Venturing topside begins as a curiosity made possible by the magic his son so foolishly traded away. Despite its power, Asmodeus dislikes using it. It reeks of humanity and drips with compassion and love. It makes his skin crawl.
But he very much wants to witness for himself the moment when Magnus breaks from its loss. Wants to see him as he makes the choice to crawl back to Edom, begging to rule if only to touch his magic one more time.
It doesn’t happen immediately, but Asmodeus doesn’t expect it to. His son is strong, even without his power. Asmodeus never would have taken him in otherwise. But even the strong fall, and Asmodeus is a patient sort of demon.
He lurks unseen as the attacks come from all sides. And while his son is clearly handing it with his mundane weapons, Asmodeus is disgusted at the gall of these creatures. Attacking the progeny of a Prince of Hell. A prince in his own right. He eagerly destroys the ones that neither Magnus nor his companions see coming and goes back to his waiting.
He discovers Magnus does not sleep alone.
He only tries to kill the Shadowhunter boyfriend once, a test of his strength to make sure he’s good enough for a prince’s son. In Asmodeus’ defense, he doesn’t try excessively hard, lest Magnus carry his grudge into eternity and never come home.
“If you actually cared about him, you’d return his magic,” is what Alec tells him, once they’ve both caught their breaths in the grimy alleyway. There’s a fire in his eyes, like he aches to put his bare fingers through Asmodeus’ ribcage and claim the power by force.
So many of these mortals, so very loyal. Magnus has always wielded his charisma as the sharpest of his weapons and Asmodeus is proud to see this hasn’t changed.
“That would defeat the purpose of him coming back to Edom.” With a wave of his arm, Asmdoeus’ clothes are once again pristine. The Shadowhunter he leaves in filth. Another gesture brings his cane to his hand.
Alec’s hand tightens around his blade but he doesn’t attack. “He’s never going back.”
Asmodeus is already leaving, a parting shot of, “We’ll see,” called over his shoulder. In his wake, his cane taps out a steady, mocking rhythm.
Time passes. Asmodeus watches Magnus fight, watches him laugh, watches him scream.
Watches him attempt to summon his magic during yet another attack on his life, and sees him almost miss a step in his deadly dance before recovering and triumphing over his opponent. Watches him look at his empty, mortal hands once the battle is done. Watches him stumble to his knees in pure despair.
Asmodeus doesn’t reveal himself as his son buries his head in his hands, shoulders shaking. Seconds pass and when he finally looks up, his face is wet.
Alone on the ground, Magnus heaves air in gasping breaths. Ragged noises claw themselves out of his throat with each rise and fall of his chest. They are the only sound in the empty park. Even the pigeons and the tiny chirping birds don’t dare to disturb what’s about to happen here. Magnus drags out one breath more and then another until he sags on his knees and goes still.
This is the moment, Asmodeus knows, fire in his eyes and a sharp curve on his lips as he watches from the shadows. Such human weaknesses will soon be behind you. This is the moment when you break and become mine.
The moment stretches like ichor clinging to a blade.
And then Magnus climbs unsteadily to his feet, a hand rubbing at his face before he abandons the motion with a laugh and a series of curses about ruining his makeup. He brushes the dirt off his jacket and leaves, head held high.
The man walking away bears no resemblance to the crumbled man on the ground. Magnus exits the park in a smooth, determined stride and soon afterwards the strong echo of footsteps fades away.
Asmodeus roars his rage to the sky, his own screams echoing back to him from the trees.
He considers that the Shadowhunter is right. His son is stubborn. He inherited it from his father. And while this journey has been an indulgence, it’s one without the results he hoped for. He cannot stay. His duties in Edom have gone neglected too long already.
The foreign magic itches under his skin as he sends himself home. He’s lost this first volley, but the battle is far from over.
His time of watching from the shadows is done.
Hidden deep beneath the fury, he can’t help but feel a grudging respect for the will of his chosen son. He is every bit as magnificent as Asmodeus remembers.
And he will be even more magnificent once he is in Edom where he belongs.
