to make out, but once she recognized that it was words, she paused, trying to make sense of it. She wasn't very good at foreign languages, let alone dead ones. That was always her brother's thing and later, Alec's when he started devouring every book in sight and had already gone through everything her father owned in the English language that Jonathan would lend to him.

Facilis decensus Averni…

It churned her stomach mutinously. What did it mean?

Deciding to move on, the girl stumbled weakly down the slope as she tried to push the nagging feeling away. Somehow, she felt like she had heard those words before, like she ought to know them well. As she moved, the air seemed to thicken, and she found herself running her hands over her biceps to warm herself. Blood was sprayed over the walls, and seeing the amount of it through the shadows made her all the more nauseous but she was determined to overcome it.

Pained and tormented noises clamored all around her, echoing through the downward slope, the clamoring melody of battle as the werewolves beat out their enemy. She could not go back, not now that blood had been spilled because of her. Her only choice was forward.

The salt in the air was thick as well, like that of the sea, with an underlying smell of decay. The rot did nothing for her stomach, and Clary found herself wondering if this was where the hell hounds had come in fro-

Her eyes widened when the meaning of the Latin words began to wrap themselves around her delicate mindset. The descent into hell is easy…

Suddenly panicked, she turned, rendering all of her strength into escaping back the way she came as all of the warmth seemed to seep out of her very pores. Figurative or literal, she did not want to stick around and find out what lurked in the beyond that had made someone hang a warning on the gate.

Clary heard the cries again, closer this time, and she knew they came from her side of the gate instinctively. Spinning around, the girl brandished the weapon that would do little in the way of protection, but it did the worlds of difference for her morale.

Something wet and hot panted over her neck, raising the tiny hairs that ran along her spine. Dread filled her in those moments and Clary froze up trying to remember all of her training. Instinct demanded she turned and fought the monster off, or run off to safety. Instead she stood frozen where she was, and she felt whatever it was sidle up against her, slimily slipping past her back into the darkness. She got enough of a look at it to recognize the slickness to its neck that still ran along her five feet off, and as it diverted away she had a good look at its sightless eyes, sunken in all over its flat skull. It moved for her only exit, and when she had enough of a moment to settle herself, a second head flickered by just out of the shadows. A third followed it, flicking around her other side and she got a much better look at its fanged grin that dripped gore. After that she gave up counting the thrashing mass of heads as she caught sight of them thrashing about her from all sides, the monstrous demon blocking her only escape.

At least that explained the rotting smell that had been getting stronger. A Hydra demon, and it knew she was there and was waiting for her to make the first strike.

Her inactivity bored it, and it gave a noise of discontent, a sharp cry that began with one flailing head and ended with them all calling to one another in unison, the strength shaking the entire tunnel. Rubble became to fall from the ceiling, but Clary doubted it would bring in the ground it stood on just yet. It desired to destroy, to obliterate first.

Turning just in time, she raised her arm to defend herself as one of the serpentine heads struck out at her. The shard in her hand blazed and fire flared out, engulfing her in a whirlwind of heat, spreading like wildfire to her attacker. The head was ashen, whipping about as it slammed helplessly against the wall. Another took its place and Clary found herself running back away from her known exit as it gave chase.

She heard someone reach the gate, and the struggle was evident. It was locked tight, and no one would save her. Terror was so close to bubbling over, of consuming her completely. She was utterly alone, utterly defenseless. "CLARY!"

The female cry that called out to her was unmistakable, but she didn't have the time to stop, she didn't even have the time to properly escape. Ignoring her mother, she forced her muscles to move faster in vain. Something caught her, and she screamed in her descent, hitting the ground hard as she scattered along the ground like a rag doll. This time her attacker wrapped her up in a tight coil and tried to throw her, but she had half expected this after she had fallen. Spinning onto her back, she stabbed downward with the rock before withdrawing it to repeat the process. Or at least, she would have if she had not taken a shock.

She no longer held her archaic weapon, but a short seraph blade, glowing with her heavenly wrath. What appeared to be heavenly flames lashed out from the blade and as she began to withdraw it blazed brighter with a sizzling noise that crackled beneath her hand. The hydra threw her in that moment, but back to the ground as her weapon threw it off kilter and it disappeared from sight, still embedded in the monster's thick flailing neck near the hole in its head she could only guess was an ear hole.

