The Art of Survival
Chapter 7: Looming Darkness
The sounds of the colosseum are deafening, a cacophony of shouts and jeers and stomping feet. There are spectators filling nearly every available seat, crammed shoulder to shoulder across concrete benches and wooden chairs. They cheer loudly for their favorite Nephilim gladiator, revel in the blood sport playing out before them, hungry for violence and death.
At first, the demons had jeered at the new additions to the ring, had booed and shouted profanities at the Nephilim, but after witnessing them in battle they had quickly changed their tunes. Had appreciated their cunning and prowess, had enjoyed the show they put on for their entertainment.
An unnatural scream cuts through the din, echoing loudly and drawing more applause and shouting.
Alec grunts as he thrusts a spear up through the body of the creature diving down at him from above. He shifts, bends his knees and braces against the impact as he drives the weapon deeper. A split second of hesitation and the demon would have taken his head as a trophy.
The bregul demon is an ugly thing, thin and wasp like with two heads and translucent, papery wings. Hard black scales run the length of its body and down its arms and legs, a built-in protective armor that—combined with its alarming speed—makes the breed particularly difficult to kill. It has a soft spot on the underside of its thorax though, a small section where its carapace is soft enough to pierce. The target is miniscule, but Alec's aim is perfect, his movements just a little bit faster. His speed rune burns like ice through his veins.
A vicious, barbed stinger slashes through the air, searching for purchase in soft flesh even as the demon fights to free itself. It screeches again in pain and fury. The shrill noise makes Alec's teeth ache. He snaps a hand out, catches the demon's tail just above the sharp barbs and yanks, uses the demon's own weight against it to impale it further on the spear.
Viscous black blood bursts from the demon's back as the spearhead finally breaks through hard scales, tearing and rupturing vital organs. It oozes from the entry wound and down the metal shaft of the weapon. As the first drops make contact with his hand, Alec hisses and hastily releases his hold on both the spear and the bregul. Pain flares hot and sharp where that toxic blood has already started to eat through his skin, fingerless gloves offering greater dexterity but less protection. It works fast. He can hear it sizzling where it landed on the shoulders of his jacket and Alec is grudgingly grateful for Mammon's love for costumes and theatrics. The greater demon enjoys the spectacle of the arena and outfits his gladiators accordingly. Dark, reinforced leather and steel armor studded with sharp spikes and chains. It's stiflingly hot but it offers additional protection against sharp claws and venom.
Alec propels himself backwards with a great flap of onyx wings, kicking up clouds of sand and dust as he scrambles to escape the bregul's erratic thrashing. The muscles of his back throb with the motion, already overtaxed from how long this fight has lasted. The demon he's fighting is clever, prefers to attack from above, and he spent the better part of the battle airborne, trying to negate its advantage. He'd finally managed to lure it close enough to the ground to be able to land, to give his wings a chance to rest, but it had come at him hard, pressing its perceived advantage from a now flightless foe.
He lands a few feet away, breathing hard from exertion and hastily scrubs his hand across the thick leather of his pants, tries to wipe away as much of the acidic ichor as he can. It's eaten through the thinner fabric of his gloves by now and his knuckles are burning, fingertips starting to go numb. It won't take long for the poison to spread to his blood stream and paralyze him completely. He estimates ten minutes, max.
In front of him the demon flails and twists in midair, tries futilely to dislodge the spear.
Alec prays it's enough for a killing blow because the numbness is starting to creep up his palm and across his wrist now. He isn't sure he'll be capable of holding another weapon without proper healing. Sweat beads across his forehead, stings where it drips into his eyes. He doesn't dare wipe it away. If he gets ichor in his eyes it'll be game over for certain.
This is life or death in the truest sense of the word. Here he has no backup, no stele—Izzy was allowed to activate the necessary runes for him before he entered the arena—no way of healing himself from injury mid-battle. The numbness creeps a little higher, tingles past his wrist and towards his elbow. It's moving more quickly than he anticipated.
Around him the arena is growing louder still, demons waving their arms and clapping as they watch this spectacle arranged for their entertainment.
His foe screeches once more, it's movements beginning to lag as it loses altitude. Its wings beat slower and slower before finally stopping all together. It crashes to the ground with a thud, thrashes once more before going still.
