# Bite of Destiny
## Chapter 7: A Clashing of Worlds
---
The attack came without warning.
Demri was walking home from the community center, the evening sky bruised with the last light of sunset, when the shadows stopped watching and started moving. One moment he was alone on the familiar streets of Millbrook; the next, he was surrounded.
They emerged from the darkness between buildings, from the pools of black beneath parked cars, from the very air itself. Three figures, humanoid in shape but wrong in ways that defied easy description. Their forms seemed to flicker at the edges, as if reality itself was uncertain whether they should exist. Their eyes—if the hollow voids in their faces could be called eyes—burned with a cold light that had nothing to do with warmth or life.
*Finally*, the curse whispered, with something approaching relief. *I was wondering when they would make their move.*
"What are they?" Demri demanded, backing against a wall. His mortal body felt suddenly, terrifyingly fragile.
*Shadow-kin. Lesser servants of the darkness. They are not here to kill you—that would be counterproductive. They are here to... encourage your cooperation.*
The lead figure stepped forward, and when it spoke, its voice was the sound of wind through dead leaves, of ice cracking on a winter lake, of hope slowly dying.
"Demri the Fallen. You have been watched. You have been weighed. And you have been found... disappointing."
"I wasn't aware I was being evaluated."
"All who fall are evaluated. All who carry the curse are monitored." The shadow-kin's head tilted at an angle that would have broken a human neck. "You were given a simple task. Corrupt the pure ones. Extinguish their light. Yet you resist. You help them. You strengthen the very faith you were meant to destroy."
"Perhaps the task was not as simple as you assumed."
"The task is the task. It does not require your agreement, only your compliance." The figure moved closer, and the temperature dropped several degrees. "We have been patient. We have allowed you time to adjust to your mortal form, to understand the nature of your new existence. But patience has limits."
"And what happens when those limits are reached?"
The shadow-kin's approximation of a smile was the most terrifying thing Demri had ever witnessed. "Then we take matters into our own hands. The pure ones of this city will fall—with or without your participation. But if it is without, then you will watch. You will witness their corruption, their despair, their final surrender to the darkness. And you will know that it happened because you were too weak to do what was necessary."
The threat landed like a physical blow. Images flashed through Demri's mind: Aylin's light extinguished, Maria's faith broken, the children's innocent hope crushed beneath the weight of supernatural malice. Everything he had come to care about, destroyed.
"You can't—"
"We can. We will." The shadow-kin's form seemed to expand, filling the alley with darkness so complete that even the distant streetlights dimmed. "But there is still time. Still opportunity. Begin your work, Demri. Corrupt the pure ones. Fulfill your purpose. And those you care about will be... spared."
"Spared how? Spared from you, only to be corrupted by me?"
"Would you prefer the alternative?" The shadow-kin's voice dropped to a whisper that somehow filled the entire world. "We are not gentle. We do not discriminate. We do not care whether the light fades slowly or is ripped away in an instant. You, at least, might show mercy. We have none to offer."
The logic was the same the curse had presented—corrupt them gently, or watch them be destroyed. But hearing it from these creatures, seeing the cold emptiness where their souls should have been, made the choice somehow clearer.
"No."
The shadow-kin froze. "No?"
"No. I will not corrupt them. Not for you, not for the curse, not for any cosmic mandate or divine judgment." Demri straightened, drawing on reserves of courage he had not known he possessed. "If you want their light, you'll have to take it yourself. And I will fight you every step of the way."
Silence. The darkness seemed to hold its breath.
Then the shadow-kin laughed—a sound like reality tearing at the seams.
"You think you can fight us? You, who have been stripped of your celestial power? You, who can barely control the hunger that gnaws at your own soul?" The creature's form expanded further, tendrils of shadow reaching toward Demri like grasping fingers. "You are nothing. A broken vessel. A failed experiment. And you will learn that defiance has consequences."
The first tendril touched him, and pain exploded through every nerve.
It was not physical pain—or not entirely. It was the pain of memory, of loss, of every regret and failure compressed into a single instant. Demri saw his trial again, the faces of those who had condemned him, the moment when his wings had been torn away and his name erased from the celestial registry. He felt the full weight of his fall, the crushing certainty that he had been found unworthy.
