#Jocelyn Fray POV#
Escaping Valentine had been nothing short of a miracle. A year had passed since I'd torn myself free from that monster—twelve months of running, hiding, and praying he wouldn't find us.
No one but I could understand the depth of hatred I harbored for my husband.
I had hidden Clary and myself as far away as possible, calling in every favor I could from old friends. They helped us disappear. But Valentine never stopped hunting. There had been close calls—too many moments where my heart threatened to shatter inside my chest—but somehow, we always managed to slip away.
Still, we never stopped moving. Never stopped looking over our shoulders.
Because he was always behind us.
Tonight, though, I needed an escape—a single, fleeting moment to breathe.
I left Clary at home with someone I trusted completely. A friend so close, I had no problem letting him raise her as his own daughter. It was better than the truth.
I walked aimlessly through dimly lit streets, my thoughts spiraling. Then, a bright pink neon sign flickered in the distance. Something about it pulled me in. Before I realized it, I was stepping inside.
A sports bar.
It had that old-world charm—a mix of nostalgia and the quiet hum of forgotten stories. The air smelled like whiskey, worn leather, and the faint remnants of cigarette smoke. A vintage jukebox stood in the corner, next to a battered pool table that had seen better days.
I slid onto a barstool and gestured to the bartender.
"How can I help you tonight?" he asked, his hands moving deftly as he slid a martini to another customer.
"Whiskey. Shots. Keep them coming."
He didn't ask questions. Good.
I let my gaze wander as I waited, drinking in the atmosphere. The low murmur of conversation. The clink of glasses. The distant roar of a football game on an old television set.
That's when I noticed them.
A group of men sat nearby, absorbed in the game—laughing, drinking, caught up in the moment. I shouldn't have cared. I should have stayed in my seat, finished my drink, and gone home.
But then, my eyes landed on him.
Something about him stood out from the rest.
Maybe it was his easy confidence. Maybe it was the way he laughed—genuine, unguarded. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because for the first time in years, I wanted to forget.
Glass in hand, I made my way over.
"Who's playing?" I asked, smirking slightly. "Lyn," I added, offering a fake name.
He turned toward me, meeting my gaze with a slow, amused smile.
"The Jets," he said. "Jerry. Jerry Russo." He extended his hand.
I took it. His grip was strong, firm—but not overpowering.
There was something about him. Something different.
And, for reasons I couldn't quite explain… I liked it.
I liked it a lot.
…
I woke up groggy. My head throbbed, pain pulsing behind my temples.
A sharp inhale.
The scent of cheap motel sheets.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim morning light filtering through battered blinds.
Then, realization hit.
Beside me, a man lay asleep—broad-shouldered, shirtless, his breathing slow and steady.
Oh, God.
A dull panic settled in my stomach. Moving carefully, I peeled the covers off, ignoring the way my dress lay in a careless heap on the floor. I scrambled to gather my belongings, slipping into my clothes as quickly and quietly as possible.
I needed to go.
I wasn't a teenager anymore. I wasn't reckless. I wasn't this person.
What the hell was I thinking?
I stepped outside, the cool morning air hitting my flushed skin. My car sat a few feet away, waiting, its presence grounding me in reality.
As I reached for my keys, dreading the brutal drive ahead, I felt it—
Something cold and sharp pressing against my spine.
The breath in my lungs froze.
Then came the voice. Low. Familiar. Deadly.
"Hello, Jocelyn. Long time no see, wife of mine."
No.
My blood turned to ice. A shudder of terror rattled through me.
Not him. Not now.
A hand fisted in my hair, yanking me back against a hard chest. I gasped, my breath stuttering.
"Tell me, my oh-so-rebellious wife…" Valentine's voice was almost mocking. "Don't you think it's time to come home?"
It wasn't a question.
And deep down, I knew—
I didn't have a choice.
#Time Skip: 5 Months Later#
Today began like every other day in this hell.
Pain.
Unbearable. Unrelenting. All-consuming.