It seemed to consider her momentarily with a chattering noise in the back of its throat. It appeared to be laughing at her as they stared each other down. The hydra coiled then, retrieving a mass from somewhere it kept, the body churning into a knot that reminded her of intestines.

For that moment she was given a reprieve with the single head watching her with its unseeing eyes. Looking at its scaly face, Clary watched intently for any movement or sign of attack, and too soon her vision began to blur.

At first she, assumed it was displacement from the drugs they had given her earlier. She swayed dizzily, waiting for the strike, and symbols took form, floating in the depths of the creatures flesh as it rose above her to strike.

She screamed as it came down upon her, and her injured hand came up to shield herself from the attack she could not pray to deflect. This was the end. There would be no more Clary. The girl's mind groggily clung to her demise, and thought of the glory of dying in battle. It was not honorable, it was stupid. She had yet to live her life and here she would die a worthless death. The creature was seconds away from devouring her whole. Only one thought occupied her hazy mind; live. Survive.

"RAZIEL!"

She cursed that which made her, for damning her people to this existence, just as the jaw of the massive snake began to clench down. They practically worshiped him, but where was he now? Her father was right to rebel. Their father had abandoned them, had given them the shortest of the sticks and stuck them with the biggest responsibility with barely any prayer to succeed in his mission. The Angel expected the world from them, but refused to even walk among them, to give them strength.

What kind of a father was that?

Hers…

She waited for the inevitable end, but nothing came. The beast sat above her, jaws prepared, but something had struck it still. It cried mutely and her eyes went to the glowing blade still embedded in one of its many necks. It was glowing brighter, red hot and the girl realized what she had named it in her wrath. A violent fire raged, whipping outward as it spiraled toward from her, charring everything in its path.

There were only a few moments of agonized screams and thrashing before the heads fell to the ground in crumpling falls. Taking in what she had done in shock, the girl looked to the smoldering husks that remained of the demon kind that had come after her in the dying embers of the fire. The blade had went out, and only a few moments lasted of the glowing light. It was all she needed to be sure that she was safe.

The gate that she had slammed shut earlier broke open at last, and her mother and Lucian burst forth, prepared to fight. Lucian had pulled twin chakrams on a long length of chain from his belt and Jocelyn was in the midst of yanking out a short sword of her own, when they gave pause, looking about the smoldering rooms.

Nothing remained.

"I told you, Lucian!" came her mother's voice, as she shoved the blade back into the sheath she had halfway pulled out, "I just knew he did something to her too."

Luke looked around the room in awe, nothing but his surprise coming from him. The girl had somehow destroyed everything without raising a hand to defend herself. She had been left nothing, after all. Looking to the girl, they were thankful that she seemed still intact, albeit shaken. Her clothes hung off of her in rags, and her arms grasped at her elbows with a strength that cut her arm with her blunt nails. The broken voice shook her mother and she said something under her breath as she stared across the room. The two ex- Shadow Hunters followed her gaze to where it fell among the ashes, but saw nothing. Her mother tentatively stepped towards her, stripping out of her jacket to offer the frail girl.

"What was that Clary?"

Clary heard the voice call her name again, tugging at her uselessly. She could do nothing more but stare as an image burned in the back of her mind. Its power could be of no other, and the realization calmed her as her mouth formed the name one more time. The blade glowed lightly across from her and she smiled at it. In her hand she had invoked the angel that had forsaken them all to this world.

The jacket was thrown over her shoulders but she could not feel its warmth. Her mother tried to shake her into speaking, her hands firmly gripping her thin biceps above her own grasp. Luke came over as well, and embraced her by the neck as he tried to draw the girl's face closer for inspection. "Come on, Clary, your scaring your mother. What do you see?"

Her bright eyes rolled into the back of her head and for a moment, they assumed she was just momentarily resting. "Raziel…."

She felt the responding light burning bright, like it was boiling through her veins. She had seen the face of her maker, the strength of his hand. The adults looked to each other unseeing, in confusion, but she saw, she felt. He was in her lifeblood as he always had been.