Alec can't suppress the momentary flash of satisfaction, of pleasure, he gets at its demise. A joy in brutality that's becoming startlingly more common the longer he's here. He's never shied away from a fight, but he's never enjoyed it either. Now, he finds himself relishing the moment before his enemy falls, the way life drains out of their eyes. He tries to tell himself that it's because they're demons, creatures of death and destruction, that he would never find the same pleasure in taking the life of a fellow Nephilim, a Downworlder, a friend.
With a clenched jaw Alec throws his arms out wide in a display of triumph, gives the crowd exactly what it's looking for. He forcefully ignores the seething, dark part of him that enjoys the killing, the adrenaline, the blood. The part that revels in his fans' adoration and bloodlust. He lets his lips curl up in a sharp grin of victory that is only skin deep.
The spectators go wild, their cheers roaring like thunder. Some of them jump up from their seats and throw tokens into the arena, favors to show their appreciation of his prowess and skill in battle. They chant his name. It makes him feel dirty, tainted.
Satisfied.
He bends in a dramatic bow before spreading his wings wide and pushing off from the ground. He loops through the air once, twice, before propelling himself towards the arena exit in a flashy display that is the antithesis of everything that he has ever been.
The performance is what Mammon expects and the king doesn't hesitate to make his displeasure known should they fail to provide a proper showing. Alec still bears the scars on his back from the first time Izzy had refused the spectacle. He hadn't been allowed to use an iratze on the lashes either, will wear the marks as a reminder for the rest of his life. He doesn't hold it against his sister and he can't deny that using them against each other is far more effective than torturing them for their own refusal to obey. The king of greed is intelligent and cruel. Alec wants to rip his still beating heart of his chest and see if the demon can survive without it.
The minute Alec lands inside the stone hallway leading from the arena the smile drops from his face and he stumbles, clutches at rough stone with his good hand to steady himself. Tears that he refuses to let fall burn the backs of his eyes as he catches sight of his sister's grim face.
Alec doesn't miss the way her eyes track his movements, as though she is afraid the thing returning from battle might not be her brother anymore. He knows he's slipping deeper into a yawning pit of darkness, but he'd hoped he was hiding it better.
He casts his gaze to the stone beneath his feet, unable to bear the sadness in Izzy's expression any longer, his heart feeling fractured and jagged inside his chest.
Not for the first time, Alec contemplates throwing a fight, letting one of the demons end him. It's only the fear of what Mammon might do to his little sister that prevents him from following through.
-oxoXOXoxo-
Isabelle watches as her brother stumbles to a stop inside the mouth of the tunnel, tracks his unsteady steps and the way one arm dangles limply at his side. Ichor stains his clothes and a haze has started to cloud his eyes. Her heart breaks a little more with every day that passes, hate festering inside her for the greater demon who holds them captive. Bars snap into place behind Alec, caging them in once more.
It's been six months since they became Mammon's 'champions' and they're still no closer to figuring out an escape. On the bright side, Alec hasn't turned into a mindless killing machine yet, so Izzy will take whatever win she can. She can see it happening though. There are times, just brief second, when he looks at her with no recognition in his eyes and she wonders if maybe this is the day he loses himself completely and kills her too. She knows he notices but she doesn't know how to face him. She feels like she's failing him even though, logically, she knows there is nothing she can do.
She knows what Mammon told them is true, that her brother is falling, and Izzy can feel herself already beginning to mourn his loss. A part of her selfishly hopes he kills her first so that she doesn't have to be the one to take his life.
When Alec stumbles toward her Izzy rushed forward to catch him, careful to avoid getting the poisonous blood on her own skin. She guides him to sit on one of the stone benches and reaches for the waiting medical supplies. She helps him shrug out of his jacket and shirt and checks for deeper wounds. Finding none she makes quick work of cleaning the ichor from his hand and wrapping it in clean bandages. The flesh is raw and shredded, the acid burning away layers of flesh and muscle. Alec doesn't even flinch as she tends the wound. They're so used to the pain now. She turns to scowl at the demons waiting on the other side of their prison bars.
"I need my stele to apply a healing rune," she snaps impatiently.
The guards take their time unlocking the gate, chatting casually as they make their way towards the shadowhunters. It's intentional, a display of power that makes Isabelle grind her teeth in frustration.
The guards always come in pairs and are rotated out weekly. Mammon is smart, doesn't allow them to build any kind of rapport or camaraderie with their wardens as they'd hoped to do.
The first guard holds out the thick metal box containing their steles with a frown of distaste.
