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bidnezz · 3 years

Text

Revenant [2/5]

Pairings: Magnus/Alec, background Clary/Izzy, mentions of past Magnus/Camille

Rating: Mature

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Blood and Violence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Clave Politics (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Downworlder Politics, Betrayal, Revenge, Background Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Angry Magnus Bane, Light Romance, Mystery, Prophecy, Minor Character Death, lots of death

Summary:

Alec has heard the legends of Magnus Bane. He knows all the tales and he’s read all the records of his downfall. The High Warlock of Brooklyn who became so hungry for power that he began to mistreat the very warlocks who sought his help. It’s been a hundred years since then, and when a sudden rift opening between realms brings an onslaught of lesser demons, so too does it bring Magnus Bane, insatiable and vengeful for the power and people that locked him away in Edom. As newly appointed Head of the New York Institute, it’s Alec’s job to protect the residents of New York from one of the greatest Demons he’s ever faced. Only, he has no idea how, and maybe things aren't what they seem.

Art by the talented: @abby0007

Beta’d by the wonderful: @squiggly-lines-on-a-page

Read on ao3

Chapter Two

A myriad of colors flood Alec’s vision; a blur of purples, blacks, and yellows. The thrum of the portal around him and the pull of it against his core, all-encompassing and loud until finally, finally, it stops.

He stumbles forward gracelessly, all attempts at being nimble lost with the sudden foreign jerk of motion as the portal closes behind him. Behind them.

Magnus Bane, the Greater Demon gone mad, causing all of the destruction and chaos tonight, standing right before him. Because Alec followed him through a portal.

A hundred and one words flood his mind, questions and concerns and the hopeful glimmer of diplomacy all lodged in his throat with no way out. Not because Alec is afraid to speak, not because he’s stunned at the horror Magnus Bane has shown himself to be. His silence is forced. He is prevented from uttering a single word by the rope of magic that clings to his throat and holds him captive.

His fingers clutch at nothing, digging at the tender flesh of his neck where he knows there should be something solid and obtrusive. He finds nothing there, nothing but the bones of his collar and the rapid beat of his pulse, his heavy heart pounding against his ribs in a cry for salvation. A gasp escapes him then just as a noise catches his attention off to the side, barely distinguishable through the rush of blood that infiltrates his hearing, but when his eyes search before him where Magnus Bane once stood, he finds no one.

Has Magnus Bane inflicted him with the slow torturous death of strangulation to suffer all alone?

“To think you could simply follow me into a portal and assassinate me all on your own is the stupidest thing I could have imagined from a pathetic Shadowhunter,” comes the low, grisly voice against the back of his neck, close enough to cause a chill but not close enough for Alec’s hands to wildly reach around to.

No, he wants to say. I’m just here to talk.

All he manages is the dry wheeze as the magic tightens around his throat and the corners of his eyes prickle as tears form.

“I told your kind to stay out of this,” the voice begins again, now to Alec’s right. He’s being circled like prey, watched aptly as he sinks to his knees and the oxygen deprivation pales his face, taking his life in the slow seconds. By the Angel, what a sorry way to go. “If this counts as Shadowhunters starting a war with Edom, so be it.”

Stars dance across the scene before him, a modest apartment decorated in silver and deep colored fabrics, slender legs filtering in and out his sight that leads higher to the Demon above him. Magnus Bane, staring down at him with a look of contempt, disgust curling his lip and the color of his jacket blending perfectly with the droop of Alec’s eyelids as he slips further under and his vision begins to fade.

Another scratch against his throat that meets nothing but raw skin, blunt nails that fruitlessly seek what they will never find, blood that begins to sink into the grooves and ridges of his fingerprints. And one last attempt as his eyelids hang heavy and he catches golden salvation high above. One word, mouthed pleadingly, that he can only pray to the Angels will save him.

Jace. Isabelle. Max.

The faces of his family take over his consciousness, playing before him in slow motion as the last thing he sees before he goes. A life he let pass him by, a life he took a sideline to as he let the ambitions of his family’s reputation take over. Too soon, and too late, and no chance at remedying any of it. Not now, at the mercy of a mad demon and his thirst for revenge.

