SHADOW WORLD:【 WARRIORHANDS. 】
pandemonium’s lights & sounds TAKE OVER every sense in clary’s body. pounding & swaying & blood PUMPING through her veins , the cascading dance floor feels like it’s moving under the soles of her feet ———— watching jace with intent & PROTECTIVENESS as her eyes seemingly look off into the distance , her own position & her BLAZING green stare scours the crowd. while the runes on her body are partially exposed , her gear missing the marks that spider up her neck. the HEOSPHOROS blade at her hip within the proximity of the dancing bodies & the DEMON that waited & watched , just as she did , she lingered , waiting. her own limber & thin body could reach him in a matter of seconds , not as A MUNDANE but as ashadowhunter in her own right. the promise of jace’s own SAFETY was sealed with a kiss that claimed her lips , a promise which was followed by reassuring eyes. but she knew —– of course she did. they had been split apart , STRONGER TOGETHER , he had said , but she is there standing guard of her avenging angel.
AN IRATZE RUNE STAINS THE BOY’S SKIN, BLACK INK SCATTERING throughout his complexion, patterns curving with the precision of a trained shadowhunter who doubtless had mastered the skill of utilising a stele for combat. some faded, some scarred, some pulsing, each language of the angel raziel held a power no less important than the next, each language was traced across his skin in a way that was oddly, rivetingly beautiful. the iratze scorched his skin with a glow of golden warmth--fireless, the remains of flames sizzled--and he felt such effect instantly kick in. meanwhile, clary clutched the blade of heosphoros with the strong conviction of demon-hunting intentions.
to KILL or be KILLED; or, rather, allow the human race to die out by the hands of hell’s creatures. sounds awfully jolly, that apocalyptic world domination. jace eyed clary as she raised the ignited weapon. her movements were wildfire, entangled red hair bouncing as heosphoros sliced through the air. graceful. too graceful, too... showy. retrieving the seraph blade, michael, which had been so rudely knocked from his grasp by a now non-existent, once hideous looking demon, jace’s brow lifted. “ oh, angel forbid, has my backstabbing sister been training you behind my back? that is not my fighting technique, fray, “ his voice amplifies against the mass of awkward mundanes mingling, and reverberating music vibrating throughout pandemonium. “ are those--- pink love hearts on your BLADE? jesus christ. “
