# Bite of Destiny
## Chapter 10: Doubts and Echoes
---
The light from the mosque lasted three days.
Three days of muted hunger, of quieter whispers, of something approaching peace. Demri moved through his routines with a lightness he had not felt since before his fall—volunteering at the community center, strategizing with Aylin against Derek Thornton, even laughing occasionally at Jade's sardonic observations. For three days, he almost felt human.
But on the fourth day, he woke to find the hunger waiting for him like an old friend.
*Did you think it would last forever?* the curse asked, its voice carrying a note of dark satisfaction. *Did you believe a single visit to a holy place would transform your nature?*
Demri did not answer. He rose from bed, moved through his morning rituals, and tried to ignore the familiar ache that had returned to the center of his chest. The hunger was not as overwhelming as before—the mosque's influence had not entirely faded—but it was present, constant, impossible to dismiss.
"You look tired," Aylin observed over breakfast. "Did you not sleep well?"
"Dreams," Demri said, which was not entirely a lie. He had dreamed of heaven again, of faces he could not quite place and accusations he could not quite hear. The memories the mosque had unlocked continued to surface at night, fragmentary and disturbing.
"The same kind of dreams you had before?"
"Similar." He stirred his coffee, watching the dark liquid swirl. "They're getting more specific. I'm starting to remember things I wish I didn't."
"Like what?"
"Like the people I may have hurt." The words came out before he could stop them. "The souls I was accused of corrupting."
Aylin set down her own cup, giving him her full attention. "You said you don't remember committing those crimes."
"I don't. But I'm starting to remember the aftermath. The faces of those who accused me, the evidence they presented, the certainty in their eyes that I was guilty." He looked at her. "What if they were right? What if I did do those things, and my lack of memory is just... denial? A way of protecting myself from the truth of what I am?"
"What would it change if they were right?"
The question surprised him. "Everything. If I'm guilty of the crimes I was accused of, then everything I'm doing here—helping the community, protecting the innocent, trying to be better—it's all built on a lie. A fantasy I've constructed to avoid facing my own monstrousness."
"Or," Aylin said quietly, "it's evidence that people can change. That whatever someone was doesn't have to determine what they become."
"You make it sound simple."
"It's not simple at all. But that doesn't mean it's not true." She reached across the table and took his hand. "I've worked with people who've done terrible things. Addicts who've hurt their families. Former gang members who've committed violence. Parents who've failed their children in ways that can't be undone. And you know what I've learned?"
"What?"
"That redemption isn't about erasing the past. It's about choosing a different future. It's about waking up every day and deciding to be someone other than who you were." Her grip tightened. "That's what you're doing, Demri. Every day. Every choice. Whatever you may have been, you're choosing to be something different now. That counts for something."
*Touching*, the curse observed. *But she doesn't know what you're choosing between. She doesn't understand the hunger, the mission, the cosmic stakes. Her forgiveness is based on incomplete information.*
Demri pushed the voice aside. "Thank you," he said to Aylin. "For believing in me."
"I believe in the evidence. And the evidence says you're a good person." She smiled. "Now eat your breakfast. We have a long day ahead."
---
The day was indeed long, filled with the practical challenges of their campaign against Derek Thornton.
Elena Vasquez's article was scheduled to publish in three days, and they were coordinating a community response to maximize its impact. Local business owners who had suffered under Derek's tactics were being gathered for a press conference. Residents of the threatened housing project were organizing a demonstration at City Hall. Even some of Derek's former associates—people who had grown tired of living in fear—were considering coming forward.
"It's coming together," Maria said during the afternoon strategy meeting. "Better than I expected."
"Derek will retaliate," Tomás cautioned. "Once the article drops, he'll go on the offensive. We need to be prepared."
"How do you prepare for a man who's willing to do anything?" Carlos asked. "He has resources we can't match."
"We have something he doesn't," Aylin replied. "We have truth. We have solidarity. We have each other."