---

The next time Alec opens his eyes, it’s to the pale light of the setting moon and burgeoning sun that filters through the windows of the same unknown apartment as before. He hasn’t been moved. There’s a hammering in his skull, a steady throb of pain that threads all the way down to the open wound the ravener demon gifted him with, that begets a wince and a groan when he sits up too quickly. Dizziness follows immediately, too much too soon, and suddenly the memories of his last interaction fill his mind.

Magnus Bane.

“Your request for mercy has been granted, but I must warn you that there is a limit on just how long my graciousness will last in the presence of a Shadowhunter.”

The voice, not the low rough voice Alec remembers from before, comes from a lavish chair to his right that houses exactly the person he hopes for.

Fear spikes through him first involuntarily, the instinct to pull out his seraph blade enticing enough, but a recipe for disaster should he actually attempt it. No, that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here to have a conversation with Magnus Bane, to find out his true goal and what that means for the rest of them. Alec curls his fists where he sits, balled against the soft material of the couch he woke up on, and clears his throat.

It’s sore, uncomfortably so, but he bears through the pain and begins to speak.

“I’ve just come to talk,” he offers, his voice foreign to himself, more along the lines of white noise than anything resembling actual words. “I’m not here to harm you, or get in your way.”

If he suspected it would aid his cause, Alec would raise his arms in a show of surrender, too, but Magnus’ sharp gaze keeps him locked in place. No sudden movements for fear of his life.

“As if you could harm me,” Magnus scoffs to himself, though loud enough to be heard.

Alec doesn’t comment on it, or the way Magnus keeps a watchful eye on him despite the casual demeanor he feigns. It makes him itch underneath his skin to be scrutinized like this, to be seen as beneath the person across from you. Magnus doesn’t watch him for his own safety, or because he trusts Alec. He watches him with distaste coating his tongue and lips, as though the thought of Alec dirtying his sofa is a great travesty. He supposes he should expect as much from a Greater Demon.

“For someone who has come to talk, you have awful little to say.”

He’d feel foolish, for sure, if the oxygen deprivation hadn’t clearly left residual effects on his brain. “It’s a bit hard to get my thoughts in order when I’m still recovering from near-death,” he snaps.

Maybe it’s not such a great idea to anger the demon who just spared your life, though Magnus seems unbothered by the remark. “I did what I had to.”

“Is that what happened last night, too?”

The golden eyes that watch him reduce themselves to barely visible slats, and Magnus’ lip curls in anger. “You would be wise to remove the judgement from your tone, young Shadowhunter. You know nothing of my goals in this wasted realm.”

Alec swallows carefully, the metal of his seraph blade burning against the holster that houses it, begging to be used in the presence of danger.

“Then tell me.”

Magnus’ brows knit closer together and Alec feels magnified under his piercing gaze. Uncomfortable. “You want me to divulge all of my plans to some measly little Shadowhunter who’s going to run off and recite it all to the Clave as one more reason to help banish me again? I think not. You’re in no position to make demands.”

“I’m Head of the Institute,” Alec announces emphatically, hoping that his status will garner him at the very minimum an ounce of respect. “A bit higher on the chain than just some ‘measly little Shadowhunter,’ I’d say.” Then again, who would respect someone equivalent to a bug they almost squashed with a fraction of their power?

Magnus doesn’t respond in any timely manner, choosing instead to look Alec up from the sole of his combat boots, to the wayward strands of hair haphazardly resting on the crown of his head. He’s sure he looks a sorry sight with his dirty, bloodied clothes and roughed up features, but there’s no helping it. Pulling out his stele would undoubtedly cause more harm than it would be worth to heal and stabilize himself properly.

After more than a moment’s observation, Magnus summons himself a drink and stands from his chair.

For the first time since he regained consciousness, Magnus looks away from him to watch the city skyline from the window. It’s a poor view, Alec notices. Nothing attention-grabbing or worthwhile to see from his seat, and he’s sure Magnus’ can’t be much different. A Greater Demon with all the power in Edom and the expensive tastes Alec remembers connoting with Magnus Bane could surely set up a base in a better location than this. The top floor, perhaps. With lots of gaudy accessories to spruce it up, not the muted reds and blues and metallics that sparsely decorate it now.

