The Rise of the Morningstar

by Skyllen

Jocelyn didn't leave Valentine after the uprising. Eighteen years later, Jonathan and Clarissa developed to young and killing Shadowhunters. Demonic blood turns Jonathan and she escapes to New York. All her efforts to start a new life attached to the Shadowhunter's values seem to fail when Clary gets to know Jace Herondale, the son whose family was murdered by her father years ago.

91. Chapter 90 Falling Morningstars

Song inspiration: Suffocation (Heavenly Intro Version) – Crystal Castles

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Chapter 90 – Falling Morningstars

- 9 hours before sunset. -

Although the Demon Towers, which protected Alicante from the intrusion of demonic beings, were all the same height, from a distance it seemed the opposite. Since parts of the city were built on a hill, they all appeared to be a different size. The symmetry with which the towers were distributed throughout the city alone gave the view some order as long as you looked at the city from a distance.

The few times Valentine had allowed us to see Alicante, that very thought had crossed my mind. Nevertheless, my first reaction to the towers had always been one of adoring fascination. Forging such massive structures from pure adamas was truly the most difficult and beautiful art of the Iron Sisters – and the foundation for the Nephilim to still exist today.

With my head tilted back to take in its full size, I now stood directly in front of the doors of one of these demon towers. Up close, the adamas shimmered even more brilliantly in the sparse rays of sun that fought their way through the thickening cloud cover. In the typical silver-white that accompanied every Shadowhunter from the cradle to the grave, the tower reminded me of an oversized stele. I was immediately more drawn to it.

Even though I had been living in the city for months, I had always avoided the towers. At first, I didn't want to harbor any false suspicions toward the others, in case they feared that I was up to something. Later, I had been too busy to pay any attention. But now, standing before what was arguably the most significant structure in Nephilim history – one of many, mind you – I couldn't help but admire our past. For the first time, I was able to understand the pride so many vain Shadowhunters felt for our society.

The wealth of detail, which I had never noticed from a distance, was astonishing. While the vaults looked like smoothly polished adamas from afar, thousands of runes and images were actually engraved onto their surface. This tower told the story of Jonathan Shadowhunter's sister Abigail: After Jonathan had become the first Nephilim through Raziel, he also had her drink from the Mortal Cup and undergo the transformation. Many years later, she had founded the Iron Sisters with six other women. Together they had created the Adamant Citadel; a retreat and the forge of our civilization.

I walked towards the door and searched in vain for a handle. It too was made of pure adamas and was only recognizable as a door by its fine outlines in the vault. I was already wondering whether the Inquisitor had tricked me when she had given me this task, until I found the unlocking rune that had been drawn into the door at the height of the handle. As I slid my stele over it, a tremor ran through the metal before the entrance opened sideways with an almost mechanical-sounding grinding.

My eyes widened in surprise as I entered the empty shell of the tower. While the structures looked so massive from the outside, their interior was completely hollow except for a spiral staircase. Although I knew that the adamas steps could withstand the weight of entire mountains, my instinct compelled me to test this knowledge. Soon after, I climbed the stairs and prepared myself for the escort I would find at the top.

Imogen had tasked me with taking the place of a guard in the main tower while he was otherwise unavailable. Since I hadn't been particularly close to the Demon Towers before, I had agreed without hesitation. Not a second too soon, because Isabelle had volunteered for the task just a blink of an eye later. Of course, any task of preparing for the coming battle was honorable, and yet I couldn't think of anything better than standing high above the rooftops of the city and looking down on everything in what might be my final hours. The fact that I would just have to stand around while the others would have to walk and carry things around only made it better. A fact that Isabelle had definitely been aware of too, judging by the sulky expression on her face that had followed.

Climbing the steps was a monotonous process and when I lost count at some point, I threw my head up to search for the plateau. I let the air out of my nose with relief when it appeared in my field of vision. Just under ten meters to go. I grabbed my legs and forced myself to move on. Only to stop a deep breath later, as if someone had cut off my air supply.

The heart in my chest was pulsing with a sporty rhythm and in the total silence of the vault, the echo of my boots on the adamas was all that could be heard apart from the pulse in my ears. Nevertheless, I now held my breath and listened into the room, which was lit by sparsely placed witchlight-torches.