*Inspiring*, the curse noted. *But Derek Thornton is a more formidable opponent than these mortals realize. He has not survived this long by being careless.*
For once, Demri agreed with the curse. Derek's file—the information Elena had shared with them—revealed a pattern of ruthless efficiency. Every obstacle that had risen against him had been systematically eliminated. Whistleblowers silenced. Journalists intimidated. Politicians compromised. The man was not merely corrupt; he was corruption itself, a mortal embodiment of the principles the curse wanted Demri to embrace.
The comparison was not comfortable.
After the meeting, Demri found himself alone in the community center's main hall, watching the late afternoon light filter through the windows. The building was quiet now, the regular programs concluded for the day, and the emptiness amplified his thoughts.
*You're more alike than you want to admit*, the curse observed. *You and Derek. You both operate in shadows. You both manipulate those around you. You both understand that power is the only currency that matters.*
"I'm nothing like him."
*No? You've been steering this campaign from behind the scenes, shaping its direction without revealing your true nature. You've convinced these people to trust you based on a carefully constructed image. How is that different from what Derek does?*
"I'm trying to help them."
*So is Derek, in his own way. He believes gentrification will improve the neighborhood. He believes his developments will bring prosperity. The fact that his methods are brutal doesn't mean his goals are evil.*
"His goals serve himself. Mine serve—"
*Whom, exactly? These mortals you've attached yourself to? Or the celestial court you're trying to impress by resisting the curse?* A pause. *Or perhaps just your own need to believe you're not the monster everyone says you are?*
The question struck deep. Demri turned away from the window, confronting the emptiness of the hall and the emptiness within himself.
Why was he doing this? Why was he fighting so hard to protect these people, to resist the hunger, to be something other than what he had been made to be?
The answer, when it came, was uncomfortably simple: because of Aylin. Because of her faith in him. Because the look in her eyes when she said she believed in him made him want to be worthy of that belief.
*Love*, the curse said, with something approaching pity. *You're doing all of this for love.*
"Is that so wrong?"
*It's not wrong. It's just insufficient. Love fades. Faith wavers. Eventually, the woman you're building your entire redemption around will disappoint you, or you'll disappoint her. And when that happens, what will be left?*
Demri had no answer. He stood in the empty hall, surrounded by the echoes of a community's hope, and wondered if the curse was right.
---
The evening brought unexpected company.
Demri was walking home through the familiar streets of Millbrook when he sensed a presence behind him. Not the shadow-kin—their signature was colder, more alien. This was something different. Something that felt almost... familiar.
He stopped and turned.
The man standing behind him was tall, dressed in clothing that seemed slightly out of time—a long coat, formal trousers, shoes that gleamed with unnatural polish. His face was handsome in an architectural way, all clean lines and perfect symmetry. And his eyes...
His eyes glowed with the faint golden light of heaven.
"Demri," the man said. "We need to talk."
Demri's heart hammered in his chest. He recognized this being—recognized the particular quality of his radiance, the subtle harmonics of his presence. This was not just any celestial. This was one of his former colleagues. One of the Guardians of the Threshold.
"Seraphiel."
The celestial inclined his head slightly. "You remember me."
"I remember everything about the trial. Every face, every accusation, every silence when I begged for someone to believe me."
"And yet you don't remember the crimes themselves." Seraphiel's voice was mild, conversational. "That has always struck me as... convenient."
"I don't remember them because I didn't commit them."
"So you claim." The celestial moved closer, and the golden light in his eyes intensified. "I'm not here to relitigate your conviction, Demri. The court's judgment was final. I'm here because something has changed."
"Changed how?"
"You. You were sent here to corrupt the pure ones. That is the nature of the curse—an irresistible compulsion that transforms the fallen into agents of darkness. Yet you resist. You protect. You absorb faith instead of destroying it." Seraphiel's expression was unreadable. "This is not supposed to be possible."
"Perhaps your court doesn't know everything."
"Our court knows what it knows. But there are... factions... who believe mistakes may have been made. Irregularities in your trial. Evidence that was not properly examined." The celestial paused. "I am here, unofficially, to investigate."
The words hit Demri like a physical blow. Factions. Irregularities. Evidence. For the first time since his fall, someone was suggesting that his condemnation might not have been just.