For all this mental evaluation of Magnus Bane’s base of operation, Alec doesn’t miss the solemn sip he takes from his martini glass, or the way he seems to let it sit on his tongue before swallowing. Contemplating.

“Last night was… Necessary.”

Alec waits for more, expects it. But a hesitant silence fills the space between words instead. He stands carefully, unsure if this will have an unexpected reaction from Magnus, and when it doesn’t, Alec takes a step closer to the window. “Why?” He asks, to the point.

Another swig of liquor leaves the glass, this one bigger than the last and going down with a near audible gulp. “Camille needed to be the first, or she would have been the last, and I’m not sure I would have had the will to go through with it by the end.”

It’s a moment of raw honesty that Alec isn’t expecting. He knew Greater Demons had the capacity for human emotions, but he didn’t suspect to this extent.

“Camille was close to you, I gather?”

The way Magnus’ eyes shoot to him with disbelief makes Alec visibly step back. “Have you not done your research, Shadowhunter? Do the Nephilim take pride in going into battle headfirst and unprepared?”

Stubborn anger begins to bubble inside of Alec, but he pushes it away as he always does, and tries to remain as professional as possible in this situation. “I admit, I do not know a great deal about you. Only what I’ve gathered from Clave documents, although there’s hardly anything of substance written in them.”

Those eyes, cat-like and sharp, shift in their intention from anger to curiosity, something more appealing than talking about the revenge Magnus is here to carry out, piquing his interest. Alec makes a mental reminder to circle back to Camille later. “Do tell me more.”

“Alec,” he offers on instinct. The corner of Magnus’ lips twitch.

“Alec,” Magnus corrects with a nod. “Go on.”

With the spotlight on him now, the room feels a bit hotter, and the unhealed wound on his shoulder flares with the need for attention. He ignores it, if only for a little longer, and dredges up what he can remember from this evening’s research of Magnus Bane.

Has it really been less than 24 hours? Time feels stretched, as if it’s been days since everything started, since Magnus Bane became an actual figure in Alec’s life and no longer just a cautionary tale to ward off greed for power. That’s all his legacy had been reduced to, really. A fable.

“Your existence according to Clave records goes back centuries, but there’s not actually much information on you. Just what the Clave perceived of you: dangerous, sly, hedonistic. You partied constantly through the 1800’s before you rose to power and became High Warlock of Brooklyn. Despite what the Clave thought of you, the Downworlders must have respected you enough to give you that power.” Alec’s thinking out loud at this point, he realizes. So he lets one more thought escape. “Why did you do it?”

He’ll never know when in all of his talking Magnus turned to face him, or when his features softened to the point he looked more human, but he’ll never forget the way Magnus’ small smile slips and the reminiscent memories floating behind those golden eyes plummet back down into stoic indifference.

“What exactly is it that you think I did, Alec?” Magnus’ voice floats quietly between them.

“You sought more than you had, you became hungry for more power than you had,” Alec states, matter-of-fact, forcing down the uncertainty behind his words. “You began to abuse that power and summoned what you could from Edom. You gallivanted around as a Warlock, hiding what you really are the whole time.”

“What am I?” Magnus questions solemnly, as though he doesn’t already know.

“A Greater Demon.”

The stiff tilt of a head, and another sip of martini, and then Magnus is turning back to the window with pursed lips. “Is that what Clave history says about me? The terrifying wonder of Magnus Bane and his downfall, consumed by greed and lust for more power, a Greater Demon in hiding.” Magnus inhales deeply, holds it for three precious beats Alec can’t help but count, and then releases it with a defeated slump. “What a story to tell.”

Alec takes a timid step closer. “Are you saying it’s not true?”

At that, Magnus strikes him in place yet again with a sharp look. “Did the Nephilim become so stupid in the hundred years I was away? Did no one think to question the lunacy of the assumptions wrapped up in Clave history with a neat little bow? Should I summon my father to show you what a Greater Demon truly looks like?”

