The Angel-Blooded One (Shadowhunters ff)

4 - The Fight

Izzy

For months, Izzy had watched Jace spiral. His life had become a monotonous cycle of missions, grueling training sessions, and late-night vigils outside Clary's apartment. "She'd want you to move on," Izzy had told him countless times, the words hollow on her own tongue. But what she hadn't confided in anyone, not even Simon, was the truth - she hadn't moved on either. Perhaps never could.

Even before Clary had asked for Izzy to be her parabatai, she had felt a connection to her - a connection she still felt, a tether to a lost sister. And though the bond wasn't official, the link was already there. Even after Clary had lost her memories and runes, the bond hadn't been completely severed. Izzy could still feel a faint echo of Clary's life force - a flicker of hope that perhaps, one day, her Sight and Marks would return.

So, Izzy had kept a silent watch, trailing Clary to her Muay Thai gym, lingering at the sidelines. There were moments when she saw recognition in Clary's eyes, but by the time the training ended, Izzy would be gone. There could be no interference. Clary had to find her own way back.

Losing Clary had cracked a fundamental part of Izzy's world, a wound deeper than mere grief. It was betrayal. Why hadn't Clary confided in her? Weren't they parabatai? Yet, Clary had left without a single word, leaving a void in Izzy's life. And now, a new friend, Aria, had filled Izzy's place in Clary's life, and a surge of irrational jealousy twisted in Izzy's gut. Justifying her actions as concern, she'd sometimes eavesdropped on their conversations. That's how she learned about the date.

She knew Jace would react poorly, and predictably, he did. By the time Alec found him, Jace was drowning his sorrows in alcohol and starting fights at Hunter's Moon. Alec had managed to restrain him, but duty called him back to Idris. Hence, Izzy turned to Simon, who had reluctantly agreed to wrangle Jace back to the Institute.

Now, the quiet of the Institute was shattered by the blaring alarm. Izzy froze, her gaze snapping to the glowing monitor displaying the location of the demonic activity. Western Brooklyn. Clary's street.

***

Clary

The cab ride was a blur. Clary's mind buzzed with the name Morgenstern, a dark echo against the cityscape. A disembodied voice seemed to whisper, "He's right, Clarissa Morgenstern." It sent shivers down her spine, a strange mix of terror and...comfort?

Reaching her building, she mumbled a thank you, the door slamming shut behind her a little too forcefully. Eric's charm had curdled, leaving a chilling aftertaste. It was like a dark aura clung to him, twisting her stomach into knots.

Instead of entering her apartment, she found herself drawn to the rooftop. The February wind whipped her hair as she stepped out, the city lights twinkling below like a distant dream. But her steps faltered at the sight before her.

A lone figure stood silhouetted against the cityscape. "Eric?" she ventured, taking a cautious step forward. The rooftop door clicked shut behind her with a finality that echoed in the stillness.

The figure remained motionless for a moment, then slowly turned. The smile that had been charming was now a grotesque parody, twisted with malice. "Clarissa Morgenstern," he said. "I came for you. Your grandfather is eager for a reunion." A glint of something sharp flashed in his hand, hidden in the shadows. "And you," he continued, his voice a chilling caress, "will come with me willingly."

Eric stalked towards her, his jaw splitting open to reveal a horrifying maw of razor-sharp teeth. His fingers elongated, morphing into wicked claws. Panic surged, but Clary's body reacted before her mind could catch up. She lunged for the door - locked. Trapped.

She scrambled away, adrenaline surging. Eric lunged, a blur of teeth and claws. With a primal yelp, Clary flung herself aside, the creature slamming into the metal door with a clang. Instinct, raw and unfamiliar, coursed through her. She pulled out a Swiss knife from her pocket - a relic from an antique store, a relic that now felt like a lifeline.

She backed towards the roof's edge, Eric limping after her with a snarl. As he lunged, the knife flashed in the darkness, finding its mark in his side. He recoiled, surprised. Seizing the opportunity, Clary darted behind him, a brutal kick sending him sprawling over the edge.

He crashed into the alley below with a sickening thud. Clary stared down, her stomach churning. A fall from a four-story building wouldn't leave survivors. He was gone. But should she check? Should she call the police? But explaining this, the monstrous transformation, the attack - it would land her in the psych ward, not a police station. This wasn't normal. This was straight out of a horror movie.

Suddenly, a figure darted down the street towards the alley. A scream rose in Clary's throat, then died in her mouth. The stranger - it was the girl from the gym, the one with the black hair and tribal tattoos.

Heart pounding, Clary scrambled back through the door, locking it behind her. Collapsing onto the floor, she squeezed her eyes shut. Two possibilities clawed at her mind. One: a psychotic break, a horrifying hallucination brought on by months of amnesia. Or two: the world wasn't what she thought it was. And everything she'd just experienced, as terrifying as it was, was terrifyingly real.