And then she crumpled like a rag doll to the floor.

XOX

It was hours earlier than daybreak when the pair of boys began to rouse for their journey. Sleep had been minimal once they had settled back into bed.

Jace had found it hard to sleep in the other boy's clothes. Alec was much thinner than he appeared to Jace, and although they hit about the same height, the muscular density in Jace's lower half was almost twice what the blue- eyed boy had, but the sweater had been the right size, albeit a bit baggy at the shoulders and the hands where the other boy filled it out better and tugged at the sleeves. While Jace found problems with the attire he was attempting to sleep in, Alec struggled with the condition of it. He had never shared a bed with anyone short of his sister when she was very young and crawled in afraid from a nightmare when he had been well off to sleep, and the circumstances surrounding this time made him very nervous. The object of many a wet dream was still half naked in his bed, and had been rolling half the night trying to find a comfortable enough position in too tight bottoms before he ended up yanking them off and settling on sleeping in the sweater and his boxers. His turning and tossing had been very much like grinding and the action made Alec very much aware that there was another boy willingly sleeping in his bed.

What would Jace do if he kissed him, held him like Jonathan did? Would he allow it, would he participate? His questionable answer came when at long last the blonde had settled down for the night and rolled, nuzzling into his satin top, his hand falling to hold the thinner boy's hip in a carefree manner that made the boy want to cry in relief.

Alec was first to wake, still wrapped around the tanner boy like a tangled knot, fingers laced in hair, arms and legs interlocked as they tried to press as close to one another as possible. He tried to draw away and became very much aware of the wood he was sporting when Jace gave a noise of complaint and latched his leg over his hip to keep him in place.

He wanted to curse and thank whatever deity or figure in heaven that had thought this would be the gift to give him this morning and the hands of fate that made it happen. On the bright side, at least this time he could play it off that it was a warmth and friction issue that had roused him.

By the angel, he was going to look like a sex deviant.

With an innocent shift, they brushed together and the boy groaned deeply, the sound stifled as he bit down hard on his lip. It wouldn't do to wake the boy making sexual advances on him when he had felt safe here last night. Alec would never get the chance to attempt any of this again if Jace felt violated. The movement of the thin boy's hips had roused him, however. With a groan of agitation, the golden haired Nephilim tried to feign sleep for a few moments longer, hoping he would be allowed a few moments of peace in the safe embrace he had found for himself. Without opening his eyes, he knew Alec had already woken and was trying to slip away without waking him, and the hand at his back had tightened to try to anchor and offset the movement.

His eyes opened and the boy smiled warmly at Alec as he snuggled closer for the few stolen moments he had promised himself. It was nice to have someone hold him without ulterior motives for once in his life. Alec had always been that way, though, always there to offer him an arm or a shoulder. His pleasant warmth was short lived and he regretfully drew away, leaving Alec wondering what had caused the withdrawal. Jace pulled away quicker than he thought possible for two people in their position, throwing his pants back on that were still dangling from the dresser at lightning speeds with the deft ease that only he could put them on with.

"Aren't you going to shower?" Alec found himself asking, the thought giving him a painful reminder of what was going on below. Hmmm… Naked Jace in his shower. Make that now three wet dreams that would come true within the short span of twelve hours.

The other boy had other plans however, and he innocently pulled off the sweater only to quickly pull hit tee shirt back into its rightful place, "Naw, I was going to do that when I got back to the manner. I completely forgot about supplies."

He turned back and flashed a very familiar, cocky smile, "While I look fabulous in this jacket, it can't be the only thing that gets us by."

With that he ducked out of the room, leaving his jacket and shirt where they were. It was probably all for the best anyway. It would give him time to gather the needed strength to mentally prepare himself to go on the mission as well as pack.

Yeah pack…

Throwing caution to the wind, the boy dove back under the covers to deal with things on his own terms. Jace would knock this time at least.