But worse than that—anguish.
Time had blurred into something meaningless. Weeks, months… I wasn't sure anymore. The days bled together, each one an echo of the last, each one beginning the same way: chained in darkness, drowning in agony.
And then came him.
Every day, Valentine descended into the cellar, his presence turning the damp, suffocating space into something far worse than a prison. And every day, I was forced to watch.
Watch as he brutalized innocent Downworlders—beaten, tortured, destroyed for his amusement.
Their screams were the first thing I heard in the morning. Their cries for mercy the last thing before I passed out at night. Some died quickly. Others—those who were still clinging to life—looked upon the dead with envy, as if death itself were the greatest gift of all.
I understood that envy.
At this point, there was no doubt in my mind—husband or not, Shadowhunter or not—Valentine would have done the same to me.
The only thing keeping me alive was the child inside me.
His obsession.
And somehow, I would have preferred his wrath—preferred the pain, the beatings, the torture—over what he was doing to me.
To my baby.
He fed me, of course. Food and water, forced down my throat as I choked and gagged. I knew it wasn't just nourishment. It was laced.
Demon blood.
Or angel blood.
I couldn't tell which anymore.
My body wasn't my own. My veins burned with something unnatural. My stomach churned, my skin prickling with a sensation that made me feel wrong, like something inside me was shifting, warping.
And yet, it wasn't enough for him.
He had grown impatient.
I could see it in the way his hands moved—no longer steady, no longer methodical. The careful calculations of his so-called research had been abandoned. Now, he wasn't experimenting.
He was demanding results.
Bag after bag, he pumped more of it into my system. More poison. More corruption.
I wasn't a person to him anymore.
I was just an experiment.
And my child?
I wasn't sure if they were a miracle or a curse.
But I did know one thing.
If this continued much longer… neither of us would survive.
I didn't know how, but I had to get out.
I had to get my baby out.
Every time Valentine looked at me—no, not at me, at my stomach—I could feel it. That hunger in his eyes. That sick, twisted fascination.
He never saw me anymore.
Just the child inside me.
His child… or so he thought. Even though he knew better.
This wasn't just for results. Not just for sport.
As reckless and rushed as his methods had become, there was still a plan. A purpose.
He wasn't just experimenting anymore. He was waiting.
Treating me like an egg. A cocoon.
And I could feel it—every drop of blood he pumped into my veins, every ounce of corruption flooding my body, my child was absorbing it. Consuming it.
If this didn't kill me first, if it didn't kill my baby first…
Then whatever was growing inside me would.
Because this wasn't just about creating stronger Shadowhunters anymore. He wasn't just enhancing.
This time…
This time, he demanded more than results. More than potential soldiers.
This time, he demanded a weapon.
He was creating a monster.
And he was using my child to do it.
…
I didn't know how much time had passed.
It didn't matter.
All I knew was that any day now, my child would be born.
Like a blacksmith forging a sword—smelted in fire, shaped under pressure, cooled into something deadly—his weapon was nearly finished.
And deep in my gut, I knew—if Valentine got his hands on my child, if he was the one to raise him, it would all be over.
His weapon would be complete.
And no matter how hard I tried to ignore the thought lurking in the back of my mind, I knew the truth—when his weapon was Finished, so was the world as we knew it.
…
One day, out of nowhere, the already dim lights in the cellar—which I figured belonged to my parents' home, the one we moved into when we first got married—went out.
I wouldn't have thought much of it.
If not for the explosion that followed.
Boom!
The ground shook. The Downworlder prisoners trembled in fright as we looked around, confused. What had just happened?
Then, chaos erupted. Sounds a wild fire rang out in the distance. Yelling. Screams.
And then—a sound that brought both a smile to my lips and tears to my eyes.
A howl.
I let out a painful, breathless laugh—half from disbelief, half from overwhelming relief.
Finally, he had come.
Lucian had come for me.
The howls continued, growing closer, blending with the clash of battle. Footsteps thundered above us until—Bang!—the cellar door flew open.