*Submit*, something whispered beneath the pain. *Accept what you are. Stop fighting the inevitable.*
But beneath the agony, another voice spoke. Quieter, steadier, familiar.
*Everyone deserves a second chance.*
Aylin's words. Aylin's faith. Not a cosmic truth or a divine commandment, but something simpler and somehow stronger: the belief that redemption was possible, even for those who had fallen furthest.
Demri seized that belief like a lifeline and pulled.
The pain did not disappear, but it receded—pushed back by something the shadow-kin had not anticipated. Light. Not celestial light, not the radiance of heaven, but something more modest. The light of human connection. The warmth of bonds forged in ordinary moments: shared meals, late-night conversations, a child reading his story aloud.
The shadow-kin recoiled.
"What is this?" For the first time, uncertainty crept into its voice. "This power is not—you should not have—"
"I should not have friends?" Demri's voice was steady now, the pain transmuting into something that felt almost like strength. "I should not have people who believe in me? That's what you don't understand about humanity. Their light doesn't just exist—it spreads. It connects. And when you threaten one of them, you threaten them all."
The tendril withdrew. The other shadow-kin exchanged glances that somehow communicated volumes without a single word.
"This changes nothing," the lead creature said, but its voice had lost some of its certainty. "You cannot protect them forever. You cannot be everywhere at once. And sooner or later, the hunger will win. It always does."
"Perhaps. But not today."
The shadow-kin studied him for a long moment. Then, with a gesture that might have been dismissal or disappointment, it stepped back into the darkness from which it had emerged. The others followed, their forms dissolving into the shadows like smoke into wind.
Within seconds, Demri was alone.
He sagged against the wall, legs barely supporting him. The confrontation had cost him more than he had realized—his whole body trembled with exhaustion, and the hunger was roaring louder than ever, demanding compensation for the energy expended.
*That was foolish*, the curse observed, but its tone was oddly subdued. *You have made enemies of creatures far more powerful than yourself.*
"I've had powerful enemies before."
*And look where that got you.* But there was something new in the curse's voice. Something that might, in other circumstances, have been called respect. *Still. You did not yield. That is... unexpected.*
"Sorry to disappoint."
*On the contrary. This may prove more interesting than I anticipated.*
Demri pushed himself upright and began the slow walk home. His body ached, his mind reeled, and somewhere in the darkness, shadows were planning their next move.
But for the first time since his fall, he felt something other than despair.
He felt like he might actually have a chance.
---
The next morning brought consequences.
Demri woke to find his reflection in the bathroom mirror subtly wrong. The face that stared back at him was still recognizable—still the mortal vessel he had been wearing since his arrival—but something in the eyes had changed. A depth that had not been there before. A hint of light that flickered beneath the surface.
*The resistance left its mark*, the curse explained. *When you drew on the connections you've formed, you channeled something. Power, perhaps. Or perhaps just faith. Either way, you are not quite what you were.*
"Is that good or bad?"
*That remains to be seen. The shadow-kin will certainly notice. They may interpret it as a threat.*
"They already consider me a threat."
*No. They considered you a disappointment. A threat is something else entirely.*
The distinction, Demri had to admit, was not encouraging.
He dressed and headed for the community center, moving through streets that seemed somehow different in the morning light. The shadows were quieter now—recovering, perhaps, or simply waiting for night to return. But their presence lingered, a cold weight at the edge of perception.
Maria met him at the door with an expression that suggested more bad news.
"Derek Thornton filed a complaint with the city," she said without preamble. "Code violations. Building safety issues. All fabricated, of course, but the inspectors will have to investigate anyway."
"Can they shut you down?"
"Temporarily, yes. If they find enough violations—or plant them—they can close us for 'renovations' that somehow never end." Her jaw tightened. "He's making his move. And we're not ready."
"What do you need?"
"A miracle." She laughed bitterly. "Short of that, I need time. Time to organize the community, mobilize support, build a case against him. But Derek isn't going to give us time."
*An enemy within and enemies without*, the curse observed. *Your situation grows more precarious by the hour.*
Demri ignored it. "What if we could find something on him? Evidence of his tactics—the fires, the break-ins, the intimidation?"
Maria shook her head. "People have tried. Derek's very good at covering his tracks. Anyone who gets close to the truth has a tendency to... encounter difficulties."
"What kind of difficulties?"
