Night Gathers, And Now My Hunt Begins

The Shadowhunters Dimension

The corridor Aemon finds himself in is distinctly gothic in decor and adorned in arches. On its walls candelabras provide light bright enough to give him a migraine. Considering the narrowness of the corridor Aemon decides to keep Longclaw sheathed and make use of the Epirus Bow instead.

Besides Aemon, Ghost sniffs the air, searching for the smell of blood and the undead, a smell he is intimately familiar with. Huginn on the other takes to the air to do his own scouting.

It seems that they are close, for not long after Huginn's departure Ghost runs in the opposite direction, a silent snarl on his lips.

Following closely behind his companion, Aemon is pleasantly surprised when they arrive at what seems to be an office guarded by two heavily armed men with Circle rune tattooed on their neck.

Before the men can react, Ghost rakes his claws across the neck of one men and swallows the second man's head whole with a single bite.

"Good boy." congratulates Aemon as he scratches Ghost behind the ears while studying the corpse which still possesses a head.

As Aemon had previously seen, the man has a Circle rune on his neck along with other runes tattooed on his body. The Circle is a faction of Nephilim hell bent on the complete destruction of anything or anyone of demon blood; vampires, werewolves, warlocks, faeries, and other downworlders included regardless of their morality.

No doubt The Best Friend is Simon Lewis, best friend of the protagonist and a mundane recently turned into a vampire. From what Aemon can remember, Valentine, the leader of the Circle and father to the protagonist, captures Simon to lure Clary to him. In the process his throat is slit and he almost bleeds to death, ironic considering he himself is a vampire. Aemon remembers that he survives, but not how; and considering he is dealing with multiverses he is willing to wager that this dimension is one where Simon either dies or barely survives.

Satisfied with his study of the corpse, Aemon ignores his migraine and the ringing in his ears. He enters the office to find Simon with his throat slit and drenched in his shimmering lifeblood.

Approaching the dying vampire, Aemon gently taps him on the cheek, hoping to elicit a response from him proving that he still lives.

"Cl—" Simon begins to say before fading out.

"Shit." Aemon mutters to himself as he quickly undones one of his bracers and rolls up the sleeve of that arm before slashing open his wrist with his dagger and placing the arm before Simon's mouth.

"Drink." Aemon commands as he slaps Simon awake one more time.

Before Simon can protest his vampire instincts and will to live kick in, making him grab Aemon's bleeding arm and sinking his fangs into it.

Aemon softly gasps as the vampire venom enters his bloodstream and fills him with a sense of euphoria. In both lifetimes he has not once felt anything that comes close to the bliss that the vampire venom provides. His muscles relax in ways he never thought possible and the sense of happiness that fills would be addicting without the Indomitable Will trait. And yet, despite the bliss of the vampire venom permeating his entire body, Aemon cannot seem to be rid of the splitting headache that continues to mount, nor the ringing in his ears, the ice that fills his veins, the raging flames that blend with the ice while still being in conflict, and the soft voice that whispers to him.

The countless sensations are so overwhelming that Aemon nearly allows Simon to bleed him dry. Without his bond with Ghost and the Indomitable Will trait Aemon may have become completely lost in the various sensations.

As Aemon yanks his arm from Simon's fangs, the vampire comes to his senses.

Shooting to his feet, Simon steadies Aemon as he lethargically stumbles away.

"Whoa, dude I'm so sorry man. Your bleeding arm was just there, and I was so thirsty and dying, and I didn't even realize what I was doing, and… Oh my god, that is the biggest werewolf I've ever seen. Please don't eat me for almost killing your friend who, by the way, has the coolest armor I've seen." Simon rambles on as he helps Aemon to the couch.

"By the gods, please shut up." Aemon says as the room swirls around him and he feels like giants are making a drum out of his head. In addition the voice won't stop whispering to him about blood, and lineage, and True Names, and countless other nonsense that cares not for in his current situation.

"Right, sorry. It probably doesn't feel good to have someone rambling while you're dying. Trust me, I know. Valentine loves to hear himself talk, and I… Oh shit. Valentine." Simon says.

"Not dying." Aemon says, his voice barely loud enough for Simon to hear with his enhanced senses. "Go save your friends, I will recover soon enough."

"Are you sure?" Simon asks hesitantly.

"Yes. Besides, Ghost will protect me." Aemon reassures him as his eyelids begin to droop.

"Ok, but—"

…

…

…

Aemon never hears Simon's words, for he soon falls unconscious and finds himself floating in a void before a blinding light.