"Jocelyn?!"
That voice—I knew it too well.
Lucian.
He rushed toward me, his dark skin glistening with sweat, his beastly eyes locking onto mine. Love, care, and something darker swirled within them—regret… and beneath it, anger.
"Sweetheart… what happened? What did he do to you?!"
His voice wavered as his gaze dropped to my battered form—lingering on my stomach, warped and misshapen.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion. "A lot," I whispered. "Some of it… I did to myself."
Tears threatened, but I pushed them back. They could wait.
Lucian stepped forward, unhooking the chains that had bound me for so long. As they clattered to the ground, my body sagged, weak from captivity. He caught me effortlessly, lifting me into his arms with a tenderness that made my heart ache.
And then, for the first time in what felt like an eternity—he smiled.
A smile I would make sure to cherish forever—once we got out of here.
"We have Valentine and his men occupied," Lucian said, his gaze flickering toward the others in the cellar—the battered, chained Downworlders. "My pack and a few fellow Downworlders are helping keep them distracted."
Then, as if sensing the question burning inside me, he met my eyes. "Clary is safe. She's with one of my most trusted pack members."
I trembled, a shaky breath escaping me as relief crashed over me like a wave.
Lucian studied the room again, his expression darkening. "What would you like me to do with them?" His eyes swept over the Downworlders who remained—at least, those still alive.
"Release them," I said without hesitation. "They've suffered enough."
Gasps of joy echoed around us, followed by soft, disbelieving sobs. For the first time in what felt like forever, hope flickered in their weary eyes.
Maybe—just maybe—their long nightmare was finally over.
But not just yet.
"Well, well… what do we have here?"
The voice sent ice down my spine.
"Cheating on me yet again, are we, Jocelyn?"
Lucian turned sharply, his body tensing. And there he stood—Valentine.
He had grown stronger. Likely using demon or angel blood for himself.
We both saw it.
The angelic runes from the Gray Book glowed along his arms, pulsing with raw power. His stance was too relaxed, his expression a cruel blend of mockery and simmering rage at being ambushed like this.
Despite the battle raging above, he didn't look tired. Not even shaken.
No—he was growing more dangerous. Far too dangerous.
How had I not seen him for what he truly was when we first met? How had the Clave failed to uncover the truth about him—and the Circle?
It didn't matter anymore.
Lucian and I locked eyes, the same understanding passing between us.
This was our only chance.
Or, more likely, our last chance.
Without another word, we turned away from each other. Lucian inhaled sharply, then let out a hurried howl—one that teetered on the edge of a roar.
Seconds later, two wolves leaped from above, tackling Valentine to the ground.
What followed was absolute madness.
I watched as the wolves sank their teeth into Valentine's shoulders, their needle-like fangs piercing deep. Blood seeped from the wounds, trickling between their jaws—but still, he only grinned.
A fierce, merciless smile.
The pain barely seemed to register.
With terrifying strength, he pummeled the wolf on his right, his fists landing with sickening force. The other barely had time to react before he flung it off him with ease.
It was clear—they couldn't hold him forever.
Snarling, the wolves threw themselves back into the fight, but it didn't matter. Even in their wolf forms, they were no match for him.
Then—movement.
Two men and two women, their faces vaguely familiar, rushed down the steps. Some of Lucian's pack. Without hesitation, they somersaulted over the battle, landing with practiced precision right in front of us.
Lucian's gaze snapped to one of the women.
"You—grab Jocelyn and take her as far from here as possible." His voice was sharp, allowing no argument.
"The rest of you, free the others Valentine kept captive."
Then, he turned back toward the chaos, his expression dark with determination.
"As for me—I'm going to help them kill that mongrel."
Lucian handed me off quickly before turning back to the battle. Around us, his pack spread out, breaking chains, pulling captives to their feet, and urging them toward freedom.
I barely had time to process it before my eyes snapped back to Lucian.