"You know the drill," he says coldly, his other hand gripped tight around a small metal device that Isabelle knows is linked to the collars around hers and Alec's throats. They are solid, thin bands of unmarked metal, locked with Mammon's magical signature and impossible for anyone but the king of Gehenna himself to open.
Should either of them misbehave the collars will be activated, sending currents of painful magic through them both. The pain is excruciating, like being skinned alive and boiled in acid, but it leaves no lingering physical damage and can be used without fear of damaging Mammon's prized fighters. It's one of the many types of torture that the prince of greed employs to use to keep his living collection in line.
So, they behave, neither wanting to be responsible for the suffering of the other. It's effective in its incredible cruelty.
Izzy snatches her stele from the box and quickly activates her brother's iratze. She bites down on a wounded noise when the rune glows a bloody crimson. It's happening more and more lately.
She hears Alec breath out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging as the pain dissipates and broken flesh knits itself together. Izzy can't bring herself to meet his eyes, afraid she will find black where there should be hazel.
When Isabelle gives the stele back, the guards depart with more haste than they came, locking the gate behind them and leaving the siblings to wait until their next fight within the oppressive stone walls of their prison cell.
"Iz?"
She flinches at Alec's quiet voice. Chokes on a sob when he reaches for her and pulls her into a tight hug.
She buries her face in his neck and clings to him. "I can't lose you big brother."
-oxoXOXoxo-
The shower, if it can be called that, is a rough alcove carved from the surrounding stone and equipped with a perforated metal tube that allows water to flow in from a nearby lake. It's a surprising luxury given the rest of their accommodations, but one Alec and Izzy are both immensely grateful for.
Izzy sinks to her knees under a spray of tepid water, more tears burning hot on her cheeks. She bites her knuckles to stifle more sobs, trying desperately to keep the noise from waking Alec, who she'd finally cajoled into a shower and then a nap. He'd still been somewhat hazy from the ichor poisoning and had been uncharacteristically docile, willing to concede to her demands that he rest with minimal grumbling. Or maybe he just listened to her out of a misplaced sense of guilt. The thought just makes her cry harder.
None of this is Alec's fault. If anything she lays the blame squarely at Asmodeus's feet, but since Magnus flung his father through a portal into limbo she turns her anger on Mammon instead. She wants to rage against something, curses the Angels who have shown such clear disregard for her people and begs them in turn to help her brother. She wonders if they can even hear her pleas from Gehenna, wonders if they even care.
Izzy has a theory, purely speculation of course, that the parabatai bond with Jace and his potent Angelic blood was helping to keep Alec centered when they were home. The bond acting as a counterweight to balance the darkness. Maybe his proximity to Magnus as well. If what they say about the Fallen is true then they are bound to their demonic benefactors, directly influenced by their presence and proximity. It's possible that Magnus, with his kindness and clear love for her brother was another anchor keeping him from falling. Now that he's cut off from both of those tethers he's slipping further and further into madness.
Izzy can see the way her own fears are affecting him too, and it tears her apart inside. She misses their easy comradery, the way he used to tease her, all snark and sass. She wants to be strong for him but the fear of losing him is almost crippling. She needs to hold herself together. Without Magnus or Jace, she's all he has in this literal hell.
She isn't sure how long she sits like that—the water has turned her fingers and toes pruney—when a thought suddenly strikes her.
It's insane.
It could work.
-oxoXOXoxo-
Magnus stares blankly at the diagram laid out on his worktable, traces the curving symbols and lines without really seeing them. He's exhausted, can't remember the last time he slept in his own bed, unable to stomach how large and empty it feels without his husband's warmth beside him. He thinks he ate something this morning but maybe that was yesterday? Next to him steam curls up from a charmed, half-full coffee mug. He scrubs a hand across his face and stamps down the urge to hurl the mug across the room.
Around him Clary, Jace and Addicus are busy discussing their next steps in trying to find a way into Gehenna. Shortly after Alec and Izzy's disappearance the frequency of the rifts slowly began to taper off until they finally stopped completely. While the Shadow World had breathed a collective sigh of relief Magnus can't help but fear that something much, much worse is going to follow if they don't get ahead of it.
"Obviously we can't summon a greater demon." Clary's voice is exasperated. Magnus recognizes her tone. It's the one she gets just before doing something terribly ill-advised.
Unfortunately, now that their primary source of information has disappeared, ill-advised, half-cocked plans might be their only options.