The air had become warmer as I ascended, which was only natural, as heat rises. I had initially attributed the change in scent to this as it grew more pronounced with each step. At first, I hadn't thought anything of it, as the sun was much stronger under the dome of the tower than outside, where the fresh wind was blowing.

But this wasn't the usual smell of foul dampness or dusty dryness. This was ... heavier. A metallic note that had nothing to do with the adamas that surrounded me.

I climbed the remaining floors without remembering it. The last step came into view and my feet came to a stop so abruptly that I almost tripped over the edge. Blood dripped from the landing, a thin trickle that took the path of least resistance and left a small puddle on the first step. The acrid smell brought tears to my eyes and made my stomach retch.

My head lifted so abruptly that I heard something crack in my neck. The plateau resembled a lake of blood. The ground had turned a uniform dark red. Only a goblet-like structure, rising about one and a half meters high in the center of the plateau, still silverly reflected the witchlight. As soon as I recognized what it was, my jaw dropped. It looked like the stone holy water basins at the entrance to a church. Except this basin was surrounded by white flames that licked at the edges of the adamas.

This was the basin that controlled the Demon Towers, that could activate and deactivate them. And this very basin was now swimming in a sea of blood, the origin of which was unknown.

Whatever had happened here, the power of the towers was still active. I hastily scanned the rest of the plateau, but apart from the basin there was absolutely nothing to see here. The dome towered several meters above my head, impermeable to even the strongest sunlight. Only when the blood suddenly seemed to move did I follow its flow and discover the door, which had been worked into the adamas just as inconspicuously as the first one. This had to lead outside to the tower's outdoor area. The place where I was now supposed to be keeping watch with at least half of the other guards. The other half should actually be in here.

Opening that door was a risk, but I knew I had no other choice. I pulled Heosphoros from its sheath on my back as I ventured onto the plateau. The blood bubbled beneath my feet as it was smothered by my boots. I thought of Blake Ashdown and all the blood I had shed in his presence. My fingers immediately began to tremble. This was so much worse than my little blood in the manor house.

When I reached the door, I controlled my breathing and counted to twenty in my head. Only then did I reach out my stele for the unlocking rune, ignoring the blood that was seeping into the room through the barely existent slits in the door. I braced myself for what I would find outside. I tightened my grip on Heosphoros's hilt and braced myself for an encounter that I hadn't expected until much later. I forced every focus into my limbs as soon as the adamas slid open to the side and I stepped out onto the balcony.

As soon as I left the safety of the plateau behind me, a cool wind whipped across my face. It dried the burgeoning sweat on my forehead and neck in seconds. No reason to feel any relief.

I had thought that I still had time. I had felt childishly safe; I had counted down the hours but had imagined this meeting under different circumstances. Not completely alone on a bleeding tower with nothing but six corpses between us.

"Clary." Jonathan's voice carried a hint of astonishment. His demonic dark eyes darted from me to the door. I almost suspected he looked confused. The fact that the sword in his right hand – Phaesphoros – was just piercing a still whimpering man as if he were made of nothing but rubber made the scenario too bizarre to be true. He must have expected me.

"Jonathan." I got into fighting stance before the lifeless body hit the polished floor with a wet thud.

Jonathan followed my movement, as if straining to figure out what I was doing. As in my dream, blood dripped from his blade as he carelessly stepped over the bodies scattered on the observation deck to approach me. "I wasn't expecting to find you here," he said, the demon's temperamental emotions giving his voice a groaning note. He tilted his head without moving into position himself, as if he had no interest in fighting. "Shouldn't you be preparing for battle? Training some incompetent Downworlders or building barricades with your friends?"

In that God-given moment, I realized with unanimous surprise that Jonathan had actually not expected my emergence. However long he had waited within the city walls, waiting for the right moment to deactivate the Demon Towers, he hadn't included me in his plan. It was supposed to be a clandestine operation, and I was the last person he wanted in his path.

The sudden realization shot through me like a rush of adrenaline and I almost gasped. Firstly, Jonathan had expected our encounter later today, just as I had. Secondly, the Inquisitor had sent me here to watch over the main tower. Main tower because only it was capable of controlling the others. Of course, Imogen hadn't summoned me here knowing that I would meet Jonathan. That it had come to this — that I now stood before him, eye to eye — felt like a blatant sign from Heaven. It couldn't be otherwise. Like the loud cry for help that Ithuriel had so vehemently rejected when we had asked him for it personally.