XOX

Vianey, the wolf girl who had saved her from the demon dogs, watched her from the bedside in a fold up chair turned backwards, her arms folded across the back where her face rested half tilted as she stared at her, on guard. Clary hadn't noticed it earlier, having been busy trying to escape her pursuers, but there were four viscously ragged scars that ran sharply from her jaw bone up over her nose and finished from the crease of her eye to almost in her hairline, and her hair had been shorn raggedly from the lengthy pixie cut she had sported when Clary first saw her to nearly bald along the right side of her head to a to clean up the damage the acid of the demon blood had done. Her lips whispered soft murmurs against the raised hair of her forearms and her long eyelashes fluttered softly over the most vividly stark hazel green eyes she had ever seen, a trait the girl must carry to her canine form and they cut into her sharply, making it very hard for Clary to go back to sleep. She was pretty at least, very pleasant to look at despite the scarring, and Clary found herself wondering why she made no attempt to reduce the bluntness of her mutilation.

She also seemed to be a very good watch dog, no pun intended. The other girl watched her attentively, her attention focused and unswayable from her despite the indifference she had initially given on. Clary had no doubt that this time she'd be caught before her feet touched the ground. Vianey was giving her the benefit of the doubt for now, but should she act out the girl would have no problem over powering her. Even still, there was something edgy to her posture. The way her eyes shifted uneasily around the room, calculating everything from the way Clary was still laying down to how many cracks were in the wall and how many steps outside the other guard stood, the red head could only guess what wicked things she had once been involved in and it made her uneasy to be left alone in the same room. Blood coated the underside of her nail beds, and despite being probably about her age, the girl carried herself like a warrior that had experienced many losses and many more wins.

They were talking outside again, but the humming whispers cut out all recognition. She seemed to know what she was doing, but Clary still caught her name on the guards tongue and the mention of the decaying demons below.

After a while, the whispers were beginning to form words she never thought she would hear something forsaken utter and the name of god became a mantra on her tongue.

"Thank you for saving me." This couldn't go on like this forever. She had to break the silence somehow, but the girl was not forthcoming. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sat back, her head falling back as she breathed in deeply. The long column of her neck seemed inhumanly swan- like, and its thinness was accented by the chain mail that sat along her throat like a collar.

"That's a very pretty necklace," Clary began unsteadily, her eyes looking to the fine woven chain that fell to her sternum where a large opaque gem shone softly by the firelight. An inch of chain dropped from the gem to dangle a small silver pendant that appeared to be a pronged four leaf. The older girl's eyes opened unnoticed to stare hard as if offended, as Clary focused all of her attention on the dainty gem that sat over her heart, trying to recall the origin of the symbol and of the stone. Truthfully, she was trying to make small talk but she had to contribute more or else she'd look like a vain twit, and there was something familiar. "Is that a moonstone?"

"Your father killed mine," the girl snarled softly. Clary half expected fangs to have been exposed but If they were, then they didn't glimmer in the moonlight like she had originally believed. "You would have killed my brother too if it were not for the Alphas. We can't be friends, Nephilim."

Silence fell over her. It was true, she couldn't say otherwise. Her brother Asa hadn't been pulling any punches either, though. Was she supposed to just let him get away with whatever he liked because she was their Shadow hunter captive? Drawing up, Clary sat on the mattress stiffly, drawing her knees up with her feet tucked close to her rump. Her hands idly picked at the thick, wool knit blanket. His death would have been her doing, however. She had started it, she supposed. Had that been what happened to the olive- fleshed girl's father? It was also true that her father wasn't one to grant leniency to anyone. The werewolf legacy was enough cause to cut down any man to her father, if it was enough to cut ties with his Parabatai. Was there really much difference between what she had done?

"I'm starting to see that the Morgenstern family has been solely responsible for many destroyed lives. I'm sorr-" Clary turned from staring at her knees to the smirking wolf girl; she was staring at her now with wide disbelief, her eyebrows nearing her short hairline. The intensity of the gaze made her choke on her words, and she quickly swallowed her apology.

