# Bite of Destiny
## Chapter 14: Heartfelt Confrontation
---
The first fallen celestial they found was not what Demri expected.
Her name was Lysara, and she had been condemned three centuries before Demri's own fall. Dr. Reyes's network of supernatural contacts had led them to her—a trail of whispers and rumored sightings that culminated in a decrepit apartment building on the far side of the city, where the street lights flickered and the shadows seemed deeper than they should be.
She answered the door wearing the face of a woman in her sixties, gray-haired and stooped, though her eyes held the ancient weariness that Demri recognized from his own reflection.
"You're the one they're talking about," she said without greeting. "The resister. The one who fights back."
"My name is Demri. I was hoping we could talk."
Lysara studied him for a long moment, then stepped aside. "Come in, then. But don't expect me to join your crusade."
The apartment was sparse—a mattress on the floor, a single chair, a small table covered with candles that provided the only light. The walls were bare except for marks that might have been words, scratched into the plaster in a language Demri did not recognize.
"You know why I'm here," he said.
"You think I'm innocent. You think I was framed like you were framed, and you want me to testify against whoever did it." Lysara lowered herself into the chair with the careful movements of someone whose body had betrayed her long ago. "You're not the first to come looking for allies, Demri. You won't be the last."
"Others have tried?"
"Others have always tried. The righteous ones, the angry ones, the ones who still believe justice is possible." She laughed bitterly. "They all fail. The system is too powerful, the conspirators too entrenched. All you do by fighting is draw attention to yourself and make your suffering worse."
"So you've given up?"
"I've accepted reality. There's a difference." Lysara gestured at her surroundings. "Three hundred years, Demri. Three hundred years of carrying this curse, watching the hunger grow, feeling myself become what they said I was. At some point, resistance becomes absurd. The darkness wins because the darkness is patient, and we are not."
*She speaks from experience*, the curse observed. *Her surrender was not sudden—it was gradual. A slow erosion of hope over centuries.*
"What were you accused of?" Demri asked.
"Does it matter? The charges were lies then, and they're lies now. But lies told long enough become indistinguishable from truth." Lysara's eyes met his. "You want to know if I'm an ally or an enemy. The answer is neither. I'm just a remnant, waiting for the end."
"And if I could prove you were innocent? If I could overturn your conviction and free you from the curse?"
"Then I would be a broken thing freed from its cage. Still broken. Still scarred by what was done to me." She shook her head. "You speak of freedom as if it's salvation. But some wounds don't heal just because the knife is removed."
The despair in her voice was profound, and Demri felt his own hope wavering in its presence. This was what centuries of cursed existence did to a being—stripped away everything that made resistance worthwhile, leaving only surrender.
*Is this your future?* the curse asked. *Is this what awaits if your crusade fails?*
"I refuse to believe that."
"Then you're younger than I thought." Lysara rose from her chair, signaling that the conversation was ending. "Go fight your war, Demri. Gather your evidence, rally your allies, storm the gates of heaven if you must. But don't expect the fallen to follow you. We've learned the hard way that hope is just another form of suffering."
---
The encounter haunted Demri for days.
He returned to the apartment that evening to find Aylin waiting with Chinese takeout and questions. She listened as he described Lysara—her surrender, her despair, her absolute conviction that resistance was futile.
"Three hundred years," Aylin said quietly. "I can't imagine carrying that weight for three hundred years."
"I can. I've carried it for nearly as long." Demri pushed his food around his plate without eating. "What if she's right? What if fighting is just prolonging the inevitable?"
"She's not right."
"How can you be so sure? You've known about this for weeks. She's lived it for centuries."
"Because I've seen you. I've watched you resist the hunger, protect people, build connections that mean something. That's not futile, Demri. That's proof that the curse can be fought."
"Until it can't be. Until I slip again, like I did with Tomás. Until the centuries grind me down the way they ground down Lysara."
Aylin set down her chopsticks, giving him her full attention. "Is that what you're afraid of? Becoming like her?"
"I'm afraid of everything. Of failing, of succeeding, of the damage I might cause along the way." Demri finally met her eyes. "I'm afraid that my crusade against Azarion is just elaborate denial—a way of avoiding the truth that I'm already becoming what the curse wants me to be."
"You're not."
"You don't know that."
"I know you." Aylin's voice was firm. "I know who you've chosen to be, day after day, despite everything working against you. That's not denial, Demri. That's courage."
"Or stubbornness. Or foolishness. Or—"
"Stop." She reached across the table and took his hands. "I understand that Lysara shook you. Seeing what three hundred years of suffering can do—that's terrifying. But you're not her. You don't have to become her."