This was more than a coincidence. This was fate. This was the heavenly answer to our request for help. My chance to end it before it began. My duty.

I allowed myself a single glance over the parapet of the circular balcony. At the ochre-colored city, whose roofs on the northern side were much closer than I had assumed. Because this tower had been built on the border between hill and valley and the houses had been built at a slant that made the tower seem smaller than it actually was.

Then every ounce of my focus slid on Jonathan, who was staring at me as if he had never seen me before. "I am exactly where I need to be," was all I replied before lunging at my brother with my sword raised.

Phaesphoros flew into the air to parry my blow. The iron vibrated in sounds of an ancient language that none of us understood. The element of surprise was on my side. I had to take advantage of it. I swung again – with such fervor that Jonathan had to grit his teeth. His stature was larger than mine, but I was much more agile. With his back to the parapet, I cornered him, away from the lifeless Shadowhunters and to the edge of the tower.

Each blow felt like the earth was shaking. As if we were pushing the world's anchorage further out of balance with each change of sword.

"Give up, Clarissa!" Jonathan had regained his bearings and with it the dimensionless anger that now shot across his face like a second skin. Embarrassed by the shock of my presence, he now bared his teeth as if he was to rip out my throat if I let him get too close. "You can't win this fight and you know it!"

I let the oxygen escape through my nose, ducked backwards under his sharp blade and immediately started to strike back. "Oh, and why is that, dearest brother?"

His jaw hardened at the pet name and I smiled to myself. I needed to rile him up, make him mad, so that emotions clouded his senses. Why was it in that moment, soaked in contempt, that I remembered Malik's words? Hadn't he warned me that a warrior shouldn't draw his strength from such negative emotions? Hadn't he warned me that only in tune with my own emotions would I be able to beat Jonathan?

"The path your mother led you down has made you weak," he shot back like a gun, and the grinding of our blades would have given me goosebumps without the adrenaline.

Your mother, not ours. I felt my pulse pound and forced all the anger to the back of my mind before it exploded in my veins. We traded blows so quickly that even my rune-enhanced eyes couldn't keep up.

"You've forgotten what strength means," Jonathan sneered, his voice like a raging storm cloud. Phaesphoros came down on me so hard that I had to turn to the side to avoid being ripped apart.

We did a dance on the edge of the outer platform and with a quick glance at the door I realized that Jonathan couldn't stay here. Even if I failed, he had to be far enough away that someone else would still have a chance to beat him. My presence had prevented him from deactivating the Demon Towers and that was how it had to stay. I had to lure him away from here.

"In the training hall, you failed against me in hand-to-hand combat." The words bubbled out of Jonathan as if he could no longer withstand the pressure to hold them back. "You failed against me in the Inquisitor's office. And now there's no one here to help you. No dirty tricks to save you. You should get out of my way before I strike you down!"

"And you talk too much," was all I replied before breaking out of our choreography, which felt too much like training and too little like a battle of fate. The only way to win here was to have a surprise up your sleeve.

And so, I rushed at him; jumped at him. Jonathan's eyes widened because he didn't understand the purpose behind this senseless attack. I ran right into his sword. At least that's what he assumed. I stretched out my legs and my boots hit him head-on in the chest. I was still holding Heosphoros so that he couldn't sever my legs from my body. The kick to his chest was more of a push, as if I was trampling him.

His mouth opened in horror as the recoil knocked the breath from his lungs and he not only staggered but hit the parapet so hard that it sent him flying backwards over the edge. The crack of his ribs was the last thing I heard before Jonathan fell over the railing.

My steps raced to the spot where he had just been standing. Heosphoros still in my right hand, I peered over the edge of the balcony into the depths. Jonathan's piercing scream – a mixture of unforgivable anger and unmistakable fear – shattered the silence of the morning and made me send out a quick prayer to Ithuriel.

But my subconscious need not have worried about my brother. After all, he was a Morgenstern. While still in flight, he had turned like a cat and landed roughly on the roof closest to the tower. I could have denied having deliberately pushed him to the north side so that he would survive the fall. It would have been a lie, even if I didn't want to admit to myself how many lives I might have wiped out by being so lenient. The domino effect knew no bounds from pity.