The words are hissed with such spite that Alec begins to question them himself, to re-evaluate his own upbringing and knowledge of the past learned through years of training. Who is he to question the past? The Clave wouldn’t change the passages of history intentionally, that would surely go against the Accords and everything Alec knows to be true.

There must be a mistake.

“You summoned power from Edom, you-” Alec falters, just for a moment. “You pretended to be a Warlock to gain power among the Downworld. You were banished to preserve the Accords, and because you couldn’t be stopped unless drastic measures were taken. The Downworlders banded together to stop you, Bane.”

Magnus downs the remainder of his drink and rolls it around his tongue, letting the words sit and marinate in the spirit.

“I was there when everything happened, Alec,” Magnus scoffs, “obviously.” In a flash of grandeur, Magnus turns from the window, away from the pinkening sky of the city. “History has a tendency to change over the years. Word of mouth, tales of skepticism, those in power feeding their lies to those who don’t know any better. And you lot,” Magnus shakes his head, “you gobble it up like the little birds you are, waiting to be fed by your mother. What would the Angels think of their Accords now, I wonder?”

The topic at hand is territory that begins to feel unsettling. The words Magnus speaks of imply known lies from the people Alec trusts the most, the people who guide and direct their entire lives. What would Isabelle and Jace say if they were to hear the same words? It would incite anger, surely, outrage and disbelief. It would start a war with Edom, at the very least, and go against the shreds of diplomacy Alec has worked towards.

So why doesn’t Alec feel the way he knows he should? Why are the words of this Greater Demon in front of him sowing seeds of doubt into his mind where none have ever taken root? Is it having a face to the name that makes it all the more real for him? Is it being able to see the way those words are uttered, the nuance and enunciation of each and every one?

“So you’re not a Greater Demon?” Alec questions, hesitant. Not to ask, but to hear the answer he knows will follow.

Magnus catches his eyes and stares between both pupils, seemingly taking in all of the emotions hidden deep down inside of Alec, buried so far below where not even he chooses to acknowledge. Magnus searches and searches but for what, Alec’s not sure. He delves and prods with those eyes that Alec can’t tear his own gaze away from, Magnus resolute in his endeavor until whatever he finds is enough, must be enough, because soon that swirling golden gaze is pulling away from him.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not the Greater Demon you were hoping for.”

Something sinks low in the pit of his stomach, acidic and bubbling and causing so much discomfort Alec takes a step back to catch his breath with his body tucked into the cushions of the sofa. He’ll ask his mother, he’ll get clarity back at the Institute, and he’s sure it will make sense. It has to.

Until then, he needs more answers. Different ones that won’t affect everything he thought he knew.

“Camille?” He tosses out, and Magnus catches without missing a beat.

“My former lover.”

Former… lover? “Then why did you kill her?”

Magnus’ back straightens from his spot in front of the window, and his shoulders sit rigid. “As I said before, it was necessary. Camille is - was - a master of the fine arts, and manipulation was the medium she chose to wield most proficiently. If I let her live any longer, she’d have found a way to send me back to Edom, or get me to do it myself.”

“I gather she was the one who rallied the other Downworlders against you, then?”

A hum flits between them, and Magnus lifts a hand to his chin where idle fingers rub against the silver that decorates them as he sits in thought. “Not entirely, I believe. Although with her soul gone I suppose I’ll never truly know.” It rolls out so nonchalant, Alec can’t help the chills that run up his spine. “I’ve had nothing but time in Edom to try and make sense of that day. It was Warlocks, friends and foes alike that banded their powers together to silence me. They weakened my defenses, abused the trust I blindly allowed them, and when my back was turned, they took a knife to it.”

“Everyone betrayed you? Why would they have done that?”

“Not everyone,” Magnus sighs with a genuine soft smile. “My two dearest friends of course would never betray me. They tried to warn me numerous times and I regret every time I did not listen to them. Every instance I shrugged their worries off was bathed in my overconfidence of my own prowess. I was foolish and naive. I believed I was untouchable to most, that I was respected and loved by my own kin enough that these worries were fruitless.”