He growled, muscles tightening as his claws elongated, sharp and deadly. His teeth shifted, taking on the unmistakable form of a wolf's.
Lucian didn't hesitate.
He met my eyes one last time—then launched himself at Valentine.
I watched as he punched, clawed, and tackled him, slamming him into the concrete wall with enough force to send cracks spiderwebbing across it. Almost throwing him through it entirely. The sound of their collision echoed like thunder—flesh meeting stone, rage meeting resistance. The wolves lunged alongside him, snapping and tearing.
They all crashed into the far wall, and it buckled beneath them. Cracks split across the concrete like lightning veins, dust cascading in thin clouds.
Valentine retaliated fast—faster than any human should. He caught Lucian by the throat, slamming him against the wall hard enough to rattle the pipes behind it. But Lucian drove his knee into Valentine's ribs, then slashed his claws across his chest, deep enough to leave bloody trenches in his skin.
Valentine hissed, not in pain, but in anger. He shoved Lucian off and spun, driving his elbow into Lucian's jaw. The blow was brutal—but Lucian absorbed it, turned with the momentum, and raked his claws down Valentine's back.
The wolves lunged in, snarling, eyes glowing with fury. One clamped its jaws onto Valentine's leg; another went for his shoulder. They dragged him down, a whirlwind of fur and blood and teeth.
Valentine roared, his voice monstrous, echoing inhumanly across the chamber. With terrifying force, he grabbed the wolf on his leg and swung it like a ragdoll, slamming it into the ground. Bones crunched. It had trouble rising again.
The second wolf tried to hold on, but Valentine spun and hurled it into a metal support beam. It yelped, collapsing in a heap.
Lucian didn't let up.
He was already on him—punching, clawing, driving him back step by step. Each blow was more precise than the last, each slash filled with raw, personal fury.
This wasn't just a fight.
It was vengeance.
Valentine bared his teeth and roared, grabbing Lucian by the throat again, lifting him—
But Lucian's claws dug into his wrists, forcing them apart, his eyes blazing like twin suns. He slammed his forehead into Valentine's face—once, twice, a third time—until blood streamed from his nose.
Then he drove his knee up into Valentine's gut and slammed him to the floor.
Valentine hit hard—but even bleeding, even bruised—he laughed.
"You think this changes anything?" he rasped. "I am the storm, Lucian."
Lucian growled low in his throat. "Then drown in it."
With a snarl, he dug his claws into Valentine's chest and flung him like a broken doll across the room. As the wolves with every ounce of strength they had forced themselves up and back into battle.
And yet, despite their numbers, Valentine was still stronger.
Though… I couldn't help but notice. He was struggling more against Lucian than the others.
Then, a cold dread settled over me.
I realized—he hadn't even used his runes yet.
What happens if he does?
What has he done to himself?
The thought sent ice through my veins just as the female wolf hoisted me further up across her chest and took off, her steps hurried but careful.
She ran away from the battle, away from the cellar, away from the monster I had once loved.
Away from the place that had once been both my family's home—and Valentine's.
As the female wolf carried me farther from the cellar, my eyes darted across the battlefield. Chaos still raged on.
So bad even the land was forced to bear witness.
Wolves, warlocks, vampires, and countless Downworlders clashed with Valentine's Circle.
Trees lay snapped in half as if they were nothing more than twigs. The ground was scarred and torn apart, entire chunks missing where the fiercest battles had erupted—where Valentine's strongest generals fought to maintain their grip on power.
Roots were torn from the earth like veins ripped from flesh. Fires burned unchecked, licking at broken stone and collapsed trees. Magic crackled in the air, the ground pulsing with each spell cast and every body that fell.
I saw warlocks standing firm, fire conjured in their hands, their wrists and palms adorned with intricate ritualistic markings. They hurled flames at the Circle's soldiers, setting some ablaze, forcing others to dodge frantically or activate fire resistance runes just in time to survive the blast.
But not unscathed.