Frantically, I turned to face the lifeless Shadowhunters. I had to reach Jonathan before he made his way back up here. My eyes darted over their equipment in concentration and stopped abruptly when I saw what I was looking for. A heartbeat later, I relieved one of them of a climbing rope. Without thinking — without him near me it was all just instinct — I swung my legs up onto the parapet and, after checking the knot once, abseiled down. In my head, the ticking of the second hand had swelled to a continuous rhythm. I tugged at the sleeves of my gear to pull the hand guards over my fingers. After all, I wanted to be able to hold my sword when I got to the bottom. Then I jumped off the demon tower.

Another scream pierced the silence. Jonathan's demon, cursing like a wild beast. His control was slipping away. An advantage I had to exploit. No more leniency. No more pity. No more free passes. This wasn't my brother. This was a demon that would wipe me and all other life out without batting an eyelid. This being knew no mercy, no love, and no forgiveness. I couldn't grant it any either.

The black rope scraped against the insides of my hands as I fell. The smell of acrid plastic spread around me like a cloud, but my focus was solely on the heat between my fingers. Once I reached the appropriate height, I forced them around the rope with violent discipline. My boots dug into the tower's adamas vault and pushed away from it, preventing my body from being caught in the recoil of the sudden stop.

Only under protest, my stiffened fingers released themselves from the rope. In the blink of an eye, I was flying through the air again – this time horizontally, not vertically. The impact on the edge of the roof sent a shock through my bones, forcing me to my knees. Jonathan, who had already moved away from the edge, now slid down the ochre-colored tiles with rested energy.

For a heartbeat, I thought back to Adam and Isabelle's drinking game. How we had fought and laughed on the roof of the Lightwood house. How Adam had claimed in front of Alec and Jace that he was preparing me for a possible fight with Jonathan.

I couldn't believe that this was actually happening.

Phaesphoros hissed through the air, and I rolled to the side. I felt the fine wind at my back that the blade stirred up. The dried clay then burst with a cracking splinter as the sword hit the roof.

Without allowing myself to linger, I rolled around on my own axis once more, briefly felt the shapeless roof on my back and jumped to my feet to avoid Jonathan's follow-up blow. Just in time. A grab of my sword scabbard later, I was armed once more, and the duel began anew.

"Father was right," Jonathan barked, each blow more brutal and unpredictable than the last. Something in the darkness of his pupils burned with a fervor that could have blotted out stars. "You're a plague. You don't deserve our name or a place at our side. Jocelyn has made a weakling out of you. Her weakness has infected you! Her weakness has killed her and will kill you too!"

My heart burst open like a grenade, its splinters penetrating every last corner of my veins with a rage so deep that for a moment I saw nothing but stars. I wanted to raise my sword and strike him until he could no longer stand; until he regretted the day he had been reborn.

But the voice in the back of my head stopped me. As long as you hold on to hate, you will fail. Malik's words.

The sword paused in my iron grip, shaking in the air as my feet swayed beneath me. Jonathan saw the look in my eyes, registered that something had changed without being able to name it. I had to keep him busy, had to lure him away from here. This place wasn't predestined for our final battle. It was too close to the source that determined the continued existence of this community.

"Jocelyn has set me free. True freedom to do whatever I want – to follow the ideals that I believe are right. I am free while you are tied to father like a circus lion to its tamer. For you are nothing more than a slave to Valentine and you never will be – he would never allow anything else. And while you serve someone, I only serve myself. You confuse freedom with weakness because you have never known it and therefore could not recognize it as such."

The demon charged at me, roaring, even before I sheathed Heosphoros on my back. I threw myself on my knees, surrendered to gravity, and slid down the slope of the roof. The demon's hissing followed me, but I didn't spare it a passing glance. Not even when I catapulted myself back to my feet at the edge of the roof and began to run. Faster than I had ever run in my life. So fast that my surroundings began to blur despite the vision runes.

I took off and sprinted away. I flew over the rooftops of Alicante. Away, away, away from the main tower and towards the valley. Towards the southern gates. I barely felt the footing beneath my feet disappear and reappear; I didn't feel its hot breath on my neck; I didn't feel the pain of its daggers trying to stop me. I had spent so much time on the rooftops of this city that switching to tunnel vision was as easy as shooting an arrow.