"Why now? Why, after all this time, is anyone questioning the verdict?"
"Because of what you've become here. Because you've done something that should be impossible—resisted the curse through sheer force of will. That suggests either unprecedented spiritual strength or..." Seraphiel hesitated. "Or the possibility that the curse was never meant to fit you in the first place."
"I don't understand."
"The curse that binds fallen celestials is designed for the guilty. It amplifies their existing darkness, makes them into efficient tools of corruption. But if the accused was innocent—if the darkness the curse was meant to amplify didn't exist—the results would be unpredictable. The compulsion would conflict with the subject's true nature. The hunger would be present but resistible."
Demri's mind raced. "You're saying the curse proves my innocence?"
"I'm saying it suggests your innocence. The evidence is not conclusive, but it's enough to warrant investigation." Seraphiel looked around, as if checking for observers. "However, I must warn you—there are those in the celestial realm who would rather the truth remain buried. Your conviction served certain interests. If those interests feel threatened, they will act."
"What interests? Who wanted me condemned?"
"I don't know yet. That's what I'm trying to discover." The celestial reached into his coat and produced a small object—a crystal that seemed to contain captured starlight. "If you need to contact me, use this. Hold it in both hands and focus your will. But use it sparingly. Each use risks detection."
Demri took the crystal, feeling its warmth against his palm. "Why are you helping me, Seraphiel? You were one of the voices calling for my condemnation."
"I was. And perhaps I was wrong." The celestial's expression flickered with something that might have been regret. "I've had centuries to consider the evidence, to review my assumptions. And I've concluded that the truth of your case was never as clear as we believed. The least I can do is try to find that truth now."
"And if you find that I was guilty after all?"
"Then nothing changes. You remain fallen, cursed, bound to your fate." Seraphiel turned to leave. "But if you are innocent, Demri—if you were condemned for crimes you did not commit—then an injustice has been done. And injustice, even cosmic injustice, must be corrected."
He walked away, disappearing into the evening shadows as completely as if he had never existed. Demri stood alone on the street, the crystal warm in his hand, his thoughts in chaos.
*This changes everything*, the curse observed. *Or it changes nothing. Seraphiel's investigation may lead nowhere. The "factions" he mentioned may be powerless. And even if you are proven innocent, that does not erase the hunger you carry now.*
"But it gives me hope."
*Hope is dangerous. Hope makes you careless. Hope makes you believe in futures that may never come.*
"Perhaps. But it's all I have."
---
Aylin noticed the change in him immediately.
"Something happened," she said when he entered the apartment. "You look... different."
"I had a visitor." Demri set down the crystal on the kitchen counter, where it caught the light and scattered tiny rainbows across the walls. "Someone from my past."
Aylin studied the crystal with undisguised fascination. "That's not a normal crystal."
"No. It's not."
"Is it... from where you came from? Before?"
"Yes." Demri sat down heavily, the weight of the day finally catching up with him. "He told me something I never expected to hear. He said there might have been a mistake. That my conviction might have been unjust."
Aylin was quiet for a long moment, processing the implications. "That's... that's incredible. If it's true."
"If it's true. But even if it is, it doesn't change my current situation. The curse is still here. The hunger is still real. The shadows are still watching."
"But it means you might not have been guilty. It means your instinct that something was wrong about the trial might have been right all along." She sat down across from him. "How does that feel?"
"Terrifying. Exhilarating. Confusing." He rubbed his temples. "For so long, I've been operating under the assumption that I must have done something to deserve this. That even if I couldn't remember the crimes, they must have happened. But if I was innocent—if I was framed or deceived—then everything changes. My entire understanding of my situation is wrong."
"And your understanding of yourself?"
"That too." Demri looked at her. "I've been defining myself as a fallen being, a criminal paying penance, a monster fighting his own nature. But if I'm not those things—if I never was—then who am I?"
"You're still you," Aylin said firmly. "Whatever the truth of your past, you're still the person who helped James learn to read. Still the person who stood up for the community center. Still the person who makes terrible coffee but drinks it anyway because you're too stubborn to ask for help." She smiled. "Labels don't define you. Choices do."