I saw another warlock who stood like a living obelisk alone amid the chaos, arcane symbols glowing up his hands like molten tattoos. He raised a hand, flame spiraling from his palm in a blaze that roared like a dragon's breath—engulfing half a squad in a heartbeat. Screams tore through the smoke as the fire clung to armor and skin alike, devouring all. Another Circle soldier barely managed to slap a fire resistance rune against his chest, but not before his arm was scorched black to the elbow. He staggered, smoking, but still alive—just barely.
As the circle member charged at him we moved.
The farther we got from the fight, the more I saw.
Vampires moved at impossible speeds, their forms blurring as they ducked under blows, only to grab their enemies and slam them into the ground with bone-crushing force.
They blurred through the battlefield, nothing more than smears of shadow and teeth. One appeared behind a Circle archer, whispering a taunt before twisting the man's head sharply to the side—snap. They didn't fight fair. They didn't need to.
And then there were the Man-Beasts—vampires stronger than the rest, for reasons too many to count.
They moved so fast that small sonic booms echoed wherever they stepped, the air itself shuddering in their wake.
By the time you saw one—it was already too late.
Bodies were ripped apart, torn in half at the waist, their remains tossed aside as if they weighed nothing.
The few who were fast enough to retaliate quickly realized—their weapons were useless.
The Man-Beasts' diamond-like skin was impenetrable.
Normal vampires and Man-Beasts rarely interacted.
Even the Clave barely involved itself in Man-Beast affairs—only when absolutely necessary.
I didn't know all the details, but one thing was clear: they handled their own problems. And because of that, they had earned a sliver of respect from the Clave.
I had once heard a rumor—whispers of something even more terrifying.
That some Man-Beasts, though rare, could awaken to even greater magical power.
I told myself it was just a myth. Hopefully.
Yet, despite their usual detachment from the world's conflicts, they were all here now.
Fighting.
Together.
Risking punishment from their own kind, defying the rules of their society.
Valentine had pissed them off that much.
As all of this flashed through my mind, something else caught my eye.
A fire.
Distant—but growing.
I squinted, my heart pounding as I tried to make out what was burning.
And then I saw it.
My family's house.
Lucian.
LUCIAN!
I cried out.
I couldn't hold it in anymore.
Tears streamed down my face, wracking sobs tearing through me.
From the whirlwind of a sweet but fleeting one-night stand that left me with a child…
To the horrors I had witnessed—the twisted experiments, the unspeakable torture Valentine had inflicted.
To this battle, this chaos.
And now—not knowing if Lucian was even alive.
I couldn't.
Why?
Why did it have to come to this?
As we moved farther and farther away, I saw it—the shift in the battlefield.
The Downworlders, seeing both the fire and the return of their kidnapped kin, began to scatter. They had come for revenge. They had come for their own.
And now that both had been achieved, they no longer had a reason to fight.
The female wolf and I regrouped with what remained of Lucian's pack. We said nothing—only prayed, silently, desperately, that he was still alive.
And then we waited.
Minutes passed.
One by one, Valentine's surviving men vanished into the night—what remained of his Circle fading away.
The Downworlders who had fought alongside us disappeared as well, leaving only us.
The battlefield fell silent.
We stood there, waiting.
Praying.
One wolf after another rejoined our group, their eyes scanning the distance.
Just hoping.
And then—
From far away, through the haze of smoke and embers, we saw them.
All of us cried out in joy.
Lucian's pack howled and cheered, overjoyed to see their leader and fellow warriors still alive.
And me?
I was just grateful—grateful that my best friend... and maybe, after everything we had been through, something more... had survived.
He had shown me time and time again how much he loved me.
And after all this?
Maybe it was time I stopped running from it.
Slowly but surely, they made their way toward us. Some of the others broke off to tend to the wounded—which, in truth, was all of them.
And then I saw him.
Lucian.
Once they were close enough, my breath hitched.
He was covered in wounds, deep and ghastly, blood seeping from every single one. Burn marks marred his left arm, trailing all the way down his back and up to his neck.
