New Malec fic? Yes? I got this idea driving home from school today and had to do something about it. I hope I don't get jumbled up and forget about All the Locked Doors in the midst of this. This one will be shorter, maybe like 10-15 chapters? ATLD is going to be much longer. Oh well, forgive my rambling.
I do not own the characters, and to those who thought I did, wow: I didn't think my resemblance to Cassandra Clare was that close.
Please note: In this fic, the characters are still shadowhunter/downworlder like they are in canon, just to dispel confusion.
Brilliant light flashed in bolts across the town. Shadows pressed closer, looming up like a dark wave. Magnus Bane was not afraid of the shadows. He met them head on, like he did everything else: with glitter raining off his shoulders and his cat eyes gleaming like beacons. Little did he know that his cockiness was about to get him killed.
He surged forward, magic blaring from his fingertips in blue streaks, but was pulled back before he could demolish the entire square. The hand on his shoulder was rough, unyielding, but comforting just the same. Magnus' father, Asmodeus, the Prince of Edom, shouldered his way to the front lines. Magnus moved to cut in front of him again, but before either of them could lift a finger, an explosion kicked everything to the side—including the warlocks. Magnus was flung backwards until he hit a wall and slid unceremoniously to the ground. Some spikes of his hair fell in his face.
"Oh no, you don't ruin my hair and get away with it," he snarled, getting to his feet. Admittedly it may not have been the best choice to come to battle in heeled boots, but he managed well enough, and charged for his father, arms stretched out as though to hug him. After five or so steps, he noticed the other warlocks doing the same thing: rushing to Asmodeus' side.
Then Asmodeus turned and snapped his fingers, and Magnus stopped mid-stride, his skin turning cold immediately. He could not move his head to look down at himself, but he could see that one of the other warlocks ahead of him had turned to some sort of white stone. He looked like a statue.
Magnus wondered what everyone would think. No mundane could possibly carve such a ridiculous scene into stone like this: a group of men and women with differing animal marks on their bodies, all charging toward an invisible something. He figured one day, one warlock would mention this war (Magnus supposed he would never know what authorities would name it now) and put the pieces together, but likely for years to come, he and his colleagues would be trapped here.
Forever frozen in stone.
Magnus then paused to speculate over the fact that he probably looked ridiculous, running with his arms outstretched like this. His hair was wild and he probably looked terrified. His clothes were rather untidy and there was glitter falling off him, also frozen as a statue in midair. That doesn't make much sense, does it, he thought, and then:
I hope I don't have this itch on my back for the next four hundred years.
A/N: I'm going to put the next chapter up later today as an apology that this was so freaking short. The next ones will be longer, since this was supposed to be sort of a prologue in a sense. Hope you liked it! :)