The demon had lost sight of its goal. The boiling emotions blocked all rationality like looking into the throat of an active volcano. Jonathan was so obsessed with me that the demon had lost control. Its screams followed me like harbingers of a cruel end or a glorious beginning. I alone decided which side of the knife edge I landed on. And so, I jumped over the edge. In the hope of landing on the right side.

oOo

- 8.5 hours before sunset. -

A rush of pain ran through Isabelle's chest like the feather-light touch of a dagger on her skin. A pain that wasn't really pain at all – more the ghost of it. She knew it was pain without knowing why she knew it. She also knew it wasn't her own. No. A halting breath escaped her as she closed her eyes and listened to herself.

No. It was the Parabatai rune that made her feel this way. The bond between her and Clary was so fresh, so young, that it hadn't stopped throbbing yet. Alec had told her that over time the connection would recede into the background of her perception. Like another nerve, another hand that Isabelle could feel but just as easily block out.

Something was wrong. The sensation of Clary's closeness had faded when they had parted ways after the war council had ended. Isabelle could still feel her Parabatai, but the red and gold shimmering band in her chest had flattened to a gentle pulsation. Until now. Now the connection seemed to scratch against the inside of her ribcage, as if it were a living thing that wanted to be let out.

Isabelle paused in her movements and took a deep breath of the dusty oxygen of the Accords Hall. To avoid attracting attention for something she might only have imagined, she crept into the shadows of one of the many pillars. Leaning her back against the cool stone wall, she closed her eyelids as slowly as her burgeoning heartbeat would allow.

With full focus on what was happening in her mind, the tug on the bond grew stronger. Although Isabelle had never felt this kind of emotion before, she instinctively knew that something was wrong with Clary. It wasn't an active cry for help – the Parabatai bond wasn't capable of that – but it was her subconscious calling out to Isabelle's own.

She had been prepared to feel this kind of communication with Clary. Jace and Alec had told her often enough what they were capable of as Parabatai. It didn't change the fact that this feeling scared the hell out of her. Her Parabatai was in danger and Isabelle had no idea what was making Clary upset or where she was.

Without checking in with her superiors, Isabelle stormed out of the Accords Hall. Angel's Square was packed. The sun shone down on her between the clouds with a newfound intensity, as if it were all too soon ready to burn the land and its people; but Isabelle didn't care. She shouted harshly at people to get out of her way as she squeezed through them at a jog. Most obeyed, jumping aside before she could raise her voice. The looks she received made fear rise like waves after breaking with the shore. As soon as the strangers' eyes met hers, something changed in their faces – a seriousness appeared in them, as if they knew something Isabelle didn't. Was Clary truly in such a dire state that she could no longer feel the full extent of her bond with her Parabatai? What was her body trying to hide from her?

The flat click of her heels was the only sound that reached her senses through the concentration bubble. Isabelle shoved people who didn't get out of the way fast enough, cursed at them, and ran through the streets of Alicante like the world depended on it. She was sure she had never run so fast in her life. She was sure the barricades Jace was helping to build were much farther away. Yet, surprisingly, her shoes came to a stop far too soon because she had already covered the distance.

"Jace!" Isabelle didn't bother to be quiet. She had never cared if people were to stare. Her eyes frantically scanned the people for her brother; looking for the familiar, golden-blond curls. But all she saw were werewolves and unknown Shadowhunters.

The attention of the place shifted to Isabelle, who they looked at first with confusion and then concern. A murmur went through the ranks. They stopped what they were doing, set down boulders and logs, and turned their heads to look for Jace. Eventually he found Isabelle before she found him.

A thin layer of sweat covered his forehead, and the moisture darkened the hem of his uniform as he rubbed it over it indifferently. His focus was on a medium-length tree trunk that he was balancing on his left shoulder. A half-grin lifted the corners of his mouth. It gave his features a nonchalance, as if he were building a school rather than a barricade. A nonchalance that she herself had felt until a few minutes ago. Because the fear of war had not yet caught up with Isabelle. Now it had suddenly hit her with full force, even though there were still several hours until their operation began.

