A/N: Bleh this is gonna be boring… I wrote this all at school so now I have to type it up -.- Joyyyy. Oh, and I keep wanting to write this in 1st person so I keep writing like a whole page in 1st then catching myself and having to go through and fix it… so how mad you all be if I just switched to writing in 1st person?

Magnus doubtfully looked down at himself, then at Jace. The Shadowhunter insisted that, because of the glamour, no one could see them—they could only see each other. That would've been easier to believe, however, if the whole group didn't look quite so… solid.

Maia, the only one of them who had ever actually been in the building before, led the way carefully through the pristine halls, their footsteps thankfully muffled by the carpet. Every once in a while they would cross paths with someone else, and when that happened they would all press up against the wall until the trainee, Guardian, or secretary (yes, there were secretaries—people who didn't wish to recruit could take a desk job, dealing with all the paperwork and legal business of the Praetors) was long gone. They did have one close call when, by some freak incident, the rune traced on Jace's skin got rubbed off and they were suddenly visible again (Jace had explained earlier that he had to wear the rune and it would be cast over all of; because they were downworlders, they couldn't directly wear runes without sustaining major injuries). Luckily there was a long lull in passersby at that point though, so they managed to get the glamour back up before anyone saw them.

Because of these infrequent detours and the massive size of the building—it had only elevators, so at each floor they had to wait for someone to come along and press the up button, then sneak inside and squash up, hearts pounding, against the walls of the tiny metal room and pray that they wouldn't be discovered—it took them the better part of 2 hours to make it all the way to the top floor where the alarm and door control systems were located.

Adding to the seemingly endless, heart-pounding journey was that he had not form of communication whatsoever with Ragnor. Magnus knew that he'd been stuck on the team with the less-dangerous job—so far they'd only had to sneak up to the top floor and shut off a few alarms (which Jace and Maia were working on) while the other team had to fight their way to the dungeons. He'd even heard the werewolves mention demons. Like actual, honest-to-God, mythical demons. They were the ones who were in real danger, probably right at this very moment.

Distractedly (though how he could be distracted at a time like this, he had NO idea) he wondered if he would know if Ragnor had been hurt. They were twins, after all; he knew that they had a near-magical connection. Almost without thinking, he found himself trying to see through his brother's eyes. For one moment he thought there was something—cold terror in the pit of his stomach, so different from the heart-pounding fear he himself was feeling; the sickening, metallic tang of blood; a piercing pain in his arm—but then it was suddenly gone and Magus was left wondering if he'd sensed anything at all.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Alec watched with horror the scene unfolding before him. His little brother clung desperately to James as if he were a lifeline while the guards hit him and pulled him, digging their fingers into his skin, but still Max wouldn't let go, and Alec could do nothing. No matter how hard he struggled against the restraints he couldn't get loose; he couldn't even talk because they had done something to him and every time he tried he just gagged on the words. At last Jem twisted around and said something to Max, and after a short argument the little boy let go of his older friend and allowed himself to be shackled, his face wet with tears. Alec didn't, however, miss the way that his brother clutched Jem's hand, as if as long as he didn't let go he'd be fine. Valentine, as he now knew the man was called, watched he whole thing, eyes missing absolutely nothing. The 4 guards said nothing; they seemed to be waiting for Valentine to speak. It was painfully obvious that he was the leader and that they were all terrified of him.
It took what felt like years, but finally he spoke. "The 5 of you have been chosen for a great honor, one that you certainly do not deserve—but one that I shall, nevertheless, bestow on you. Today you shall each undergo a test, and those of you whom pass shall be reborn—as the new, elite generation of Shadowhunters."

Slowly he approached Will who eyed him threateningly, clearly considering causing serious damage if the man dared to touch him. Valentine ignored this and reached for Will's arm, rolling up the sleeve carefully. The action made Alec think of Voldemort and he shivered. From his belt Valentine withdrew a small knife and slashed at the teenager's wrist, opening a large gash. He put the ornate golden goblet under the arm and let the blood flow into it.

"Stele!" Valentine called, putting out his hand. Blackwell hurried forward and held a wand-like item out to his leader. The man plucked the thing from Blackwell's hand and began to trace a design on Will's arm with it, the skin rippling and burning around where the silver tip touched it. The dark-haired boy tried to pull his arm away, clenching his teeth against the pain, but Valentine held it tightly and continued to draw, occasionally pausing to pour some of the blood from the ornate goblet over the angry red skin. It didn't look like blood, though—it had taken on a golden color, like paint, and was thicker and smoother than blood.

Will's struggles began to get more and more desperate and shortly after he moved onto the second arm, Alec's friend's body began to spasm and jerk. His eyes rolled up into his head and he gagged and choked on involuntary screams. Valentine continued tracing the intricate tattoos, just holding the boy's arm more firmly to prevent him from moving. Finally he lifted the wand from Will's pale, sweaty skin and the boy fell to the floor of the dungeon, completely still except for the faint rise and fall of his chest. Valentine splashed the last of the blood mixture over the boy, then wordlessly stepped over to Alec.

The process was repeated again—the slashing of his wrist, the rippling and burning of his skin as the intricate designs were applied, then the gradually worsening condition until, at last, the last mark was finished and he collapsed.

Izzy's turn!

