Climbing them two at a time, once at the top she went around the statue and immediately stopped. Someone else was in the chapel. Normally she would've been able to tell beforehand due to her powers but the state she was in prevented it. For a minute, she forgot how to breathe, he was mesmerizing; possessing an allure difficult to ignore, a blend of ethereal beauty and masculinity. Taller than Clary yet shorter than Chris, his hair was a cascade of golden waves, his lean body covered by something similar to a sherwani or a frock coat, completely black with red designs. Clary recognized his outfit, Chris was wearing something similar the day they met.
« Hello there beautiful, are you okay ? You seem a bit flustered », the man told her with a voice like velvet caressing her senses.
« I'm fine » she answered almost defensively then checked herself, she didn't have any reason to be mean to this man she just met. She decided to tell the truth as a way to calm her anger. « To be honest, I'm far from okay. I feel like I am trapped in this cycle of disappointment and heartache » As Clary was talking, the man approached her, until he was standing a foot in front of her.
« I'm sorry you are going through such a difficult time. I know we just met, but talking about it can help, is there anything specific that's been causing this heartache ? »
« It's not just one thing but a combination of things. I feel like I'm being torn apart, attacked from all sides, whenever I think I am starting to get used to what's going on, something new appears and puts me back in a chaotic state » she was blurting out all these words with no control. Lifting his arms, he grabbed Clary in a tight hug, first the girl was surprised then she melted in his arms, embracing the comfort of this stranger.
« It's gonna be fine, maybe not today nor tomorrow but it will be fine so keep fighting. » He answered, his chin resting on the top of her head, making it possible for her to feel the vibrations of his voice through their connected bodies. The stranger was rubbing her back, Clary rearranged herself so that her face was placed at the nook of his neck. « What's your name ? » Clary asked shyly due to her vulnerable position.
Clary's heart raced as he lifted her chin with one hand while keeping the other firmly on her back. "I'm Jonathan… the prince," he announced, his eyes fixed on her, waiting for her reaction. Clary's mind swirled with a mix of surprise and confusion—her own brother, the prince, holding her so intimately. Part of her, deep down, had secretly hoped Chris would turn out to be the prince. Perhaps, amid the astonishment, a hint of disappointment lingered. However, the gravity of the situation dawned on her, realizing that standing before her was the key to all the answers she sought.
In a daze, she managed to stammer, "It's really nice to meet you, I'm Clary." Instantly, a genuine smile spread across Jonathan's face, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as if he had achieved a long-desired goal. But then, in a sudden and jarring turn of events, his hand on her back began to move downward, ultimately reaching for her rear. Clary's body tensed with shock and fear, her mind racing to comprehend the situation unfolding before her. "What are you doing?" she blurted out, panic evident in her voice. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm taking what's rightfully mine. You are participating in the Regalis Certamen, aren't you?" he responded rhetorically, his tone disturbingly confident.
"Yes, but I don't owe you shit. I'm not yours," Clary forced herself to maintain composure, recollecting the self-defense techniques Luke had taught her during their stay at the hotel. Summoning every ounce of strength, she stomped on his feet with all her might and swiftly delivered a powerful punch to his solar plexus, aiming to knock the wind out of him. Her actions proved effective as he released her abruptly, struggling to catch his breath. Seizing the opportunity, Clary made a swift escape, her mind still reeling from the unexpected turn of events.
As she sprinted at full speed, nearing the chapel's exit where the nef awaited, Jonathan's hand grabbed hold of her hair, violently yanking her back. Before she could react, a brutal blow struck the back of her head, sending searing pain rippling through her body. The taste of metal flooded her mouth as blood coated her tongue. Her vision wavered and distorted, stars dancing before her eyes in a disorienting ballet that threatened to consume her consciousness. Unwanted hands roamed her body, and Clary, fighting against the encroaching darkness, struggled to comprehend his actions.
I can't close my eyes, I need to stay conscious.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through her veins the very moment she felt his hands yanking her jeans off of her. She was laying on the smooth marble floor, her bare legs cool against the pristine surface. Jonathan knelt between her legs, forcing her to keep them open, his gaze focused on her black lace panties. Her heart pounded in her chest, a rapid rhythm of fear echoing in her ears. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. No matter how much she tried to wriggle her way out of his hold, it didn't work and unfortunately Luke didn't have time to teach her about how to get out of this type of situation. A mixture of shock, disbelief, and pain flooded her senses, threatening to drown her in a sea of despair. He used his free hand to rip her underwear off, tears ran down her face as she realized how powerless she was in this very moment.
