THE IMMORTALS (✓)

10. Impossible but true.

*Midnight- in the middle of a forest*

Dead shadowhunters were scattered all over the ground, completely drained of blood. Their skin was pale, cold, and starting to rot, but the fallen, he was standing in the middle of piles of bodies, draining the blood from the recently died shadowhunters of NY Institute. Not far from him, his servant was pouring the shadowhunter blood in a large cauldron and beside it was a large pentagram, with candles flaring on all of its edges. Those candles were the only source of light in the dark eerily silent forest.

As soon as the fallen was done draining the blood from the last of the body, he handed it to his servant who poured it into the cauldron, filling it almost to the brim.

"Everything is set, Ebrithil." The servant said, his voice slicing through the silence of the night.

The fallen gave a devilish smirk. "Great, let's call upon him, shall we."

The servant nodded and stood in his place of the pentagram. It was the most complex and twisted pentagram he had ever seen, sending chills through his body.

The fallen stood in his place and waved his hands above the pentagram, igniting little sparks of tiny angry red fire. When the whole pentagram ignited, he started chanting a spell in demonic language, calling upon Satan himself. His wings bristled beside him as he kept chanting. He was losing his patience but was determined. After chanting continuously for an hour, a thick pile of black smoke appeared inside the pentagram and the whole surrounding filled with a thick blanket of smog.

A loose figure started forming inside the pentagram, its eerily blackish-red eyes looking into the other man's red ones. "My child, my worshiper, why did you call upon me?"

"My lord, Satan. I need your blood to raise our army. These useless beings will soon be your followers, they'll worship you just like me. Lend me your blood, Satan, to make them yours."

A crooked smile formed on the loose figure's face. "I'm impressed by your devotion, my worshiper. Feed them my blood, make them mine." With that being said, he poured his thick black blood into the cauldron placed just beside the pentagram. Once it was done, the fallen sent him back to where he belonged.

"My servant, pick this cauldron and mix this blood with the shadowhunter blood." The servant obeyed and the fallen curled his wings in front of him and snatched out the biggest feathers from it, he felt no pain, no burn while doing so.

As the servant mixed both the blood and started boiling the potion, the fallen crumpled his feathers and detached them from the shaft then poured it into the boiling potion, and started chanting a spell on it. When the potion was done it was thick black liquid with small fragments of his feathers. The fallen took the small vial kept near the cauldron and filled it with newly formed blood and walked towards the nearest dead shadowhunter. He tilted his head up and forced the potion down the dead man's throat and waited for it to react.

Not long after, the pale and cold skin started gaining its color and warmth back. The shadowhunter let out a blood-curling scream when his runes glowed a deep shade of red then went back to normal. He stood up and looked around himself, feeling completely strange. In a flash of a moment, his eyes turned completely black then went back to its normal shade of chocolate brown. A new rune appeared on his body, marking him as a new species of Endarkened.

"My my! Look at you! What's your name, my new servant?"

"Issac Silverblade, E.. Ebrithil?"

The corner of the fallen's mouth turned into a wicked smirk. "Recognized me already! Yes, I'm your Ebrithil. Do you know what you have to do?"