This had once been a grand temple, if he remembered right it had belonged to the Fariös, ancient and very powerful spirits attuned to nature.

That was no longer the case, not since something far darker destroyed them, taking their ancestral home as its own. Now it belonged to the darkness.

The Shadowalker walked among the shadowstone ruins, a heavy mist wreathing the Ruins in a smoky veil. He felt the Dark Magic's presence, felt its power, heard its slithering voice, felt its anger and its bitterness, its hunger for power.

It wanted revenge for what had happened twenty years ago, and he was its vassal. After all, it hadn't brought him back for nothing.

Soon the Shadowalker came upon the center of the temple. The whispers grew in volume, speaking in the Darktongue, an ancient language used to summon and control demons, and take command of the Dark Magic.

The Shadowalker moved until he was in the middle of the cracked floor, the once magnificent arched ceiling of the Ruins nothing but crumbled stone.

He would soon fix that however, this place wouldn't stay this way for long. The Shadowalker knelt, placing his hands flat against the cold shadowstone, closing his eyes.

He let the Dark Magic take control, let it channel its power through him. Then the Shadowalker began to speak in Darktongue, commanding the Dark Magic.

"Väterium lestran notrem umbra, symbolum adiuva vestram."

Around him the Dark Magic began to awaken, a purple glow radiating outward from where the Shadowalker knelt, pulsing like the heartbeat of a long-slumbering beast.

"Creaturam exitii mörtis, ad em vocis filiäs vetorän, akalla vötran kalla vasal, lüsterem takn umbrá, veru mÿstera un vera tesa tyranisa."

As the Shadowalker continued to speak the temple began to rebuild itself, the purple glow strengthening, the mist stirring like a living creature as walls once shattered became whole, floors once cracked becoming unblemished, the arched ceiling of the central hall coming back to life.

The Shadowalker felt his feet leave the ground as he harnessed more of the Dark Magic's power, his eyes now glowing with ominous violet light. The Dark
Magic swirled around him like shadowy clouds, obscuring his form as the Ruins once more became whole.

When everything was once again as it should be the Shadowalker formed a magical Summons- a call to every demon and every Dark Mage, pulling them towards this place.

When the Shadowalker released the spell the purple glow dissipated, the voice of the Dark Magic becoming a whisper once again.

A laugh escaped the Shadowalker's lips, a laugh of dark triumph that echoed hollowly through the halls of the Temple of the Night. Now he could truly start his mission of revenge, start taking everything the Viseron loved, everything that ever held meaning to him.

Despite what the Shadowhunter thought he knew he still cared for that Queen. Still cared for her advisor, the eleven General. Still cared for a Kingdom that had betrayed him without a second thought.

He would begin to destroy them one by one until he had nothing left to fight for.