"By the Angel, Izzy, did they kick you out of your group so you can already harass me?" It was a joke. One of Jace's worse ones, which would have made Isabelle roll her eyes if she had listened. Instead, her mind was racing because she suddenly had no idea what to say. How should–

It didn't matter what Isabelle had wanted to say. Jace turned his chin, and the gold of his calm irises took note of her expression. And immediately derailed into a dark icy landscape. "Isabelle," he muttered and threw the log carelessly to the ground. His face forced its way into her near field of vision before she could blink. "What's wrong?"

"It's Clary," Isabelle answered immediately, because she was the straightforward one in their group and didn't delay or sugarcoat things. "It's the Parabatai bond. There's something wrong with her."

oOo

- 8 hours before sunset. -

Was that it? Would the decisive battle not take place tonight, but here and now? Would the fate of the Nephilim be decided in the next few minutes?

Yes!, a voice in my head shouted, and my eardrums vibrated in response. This is it! This here is it!

I had stopped running. We were far enough away from the main tower, and I needed my strength for the next and final step of my plan.

Kill the demon! I felt like it was no longer my inner voice demanding it. It was Heaven itself. All the lives that had fallen victim to the demon and my father.

I danced and whirled around its blade. Fast as lightning, wild as a storm, precise as the Morningstar. Our swords clashed like thunder. It was chilling to the core, as if the earth was shaking beneath our feet. And yet we were still up on a roof, away from the narrowness of Alicante's forking paths and alleys.

Any attempt at hiding would have been pointless, thanks to the demon's fervent screams. They had already found us. And as Heaven seemed to crack a little more with each fiery clash of swords, I ignored the shouts of the Nephilim and Shadowworlders.

The demon sucked in every drop of my concentration, leaving me no escape. I wouldn't have it any other way. Having long since left Valentine's choreography behind us, we balanced over unknown martial arts terrain. Having left fairness behind on the tower, nothing could stop us from sliding into the depths of our lack of morality and pulling out the heaviest and most perverse weapons we had to offer.

This wasn't an honorable fight, for we weren't fighting for honor. I was fighting for life and death, and the demon was fighting for reign and loss. A fight without humanity between a soulless monster and a warrior whose humanity was all she had left.

With the hand of a bloodthirsty killer who had lost control, its hellish black dagger sliced through my flesh. Each stab tasted like acid on my tongue, smelled of failure in my nose, felt like revenge. Its revenge, not mine.

My blood didn't stain the Shadowhunter's gear. Black as night, in defiance of hell, Nephilim would never reveal their weaknesses in such a way.

But the demon's blood stained its outfit, for nothing was as endlessly black as the blood that flowed in its veins. And as soon as Heosphoros slit open the top layer of its skin, as if I were flaying it, our world turned into a dark reflection of itself. A world that told a story of family and love and destruction. Of a once-whole past, burned to ashes by the evil within mankind — ashes that even this demon could never have created.

No one came to my aid to stop the demon. No one helped to balance the battle between light and darkness. No one dared to intervene in a course of action that resembled the fate of the Last Judgment. Day and night, gold and black, angel and demon.

It wasn't until I ducked under an attack that would have not only severed my head but sent it flying hundreds of meters away that I realized I hadn't been abandoned at all. No, quite the opposite. In every direction around our rooftop — a plateau reminiscent of the rooftops in New York — there was the heated frenzy of battle. Without my noticing, the war that was supposed to begin only after sunset had already broken out.

Since the sun was still high in the sky, casting its light on us almost accusatorily, these weren't demons. This wasn't the war I had foreseen and expected. Nephilim were fighting against Nephilim and Shadowworlders. This was betrayal, and I didn't need to look into the faces of the Cohort's followers to recognize them as such. A betrayal born out of desperation, as they knew they wouldn't survive this fight.

And yet, Valentine's allies circled our roof, shielding us from the rest of the city and preventing Nephilim and Shadowworlders alike from coming to my aid. Because once the demon fell, Valentine would fall too. The Demon Towers had to fall if Valentine was to have any chance of winning this fight. Without batting an eyelid, they sacrificed their lives for Valentine; sacrificed their future for a man who would neither acknowledge nor value their sacrifice.

