The demons that fed on the energy of those stupid enough to come into their lair, were circling around the group of hunters. Alec had his bow ready, his strong hands being trained for this, many times. Isabell's golden whip wasn't around her wrist anymore, but swirled on the floor as a warning for those that tried to come close, Jace his blade was glowing in the darkness, that the demon's demanded above anything, Clary's hand was ready to take her blade or her steel and the newest hunter, the Brooklyn Boy Simon Lewis, now having taken the name of his best friend, had his firm grip around his sword.

Her eyes glared around the room. She herself was holding her two daggers, made out of the strongest and most lethal metal she knew about. She had been around a very long while, and had almost gotten attached to them, she supposed. But she didn't mind. They did the job marvellously, and she hadn't met anyone yet who had the same weapon as her.

"Good to see you again," the head of the demons spoke with a smirk. His body was nothing human-like. Even though it was. His skin was tight around his bones, his pale eyes were dim and his cheeks had fallen in on himself. His, which seemed weak, hands were reaching out for hers, but she declined.

"It's been long since my last visit. You haven't redecorated however," she said. Jace chuckled to himself, appreciating someone with his feeling of humor. Simon knew that the woman would be amazing in sarcastic comments, which made him smile softly. Finally someone who could make him feel childish again, with stupid remarks that he could've said just the same.

"I haven't. Though you have," he spoke, glancing at the shadowhunters surrounding her. Clary looked up from her blade. The woman that had come to help them instead of Magnus Bane, was obviously known to this man. She had to be. But that meant she was a lot older than she seemed. The ginger shrugged it off. Now wasn't the time for question.

"Do you like them? I think I'm keeping them for a while," she chuckled.

One of the demons tried to make its way towards the oldest Lightwood brother, unable to be heard because it was to light to make a sound. His rotten, bony hand was about to touch the finger of the strong, tall man before she suddenly threw her dagger at it.

It screamed in agony, as the dagger hit it right where his heart should be. It fell down, bleeding, before it vanished until it looked like nothing happened.

"I suppose that's a no."

And just like that, the demons were ready to attack, already coming closer with every heart beat the soldiers let out. She opened her hand, which was now empty, as the dagger came flying back through the air, until it landed in her warm palm. She grinned, which usually frightened her opponent.

Everyone who had the slightest bit of sense would step away, back down while he still could. But these monsters were stripped from that sense, from the realisation of what might go wrong. They hissed, let out sounds that she remembered hearing from many demons before, as they ran closer to the group of killers.

She and the newest hunter stood back to back, a hint of worry on the boy's face as he kept glancing over at his parabatai, who was defending herself perfectly, while secretly being covered by her boyfriend. She watched him take down one of the undead creatures that had made his way towards him, as the sound of its scream echoed through the building.

He didn't look startled or alarmed but readied his sword for another blow. The warlock that had startled this battle, was ready to finish it, and with fire burning in her shining, emerald eyes, she ran towards the leader of the clan that she knew to be peaceful and easy-going.

But a lot had changed in the time she hadn't visited. The one she recognized as the undead who ruled this place, now seemed deader than he had ever done before, and that wasn't a compliment in either of their books. They liked to look civilized, as if nothing was wrong with them, but now he looked exactly as the basic villain of a classic horror-story.

If it weren't for the fact that she was responsible for the group of shadowhunters, she would have worried and tried to talk some sense into him, but when she saw the hatred in his eyes, she gave up, before she had even started. She didn't know why, but something in his glance informed her that there was no saving him. Not this time.

She threw a punch at him, her knife cutting through his skin as he screamed. The air was filled with the scent of iron and blood, hisblood. He groaned loudly, a flash of surprise on his face as he questioned why she would ever hurt him like that. Although he knew barely anything about her, he expected her to have some kind of loyalty towards an old friend.

But see, that's the thing. He knew nothing, nothing that proved to him who she was, and where her morals were. He knew some stories, and he had been friends with her for countless of decades, yet that didn't say a word about if she would betray you without thinking twice or give up on you.

And truthfully, when she watched him bleed, she felt bad. She didn't want to do this, and she surely didn't want to kill him, yet when his punch collided with her cheek, she had made up her mind, as her body collided with the floor, still a bit taken back that he would go down the same road as her.

She stood up, kicking him in his chest with one of her shoes, which weren't those lethal heels that Isabelle wore, or those smaller heels Clary fought with, but simple, ordinary Timberland's boots, which stood out from all the other sneakers. He grunted as he flew back by the energy that came from her kick, which send him flying through the room and against the wall.

The magician walked up to him, still a bit unsure if she was ready to kill him, though sure enough to know that he wasn't going to leave this place without some bruises and cuts. He saw how she descended closer while he swallowed down all the pride he had left of fighting her.

She gave a quick look through the battlefield, noticing that many of them had been touched by the demons. The very thing she told them to prevent. Because once they touched you, they drained you from your energy, bit by bit. And if they continued letting them, they would die sooner or later.

Simon's suddenly tired eyes connected with hers, a soft smile on his face while he drove his sword through another chest, before he turned back to the battle he was fighting. Jace seemed to be the least effected, his vivid golden orbs searching for hers, expecting her to end it all. Clary's glance stood dull, though she kept fighting, not wanting to give up. The warlock saw how Isabell's fighting skills had grown slower, less lethal, but her brother was worst of all. He had big bags under his eyes, his orbs standing dim, his skin as pale as that of a vampire, while he constantly had the other's back as the energy loss took its toll.

As head of the institute he was responsible for all of these people, and that's why he would rather die than see them get hurt. But she was here to prevent that. She came closer, backing her opponent in a corner, her angry eyes never leaving her old friend's face, as she grabbed his throat.

"I'm sorry it has to end this way, Julien," she spoke to her friend as she lifted him up by grabbing his throat. He touched her wrist, trying to drain her from her powers. She moaned softly, not in a sexual way, but the way you do when you feel something is wrong, something is waiting in the shadows to catch you off guard.

"No, Dèlia. I'm sorry hehas to end this way," the monster spoke with a genuine edge of sadness on his voice, because he knew what his people could do, and how awful the death they brought with them was. How suffocating it felt to lay on the ground, drained from your powers, being able to do nothing at all.