The werewolf was confused but didn't voice the quirkiness of the statement, chopping it up to some case of post trauma that severed the few working parts of her brain from stringing together effective responses to what was being said to her; Vianey and her wolf pack had known from day one that their beloved Alpha Luke Garroway was once Lucian Greymark, an intelligent Shadow hunter with lethal precision with chakrams, but that name had died with his parabatai's betrayal. But that far off look in the girl's green eyes set her on edge again. Her words were haunted, distant enough that no one would be able to console her. She had been calming down at long last in the thin girl's presence, and now she couldn't help but cringe.

Clary had fried demons. No one had seen her do it, but it was the only explanation to what had happened. The girl that had been too weak and slow to protect herself from a single hell- hound had seemingly obliterated a small army that had come for her. What could she do to protect herself against such a holy warrior? It humbled her, it scarred her silly. Jocelyn and Luke both swore up and down that it would be safe for her to stand watch beside her until the girl woke up again, but she had not believed it.

She was sorry? She wanted forgiveness for herself and for her bloodline, to be friends?

These were not ideals that Shadow hunters were supposed to uphold.

The girl was in her face, staring up at her expectantly. After a moment, Clary sat forward and laid her hand on the willowy arm that still laid cross the top rail of her seat in a manner that the other girl had expected would be settling, but only wound her tighter. The brief touch startled her, and the black- haired girl leapt up, disrupting her chair as she stumbled away and slapped the offending hand away.

The green eyed girl would have apologized again, and her lips were already moving to form yet another reparation, but the elder girl was already hardening her heart, backing away. The movement almost knocked the chair off kilter, but she didn't care. She promised to stay until the brat was awake, not until she wormed her way under her tough skin.

"It's fine." Waving her off, Vianey stood up and walked towards the door as fast as she could manage without appearing desperate to flee. How could she leave her like this? It was obvious that there was something deeply bothersome lurking in her mind. Pausing, she hesitated at the doorway, and turned a reassuring smile on the girl warmly as she pressed her forehead into the door frame and twisted to look back at the red head. Her face was so serene and her pretty eyes glanced to the hand that held the door frame, to her wrist where there was a scrolled saying tattooed on her smooth flesh. She seemed to have all of the tension meld out of her person and when she next spoke, it shook the younger girl, "Your father's a good man now. That's what really matters, Clary. That he's repented and is seeking amends. You cannot hope to change his past or the impressions that he gave but he can atone. That's the humanity in all of us, Downworlders to Nephilim and their human charges, the ability to atone before our king, our god. It's a wonderful thing, his forgiveness."

"You have marks?" the young girl's voice asked softly, her eyes trained on the expanse of black the winded in elaborate swirls beneath her sleeve. How far up did it go, and what exactly did it say?

She seemed shaken and her other hand came up and covered the tattoo with embarrassment, "No. Just one."

With that, the girl was gone, the flash of brown and black as the door swung closed the last thing she saw as the darkness rolled in over her. She should have chosen to lay back down again, to try to sleep, but there was no use with the words churning in her mind

Forgiveness for the past...?

Falling back against the plush bedding, Clary sighed as it rose up to meet her, melding like a pool of thick flannel and worn cotton around her, as she let her head wrap around the meaning of her words.

XOX

"Jace." The boy had halted, ceasing their progression. Alec was looking over his shoulder back the way they came, and the other boy in question came back to stand beside the cool- eyed boy to look back at what made him halt their progress. Isabelle.

The raven- haired beauty was quickly approaching, covered head to toe in gear that clung like a second skin to her body and Jace could see the gold flash of electrum sizzle at her knee. She looked positively livid, but they didn't need to see her face to know that. Her weapon told them all they needed to know, as it flicked this way and that with the force and erratic movement of a feline's tail. The fury in her snappy, jerking movements was reminiscent of a breath of air beneath a blazing fire, and the energy around her almost crackled with her upset.

"You are not going without me. They took Clary from me too. She's my parabatai. You don't get to tell me to stay home and do nothing, Alec, you don't! I wouldn't expect you to stand idle if Jonathan was taken, I expect the same courtesy."

She sounded so exhausted, so wound taught, but her voice was sharp like a knife. It had been only hours since she had been taken, but it appeared like a week's worth of sleepless nights were closing in on the lithe beauty. She spoke like it was taking more work staying angry with her boys than she had energy for. Her black eyes leveled them furiously nonetheless and Jace looked from sibling to sibling waiting for the pin to drop.