"Name yourself" a booming voice coming from the light commands, a voice that Aemon cannot make out as man or woman, and in a language that Aemon has never heard spoken before yet still understands completely.

As the command reaches Aemon something from the very depths of his body and soul responds in the same ancient tongue as the voice.

"I am Gwyn, Faery of the most pure demonic and angelic blood, with no crown to speak of yet royalty all the same. With my demon blood I am Lord of Winter, the Hunt, the Dead, Darkness, Night and Terror. With my angel blood I am Lord of Light, of Fire, of Passion, Flame and Shadows."

When the sound of Aemon's voice dies out a shockwave permeates the void.

"And so you are." replies the voice before the light engulfs the void, blinding Aemon.

When the light disappears Aemon finds himself standing within an icy hall before a throne that reminds Aemon of Winter.

"Magnificent, is it not?" asks a soft, prompting Aemon to face it.

As the owner of the voice comes into view, Aemon quickly retreats while reaching for Longclaw, only to find it missing.

Despite not having a weapon, Aemon still prepares himself for combat as he regards the Other with a baleful glare.

"That was a tame response, all things considered." the Other says as he disregards Aemon's animosity towards.

"You speak the common tongue." Aemon comments, bewildered by the situation for he has never met an Other who speaks the common tongue.

"No, I speak my mother tongue and you understand because it is in your blood." the Other says.

"I have far too many questions and not enough time to deal with your nonsense, Other. Speak plainly or return me to whence I came from." snarls Aemon.

"Very well. What do you know of Weirwoods?" asks the Other.

"They are conduits of magic and the ones old enough can allow greenseers to navigate the memories of the world." Aemon replies with a frown, not seeing the relevance of the question.

"Magical blood is much the same. It is an excellent conduit for magic to navigate from the soul through the body, and when magic in the blood is powerful or pure enough it can allow one to access a collective consciousness of every member of the bloodline to come before. Of course it manifests itself in different ways for different people, and at different levels. What many perceive as talent is simply the most basic manifestation." explains the Other.

"Are you claiming to be the manifestation of the collective consciousness of my bloodline?" asks an incredulous Aemon. "If you are, let me remind you that I also am descent of the Valyrian bloodline and you do not possess a single Valyrian feature in your visage." Aemon says with a sneer, unable to believe the pitiful farce that the Other has concocted.

"We claim no such thing and never will." hisses the Other with venomous glare. "Never compare us to those oathbreaking bastards."

Aemon raises an eyebrow at the Other's explosive reaction. He has never seen an Other be anything but calm.

"Forgive my reaction. Like all of our people I feel my emotions more keenly than any other species." the Other says after regaining its calm.

"And yet this is the first I have seen any of your kind exhibit any real emotion beyond mocking amusement." Aemon sneers.

"It is not the way of our people to act based on our emotions. We may feel more than others but we strive not to react based on what we feel. Of course there have been moments where we have acted on our emotions. I believe the mundanes called such an event The Long Night." remarks the Other in amusement.

"Enough." commands Aemon as he fights to control his rage. "This conversation has gone off track."

"My apologies." the Other says with a slight bow. "As I was explaining, your magic and your blood has reached the threshold where I can manifest as a spirit and appear in your dreams. Of course your situation complicates matters."

"Complicates how?" asks Aemon with narrowed eyes.

"The dimension you are in has established rules for magic and its inhabitants to follow. Rules that bear some similarities to the ones of our home dimension. Rules you will have to follow now that you have taken a True Name and can no longer be considered an Outsider of the dimension." the Other snidely explains. Unfortunately for this dimension, no matter how much it tries to place you in a single category you will always be an outlier of that category. For despite how remarkably similar we are to the Faeries of this dimension, we are also quite different."

"How do you know all this?" asks Aemon.

The Other merely smiles at Aemon, as if mocking his ignorance and relishing in his need of his knowledge.

"Unfortunately your body is waking. We are out of time. Until later." says the Other.

Before Aemon can protest he's viciously yanked out of the hall.

…

…

…

Aemon comes to with a startled gasp and a strangled cough before quickly regaining control of himself. As he sits up he takes a measure of the room, finding it empty save for the pile of dead bodies around him leading to the corridor outside.

"Good boy." says Aemon as he pets Ghost while the direwolf happily licks his face with a bloody tongue.

"Sword!Sword!Sword!" caws Huginn as he flies into the room, reminding Aemon of his situation.

Picking up the Epirus Bow, Aemon races out of the room in the hopes of stopping Valentine from activating the Mortal Sword, the second of the Mortal Instruments given by Angel Raziel to Jonathan Shadowhunter, the first Nephilim. The sword's passive effect is to compel those who hold it to tell the truth, a simple and innocent enough effect.