The adrenaline of the battle hung over the scene like a sultry summer day. Seraph blades met iron, werewolf claws met silver daggers, sparks of magic met leather gear. The screams of the wounded echoed through the streets, only to die down seconds later with a gurgling sound. Because today there were neither prisoners nor wounded. The weaker one died and the same was true for me and the demon.

I would rather die than allow any of my friends to be nailed to a cross or burned to ashes. That horror would not become a reality. Not today. Not ever. Not on my watch.

This fight was forlorn, and with every parry and every attempt to break through its defenses, I became more aware of it. The demon, no matter how superior we both had assessed it, wouldn't bring me to my knees. All the weeks I had spent in fear of this moment only to find out that we were truly equals. Because I wouldn't finish him off either. We were equals; always had been. Demon blood and angel blood aside. The same training, the same tears, the same torture flowed through our veins, and no blood from this world or any other would change that.

Covered in blood, we stared at each other, tiptoeing around each other like cats, searching for nonexistent weak spots. The sky thundered with anger, seemed to be tearing apart under our inability, calling out to me that this must finally end.

The voices came from everywhere. They rained down on me like ice bullets, calling my name, hurling orders at me, reminding me of my duty.

Finish what the Morgensterns started.

Only when the demon's face twisted in spite and its gleaming teeth appeared in a threatening gesture did I realize that I must have spoken the words out loud. "Or die trying. You can't escape your fate."

The voices grew louder, booming like the thunder of Ithuriel's wrath. My name. Again and again. Pleading. Desperate. Imploring.

Finish it!

A never-silent choir. And yet, suddenly it was so quiet that I could hear my own rattling breath. The demon's blood dripped onto the plateau and my eyes followed it, while my thoughts drifted to a completely different place. Recognizing. Understanding. Accepting.

My fingers tightened on Heosphoros's hilt. At my thoughts, the Heavenly Fire flared in response, its warmth like a final burst of energy – the overcoming of the last hurdle. My eyes darted to the demon's.

Baring its teeth, it let Phaesphoros rush towards me in a move that clearly indicated it had to be a trap.

"Have you ever considered that it is not my destiny to survive all this, brother?" I whispered so only he could hear the words. He. Jonathan. Something in the reflection of his pupils emptied as I made no move to counter his blow.

The Morningstars were falling stars, racing toward the Earth like comets, destroying everything in their path. I was an angel, falling, but an angel nonetheless. And with the steadfastness of angels, I sealed my fate. Because it had always been meant to end this way.

Phaesphoros's tip cut through my armor with the ease of an arrow piercing a rotten apple. Jonathan brought his weapon to a halt, suddenly pulling back as if struck by the hand of God himself. But it was far too late for retreat. This had been building for months.

The Morgenstern sword pierced my torso in a single muscle twitch. With such force that I could hear my ribs breaking as it exited my back. From one moment to the next, the Earth stopped spinning and suddenly became eerily silent. The dreaded pain never came. Not one of my nerves reacted, as if everything was fine. My body's reaction told me everything I needed to know.

My knees were the first to give way. The edges of my vision began to flicker and a cold, much much much deeper than the one I had felt months ago after the demon sting, settled in my stomach.

"Clary." His voice was barely louder than the breath of a spring breeze, but it still carried so much emotion that I couldn't remember the last time I had heard it sound like that. No trace of the demonic hatred he had made me feel in the past hour.

Jonathan's arms caught me, carefully cradling me like a fragile doll as he kept me from falling to the ground. Gently, as only a big brother could, he set me down on the blood-stained stone roof, his face muscles drenched in horror, like his most gruesome nightmare coming true.

"What have you done?" he asked, accusing and distraught at the same time. His fingers dug into my gear, and I began to tremble. I was so incredibly cold. Only the faint pulsation of the Heavenly Fire in Heosphoros's blade provided me with some warmth.

"I am fulfilling my duty," I whispered, searching Jonathan's eyes as he leaned over me, his jaw trembling. This wasn't the demon. This was him, my brother. "I am freeing us from this torment."

I put every last spark of my life energy into Heosphoros's blow. Jonathan did not flinch as the second Morgenstern sword pierced its target. His eyes remained fixed on me – soft and melancholy and remorseful. A gasp, lost in the noise of the battle, was all that came from his lips.

And as we both met our end in the blazing torrent of Heavenly Fire, gratitude was the last emotion reflected on my brother's face.