A few moment ago she learned that her mother was murdered, that she was a royal herself and now she was laying helpless below the prince, her own brother who had every intention of raping her. This couldn't be happening…
"Please help me, I need your help. Tell me how to stop him from raping me, I beg of you, help me." Clary begged the voice that usually would give her advice in her head, whenever she needed guidance. The voice was her last hope. Yet it didn't answer. She immediately remembered what was the last thing the voice told her. "You will die alone without help." She could only blame herself, she had screamed at the voice, demanded it to get out of her head, saying she didn't need it. Yet now, she would've given anything to hear it once more. It didn't matter how much she begged for the voice's help, it didn't answer. The silence was unbearable, she was completely alone against her aggressor.
With his free hand, Jonathan lifted the lower part of his sherwani to access his trouser zipper. Opening his fly, he had the audacity to take out his semi hard penis. At that point, everything happened too fast. Using his free hand he pumped himself multiple times to be fully hard. Clary closed her eyes, trying her best to keep calm, long enough to find a solution.
I'm a shadowhunter so I have powers. Yet I can only use these powers through the runes on my body but I don't have a stele. I'm also a royal, so I must have more powers than the regular shadowhunters ? She asked herself rhetorically. Okay Clary focus, activate your powers and get this bastard off of you. She ordered herself in her mind.
As Clary summoned whatever power she could muster with her limited training, her eyes abruptly opened when he penetrated her. Clary's face twisted in agony, reminiscent of the excruciating nights she had endured before. Her flesh felt as though it were on fire, and her private area throbbed with a searing, unbearable heat. Yet only his tip was inside of her, strangely enough he immediately stopped the penetration once he saw her pain, a subtle smile tugged at the corners of his lips and his eyes widened with a spark of realization. But what he understood during that moment, Clary had no idea.
But the girl immediately guessed that it certainly was his pre-cum that caused her pain, being the equivalent of acid on and in her body. As Jonathan paused his movement, still inside of her, his eyes locked on her face, his hold on her wrists weakened just for a second but enough for Clary to free her hands. The redhead swiftly delivered a punch to his neck causing him to fall backwards and gasp for air. As their bodies became disconnected, Clary pushed herself up and stood on her feet. Jonathan was laying on his back, his hands on his neck, his penis still out.
He looks so pathetic … He's the prince; his people are doomed. Clary thought to herself as if she wasn't a royal herself.
An unexpected sensation washed over her, sending gentle tingles coursing through her fingertips. Startled, she glanced down, and to her astonishment, her eyes widened at the sight before her. A soft, fiery glow emanated from her palms, softly illuminating the dimness around her. Her hands were ablaze with a power she had never known. A mix of surprise and wonder enveloped her, as she comprehended the true nature of her abilities for the very first time. She must have somehow summoned some sort of a fiery power, looking back at the idiot on the floor, Clary approached him and crouched down. She grasped his groin with her left hand and pressed her other hand on his torso to keep him down.
A guttural scream tore from his throat, the searing contact instantly engulfing him in a whirlwind of agony, a testament to the unfathomable pain she inflicted. Reveling in the cacophony of his torment, Clary found perverse delight in Jonathan's agonized screams. The sound, like twisted music to her ears, evoked an unfamiliar sensation within her. A malicious chuckle slipped from her lips, resonating with a dark glee she had never experienced before. It sent shivers down her spine, a disconcerting revelation of the depths of her own power and who she was becoming.
With a startling force, Jonathan propelled himself up from the floor, forcefully pushing Clary away. The impact was violent enough to send her stumbling backward, causing her to collide with one of the wooden benches in the chapel and strike her head.
Clary's vision blurred momentarily as a sharp pang radiated through her skull. A dull throb intensified, throbbing relentlessly as if each heartbeat echoed the ache. A hand instinctively pressed against the site of impact, her fingertips trembling with the sensation of pulsing discomfort. Her vision blurry, she blinked multiple times until she could see clearly once again. Jonathan had disappeared. Her breath came in shallow gasps as she struggled to regain control of her hurt body. Moving until she reached her jeans, her trembling hands gripping the edges of it, putting it back on, desperately trying to restore a sense of normalcy.