The others looked no better—some even worse.
That battle had taken everything from them.
After speaking briefly with his pack, Lucian turned to me.
I watched as he limped forward, his steps slow, pained—but determined.
"Is Valentine dead?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I met his gaze.
Lucian didn't answer right away. Instead, despite his wounds, he grabbed me—pulled me into his arms—and kissed me.
Suddenly.
Deeply.
Meaningfully.
By the time he pulled away, his black golden eyes locked onto mine, burning with certainty.
"Yes. He's dead."
A weight I didn't know I was holding crashed off my shoulders.
"We would be too if we weren't fast," he admitted, his voice low, rough with exhaustion.
"Halfway through the fight, he started activating his runes—forcing me to shift into my wolf form. Using cheap tactics to keep us on our toes. And send fear pumping through our hearts. He was strong"
Lucian exhaled, shaking his head.
"Much stronger than the last time we fought. Stronger than any Shadowhunter at his age should be."
I held him close—closer than I probably should in my condition—but I couldn't help it.
"How sure are you that he's dead?" I asked, my voice tight.
"Did you see him die?"
Around us, his pack fell silent.
All eyes were on Lucian now, waiting for his answer.
He held my gaze, searching my face carefully before exhaling.
"No."
A chill ran through me.
"I didn't see him die," he admitted.
"But I'm sure—he's gone."
His words should have reassured me. But they didn't.
"We lost track of him right before the place went up in smoke," Lucian continued, his expression darkening.
"He used an invisibility rune to flee—just as we all heard the sound of a baby crying… and the screams of a woman."
I felt my stomach drop.
Lucian paused, his brows furrowing in thought.
"It was only moments after we lost him that the fire started to spread."
Lucian looked up at the smoky, Fog-stained sky and let out a dry, bitter chuckle.
"Son of a bitch… he's not dead."
Murmurs rippled through his pack.
Disbelief. Frustration. Anger.
After everything—after all the blood, the suffering, the battle nearly killing them all—that bastard was still alive.
"It's Valentine," I murmured, my chest tightening. "What did you expect?"
I had hoped—prayed—that this time would be different.
That we had finally ended him.
But deep down, I had always known.
For someone like him, death would have been too easy.
I swallowed hard, my mind catching on something Lucian had said.
A baby crying.
A woman screaming.
My breath hitched.
He had kept someone else.
Someone pregnant.
Like me.
I felt my pulse quicken as the realization crashed over me like a wave of ice.
That could only mean one thing.
My son wasn't the only weapon Valentine had been trying to create.
But who?
Where would he and his Circle go now?
What would he do next?
So many questions swirled in my mind, but I was too exhausted—too weak—to try and answer them all.
The world around me faded as the weight of it all crashed down on me.
And then, with no more strength to fight it, I passed out.
#Time Skip: 3 months#
Some time had passed since the battle with Valentine.
During that time, I—along with the most heavily injured members of Lucian's pack—had been taken to the hospital.
For them to recover.
For me to heal.
And to bring my baby into the world.
We had enlisted two warlocks—one known as Ragnar, the other as Magnus—to oversee the birth alongside the doctors. Of course, a little mind control magic ensured the hospital staff didn't ask too many questions.
During the week leading up to my son's birth, Lucian and I made a decision.
To start dating.
He had already helped raise Clary for most of her life, and for the past year, he had raised her alone while I was imprisoned.
We agreed to take things slow—but after everything we had been through, we both knew.
This was real.
Clary had been brought to see me a few times.
The first time, I had wept, my heart splitting between sorrow and joy at the sight of my daughter.
And then came the birth of my son.
And it was… catastrophic.
The power went out multiple times.
A thunderstorm of epic proportions raged outside the hospital, shaking the very walls.
During labor, I drifted in and out of visions—dreams of paradise and nightmares from hell.
I saw angels and demons, light and darkness, warring in my mind as I fought to bring him into the world.
