The Rise Of The Morningstar (Eng. Version)

Chapter 60 - Anger and Sorrow

Chapter 60 – Anger and Sorrow

Blake's blood was everywhere. It dripped through the white, cold snow; the difference in temperature a hissing in the air that rang in my ears. It slid over the insides of my hands; was absorbed into the fabric of my sleeves as I raised them to eye level. It mixed with my own blood, which had already dried and caked on my clothes.

With unsteady legs, I rose from Blake's motionless body and passively tilted my head upwards. The seraph blade trembled between my fingers as I stared at the six figures now chasing down the slope screaming. Straight towards me.

I didn't feel any pity. Not a single spark of it. But remorse. Not because Blake was dead or his life meant anything to me. Because of Jace and Isabelle and maybe even Alec and Adam. Because now they could clearly see who I actually was. What my father had made of me; what I had voluntarily allowed myself to be formed into.

My eyes darted to Blake's friends – followers – racing down the snowy hill, anger on their faces and promises of revenge on their lips. The second I just stood there, dazed by what I had done, was enough for me to remember why exactly Blake was dead now. And why these men deserved to die just as much. The throbbing in my shoulder was intense enough, the wet hair on the back of my neck icy enough, to keep me from forgetting the fading pain and scars Blake had inflicted on me just an hour ago. While they were staying guard or watching.

The Ashdown's dark estate stood out against the snow-white background; loomed over me like a huge shadow from the distance. I blinked. Once. They had almost reached me. Twice. The pain, the shame, the frustration, the anger lashed through my veins. Three times. I'm already like Blake. I'm probably even worse. Somewhere in my heart there was a good side, I was aware of it. But my life had been one of struggle and death for too long to act differently now; to appeal to other ideals. And I didn't want to either. I wanted them to suffer; I wanted them to pay for my pain.

Was I therefore a bad person? If that was enough to be like Blake, then I would accept it. Even though the thought of resembling him in any way repelled me.

I'm already like Blake. I'm probably even worse. Worse was good. Worse was better. Some synapse in my body must have gone crazy. I must have gone crazy. There was no other way I could explain how I leaned towards the six Shadowhunters from whom I was only a few meters apart; how I could raise my sword arm to get straight into the next fight. Worse, worse, worse.

A scream, loud and angry, escaped my throat and rippled across the plain like a clap of thunder. Then I lunged forward, barely avoiding Jace's fingers trying to grab my arm. From the side I could make out Alec, Isabelle and two other figures who had also started running. Probably to end this before it started. They had to if they wanted to prevent a bloodbath. They roared over to us; demanded that we stop and lay down our weapons.

Neither Blake's friends nor I responded. We reached the halfway point, and I was already at a disadvantage because of the slope. Six against one. I didn't care. They split up to surround me. Fueled by the ferocity of emotion in my chest, I had struck down the first of them in a breath. Blood sprayed through the air, onto my face, onto the other Shadowhunters, into the snow. I spun on my own axis, ducking instinctively between the swords, parrying anything I couldn't dodge. There were only five of them now, but I was exhausted from the day in captivity and the confrontations I had already had today.

The first time one of their weapons hit me, I didn't even notice because of the adrenaline. I kicked his sword out of a boy's hand, took a step back and repositioned myself, now with a blade in each hand. Blow after blow, adamas met steel or adamas met adamas. I knew I was losing. My pride was too great to admit defeat. It would have been wise. A wise warrior would have done this. But I was arrogant, selfish and consumed by the memories of my own screams, the torture, the humiliation.