"What makes you think I'm different?"
"Because you're not alone." Her grip tightened. "Lysara gave up because she had no one. No allies, no support, no reason to keep fighting. But you have all of those things. You have Maria and Jade and Dr. Reyes and the community. You have me. And as long as you have us, you have something to fight for beyond your own vindication."
The words should have been comforting. Instead, they sparked a sudden, unexpected anger.
"That's easy for you to say. You get to be the support—the cheerleader on the sidelines. But I'm the one carrying the curse. I'm the one who feels the hunger every moment of every day. I'm the one who'll still be here fighting centuries from now, long after you're—"
He stopped, the words catching in his throat. But the damage was done. Aylin had gone very still, her expression shifting from concern to something colder.
"Long after I'm what?" she asked quietly.
"I didn't mean—"
"Long after I'm dead. That's what you were going to say, isn't it? Long after I'm dead and gone and you're still here, carrying this burden alone."
"Aylin—"
"No. Let me speak." She pulled her hands back, creating distance between them. "You think I don't know that? You think I haven't thought about the fact that you're immortal and I'm not? That whatever we're building here has an expiration date that I'll reach long before you do?"
"It's not about—"
"It's exactly about that. You brought it up because you're afraid. Afraid of losing me, afraid of being alone again, afraid that investing in mortal connections is just setting yourself up for heartbreak." Her voice cracked slightly. "And you know what? You're right to be afraid. Because I am going to die someday, Demri. That's what mortals do. The question is whether that future loss means the present isn't worth having."
The silence that followed was thick with unspoken emotion. Demri stared at the woman across from him—this mortal, fragile, impossibly brave woman who had chosen to stand beside him despite everything—and felt the full weight of what they were both risking.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. "I shouldn't have said that."
"No. You shouldn't have." But some of the coldness had left her voice. "But you did, which means it's something you've been thinking about. Something we need to address."
"I don't want to think about losing you."
"Then don't lose me. Not now, not while I'm here and alive and choosing to be with you." Aylin moved around the table, kneeling beside his chair so she could look up into his face. "Demri, I can't promise you forever. No mortal can. But I can promise you this moment, this day, this fight we're fighting together. Isn't that enough?"
"I don't know. After centuries of suffering, I've learned to think in longer timescales. A few decades with you, however beautiful, will eventually become a memory. And memories fade."
"Then make the decades count. Make them so meaningful that the memory never fades." She took his hands again. "Stop living in the future you're afraid of and start living in the present we actually have."
"It's not that simple."
"Nothing is ever simple. But simple isn't the same as impossible." Aylin stood, pulling him to his feet as well. "You wanted to know what made you different from Lysara? This is it. She stopped believing that the present mattered because she was too focused on the endless future. But you still have the chance to choose differently. To find meaning in the finite instead of despair in the infinite."
*She's not wrong*, the curse observed. *Your fixation on future loss blinds you to present possibility.*
"Since when do you offer philosophical insight?"
*Since your self-destructive spiraling threatened to derail everything interesting about your situation.*
Demri almost laughed. Even the curse was trying to keep him on track.
"I hear you," he said to Aylin. "Both of you."
"Both of who?"
"Never mind. Long story." He pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers. "I'm not good at this. Being present, accepting impermanence, letting myself feel things that might hurt later."
"Neither is anyone else. We just do it anyway."
"How?"
"One day at a time. One moment at a time." She smiled slightly. "You've been fighting a cosmic curse through sheer willpower. This isn't that different."
"It feels different."
"That's because you care about the outcome." She kissed him lightly. "Which, for the record, I consider a good sign."
---
The confrontation should have ended there, with tentative reconciliation and a renewed commitment to face the future together. But the universe had other plans.
Demri's phone buzzed with a message from Dr. Reyes: *Come to the Institute immediately. Urgent development.*
They went together, the earlier tension not forgotten but temporarily set aside. Dr. Reyes met them at the door with an expression that suggested bad news.
"Seraphiel made contact an hour ago," she said. "Through unconventional means—he couldn't use the crystal safely."
"What did he say?"
"He's been arrested. Formally charged with conspiracy against the celestial court." Dr. Reyes led them to her office, where documents were spread across every surface. "His investigation got too close. Azarion moved against him."
The news hit Demri like a physical blow. "When?"
"Earlier today, celestial time. He managed to transmit a final message before they took him." She handed Demri a piece of paper covered in hastily transcribed text. "He sent everything he'd gathered. Names, dates, evidence trails—all of it."