"The kind that make them stop investigating." Her voice was flat. "I'm not saying he kills people. I'm saying he makes their lives so miserable that continuing isn't worth it."
*Corruption*, the curse said. *Not supernatural, but effective nonetheless. This Derek operates by principles you might recognize.*
The comparison still made Demri's skin crawl, but this time, it sparked an idea. Derek Thornton was a corruptor—a mortal one, operating through pressure and manipulation rather than supernatural power. But that meant he had vulnerabilities too. Human vulnerabilities.
"Maria, where does Derek operate? Where is his base?"
"Thornton Tower, downtown. Glass and steel, thirty stories of corporate arrogance." She frowned. "Why?"
"I'm not sure yet. But I think it might be time to take a closer look at our enemy."
---
Thornton Tower was exactly as Maria had described: a monument to ego clad in reflective glass, its facade designed to dominate the skyline and remind the city who had the power. Demri stood across the street, studying its entrance, watching the flow of people in and out.
*What exactly is your plan?* the curse inquired. *Walk in and demand a meeting? You have no credentials, no appointment, no leverage.*
"I'm not planning to demand anything. I'm planning to observe."
*Observe what?*
"Patterns. Weaknesses. The things Derek Thornton doesn't want people to see."
*And you think you'll find them by standing on a street corner?*
"I think I'll find them by paying attention. Something you might try."
He spent two hours watching. The rhythm of the building's activity was predictable enough—morning rush, mid-morning lull, lunch exodus, afternoon buzz. But within that rhythm, anomalies stood out. The security guards who paid special attention to certain visitors. The vehicles with tinted windows that pulled around to the service entrance. The executives who arrived through the front but left through the back.
And then there was the woman.
She appeared around noon, emerging from a side door that Demri had not previously noticed. Middle-aged, dressed conservatively, carrying a briefcase that she clutched with both hands as if it contained something precious—or incriminating. She glanced around nervously before hurrying toward a waiting car.
*Interesting*, the curse observed. *Fear. Guilt. The kind of combination that suggests secrets.*
Demri followed.
It was not difficult—the woman was too distracted to notice a tail, and her car moved slowly through midday traffic. She drove for fifteen minutes, eventually parking in front of a nondescript building in a neighborhood that had clearly seen better days.
A law office, Demri realized, reading the small sign beside the door. Not a prestigious one—the kind that catered to clients who could not afford better.
The woman went inside. Demri waited.
*You're expending considerable effort on what may be nothing*, the curse pointed out. *She could be anyone. A disgruntled employee. A nervous accountant. Nothing that serves your purposes.*
"Or she could be exactly what I think she is: someone who knows something about Derek Thornton. Something she's afraid of."
*And if you're right? What then?*
"Then we find out what she knows."
The woman emerged an hour later, looking even more distressed than when she had arrived. She fumbled with her car keys, dropped them, cursed under her breath. Her hands were shaking.
Demri approached.
"Excuse me. Are you all right?"
She spun, eyes wide with panic. "I—what? Who are you?"
"A concerned citizen." He kept his voice gentle, unthreatening. "You seem upset."
"I'm fine. I'm just—I have to go."
She reached for her car door, but Demri was faster. Not physically—he simply placed himself between her and the vehicle, creating a barrier she would have to acknowledge.
"I know what it's like to carry a burden alone," he said. "To have knowledge that others need, but fear what might happen if you share it."
The woman froze. Her eyes searched his face, looking for something—sincerity, perhaps, or the telltale signs of a threat. "Who are you? Did Derek send you?"
"No. I oppose Derek. His methods, his goals, everything he represents."
"Then you should walk away. Right now. Before he finds out about you." Her voice cracked. "He'll destroy you. He destroys everyone."
"What did he do to you?"
Silence. The woman's face contorted with emotions too complex to name—fear, shame, anger, exhaustion. For a moment, Demri thought she would simply get in her car and drive away.
Then she spoke.
"Ten years ago, I was his personal assistant. I saw everything—the bribes, the threats, the way he bought politicians and intimidated business owners. I kept records. I thought maybe someday someone would want to know."
"And now?"
"Now someone does. There's a reporter, an investigative journalist. She's been building a case against Derek for years. Last month, she contacted me. Asked if I would go on record." The woman's laugh was hollow. "I said no. Of course I said no. Derek would destroy me. My family. Everything I have."