*She's right, you know*, the curse said, with what sounded almost like grudging respect. *Whatever you were, whatever you were accused of, your choices here have been consistently in one direction. That means something.*
The unexpected validation from the curse was almost as disorienting as Seraphiel's revelations. Demri shook his head, trying to process the cascade of new information.
"I need time to think. To understand what this means."
"Take all the time you need." Aylin rose and moved toward the kitchen. "I'll make dinner. And before you ask—yes, I'm making enough for two. Someone needs to make sure you actually eat."
---
The night was restless, filled with dreams that were neither entirely memory nor entirely imagination.
Demri found himself in the Hall of Eternal Dawn, but the light there was wrong—flickering, unstable, casting shadows where no shadows should exist. His former colleagues surrounded him, their faces shifting between the familiar and the strange.
"Guilty," they whispered, their voices overlapping into a chorus. "Guilty, guilty, guilty."
But there was one voice that disagreed.
In the dream, Demri turned and saw a figure standing apart from the others—a celestial he did not recognize, cloaked in darkness that seemed to absorb the hall's light. The figure raised one hand and pointed at the accusers.
"Liars," it said, in a voice like thunder. "You know the truth, and you hide it. You condemned an innocent because it served your purposes. But the truth will emerge. It always does."
The other celestials recoiled, their accusatory whispers dying away. And then the darkness that shrouded the figure began to spread, consuming the hall, swallowing the light, until only Demri and the mysterious figure remained.
"Who are you?" Demri asked.
"I am what you could have become," the figure replied. "What you still might become, if you choose." It moved closer, and Demri saw that its face was his own—twisted, corrupted, but recognizably his. "You think you're fighting the darkness. But the darkness is already inside you. It always has been."
"I don't believe you."
"Belief is irrelevant. Truth is what matters." The dark version of himself smiled, and it was not a pleasant expression. "You want to know who framed you? Who orchestrated your fall? Look within, Demri. The answer has been with you all along."
Demri woke gasping, drenched in sweat, the echo of the dream still resonating through his consciousness.
*That was interesting*, the curse observed. *Your subconscious is trying to tell you something.*
"What?"
*That's for you to discover. But I will say this: the dream speaks truth, even if it speaks it in riddles. The answer to your questions is closer than you think.*
---
The morning brought no clarity, but it did bring distraction.
Derek Thornton had made his move. Overnight, the city's code enforcement division had conducted an "emergency inspection" of the community center, finding a laundry list of violations that would have been laughable if they weren't so dangerous. Structural defects that didn't exist. Fire hazards that had never been present. Health code violations in a kitchen that had passed inspection just six months earlier.
"It's a hit job," Maria said, her voice flat with controlled fury. "Derek's people got to the inspectors. Planted evidence. Now we have seventy-two hours to address the violations or face closure."
"Can we appeal?" Tomás asked.
"We're already working on it. But appeals take time, and Derek knows that. By the time the process plays out, he'll have moved on to the next phase of his plan."
The community center buzzed with anxious energy. Staff and volunteers gathered in small groups, their faces reflecting the fear and uncertainty that Derek's tactics were designed to create. The children, sensing something wrong, were quieter than usual. Even the elderly card players seemed subdued.
Demri watched it all from the edges, feeling the hunger stir.
*Fear*, the curse noted. *Despair. The perfect conditions for corruption. These people are vulnerable, Demri. Their faith is wavering. A few well-placed words, and—*
"No."
*I'm not suggesting you corrupt them. I'm simply observing that if you wanted to, this would be the ideal moment. Derek has done half your work for you.*
"Derek is the enemy. I'm not going to finish his work."
*Are you sure? Because right now, the line between what Derek wants and what the curse demands is very thin indeed. He wants to destroy this community. The curse wants you to corrupt its members. The end result is the same: broken faith, extinguished hope, darkness where light used to be.*
The observation was disturbing because it was accurate. Derek's methods and the curse's demands pointed toward the same outcome—just through different means. If Demri failed to stop Derek, the community would crumble anyway. The hunger would be satisfied regardless of whether he personally did the corrupting.
