Shadowveil

The Sacrifice

Clary dived behind a low stone wall, her knee exploding with pain when it met a sharp cobblestone. She flung her arms over her head as white-hot fire washed over her; the runes on her skin began to crumble away under the deluge and she prayed to the Angel or whoever else was listening that they would hold long enough.

A bronze streak flashed past her vision, impaling the flying demon--a spear, or a poleax, maybe. Whatever it was, she took the break in the flames as an opportunity to fling herself into the hollowed-out wreckage of a building a few feet away. She wedged herself into a corner behind a pile of fallen rubble, biting back a shriek when her hand met something warm in the corner. 

Her fingers came away covered in burning soot as she turned and met the dead amber gaze of one of her team; the woman's name had been Valerie, or Victoria. Clary couldn't remember. But now the Shadowhunter was lying sprawled on the ground, a smoldering corpse charred so thoroughly that her skin was indistinguishable from her gear. Only a sliver of her face remained unburnt, with a single long-lashed eye looking almost accusing even from the afterlife.

"Ave atque vale," the redhead said, the words sour in her mouth as she reached out a hand to close the woman's eyes. The air stank of burning flesh and smoke; Clary could taste the powdery ash coating her lips and tongue with every breath. An underground city really didn't have the best air circulation--but it did come with free fire-breathing draconian creatures.

A shadow swept over Clary. She looked up, up, up, tracking the flight of the leathery demon as it wheeled through the smoggy air, its wings breaking off stalactites on the ceiling. She scrambled away as one pierced through the ground next to her, quivering ominously in the ashy dirt. She remained frozen on her hands and knees for a moment, just staring at the spike of stone that could have killed her had she been a second slower. Her heart raced with fear, sweat cooling on the back of her neck.

The demon dived with a shriek and emerged again with a human figure thrashing in its jaws. 

With a sickening lurch, Clary recognized James, one of the Nephilim she'd talked with on the way back from drawing the border runes. He was Hungarian, she remembered, and had a wife and a newborn daughter hiding in the Gard. And now he would never make it back to them. Clary watched him go limp in the demon's mouth, red trailing down as his blade spun out of his hands.

The artist in her appreciated the scene: a burning, apocalyptical world, with shells of ancient buildings licked by white fire, and blood raining from the sky in crystalline drops. But the more practical part of her was highly concerned about how she and the remainder of her team were going to get out alive.

Marking the physical runes into the walls of the city had gone smoothly, almost eerily so. The beginning of the journey back to the Gard had been easy too, the city quiet except for the crackle of flames.

Then the demon came swooping soundlessly out of the sky, tearing through their ranks with its massive claws. Three Shadowhunters had died right there as their gear punctured and their blood gushed over the embers. The survivors had scattered, breaking off in ones or twos to hide wherever they could. Nobody had long-range weapons except for a few lightweight spears meant for ground combat, not three-hundred-yard throws.

They were easy pickings for the demon, who bathed the ground in fire and scorched whoever was hiding within its reach. Sitting ducks, Clary thought. And then her wonderfully unhelpful brain decided to start thinking about Jace and how easily he dispatched flying creatures--like the flying death turtle from Hell or the demon he'd killed earlier today. How had he done it again? She was fairly certain she'd watched him sawing off the dragon-y demon's wings and then letting the people on the ground dispatch it once it fell.