"But you came here anyway. To a lawyer."
"To find out what happens if I change my mind." She looked at the law office, then back at Demri. "The lawyer says he can offer some protection. Limited. Not enough to guarantee safety. But maybe enough to survive."
*She has information*, the curse noted. *Information that could damage your enemy. This is an opportunity.*
But Demri heard something else in the woman's voice. Something the curse could not perceive: the exhausted terror of someone who had been carrying a secret for too long. Who wanted to do the right thing but was paralyzed by fear of the consequences.
She needed encouragement. She needed to believe that her sacrifice would matter.
And Demri found, to his own surprise, that he wanted to give her that.
"Ten years is a long time to carry that weight," he said quietly. "But sometimes, the only way to be free of it is to let it go."
"Easy for you to say. You don't know what he's capable of."
"I know exactly what men like Derek are capable of. I have encountered many such individuals in my life." More than she could possibly imagine. "But I also know that their power depends on secrecy. On fear. On people being too afraid to speak the truth."
"Speaking the truth doesn't make a difference if no one's listening."
"Someone is listening. The reporter you mentioned. The lawyer you consulted today. They're listening. They want to help." Demri held her gaze. "And I'm listening too."
The woman studied him for a long moment. Her fear did not disappear—it was too deeply rooted for that—but something else appeared alongside it. A flicker of resolution. The faintest ember of hope.
"Why do you care? What's Derek Thornton to you?"
"He threatens people I've come to care about. A community center in Millbrook. The people who work there. The families who depend on it." Demri paused. "He represents a kind of darkness I refuse to accept."
"Darkness." The woman's laugh was less hollow now. "That's a word for it."
"There are other words. None of them pleasant."
She fell silent, wrestling with a decision that had been building for a decade. Demri waited. He understood that some choices could not be rushed, that the moment of commitment had to come from within.
Finally, she nodded—a small movement, almost imperceptible, but laden with significance.
"The reporter's name is Elena Vasquez. She works for the City Herald. Tell her..." She hesitated. "Tell her Margaret Chen is ready to talk."
---
Elena Vasquez was a small woman with sharp eyes and sharper instincts.
She met Demri at a coffee shop near the Herald's offices, studying him with the professional skepticism of someone who had heard many lies in service of the truth. Her notebook was open on the table between them, pen poised.
"So you're the mystery man Margaret mentioned," she said. "The one who convinced her to finally come forward."
"I merely provided perspective. The courage was her own."
"Uh-huh." Elena's tone suggested she was not entirely convinced. "And what's your stake in this? Why do you care about Derek Thornton?"
"He's threatening a community center in Millbrook. The Millbrook Community Center."
"Maria Rodriguez's place." Elena's expression sharpened. "I know it. Good people there. Derek's been sniffing around for years."
"He's more than sniffing now. He's filed complaints with the city. Code violations."
"Classic Thornton playbook. Create problems, offer to solve them, end up owning everything." Elena made a note. "This helps. If we can show a pattern—Margaret's testimony, the Millbrook situation, other cases—we might have enough to take to the district attorney."
"How long would that take?"
"Months. Maybe longer. These cases are complicated, and Derek has very good lawyers."
"The community center may not have months."
Elena sighed. "I know. Believe me, I know. I've been chasing this story for three years. Every time I get close, something happens. Sources dry up, documents disappear, witnesses change their minds." She met Demri's eyes. "Someone's been protecting him. Someone with enough power to make problems go away."
"Who?"
"If I knew that, I'd have published already." She closed her notebook. "Look, I appreciate you bringing Margaret to me. That's a big piece of the puzzle. But I need more. I need evidence that can't be denied, witnesses who can't be intimidated, a story so airtight that even Derek's lawyers can't make it disappear."
"What kind of evidence?"
"The kind that shows direct involvement. Financial records. Communications. Something that ties Derek personally to the crimes, not just his associates." Elena's frustration was palpable. "He's careful. He never touches anything directly. There's always a layer of separation."
*This woman is formidable*, the curse observed. *But her methods are too slow. The shadows will not wait for investigative journalism.*
For once, Demri found himself in partial agreement. Elena's approach was thorough, but thoroughness took time—time the community center did not have, time that allowed the shadows to gather their strength.
Something more immediate was needed.