Clary's mind raced, trying to comprehend the unthinkable violation she had endured within the sacred walls of the chapel. As the surge of adrenaline subsided, a renewed wave of pain surged through Clary's body, sharply reminding her of the lingering agony between her legs. The tender area throbbed, and every movement served as a painful reminder of the violation she had experienced. Because he only pushed his tip inside of her, she was technically still a virgin, her hymen should be intact. The burning feeling was unbearable as she stood up and faced the statue hiding the stairs to access the Institute.
As she laid her eyes on it, something forced her to stay and take a moment to truly appreciate the towering six-foot statue before her. The angelic figure possessed a striking countenance, with features that were both sharp and exquisitely crafted. One hand extended towards the heavens, while the other gracefully gestured towards hell, embodying a powerful duality. Its resplendent wings, adorned with intricate details, captured the light in a breathtaking display. With curiosity guiding her, Clary lowered herself to a crouching position even though her nether regions burned, her gaze fixated upon the inscription nestled at the base of the statue. Leaning closer, she quietly read the words etched into the stone : "Quod angelus lux ferre." The phrase resonated with a mystique that stirred her imagination, beckoning her to unravel the secrets concealed within.
The angel Lucifer… "our" God, the first of the royal line, Clary recalled. So he's my ancestor, I am the descendant of a God nevertheless I still feel powerless, lost and vulnerable. I've been lied to my entire life, hidden from my own world, had my powers blocked and my mom taken from me, assassinated, and my own brother tried to rape me. What can I do ? Clary asked herself.
As her palms delicately pressed together, fingers interlaced in a reverent embrace, she decided she was going to pray. It has happened in the past but that was before she discovered this new world, she used to pray to god, as in Jesus' father. But this time she stared into the eyes of Lucifer's statue and whispered "Please Lux Ferre, make me the strongest royal these kingdoms have ever known. Give me enough strength to avenge my mother by killing all the illuminaties. To succeed the Regalis Certamen for all to know I deserve my title. To punish the prince and allow me to rule without him when the time comes. Please Lucifer make the voice in my head come back, I need it, I strangely feel incomplete without it, amen ?" Clary finished her prayer and looked around searching for some sort of sign that her prayer had been heard. She felt stupid when nothing happened.
Her legs painfully carried her down the stairs, walking down corridors and turning once in a while until she reached her room. In a desperate rush, Clary darted into her bathroom. Stripping off her clothes with hurried determination, she discarded each garment in a hasty pile on the tiled floor. With a sense of urgency, she stepped into the waiting bathtub, the cool surface meeting the soles of her feet.
A shiver ran through her body as she turned the faucet, unleashing a torrent of cold water. The icy cascade fell upon her, enveloping her heated skin in a chilling embrace. Gasping at the sudden shock, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the frigid baptism that cleansed her body. As the cool water streamed over her, it provided a temporary respite from the searing sensations emanating from her nether regions. She stood, hunched over, allowing the cascading water to cleanse away the discomfort, her hands briefly cupping the afflicted area trying to clean off any remains of her aggressor's pre-cum.
After subjecting her nether regions to a continuous stream of cold water for what felt like an eternity, the relentless burning finally relented. Clary sighed with relief as the intense heat gradually dissipated, replaced by a soothing coolness that permeated her senses. With cautious optimism, she turned off the faucet, the sound of trickling water slowly fading away. Clary remained still for a moment, she gingerly touched the previously inflamed area, feeling the absence of the searing sensation that had tormented her. It was a moment of relief and gratitude.
As she stepped out of the bathtub, a renewed sense of calm washed over her. Clary wrapped herself in a soft towel, embracing the newfound comfort that enveloped her. But as silence surrounded her, she remembered what Lulach told her, her mom had been killed. These past few weeks grief had accompanied her everyday while she was discovering her real identity. The truth of her mother's fate, snatched away by a group of fanatics driven by religious differences, ignited a fierce anger within Clary. The pain of the loss mingled with a burning desire for justice, fueled her determination to become a living weapon aimed at the illuminates.