Magnus glances up to find the three of them scowling at each other. Clary has her hands fisted on her hips, red hair a frazzled mess. Beside her Jace doesn't look any better, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed in an imitation of Alec that makes Magnus's heart ache.
Addicus is glaring up at the ceiling as though praying for patience.
Magnus waits them out. Clearly, he missed an important chunk of this conversation.
Clary sighs, tension abruptly bleeding out of her and leaving her deflated. "I know we don't know anything about the demons that were coming through the rift, but we have enough basic knowledge to summon something, don't we?"
Now it's Addicus who sighs. He licks his lips, blue eyes flickering around the room uncertainly. He still can't look at Magnus directly.
Addicus has been surprisingly helpful throughout this whole process, even managing to temper his snide comments. Magnus thinks it may be because the other warlock is well and truly afraid of him after the display in Alec's office three weeks ago. He hadn't missed the fear in the other man's eyes when he'd momentarily lost control of his magic, Edom's remnant power washing through the room like smoking embers ready to burst into hellfire. He can't bring himself to feel any remorse for the slip. He's thankful Clary and Jace don't look at him any differently though.
"Gehenna is…possibly the least studied of all the seven major realms of hell. It took me decades to even learn its energy signature." Addicus pauses, shakes his head. "With the rift energy that you managed to store, there is the possibility that we might be able use it as a tether to bring something through. The issue is that we don't know what. There is no guarantee we will get anything sentient enough to answer any questions. Or that, if it is sentient, it will have the knowledge we're looking for."
Jace runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, stares out one of the darkened windows pensively. "This feels like our best option right now. I mean, so far, we haven't found anything else helpful. We can't just do nothing." He crosses his arms tighter, as though he's trying to keep all his broken pieces contained.
Addicus isn't wrong about information on Gehenna being scarce. They've spent weeks pouring over ancient texts and tomes, but apparently Mammon has jealously guarded the secrets of his realm. If it's to keep from being summoned or sent back once he breaks free, they can't know. Magnus is, technically, powerful enough to drag him topside if he really needed to but that is an absolute last resort plan.
"We have so little information to work with…we have to try something." Jace's mismatched eyes shift to Magnus now, his gaze searching.
Magnus doesn't understand how it happened, but somehow these stubborn young shadowhunters have appointed him their de-facto leader in Alec's absence. It makes him feel both unbearably fond and profoundly sad. He chews on his bottom lip, takes a long sip of coffee and blows out a steadying breath. "We only have one shot at this, so we need to do it properly. Intent in a summoning is just as important as the power behind it. We know what these creatures look like so I will need all of you to focus explicitly on pulling something through that portal matching their physical description."
"There's no guarantee this will work." Addicus says hesitantly.
"If anyone can pull it off it's Magnus." Clary responds with a small, proud smile.
Her faith in him has Magnus standing a little taller and nodding decisively. "We'll use a standard summoning circle, enforce it with bindings used for greater demons just to be safe. It'll be messy but should hold stable. I'll call Catarina and Tessa to assist." He's texting his friends with their half-baked plan even has he speaks. It doesn't take long for Cat and Tessa to both respond affirmatives, saying they can clear their schedules whenever he needs them. A rush of warmth sweeps through him, chasing away some of the pain that has been weighing on him so heavily. For the first time in weeks he feels like, just maybe, they are close to making progress towards bringing their family home.
There's an air of excitement in the room now, a new rush of energy in the face of finding something they can do. Still, Magnus can feel his exhaustion pulling at him, knows he needs to rest and recharge before attempting an experimental summoning like this, even with the joint effort of four warlocks. He will need iron control over his magic, doesn't want to let any of Edom's errant power slip through. There's no telling how it could affect the summoning.
"I think that's enough for tonight. Rest up and be ready for tomorrow. Addicus, I will send you the address for the location, I think it best not to attempt something like this in my home."
The other warlock nods and him quickly before spinning up a portal and disappearing back to him home.
Tomorrow, hopefully, they find answers.
Hello my loves, I'm terribly sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, I promise this story is not going to be abandoned. Life has just been chaotic lately between work, school and full-time parenting so finding time to write has been hard. Thank you all for being patient and sticking with me, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!
If you're looking for some steamier options you can also find my smuttier offerings on AO3 under the same pen name.
A always, reviews and constructive criticism never required but always appreciated. I love hearing from you all, it keeps me inspired.
-GPO