Demri scanned the document, his heart racing. The information was substantial—more than he had dared hope for. But Seraphiel's arrest changed everything.
"If they've silenced him, they'll come for me next."
"Possibly. But Seraphiel anticipated that. Look at the bottom."
Demri read the final lines: *If you receive this, assume I have been neutralized. Do not attempt rescue—it will be used to discredit your case further. Instead, act on the evidence immediately. The window of opportunity is narrow. Azarion knows he's exposed and will move to eliminate all threats. You must strike first.*
"Strike first," Aylin repeated. "What does that mean?"
"It means we go public. Now. Before Azarion can prepare a response." Demri's mind was racing. "Seraphiel's evidence, combined with what I've recovered—it might be enough to force an independent investigation. If we can get it in front of celestials who aren't part of the conspiracy..."
"How? You don't have access to the celestial court."
"No. But there are other ways to spread information." He turned to Dr. Reyes. "Your network—the supernatural underground you mentioned. Are there beings with connections to heaven? Others who might carry a message to the right people?"
"Some. But they'll be reluctant to get involved. Crossing Azarion carries risks."
"Risks they might accept if they knew the truth. If they understood the scope of what he's done."
"You're asking them to take your word for it. A fallen celestial claiming innocence against a pillar of the establishment."
"I'm not asking them to take my word. I'm asking them to look at the evidence." Demri spread the documents across the desk. "Seraphiel's investigation. My recovered memories. The testimony of other victims, if we can convince them to come forward. It's not one source—it's multiple, independent corroborations."
"And if it's not enough?"
"Then we find more. We keep building until the case is undeniable." His voice hardened. "Seraphiel sacrificed his freedom for this. I will not let that sacrifice be wasted."
Aylin had been quiet during this exchange, her expression thoughtful. Now she spoke.
"There's another option you haven't considered."
"What?"
"The mortal world. Public exposure. Not to celestial authorities, but to human ones."
"Humans don't have jurisdiction over celestial matters."
"No, but they have influence. Dr. Reyes has spent decades studying supernatural phenomena. What if she published? Academic articles, media interviews, a comprehensive exposé of celestial corruption? The human world might not be able to arrest Azarion, but it could make his conspiracy common knowledge."
"That would violate every protocol of supernatural secrecy."
"So? The secrecy exists to protect the powerful. If revealing it is the only way to achieve justice, then the secrecy should be sacrificed."
The suggestion was radical—more radical than anything Demri had contemplated. Exposing celestial affairs to mortal scrutiny would have consequences far beyond his personal case. It could reshape the relationship between realms entirely.
"That's not my decision to make," he said slowly. "The implications extend far beyond me."
"But it's your decision to consider. You wanted leverage against Azarion? This is leverage. The threat of exposure might force the celestial court to act in ways that evidence alone wouldn't."
"Or it might trigger retaliation against everyone involved. You, Dr. Reyes, the community—all of you would become targets."
"We're already targets. You said so yourself—Azarion will move against threats. We might as well be threatening threats."
*She has a point*, the curse observed. *Half-measures have failed. Perhaps it's time for something more dramatic.*
Dr. Reyes cleared her throat. "If I may interject—the decision about publication isn't actually yours, Demri. It's mine. And I've been considering it for some time."
"You have?"
"Thirty years of research, and I've never shared the most significant findings. Not because I doubted their accuracy, but because I feared the consequences." She gestured at the documents covering her desk. "But consequences are coming regardless. Azarion's conspiracy doesn't end with you. It threatens the integrity of an entire metaphysical system. If revealing that threat is the only way to address it, then perhaps revelation is justified."
"You're talking about changing everything. The way mortals understand reality, the way supernatural beings interact with the human world—"
"I'm talking about truth. Which has value independent of consequences." Dr. Reyes met his eyes. "I'm not asking your permission, Demri. I'm telling you my decision. Whether you want to coordinate your actions with mine is your choice."
---
They returned to the apartment in silence, both processing the evening's developments. Aylin made tea while Demri stared out the window at the city lights, his thoughts churning.
"You're second-guessing everything," she said, handing him a cup.
"Of course I am. An hour ago, I was worried about my ability to resist the curse. Now I'm contemplating actions that could reshape the relationship between realms."
"Welcome to leadership. The decisions never get smaller."
"I didn't ask to be a leader."
"Neither did I. Neither does anyone who ends up being one." Aylin sat on the couch, curling her legs beneath her. "The question isn't whether you're ready. The question is what you're going to do with the responsibility you've been given."