*You see the dilemma*, the curse said. *You can resist the hunger all you want, but if the darkness wins through other means, what does your resistance accomplish?*
"It proves that I'm not what you want me to be."
*Noble. But ultimately meaningless. Virtue without victory is just another form of failure.*
Demri pushed the voice aside and approached Maria. "What can I do to help?"
"Everything and nothing." She looked exhausted, aged beyond her years. "Derek has been planning this for a long time. We're just reacting to his moves. Until we can get ahead of him, we're always going to be playing defense."
"What would it take to get ahead of him?"
"A miracle." She laughed bitterly. "Or evidence so damaging that even his lawyers can't spin it. Something that shows the world exactly what he is."
*Evidence*, the curse whispered. *Seraphiel is looking for evidence about your trial. You're looking for evidence about Derek. Perhaps there's a connection.*
The thought was intriguing, but Demri couldn't see how it applied. What could a mortal developer possibly have in common with a celestial conspiracy?
Unless...
"Maria, what do you know about Derek's background? His rise to power?"
"Not much more than anyone else. He came from money, obviously. His family has been in real estate for generations. But Derek took it to another level. More aggressive, more ruthless, more... successful." She frowned. "Why?"
"I'm not sure yet. Just a feeling."
A feeling that Derek Thornton was not simply a corrupt businessman. A feeling that there was something deeper at work here, something that connected the mortal threat to Millbrook with the supernatural forces that had been watching since Demri's arrival.
*Interesting*, the curse observed. *You're beginning to see patterns. That's either a sign of growing wisdom or encroaching paranoia.*
"Is there a difference?"
*Sometimes. Not always.*
---
The confrontation with Derek came sooner than expected.
Demri was leaving the community center that afternoon when a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Derek Thornton's perfectly composed face.
"Get in," Derek said. "We should talk."
Every instinct screamed at Demri to refuse, but something else—curiosity, perhaps, or the desire to understand his enemy—made him open the door and slide into the leather interior.
The car pulled away from the curb, and Derek pressed a button that raised a privacy screen between them and the driver.
"You're not what you appear to be," Derek said without preamble. "I've been digging into your background—or rather, your lack of one. You don't exist. No records, no history, no documentation beyond what you've created since arriving in Millbrook."
"Is that why you wanted to talk? To discuss my paperwork?"
"I wanted to talk because you're an unknown variable in a situation I thought I had under control." Derek's eyes were calculating, assessing. "Aylin Kader has been a thorn in my side for years, but a manageable one. Then you appear, and suddenly she's more effective, more organized, more dangerous. You've changed the equation."
"I'm flattered you think so highly of me."
"Don't be. It's not a compliment." Derek leaned forward. "I don't know what your angle is—what you hope to gain from all this community organizing nonsense—but I want you to understand something. I always win. Always. The people who stand against me always lose, one way or another. It's not personal; it's just how the world works."
"You seem very confident."
"I am confident. I have resources you can't imagine, connections you can't trace, the ability to make problems disappear." Derek smiled, and it was the smile of a predator certain of its prey. "Whatever you think you're accomplishing with this little campaign of yours, it won't matter. I'll crush it like I've crushed everything else."
*He's not lying*, the curse observed. *His confidence is based on genuine power. He has destroyed more formidable opponents than your ragtag community coalition.*
But Demri was not focused on Derek's words. He was focused on something else—a presence, subtle but unmistakable, that hovered just at the edge of perception.
Darkness. Not the ordinary darkness of shadows, but something deeper. Something supernatural.
Derek Thornton was touched by powers he probably didn't even know existed.
"Who are you really working for?" Demri asked quietly.
Derek's smile faltered. "What?"
"You think you're a self-made man, a master of your own destiny. But there's something behind you. Something that's been guiding your rise, removing obstacles from your path, making your success possible." Demri met his eyes. "You've made bargains you don't even remember making."
For a moment—just a moment—fear flickered across Derek's face. The fear of someone who suspects a truth they've been avoiding.