As the water droplets cascaded down her body, Clary felt an overwhelming surge of emotions, tears welling up like a torrent of sorrow ready to break free. In that vulnerable moment, she yearned for the familiar solace that the voice inside her head had always provided. Despite their argument and the harsh words she had spoken in anger, she couldn't shake the feeling that losing the voice was a senseless mistake. It had been her guiding light, offering comfort and wisdom when no one else understood. Determined to make amends, Clary took a deep breath and mustered the courage to summon the voice once more.
"Hum… Could you forgive me ?" She whispered.
"Te absolvo" the deep and commanding voice answered immediately. After a few seconds it added "I forgive you", the three words echoed inside of her head.
"Aren't I insane for feeling close to a voice I'm the only one hearing ?" Clary asked.
"Melius abundare quam deficere" then it translated "It is better to have an excess than to be deficient". Clary loved how the voice seemed to automatically translate latin, not waiting for her to ask for it, might be because of what she said during their fight. Yes it's true that having the voice with her is actually a great advantage, she sure as hell would've loved hearing it when the prince dared lay his hands on her.
"I'm going to avenge my mother's death and I'll need your help in the process. But for that I must become stronger… greater, will you help me ?" Her palms were sweaty, and she felt a knot forming in her stomach.
"Nihil potentiae majus," the voice answered, its tone taking on an almost animalistic quality, growling with an unsettling intensity. Clary couldn't help but feel a shiver crawl up her spine as it continued, "Nothing is greater than power." The words dripped with a guttural and monstrous timbre, resonating deep within her, stirring a mixture of fear and fascination.
Because of the voice's ominous tone, Clary's unwavering trust began to waver, causing doubts to creep into her mind for the first time. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as she contemplated whether seeking the voice's help was, in fact, a bad idea. The once-familiar presence now seemed tinged with an unsettling aura, casting a shadow of uncertainty over her previous beliefs. Clary couldn't ignore the nagging thought that perhaps there was a darker side to the voice's power, one that she had been blind to until now. She was torn between her need for guidance and the unsettling realization that she might be treading on dangerous ground.
"Adiuva me, et ego te adiuvabo," the voice said in its normal tone, seemingly aware of the doubts swirling within Clary. Its words were clear and steady, as if it sought to reassure her amidst the uncertainty. "Help me, and I will help you, Clary" it calmly translated, its gentle cadence attempting to dissolve the doubts that had taken hold. Despite the unsettling moments prior, the voice's response carried a sense of familiarity and trust, reminding Clary of the comfort and guidance it had provided in the past.
Clary was confused the moment she realized what the voice said ; "help me", how the hell was she supposed to help a voice she was hearing inside of her head ?
"How do you want me to help you ? Wait… Who are you ? or What are you ?" The redhead demanded, her voice quivering, fearing the answer.
"Ego sum lux mundi. Ego sum via, veritas et vita. Ego sum Alpha et Omega" the voice answered. The voice carried an unmistakable weight, as if every utterance held the power to shatter mountains or reshape the world. Then it finally added "I am the light of the world. I am the way, the truth, and the life. I am the beginning and the end". Its low and guttural tones created an atmosphere of unease, like the prowling of an apex predator in the darkness.
As the voice echoed its powerful declaration, resonating with an undeniable weight that seemed to transcend the physical realm, Clary's initial unease transformed into an unexpected surge of inspiration. Rather than succumbing to fear, an exhilarating thirst for power coursed through her veins, awakening a dormant fire within. Her thirst for power grew, fueled by the voice's commanding declarations, a sinister transformation began to take hold within her. An evil laugh, dark and chilling, escaped her lips, echoing through the air like a haunting melody.
It was a laugh that betrayed her growing hunger for dominance and a desire to harness the immense power that beckoned her. The voice's influence became intoxicating, blurring the line between light and darkness within Clary's soul.
Amidst this macabre dance, the voice joined in the twisted amusement, releasing a low chuckle and uttered the cryptic phrase, "Aliis volat propriis" then said "She flies with her own wings".
She responded, her voice resolute, "I will soar with my own wings." Her words, filled with a mix of conviction and gratitude, marked a turning point in their relationship. She acknowledged the guidance the voice had provided thus far while embracing the responsibility of charting her own course.