CHAOS.

Chaos is the only word that will describe this moment. A melee of movement and slashes and swords and blood, this is. A mixture of sandalwood, lemon and other scents with blood fills the air and makes it toxic, even making it nearly breathable.

The riot is set at the middle of Times Square where a sudden surge of forces loomed from different directions. Anywhere you look, bodies are scattered, if not, creatures fighting for their lives not to be the one of those scattered are displayed.

Demons are everywhere. The sounds they make aren't even the slightest humane. It isn't even comparable to what the lycanthropes make. It's the kind of sound that would make your anyone's skin crawl and insides rumble. The only thing that's worse than that is what they actually do while making the sounds. Ripping, tearing and shredding any life with hungry satisfaction in their growls and hoots and screams and grunts.

I immediately Changed and join the riot. Hands are either grabbing me, moving me away, or clutching to kill me. Everything is a blur and the only thing that I can remember is me trusting my instincts to what I could possibly do. My carnal attraction to this fight is becoming unbearable. I start to go berserk. All I can remember is me ripping and tearing every demon I can put my hands or mouth onto. It's not like I want to. I tastes disgusting, even. In a couple of minutes, I've torn apart my fair share of the Demons that everything in the area was either a body of a demon, its blood, or mud. IT'S OVER. For me, at least it is. For now.

I looked around. In the nearby street I saw Ark, helping Kito up, supporting him with his hands.

"Stupid Behemoth demons," Kito mumbled and Ark just shook his head slightly.

"Hey, you, cub! Help here?" the pack leader barked at the sight of me. I raced over at his other side to support him. In a couple of minutes, the pack has been together again. Missing a member or two, we stumbled our way across countless bodies of demons, Downworlders or even Shadowhunters. It's like the sense of the war over and the tiresome thing fills everyone and in the moment, silence is just the only thing that could suffice.

We marched our way down to the Lake, walking at the sides of it, nobody saying anything. No one. I let them go first as I glanced back at the City, I noticed one thing. It isn't as beautiful as it looked like before. It doesn't project the same holiness and gloriousness it flashed upon my eye before. Maybe because I'm a different person now. Maybe because the City isn't exactly what we believe it is. Maybe because I don't really know what I believe in the first place. Maybe because every Shadowhunter's belief is blinded by the thought that themselves and their belongings and their places are holy and glorious. Maybe because nothing in this world we live is glorious.

My mind projected many possible 'maybe' that I couldn't quite assess in the time being. Just then, I saw a blinding light and a voice, a powerful voice boomed, "Glory?" it asked. My eyes widened. I open my mouth to say something but nothing came out. The Angel. Raziel. This isn't real. Though it seemed perfectly clear that it is. The Angel was indeed here. He talked. He sounded faintly curious, as if the word he just said was strange to him, and continued, "Glory belongs to God alone," he finished and with that, I knew the right 'maybe' I was looking for.

With what happened, everything I believed was changed. Whether you're one of the Nephilim, the Damned, or just one of the Mundanes, after everything, nobody just gives a fuck. In the end, it's not what you live from that counts, it's up to what you live for, that matters.

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