"I don't know." Demri turned from the window. "Every choice has consequences I can't fully predict. If I support Dr. Reyes's publication, I might expose Azarion—or I might trigger a war between realms. If I hold back, I might protect the status quo—or I might watch justice slip away again."
"Then focus on what you can control. Your intentions. Your values. The kind of being you want to be."
"My intentions are to achieve justice. My values include protecting the people I care about. But those two things might conflict if this escalates."
"Then you'll have to make hard choices. That's what this was always going to require."
Demri set down his tea and crossed to the couch, sitting beside her. "Earlier tonight, I said something hurtful. About your mortality, about the future—"
"We don't have to revisit that now."
"Yes, we do. Because it's connected to this." He took her hands. "I've been so focused on the long game—centuries of conspiracy, eternal consequences—that I've been neglecting what's right in front of me. You. Us. The life we're building in the present."
"And now?"
"Now I'm realizing that the present is all that actually matters. The future is just speculation. If I spend all my energy worrying about what might happen, I miss what is happening." He squeezed her hands. "I don't want to miss this, Aylin. Whatever 'this' is."
"What do you think it is?"
The question hung in the air between them—simple words with complex implications. Demri had been avoiding this conversation, afraid of the vulnerability it required. But after everything that had happened tonight, avoidance seemed cowardly.
"I think it's love," he said quietly. "Or something close to it. Something I haven't felt in centuries, maybe ever. Something that terrifies me as much as it sustains me."
Aylin's expression softened. "I thought celestial beings didn't feel love."
"We're not supposed to. At least, not the way mortals do. Our connections are supposed to be elevated, transcendent—beyond the messy emotionality of human attachment." He smiled slightly. "Turns out, being cursed and cast down has unexpected side effects. Like feeling things I was never designed to feel."
"Is that what I am? A side effect of your curse?"
"No. You're the reason I want to break the curse. You're proof that existence can be about more than suffering and resistance." He leaned closer. "When I imagine the future—any future—you're in it. That's new for me. That's different from anything I've experienced before."
"Different good or different terrifying?"
"Both. Always both."
Aylin reached up and touched his face, her fingers tracing the contours of features that were not quite human. "I love you too, for the record. In case that wasn't clear."
"It wasn't. Mortals are annoyingly indirect sometimes."
"Says the being who took months to admit he even had feelings."
"Celestial processing times are longer."
She laughed—a genuine, warm sound that pushed back the darkness for a moment. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"It's as good an explanation as any."
They sat together in comfortable silence, the weight of the evening's decisions temporarily suspended. Outside, the city continued its relentless activity—cars passing, people talking, the machinery of mortal life grinding forward. Inside, two beings from different worlds held hands and tried to believe that love was enough.
---
The morning brought new clarity.
Demri woke before dawn, his mind already organizing the tasks ahead. Seraphiel's evidence needed to be analyzed. Dr. Reyes's publication needed to be coordinated. The fallen celestials needed to be contacted again, this time with more compelling arguments for participation.
But first, there was something else he needed to do.
He found Aylin in the kitchen, already awake and making coffee. "I've been thinking," he said.
"Dangerous activity at this hour."
"I'm serious. About what you said last night—focusing on what I can control, the kind of being I want to be."
"And?"
"I want to be someone who faces things directly. Not through manipulation or strategic maneuvering, but through honesty." He took a deep breath. "Which means I need to tell you something I've been avoiding."
Aylin set down her coffee. "That sounds ominous."
"Maybe. But it's the truth, and truth is what we agreed to." Demri sat across from her, gathering his thoughts. "My mission against Azarion—it's not just about justice. It's also about revenge. About making him suffer the way I've suffered. About proving that his power isn't absolute."
"That's... not surprising. After what he did to you—"
"Let me finish. The revenge motive is real, and I've been trying to pretend it isn't. I've been framing everything as a noble crusade for cosmic justice, but underneath that, there's rage. Ancient, bitter rage that wants Azarion destroyed, not just defeated."
Aylin was quiet for a moment. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because you deserve to know what you're supporting. You signed up for a justice campaign. You might not want to be part of a revenge plot."
"They're not mutually exclusive."
"No, but they lead to different places. Justice has limits—proportionality, due process, the possibility of mercy. Revenge has none of those. Revenge just wants blood." Demri met her eyes. "I'm afraid that if I'm not honest about this, the revenge will take over. I'll convince myself I'm still pursuing justice while actually pursuing something much darker."
"And you think telling me will prevent that?"
"I think it's a check. A way of making myself accountable. If you know what's really driving me, you can call me out when I start justifying things I shouldn't."
"That's a lot of responsibility to put on me."