They said I had flatlined—multiple times.
That I had only survived because of Magnus, Ragnar… and my son.
Lucian never left my side.
And then—he was born.
And something was off.
The second I—and everyone else—laid eyes on him, we knew.
He looked… normal enough.
Except for his eyes.
Deep, blood-red eyes, bleeding rivers of crimson down his cheeks.
Magnus was the first to speak, his voice tight with realization.
"He's a Downworlder."
A shudder ran through me.
"A wizard," Magnus continued. "The other side of the same coin as warlocks. But unlike us, wizards don't draw their magic from demons. They get it from… something else."
Something unknown.
Something that terrified even him.
Then came the worst news.
"His power is too much for his body."
"If we don't do something, he won't survive a day."
Lucian tightened his grip on my hand as the words settled like ice in my veins.
We had no choice.
Both Magnus and Ragnar performed a powerful ritual—one meant to seal his magic away.
For how long?
No one knew.
After everything settled, and I had recovered, I brought Clary to meet her brother.
She adored him.
She held him close, whispered to him, played with his tiny fingers, giggled when he cooed.
For a moment, I thought—maybe, just maybe—things would be okay.
But later, when Lucian and I were finally home, we made a decision.
A painful one.
One that shattered me.
But one that had to be made.
For his safety—and for ours.
Not just for me or Clary, but for him—for Justin Fairchild Russo.
Valentine would never stop hunting him.
Thanks to Magnus and Ragnar, we had found a way to disappear—to hide and live normal lives for Clary's sake.
Away from Valentine.
Away from the Clave.
But… Justin wasn't just a Shadowhunter like me.
He wasn't even just a Downworlder.
He was more.
He was Valentine's weapon.
So for all those reasons…
We—no, I—had to give him up.
And I knew exactly who to give him to.
#Time Skip: 6 Months#
We had made the decision—but not before letting Clary spend more time with him.
Not before I got to hold him, memorize every tiny detail of his face, cherish every second.
Even Lucian, despite his initial horror at the idea, had begun treating him as his own son.
He helped me change his diapers. Rocked him to sleep. Held him when I was too exhausted to move.
But now… the time had come.
I had made a mistake—a one-night stand with a Downworlder while Valentine was on my trail.
And now, the consequences of that night lay in my arms, wrapped in the softest blanket I could find.
I stood at the doorstep, my entire body trembling.
I tightened my grip around my newborn son, holding him as if that could somehow make this easier.
Tears burned behind my eyes, threatening to spill.
I had spent countless nights sobbing over this decision, knowing—deep down—that it was the only way.
For his safety.
For his future.
I had to let go.
I had to give up my son.
...
#Jerry Russo POV#
It was late when Theresa shook me awake.
"Ignore it," I muttered, rolling over.
She shook me again. "Jerry, it's been going on for a while now. I think you should check. It might be important."
Grumbling, I pulled on my robe, stumbled down the stairs, and peeked through the peephole.
Nothing.
I sighed, swung the door open, ready to tell off some annoying neighbor—
And then I saw him.
A baby. Wrapped tightly in blankets. A picture tucked beside him.
A picture of a woman I never thought I'd see again.
I would look back on this moment for years to come and realize—
This had been the best decision of my life.
But at that moment, all I could do was stare.
My son had come home.
#Time Skip: 8 Years#
In the heart of New York City, the plain bold sign glowed as the suns glare hit in the evening air.
"Welcome to Waverly Place."
Inside, chaos erupted.
"Alex, what did you do to my shampoo?!" Justin's voice rang through the apartment.
Alex lounged on her bed, flipping through a magazine.
"What are you talking about?"
Justin pointed furiously at his now-pink hair.
"MY HAIR, ALEX!"
She snorted, barely holding back laughter. "Oh, yeah. I like what you've done with it. Super cute. Girls will love it."
"Wait, really—? ARG, ALEX!"
He tackled her, fingers darting to her sides in an attack of merciless tickling.
