Angels of Light

City of Blood

After the events of the day, Clary was relieved when she reached the front door of her apartment. She unlocked it quickly and threw herself down on the couch. Her apartment was an old walk up in Brooklyn. It cost a lot of money a month and had pretty limited amenities, but it worked.
She sighed; she was still exhausted from having healed Robert Lightwood's leg, and the whole fiasco with the faeries was enough to give her a migraine.
The fabric of the couch was cool against her hot skin and she relaxed into it, letting sleep take her.

Clary had had strange dreams before, but this time was different. This time all she saw was red. Red and gold. It was as if her vision was tinged with blood. Everywhere she looked she saw blood. The only thing that wasn't red was a giant rip in the sky. The sky looked as if it had been ripped in two pieces and golden light streamed out of the crack. From the golden rip in the sky, rain fell. Thick, hot, burning rain. It was blood. When the rain came in contact with Clary's skin, it burned. The flesh melted away like it had done when the arrow exploded on Robert Lightwood's leg. She looked around frantically, trying to find somewhere to hide. But all the buildings were on fire. No, they weren't just buildings. They were the Wards of Idris. The once beautiful glass towers that had protected the Shadowhunter home country now made horrific noises as they fell to the ground.

"That's not possible," Clary muttered to herself in disbelief. The disbelief was short lived, though, because the rain was hitting her skin in various places, burning her flesh. It burned with a pain Clary had never experienced before. She was screaming, trying to cover her head with her arms. Her vision was beginning to blur with pain.
A figure appeared in front of her. She thought for a moment that it was Jace. The figure had golden hair, skin and golden eyes quite like Jace's. But he was much taller and his eyes were not kind or mischievous; they were empty. He stood in front of Clary, watching her with his lifeless eyes. His skin was inked with runes but they were gold, not black; And they screamed of a power that was different from the runes of the grey book.

"Clarissa Morgernstern," the golden man said, his face flashed with a look of recognition but it was gone just as quickly. Clary wasn't sure that she recognized him, though it was hard to tell with the blood falling down so heavily and obscuring her vision.
"This is what it has come to," he continued, gesturing around at the destruction. He watched nonchalantly as Clary screamed and fell to her knees in pain. He made no move to help her.
"Nephilim are failing their mandate," he continued with steady eyes. "I have watched for hundreds of years as demons spilled through the cracks into the mortal world, but it was never more than could be handled. I have watched many generations of Nephilim fight among themselves, but never have I been so disappointed. So disgusted," and he looked at Clary with the disgust he mentioned; his mouth was downturned and his eyes narrowed. She had no idea what he was talking about. Her body screamed in agony; her skin was melting right off her bones so gruesomely that it was almost like a bad horror movie. Underneath she could see blood and bone. Her stomach spasmed at the sight and she cried out in pain. The air around her was suffocatingly hot, and she could hear the cries of the dying and the injured.

"Please, you have to help me," Clary gasped; her lungs felt like they were on fire. And for a moment, she thought he might really help her. He walked towards where she lay crumpled on the ground and knelt in front of her. He regarded her with his unnerving gold eyes. The more she looked at him, the less he reminded her of Jace. He was all stone and emptiness. There was no life behind his eyes; there was no soul inside his body.

"Oh, Clarissa. Can't you see that I am helping you?" He smiled at her, but it was not a friendly smile.
Clary searched his face looking for anything that might tell her who he was and why he was doing this. But there was nothing. He reached out and brushed Clary's hair behind her ear. His touch felt like razor blades, ripping open the side of her cheek as his fingertips grazed it.