Then the mask snapped back into place. "I don't know what kind of mystical nonsense you're peddling, but it won't work on me. I'm a practical man. I believe in power, money, and leverage. Everything else is distraction."
"Keep telling yourself that." Demri reached for the door handle. "But when the darkness comes to collect on whatever debt you owe, remember this conversation. Remember that someone tried to warn you."
He opened the door and stepped out onto the street, leaving Derek Thornton alone with his certainty and his invisible chains.
---
The walk home was longer than usual, giving Demri time to process what he had sensed.
*Derek is connected to the darkness*, the curse confirmed. *Not consciously—he has no idea of the forces that have been using him. But the connection is real. His success, his ruthlessness, his immunity to consequence—all of it has been subtly facilitated.*
"By whom? The shadow-kin?"
*Perhaps. Or something higher in the hierarchy of darkness. Derek is useful to them—a mortal agent who corrupts without needing supernatural instruction. His development projects don't just destroy buildings; they destroy communities, hope, faith. He's been doing the work of darkness his entire career.*
"And he doesn't know?"
*The most effective pawns never do. They believe their success is their own. They take pride in achievements that were orchestrated from beyond their perception. And when they're no longer useful...* The curse trailed off meaningfully.
Demri understood. Derek Thornton was a tool, and tools were disposable. When he stopped being useful to the darkness, he would be discarded—and he would have no idea why his luck had suddenly turned.
But that realization also offered an opportunity. If Derek's success depended on supernatural backing, and if that backing could be disrupted, then his empire might prove more fragile than it appeared.
*You're thinking of confronting the powers behind Derek*, the curse observed. *That's either brilliant or suicidal.*
"Possibly both."
*The shadow-kin already consider you a problem. If you start interfering with their mortal operations, they'll escalate. Are you prepared for that?*
"I'm prepared to do whatever it takes to protect these people. Even if it means war with forces I don't fully understand."
*War*, the curse repeated. *An interesting choice of words. Because that is precisely what you're contemplating. Not resistance, not defense, but active warfare against the agents of darkness.*
"Is that so surprising? You said yourself that the hunger would be satisfied whether I did the corrupting or not. If the darkness is going to win regardless, I might as well fight."
*And if fighting makes things worse? If your resistance provokes a response that destroys everything you're trying to protect?*
Demri had no answer. He walked the rest of the way in silence, the weight of impossible choices pressing down upon him like a physical burden.
---
Aylin was waiting when he arrived home.
"You've been gone a long time," she said. "I was starting to worry."
"I had an unexpected meeting." He told her about Derek's car, about the conversation, about the darkness he had sensed lurking behind the developer's confident facade.
Aylin listened in silence, her expression growing more troubled with each revelation. When he finished, she sat for a long moment, processing.
"You're saying Derek isn't just a corrupt businessman. He's a pawn of supernatural forces."
"I'm saying he's connected to them, whether he knows it or not. His success isn't entirely his own."
"And you think that's why he's been so untouchable? Why every attempt to stop him has failed?"
"I think it's part of it, yes."
Aylin rose and moved to the window, staring out at the city lights. "So we're not just fighting a man with money and lawyers. We're fighting... what? Demons? Dark gods?"
"I don't know exactly what they are. But I know they're real, and I know they're invested in Derek's success." Demri joined her at the window. "The question is: what do we do about it?"
"We keep fighting." Her voice was firm. "We can't stop just because the odds are worse than we thought. The people who depend on that community center—they don't have anywhere else to go. If we give up, they lose everything."
"Even if fighting means confronting powers we can barely comprehend?"
"Even then." She turned to face him. "You've been fighting those powers since you arrived. Fighting the curse, fighting the hunger, fighting to be something other than what you were made to be. If you can do that, we can do this."
*She has remarkable faith*, the curse observed. *In you. In the cause. In the possibility of victory against impossible odds. It would be a shame if that faith proved misplaced.*
"It won't," Demri said—aloud, so Aylin could hear. "I won't let it."
She smiled, and in that smile, he saw everything he was fighting for: hope, connection, the stubborn belief that tomorrow could be better than today.
"Then we fight," she said. "Together."
"Together."
---