Alex shrieked, flailing. "No! Hoo ha, make it stop! Maxine, HELP!"
The bedroom door burst open, and Maxine charged in. "No fair! I wanna join!"
She tackled Justin, adding her own assault.
Then, from downstairs—
"KIDS!"
They froze, exchanged glances, and in perfect unison muttered—
"Uh-oh."
For now, their world was warm, safe, and filled with love.
But soon, that warmth would be stolen.
That safety shattered.
And everything they held dear—
Would be reduced to cinders.
...
#Unknown POV#
#During his Birth#
Deep within a burning inferno, buried in the earth's crust, a prison echoes with the endless screams of the damned, each cry a testament to their eternal suffering. Beings known as demons, being the cause of much of that suffering, laughing along as they rip spines, puncture and twist swords inside of livers, splatter heads on pure earth by use of brute strength, rape, and just generally run amuck causing chaos.
One might think such torment would bring the mercy of death—but no. The inferno does not grant release. It sustains them, binds them, and condemns them to endless agony. In the deepest pit of this hellish wasteland, moans of suffering intertwine with laughter steeped in twisted pleasure.
"I have said it millions of times before mortal and I shall say it again, who told you to start the holocaust, stupid fool, you reap what you sow, you reap what you sow". A evil entity, commented as he slowly ripped out the man's pancreas, then his heart, severed his legs and... special area... and then snaps his fingers repeating the whole process again and again.
As he moved to tear off the man's nails and arms, he suddenly froze.
His head tilted upward, as if he could see past the swirling smoke, the rivers of blood, the jagged ice, and the molten earth.
Then—he smiled.
And laughed.
If anyone could truly comprehend the expression on his face, they would see something terrifying—
Genuine joy.Unfiltered surprise.Deep, insatiable intrigue.
"This shouldn't be possible…" he murmured, his voice like a slow-burning ember.
"A descendant? In the mortal realm? My bloodline continues…"
He chuckled, the sound reverberating through the infernal abyss. With a careless flick of his wrist, he released the shattered soul beneath him.
"Get up and go. Consider yourself lucky—I'm in a generous mood. You've earned a five-minute break."
He started humming—a tune only he could know.
"After Michael nearly killed me… who would have thought… and some of Lilith as well. How intriguing."
His laughter echoed, rich with amusement, as his gaze remained fixed on the unseen.
Still humming.
"So much to do… so much to plan."
His lips curled into a wicked grin.
"I can't wait to meet you, little devil…
"My little Justin."...
#Ithuriel POV#
#During his Birth#
Far above, chained in a place unseen, Ithuriel stirred. A presence—something ancient, something destructive—was being born.
"What has Valentine done?" he murmured, reaching out with his senses, seeking clarity. And then, realization struck him like lightning.
His breath caught. His chains rattled.
He looked up toward the heavens, eyes wide.
"Lucifer."
...
#Raziel POV#
#During his Birth#
Ithuriel had been missing for ages. Despite our relentless search, not a single trace of him had been found.
Amenadiel and I walked side by side, heading toward the Celestial Tower when, without warning, we stopped. A force unlike any we had ever encountered pulsed through existence. We turned to each other, eyes wide with understanding.
In unison, our voices trembled with the name that had not been spoken for eons.
"Lucifer."
...
#Alice Cullen POV#
#During his Birth#
We were in hiding. The Volturi had made their intentions clear: our kind had no place in their world. Some of us were to die. Others were to be taken. But none would go willingly.
We found solace in the little moments—like now. The entire family watched as Renesmee fumbled over the piano keys, her fingers too clumsy yet eager. Jacob held Edythe close, and while we all adored Renesmee, none of us could understand how Edythe could tolerate his wolf stench.
Then, a crash from the kitchen. Leah had dropped a plate.
And suddenly, I was elsewhere.
Darkness enveloped me. Visions—too many, too fast—flashed before my eyes. And in their center, one thing remained constant.
A pair of crimson eyes.
...