However, Aemon also remembers that the sword has a more sinister effect that Valentine made use of in the books. He remembers not what it is, but he does remember that Valentine succeeds. Although judging by his surroundings Aemon hazards that this dimension adheres most to the show version of events. A show that he has only seen a few episodes of.

As he races through the corridors Aemon realizes that his movements are much more fluid and agile than ever before. At this point he is relatively sure that his physical body has transcended the super-soldier level and is firmly on the supernatural level.

Turning the latest corridor, Aemon finds himself at the entrance of the central, littered with the corpses of at least a dozen downworlders, a disoriented Nephilim, and bewildered Simon and Clary.

As Aemon looks upon Valentine's victims the voice of the Other softly whispers to him.

"You can save them." it tells him. "Their friends need not mourn them."

"'And turn them into mindless wights?" Aemon rhetorically questions as he walks past Clary and Simon.

"They do not need to be wights. This world's laws give you flexibility in ways our people have never experienced before. You can save countless families the heartache while building yourself a faction. It is the logical and compassionate thing to do." the Other says.

"What would you know of compassion." Aemon sneers at it.

"Think on it. You are in a foreign dimension where the ruling power views you as nothing more than a second class citizen, and your sole ally is not only weak but also enamored with the ruling power. You will need your own faction." the Other whispers.

"Never speak of Simon Lewis' strength to me." Aemon audibly snarls at the Other, drawing Simon and Clary's attention to him.

"Oh dude, did you know some of them?" Simon asks somberly as he approaches Aemon.

"No." Aemon responds with a frown and ignoring Simon's whispered oh.

"I get it too. The death of so many innocent people is upsetting." Simon says as another Nephilim enters and proceeds to question Clary and Jace, the previously disoriented Shadowhunter, on what happened.

"If you could bring them back, would you?" Aemon asks.

"Yes." Simon quickly responds before thinking more on it. "Maybe. Are they back back, like back to life as themselves, or back like zombies back."

"The first one, but they would be eternally tied to whoever brought them back." Aemon says.

"Seeking validation from the walking corpse? How unlike you." remarks the Other in Aemon's ear, only to be ignored by him.

"If that person could be trusted, sure?" Simon responds, not completely confident in his answer. Not far behind Aemon can hear the shadowhunters race in search of Valentine.

With a nod Aemon removes one of his gloves and slashes his palm open with his dagger.

"What are you doing!" exclaims Simon only to be ignored.

As Aemon ignores Simon and lets the magic flow through the shade of the Other overlaps with his body and together they raise bloody hand up while speaking as one in the ancient tongue of the Others.

"Victims of Valentine, on this night hear my call." They say, summoning the spirits of the recently departed downworlders. They regard him with hopeful eyes, yet many of them cannot help the undercurrent of fear that they feel

"Hearken unto me, and heed my call. Pledge thyself to mine Hunt, and ride with the fury of the wind and the might of the storm. Give chase unto those I deem wicked and unjust, and smite them down until my justice be done. Swear to honor the oaths and traditions of mine Hunt, and to hold my allies and foes alike in esteem. Pledge this, and I shall grant thee a return of thy life. Swear it by earth and water, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire."

For a brief moment it seems that they will refuse before they kneel as one and pledge themselves in the tongue of the Others. A language they know not yet find themselves speaking all the same.

"Nigh is gathering, and now doth my hunt commence. I pledge myself to the Wild Hunt, to ride with the fury of the wind and the power of the storm. I shall give chase unto those whom thou deems wicked and unjust, smiting them down with my sword and my spear, until thy justice be done. I do swear to honor the oaths and traditions of the Wild Hunt, to hold thy allies in the same regard as mine own, and thy foes likewise. By earth and water, by bronze and iron, by ice and fire, I do swear to uphold this sacred vow. May the hunt never cease, and may I never rest until the command be given."

With their oath spoken the spirits fade as the blood flows freely from Aemon's hand and into the mouth of their corpses, healing them of all injuries and together they awake with a gasp.

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Author's Note: Here it is, we meet our first group chat member and Aemon's magical development takes its first step. For those of you who have never read or seen Shadowhunters I hope that I gave enough context to make the chapter understandable. As for those familiar with Shadowhunters I will be playing a little loose with the magical lore since I have to make it all flow narratively with different universes (this goes for all the magic systems moving forward). So keep that in mind but don't be afraid to criticize and give me your opinions. I'm really excited to hear about your thoughts.