"I would stay where I was told. Even if it had been Jonathan that had been taken." Alec ground out gently with an edge of bitterness to his tone, shooting a daring glance at Jace. For a moment, his sister could have sworn he would send her off without a second glance. She had never seen him like this before, so stern. It was too much like she remembered their father being when he was around, when he had a strong enough will about something. He used to be that way about Valentine. Now, their father could care less. "The law is hard, but it is the law. You think Jace or I would go gallivanting around the country chasing shadows if it hadn't been charged to us?"

The brutal honesty of his answer floored his two companions, but it had been true. They were but children still, and their only responsibility was to stay home and be safe. Missions that were delved out to those older than they were normally small and unimportant tasks that left alone or had failure would not result in the Nephilim's death. He no longer would have struggled with a separation with Jonathan either. His priorities had shifted to Jace now, even if he was devoid of the ability to face exactly what that meant for him at the moment. Looking to the boy, he had found his answer ready enough, as the tightening in his stomach dissipated when the taller boy met his eyes and returned the look with an amber gaze that spoke volumes. Jace was waiting for his real response instantly; he would let Alec decide whether or not Isabelle would tag along with her elder brother and play Nephilim soldier.

He loved Jace, irrevocably so. Without the boy to have insisted it, he wouldn't be out here in the cold himself. As it were, he was finding himself arguing for and against turning back now. This was not a mission for Shadow- hunters their age, none of them would argue that small fact, but they were very much dazzled by the reward. The end definitely justified the means this time, but it didn't mean that he struggled with accepting the blatant sacrifices he would have to make and take a definitive step forward towards that goal. But Jace needed him, and who was he to deny the only person he had ever loved other than his siblings and mother?

"We couldn't keep you from going even if we wanted to, could we?" Folding his arms over his chest, he looked away from Jace. He prayed the boy would never see the way he looked at him, the way his eyes seemed to wrap around him always. It would be too much to admit his feelings; it was too much already remaining as close to him as he had been.

The girl gave him an exasperated look and shook her head. No, she would not be left behind this time or any other. With or without them, she would go and look for the missing girl on her own. It only made more sense to increase their numbers, however. They were stronger in groups than on their own.

"Fine but if anything happens to you Izzy, I swear I'll kill you myself." Relenting, the dark haired boy threw his hands up, exasperated with the entire situation. He snatched the backpack that Jace had gathered with a viciousness that startled the other boy and his sister and hefted it forward for her to take it before snapping at his sister, "And you're cooking all the meals too!"

The girl's face blossomed with joy, her lips spreading to expose a brilliant smile as she bounced with her excitement. Quickly, she threw her arms around Jace, rocking him onto his heels as she nearly exploded with joy. She moved from one boy on to her brother, before spinning and taking a high speed walk away, intent on leading them away towards one of the many edges of the forest.

They would have followed her too, had the blonde boy not had other thoughts invade his mind other than the adventure ahead. Jace paused, his head dropping off to the side as his face scrunched in confusion as his eyebrow raised and he looked back at the girl, "Wait, how did you know where we were going?"

"A lady never tells her secrets." Came her boisterous response, as her arm swung them on in a hurried manner. It was entirely possible for them to change their minds and leave her behind. The sooner they kicked it into high gear, the sooner they would realize that there was no sending her back.

"Were you eavesdropping on me Isabelle?!" Alec had stopped in his tracks beside Jace as his sister sauntered by. She had an amused smile on her lips, and when she turned, brushing her hair to the side in order to look back at her brother properly, he noticed that the blue rims of her irises looked brighter than usual in the early dawn light. The bag in his hand drooped, as he abandoned holding it up realizing that she wasn't going to take her turn holding their traveling gear, and landed with a soft thud atop his boot.

"Don't be ridiculous," the girl laughed coyly, a shrill note to her voice as she passed the boys up quickly. Her head fell back slightly as she shook her head in amusement, "Why, by the Angel, would I be listening in on you, Alec?"