Pain mars Magnus’ face and the kneading of his fingers stops. “Nothing is guaranteed in this world, Alec. There is always something darker lurking in the shadows, something more sinister than any Downworlder or demon you can imagine. Greed and jealousy can change a person, can make them capable of horrifying realities. The only guarantee we have is that there will always be someone else who wants what you have.” At that, he motions towards Alec with a wave of his hand. “You’re in a position of power, Alec. You should know just as well as I the dangers that lie below.”

It’s a chilling thought, to think of the faces of Shadowhunters he’s grown to know over the years, Shadowhunters he’s met along the way here and there, and wonder if anyone might one day try to take him down the way the Downworlders took down Magnus.

“There must have been a reason,” Alec inquires.

“I’m sure there is,” Magnus sighs, lifting his other hand to twist the silver band across his wrist. “Camille, for how easy she was to read when she was begging for her life, gave me very little to go off.”

The way he casually throws out Camille’s death unsettles him again, and this time Magnus takes notice.

“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, Alec,” Magnus states, a forlorn expression cast across the shadows of his face as the sun lightens the room. “I loved Camille for hundreds of years, and I don’t doubt I’d have loved her for many more if she hadn’t betrayed me. Locked away in Edom I had no choice but to quell the ache in my heart that she caused, and truly see the wickedness she commanded. For all her beauty and charisma, she was not a good person and I hate that it took me this long to see.”

Alec swallows the lump in his throat and nods. It hasn’t been an easy path for him, but Magnus must have prepared himself for the grief he would feel afterwards. For that, Alec feels a hint of guilt that he’s holding hostage this time of mourning Magnus likely needed.

But it had to be done. Alec needed these answers, he needed to hear what Magnus had to say tonight, and he’s only surprised the words came so willingly, with very little cost to himself.

Well, not entirely free. His neck still feels scratched, bloodied and bruised, and the slow leak of the Ravener demon’s wound continues to spread blood against his clothes. For the information he’s gathered, and under the flag of diplomacy, it was well worth the trade.

“I seem to be doing most of the talking this morning,” Magnus mentions lightly as he adjusts his position in his seat. “For someone who is very much at my mercy, I’ve heard little of your plight.”

What is his plight? With everything he’s learned, everything Magnus has trusted him with, he’s not even sure where he stands anymore. His world has been spun on its side, and until he can take a step back and properly think, get an actual unbiased look at things… he has no idea.

“In my mind, there were only three options. One, I could sit back and watch as you destroy Downworlders, the Shadowhunters left out of it to observe. Two, I could intervene, try to gather whatever defenses I could and prepare the Institute for the war with you that would be inevitable once I made my decision known. Or three, I could try to,” Alec pauses, searching for the right word, “reason with you, be as civil as I possibly could with a Greater Demon.”

At Magnus’ pointed stare, Alec corrects himself.

“Alleged Greater Demon.”

“Hmm,” Magnus exhales into his steepled fingers. “The first one would have been the safest option. I would have stayed true to my word, assuming no Shadowhunters tried anything funny. The second one would have been the total destruction of the New York Institute, no doubt about it, clearly.” Magnus offers a faint smile that Alec almost feels himself returning, but forces himself not to. “The third brings about a whole round of further questioning. What does being reasonable entail?”

Alec’s furrowed brows and the way he rests his balled fists in his lap must give way to the overwhelming uncertainty he feels in this moment. He doesn’t know what it entails, if he’s being honest. He knows what it did entail, which was an attempt to get Magnus Bane to back down and return to Edom. A chance for him to see the error of his way, and correct it.

But then Clary had stepped in, altered it and put ideas in Alec’s mind of helping Magnus, before he even knew for sure all of the minuscule details of the situation. She suggested they help him, that they find out why he’s here and fight this battle with him, unsanctioned by the Clave.

A truly terrible, horrible idea.

Yet, now, the most compelling.

In a reciprocated moment of honesty, Alec reveals this to Magnus. “At first, I wanted to guide you into returning to Edom, to try and find a way to avoid all of this death and destruction. But then it changed. The Clave didn’t want me to concern myself with you, they wanted me to stay as far away as possible, to be less of a threat to the rest of the Shadowhunters, I suppose. So if I couldn’t reason with you, if I couldn’t get you to go back to Edom without the damage… Maybe I could help you.”