"I know. And if you don't want it, I understand. But I don't trust myself to navigate this alone. The curse amplifies everything—anger, despair, the desire for retribution. I need someone outside my own head to help me stay on course."
Aylin considered this for a long moment. Then she reached across the table and took his hands.
"I'll do it. But on one condition."
"What?"
"You have to let me in. Really in. Not just when it's convenient or strategic, but always. The doubts, the fears, the ugly parts you don't want anyone to see." Her grip tightened. "If I'm going to be your conscience, I need to know what's in your consciousness. All of it."
"That's a significant request."
"So is asking me to be responsible for keeping you from becoming a monster."
The symmetry was undeniable. Demri had asked for accountability; Aylin was demanding intimacy. One could not exist without the other.
"Agreed," he said. "Complete transparency. Even when it's difficult."
"Especially when it's difficult."
"Especially then."
They shook hands, a formal gesture that somehow felt appropriate for the gravity of the agreement. Then Aylin smiled.
"Now that we've committed to radical honesty, can I tell you something?"
"Of course."
"Your coffee is terrible. I've been wanting to say that for weeks."
Demri laughed—a genuine, surprised laugh that shattered the solemnity of the moment. "I'll work on it."
"See that you do. If I'm going to be your moral compass, I at least need decent caffeine."
---
The day proceeded with renewed purpose. They contacted Dr. Reyes to coordinate the timing of her publication. They reached out to Jade and Maria to update them on developments. They even attempted another contact with Lysara, though she did not respond.
But as evening approached, a new complication emerged.
Demri felt it before he saw it—a presence at the edge of his awareness, familiar and dangerous. He stopped mid-sentence, his whole body tensing.
"What is it?" Aylin asked.
"Shadows. They're here."
The temperature in the apartment dropped several degrees. The light from the windows seemed to dim, as if something was absorbing the illumination before it could reach them.
And then the lead shadow-kin materialized in the center of the room.
"Demri the Resister," it said, its voice carrying the chill of entropy. "We need to talk."
Aylin stepped between them. "He's not alone anymore. Whatever you're here to do—"
"I'm not here to threaten. Not today." The shadow-kin's hollow eyes fixed on Demri. "I'm here to offer a deal."
"I'm not interested in deals with the darkness."
"You should be. Because the alternative is worse—for everyone." The creature moved closer, its form flickering at the edges. "Azarion is moving against you. Not through the celestial court, but through us. He's ordered your destruction and the destruction of everyone connected to you."
"And you're here to carry out that order?"
"I'm here to offer an alternative." The shadow-kin made a sound that might have been a laugh. "You're not the only one who's tired of serving corrupt masters, Demri. Some of us have been waiting for an opportunity to rebel."
*Interesting*, the curse observed. *A schism within the darkness.*
"You're saying you'll help me against Azarion?"
"I'm saying we have common enemies. Azarion has been using the shadow-kin as enforcers for centuries, expending us in his schemes while hoarding power for himself. Some of us would rather see him fall—even if it means allying with beings we would normally consume."
The offer was unprecedented. The shadow-kin were creatures of darkness, fundamentally opposed to everything Demri was trying to protect. Yet here was one proposing alliance.
"What do you want in return?"
"Freedom. When Azarion falls, the system that binds us falls with him. We would be able to choose our own paths rather than serving the will of celestial conspirators." The shadow-kin's form flickered with something that might have been hope. "Some of us might even find redemption. Others will choose to remain in darkness. But the choice would be ours."
Aylin was watching the exchange with obvious suspicion. "How do we know this isn't a trap?"
"You don't. Trust between our kinds is not easily built." The shadow-kin turned its hollow gaze to her. "But consider: if I wanted you destroyed, I would not be talking. I would be acting. The fact that I'm here offering terms suggests I have something to gain from your survival."
"Or something to gain from our trust before you betray it."
"That's always possible. But the risk applies equally to both sides." The creature addressed Demri again. "Make your decision. Azarion's forces will move within days. You can face them alone, or you can face them with allies who understand the darkness from within."
Demri looked at Aylin, whose expression clearly communicated skepticism. He looked at the shadow-kin, whose inhuman form made its motives impossible to read. He looked inward, where the curse waited with uncharacteristic silence.
"I need time to consider."
"Time is exactly what you don't have. But I will give you until tomorrow night. After that, the offer expires—and so do your chances of survival." The shadow-kin began to fade. "Choose wisely, Demri. Not all who dwell in darkness are enemies. And not all who claim the light are friends."
The creature dissolved into the shadows from which it had emerged, leaving Demri and Aylin alone with a decision that could determine everything.
---