With a last backward glance, her grin grew wider and the boy would have sworn that she had winked at him before turning away. For a few moments, her brother struggled with that. Everything in him said that there was no other way she could have known, but everything he knew of fae said otherwise. She couldn't lie. Faeries couldn't lie; it was one of their few mortal flaws, and he found himself considering whether or not it might be a trait she carried. Isabelle had never lied to him before, so he sided with it having been a truth, one she was not about to reveal to anyone.

Shouldering his bag, the boy made to follow his exhaustive sister as she took the lead. This adventure of theirs was bound to be long and strenuous.

Especially with Isabelle along for the ride sending him shady looks and wagging eyebrows that he ought to say something or do something with Jace.

XOX

Author's note:

To start off, this AN involves a bit of last chapter too. Because I cut them in two, I actually forgot some of the notes about the last chappie, so I left them in this one.

As I was writing the exit scene where Izzy catches up to Alec and Jace, the thought "Bitches LOVE Jace" popped into my mind. Had a really good laugh.

Bet y'all are too.

Also, a good laugh was had at Alec's expense. Poor boy has no idea.

In these chapters, we have some of the tension starting up with Alec and Jace. Jace feels the connection, and has put two and two together already that he should be with Alec, but he's technically got a partner.

Sort of like the Isabelle- Clary situation, but Alec and Jonathan's is official, it's as far as them taking their mark and oath ceremony, which keeps getting pushed back.

The quote might not be on the nose for these two chapters entirely, but I felt like it fit so many of the characters at this point. The first turning point in so many of the characters has been introduced. Change isn't all good and it isn't all bad. But your old self, the things you believe and want have to be redefined, they have to change for the new to set in. I feel like this is the chapter that everything is being set into motion, from Jace and Alec taking off, to Clary coming to terms that her mother left for a reason, to Jonathan breaking down without his siblings, everyone is growing up.

I also have to admit I HATE fight scenes. I struggled with the Hydra scene most out of this chapter. I tried considering what I would do in the situation, what the likelihood would be that Clary would do things, and I realized I would die one hell of a death. And what kind of story would it be if I kill her off now? I promise I won't do that to you. I desperately wanted her to be weak in this scene and desperate as well, because this is the first real fight she has ever been in, and she's not even got back up. She isolated herself and should have died from that fight. Luckily, this was Clary and not some Mundane or run of the mill Shadow hunter.

I would like to also say that Clary succeeded this time for a few reasons. Her Angelic blood helped quite a bit, the biggest being that she turned a rock into adama with her blood which later gave her a makeshift seraph blade when she was backed into a corner by the Hydra.

And then she named that Raziel. Bad, Bad Clary. Had she been holding it, god only knows what would have happened. We know from Cassandra Claire that only bad things should happen, and that Shadow Hunters have simply accepted that it is faux pas to name any blade after their creator. My guess is it would destroy the user.

INALIM: No problems my dear. Honestly, I took a break myself to actually dedicate some well needed time to friends and family. I get it, the seasons get DAMN busy around here. Thank you for your continued support, and I'm glad you enjoyed it. 3

On the note of Parabatai, I see no better match. It would explain their relative closeness, and even in the books it felt like they completed one another, just not romantically, like they felt the connection but couldn't make anything out of it because they were such good friends, but neither wanted to hurt one another. IMO Simon and Clary would probably be the best Parabatai bond they've introduced after Jem and Will. I momentarily considered Isabelle and Clary in the book too, but as their characters evolved I came to the understanding that it was unlikely to happen, especially as Simon was introduced to the Shadow World.

For the sake of this story, Nekomata, Kitsune, Tengu and the like of Mythological monsters are going to be subclasses of Werewolves. (Were- cats, were- foxes, were- bird of prey) they are regional, however. They're masters of Asia, the land of the wilderness. I mentioned Kitsunes before, but I figured going forward I should reiterate, these creatures are Down Worlders in my FF, not demons like the Kappa and Tiangou.

In the coming chapters, expect an especially long author's note on the research I did on a character I will be introducing soon, the regions (hopefully I can write up an extensive guide for how things have been broken down among Down Worlders), and possibly brief bios for the werewolf hierarchies.

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Till Next Time

TAORI