Alec releases an anxious breath and allows himself the chance to peer over and meet Magnus’ wide golden eyes. It’s just a second, maybe two, or perhaps three that they keep contact, searching and afraid and so deeply confused by each other. Eventually, Alec turns away and focuses down at the scuff that covers his boots.

The sun is rising higher with each minute that passes, and time seems to drag on forever, but Alec sits patiently and waits. He’s always been good at that.

“I could kill you with the snap of my fingers,” Magnus whispers, after what feels like hours.

There’s a creeping feeling along Alec’s neck, the slithering tendrils of magic that he unmistakably catches. They’re not quick to whip around his neck this time, rather, so gentle and curious that it almost feels taboo to let them continue. A prickle of heat remains where the magic brushes by, growing warmer and hotter with each pass until the remnants of pain subside and the self-inflicted wounds close up and heal. “You could,” Alec responds with a low voice that he isn’t sure he can equate to the tenderness of his throat anymore. “But I’m trusting you not to, Magnus.”

Perhaps it’s the fact that Alec is using his name for the first time, or the fact that he’s putting the power so willingly in his hands that Magnus winces at the words, and the recession of warm magic around him leaves Alec feeling suddenly hollow.

“Trust is not something you give so blindly, Shadowhunter.”

“I don’t give it blindly,” Alec corrects. “You’ve told me your truth, and I want to help you. After everything you’ve been through, isn’t that the right thing?”

A flash of anger crosses Magnus’ face, and he offers a dark, crooked smile to Alec. “What do Shadowhunters know of the right thing?”

“Magnus - “

“I appreciate the sentiment, truly, but I did warn you that my graciousness would only last so long. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

With that, a portal is summoned beside where Alec now stands in front of the couch, a movement he doesn’t recall even making. The static of the portal is loud in his ears, and his jacket flaps viciously in time with the wind.

“Magnus,” he tries again, but Magnus raises a finger and shakes his head.

“It’s kind of you to feel I’m owed the satisfaction of my revenge, but for your safety, and the safety of keeping the Accords in tact, I must refuse your offer. Be well, Shadowhunter,” Magnus articulates through the rush of the portal, completely unfazed.

A flick of his wrist, and fiery red magic shoots towards Alec, propels him forward and through the portal that he knows will take him back to the Institute.

Bright sunlight burns his eyes when the portal dissipates behind him, and he stumbles forward yet again, catching himself just in time to not fall onto the concrete sidewalk. People walk by him, blissfully unaware as they meander along the paths that pass by the Institute, oblivious to the death the previous night brought upon the Downworld. Ignorant to all of the inner machinations that go on inside the Institute, free to live the life they choose, as they see fit without having to answer to a higher authority in what’s the right thing to do.

For just a moment, Alec feels a sting of jealousy towards the Mundanes that walk around him.

Jealousy and greed, he remembers Magnus’ words.

The next step is unclear to him, he realizes as he heads towards the tall wooden doors that greet him, the same doors he knows so well. Everything feels the same, standing here in front of the Institute, but at the same time looks so foreign to his eyes that feel awakened by the conversation that just transpired.

He thinks of Magnus, drink in hand, staring at the high-rise of absolutely nothing important in the humble apartment he temporarily resides in. Magnus, with all the power in Edom, and all the clarity of a spurned Warlock cast out by his own people for reasons still unknown to Alec. Magnus, opening a world Alec never knew in front of him, a world hidden in shadows and secrecy. Hidden by the Clave.

But now, standing on the steps of the Institute, Alec begins to doubt again. The Clave wouldn’t hide the fact that Magnus was a Warlock this entire time, would they? To knowingly transcribe fallacies into their proud history, to crown an innocent man as a monster that should be feared…

With the shake of his head, Alec places one hand on the door of the Institute and pushes it open. Whatever questions he has, he’s going to figure out the truth. Even if it means disappointing his mother and seeking out an uncooperative Magnus Bane.

#shmb2021 #shadowhunters #malec #malec fanfiction #magnus bane #alec lightwood

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