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Magnus's heart was in his throat, quite literally, as they took the small private elevator from the top floor down to the basement. Seriously—he was having trouble breathing. For once, though, the fates seemed to be smiling down on him because the trip was short and then they were at the door to the basements. Jace drew a small rune of the door, and a window appeared. Through it, they could see the other 5.

Jace quietly opened the door and slipped inside, motioning for the others to follow. "Clary," he called softly and she spun round, Seraph blade raised. When she saw who it was, she ran to him, flinging her arms around her neck. "Oh my God, Jace—what took so long? We thought that they'd caught you!"

As he explained Magnus looked around the rest of the hall; Kyle kissed Maia passionately then they broke apart, still joined by their hands, speaking quietly to each other. Simon and Sileo slouched awkwardly in a corner—Simon Magnus felt sorry for; he was the classic underappreciated best friend, shunned for the boyfriend. He had been worried sick about Clary but now that they were back together she had eyes only for Jace; Simon seemed used to this though. He didn't look resentful, just disappointed.

Just as he became aware of someone behind him, that someone spoke: "Ignoring your big brother, are we? I am offended—you should've been worried sick; I could have been killed!" Ragnor said in mock-hurt voice.

"Hey, maybe then I could get the bathroom for more than 5 minutes in the mornings—it takes time to achieve this level of fabulousness, you know!"

"Oh, come on… you take at least half an hour. Daily."

"And you're any better, Mr. Perfect Hair?"

"As a matter of fact I am—at least I don't shed glitter everywhere like I'm a fairy!"

Magnus gasped in "horror", then leapt at his brother, tackling him. Immediately, a twin wrestling match ensued.

If fact they had each been terrified for each other. They'd never admit it though—both boys were extremely affectionate towards other people; they had no problem expressing their feelings for people in either words or actions. Actually, both of them were most happy when in some sort of physical contact with a friend or family member.

Towards each other, though, was a different matter entirely. This was probably, at least partially due to the fact that as children, their psycho parents had seen their extremely close relationship and read too far into it, eventually becoming scared of it. They had punished the children for any outward signs of affection- even a smile at each other would be met with blows. Things like hugging would often be discouraged with electric shocks and being held under water for extended periods of time. They had been taken by child services when they were 7, after their mother hung herself and their father disappeared mysteriously. Both naturally cheerful and optimistic, they had recovered well—especially Magnus. There were some scars, though, that ran too deep to be scratched off, even after a decade, and that was one of them.

All too soon, all the updates were update-y, and it was time to charge off again. The groups re-separated and each took a different hallway—Clary's team took the one labeled "File Storage", while the group that Magnus was with headed down the unlabeled one.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

Isabelle fought back terrified tears as Valentine stepped away from her brother. She knew that she was next. She inched back, pressed as close to the wall as she could, crouching low to the ground as if he would not notice her if she made herself as tiny as possible. Of course, he did. He stopped right in front of her, staring down contemptuously at her.

"Get up," he said in a cold voice. There was no emotion in his colorless eyes. She just curled up tighter, too frightened to move.

Valentine grabbed her arm and jerked Isabelle to her feet, causing her to let out a muffled, pained sob. His hand moved down to her wrist, fingers circling around it firmly, then there was a sharp pain as the knife torn her wrist open. He let the blood drip into the same old-fashioned cup that had already held the blood of Alec and Will and when the flow had begun to slow a little, he withdrew the wand thing—the stele, it had been called—from his belt. This, she knew, was when the real pain would start. She managed to jerk her arm away in a panicked fit but Valentine only snatched it again, adding a hard slap across her face to her growing list of aches and pains.

Then he began to draw. The first contact wasn't too bad and she, naively, began to think that maybe, just maybe, she could get through this. By the end of the first mark, though, she knew that that hope had been foolish. The stele was like a hot poker being dragged through her flesh, leaving her skin boiling and burning. Every ting dot was agony and before long she thought that she must scream or die.

Valentine tut-tutted regretfully. "I don't think this one is going to make it—only 3 runes and already she is weakening. Pity, really. Her friends did so well."

Something about his words, mixed with the brief absence of pain—for he had stopped drawing to speak- gave her strength—strength, she was sure, born from anger. Who was he to say how strong or weak she was? He knew nothing of her! She was Isabelle Lightwood, she could hold her own against anyone in her school, despite being younger than them and a girl! She was just as strong as Will and Alec; if they could survive it then so could she.

That was her last lucid thought, for then the glowing tip touched her skin again and all there was was pain. But at each finished rune, when the stele was removed and Valentine paused to splash some of the blood onto the design—it was stung, but was cold and a welcome escape from the scorching heat—that thought wormed it's way back into her head: "I am strong. If they can make it, so can I. I am strong. If they can make it, so can I."

Those were the words she chanted to herself as her flesh burned and her muscles spasmed and she choked on silent screams and sobs. She chanted them until, halfway through his marking her second arm, the pain became so much that she lost all presence of mind. Her heart pounded in her chest, her lings screamed for air that no longer would come to her, her vision went black and she could no longer see Valentine's pale, long-fingered hand scorching the marks into her skin, but the pain—the pain remained until, at last, he finished the last mark and everything disappeared.

A/N: Crap, it's gonna be a close squeeze for my 50,000 words… good thing I'm doing a 7-hour lock-in either this weekend or next! Also, I'm going to see Breaking Dawn with Ember Chipmunk… has anyone seen it yet? How was it? Anyways… night night time for the narwhal who's only gotten like 24 hours of sleep in the last week! Bye byez!