"What if," Demri said slowly, "there was a way to force Derek's hand? To make him act openly, without the usual layers of protection?"
Elena's eyes narrowed. "What do you have in mind?"
"I'm not certain yet. But I'm beginning to form an idea."
---
The idea crystallized that evening, as Demri sat in the darkened apartment and listened to the city breathe.
Derek Thornton was a corruptor—a mortal one, operating through fear and manipulation. The shadow-kin were corruptors too, but supernatural, operating through power and darkness. Both represented threats to the community Demri had come to care about.
But they were also, in their own ways, competitive. Derek sought to control Millbrook through mortal means. The shadows sought to corrupt its people through supernatural ones. Their methods were different, but their goals overlapped.
What if that overlap could be exploited?
*You're thinking of setting them against each other*, the curse observed. *A dangerous game. The shadow-kin are not easily manipulated.*
"No. But Derek is. He's arrogant, convinced of his own superiority, certain that no one can touch him." Demri leaned forward, the plan taking shape. "What if he encountered something he couldn't explain? Something that made him afraid? Fear makes people act rashly, make mistakes, expose themselves."
*You're proposing to use supernatural means against a mortal target. That carries risks. The shadow-kin might interpret it as you finally embracing your nature.*
"Let them interpret it however they like. What matters is the result."
*And if it fails? If Derek proves more resilient than you expect, or the shadows decide to intervene?*
"Then we adapt. But doing nothing is no longer an option. The shadows have made their intentions clear. Derek is escalating his attacks. If I don't act soon, everyone I care about will be caught in the crossfire."
The curse was silent for a long moment. Then, with something that might have been admiration or simply curiosity: *Very well. What do you need?*
"Information. Tell me everything you know about the shadow-kin—their capabilities, their weaknesses, their vulnerabilities."
*That knowledge was not part of your original curse.*
"Then access it. You're connected to the darkness. Use that connection."
Another pause. Then the curse began to speak, and Demri listened, absorbing information that would have driven a lesser mind to madness.
The shadow-kin were not individuals in the mortal sense. They were fragments of a greater darkness, manifestations of entropy and despair given temporary form. They could be dispersed but not destroyed, inconvenienced but not eliminated. Their power waxed and waned with the concentration of negative emotion in their vicinity.
But they had weaknesses. Light—not just physical light, but the metaphysical light of hope, faith, and human connection—was anathema to them. Concentrated doses could disrupt their forms, temporarily severing their connection to the greater darkness. And there were rituals, ancient ceremonies designed to create barriers against supernatural intrusion...
*Why are you telling me this?* Demri asked, surprised by the curse's cooperation.
*Because I find myself curious about the outcome*, the curse replied. *And because, despite my nature, I have developed a certain... investment in your survival.*
"Investment?"
*We have been together for some time now. Our fates are intertwined. If you fall, I fall. If you succeed—however unlikely that seems—perhaps I succeed as well.* A pause. *Also, I admit, your defiance of the shadow-kin was... impressive. I would like to see if you can do it again.*
It was not exactly an alliance. But it was something. And right now, Demri needed every advantage he could get.
---
The phone rang at midnight.
Demri answered on the second ring, already knowing who it would be.
"Demri?" Aylin's voice, concerned despite the late hour. "Is everything okay? I had the strangest feeling..."
"Everything's fine." The lie came easily, which troubled him. "Why are you calling so late?"
"I don't know. I just... woke up suddenly, and I felt like I needed to talk to you." A pause. "That sounds crazy, doesn't it?"
"Not crazy. Just... perceptive."
"Perceptive about what?"
He should tell her. He should explain everything—the shadows, the curse, the danger that was gathering around everyone she cared about. But the words stuck in his throat, held there by fear of what her reaction might be.
"Things have been... complicated here," he said instead. "Derek Thornton is making aggressive moves against the community center. And there are other concerns. Larger ones."
"Larger how?"
"I can't explain over the phone. But when you get back—"
"I'm coming back tomorrow." Her voice was firm. "My aunt is stable, my parents can handle things from here, and it sounds like I'm needed at home."
"Aylin, you don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to. I want to." A pause. "I want to be there. With you. Whatever's happening, I want to face it together."
The words struck Demri with unexpected force. Together. Such a simple concept, yet it encompassed something he had not experienced in millennia—perhaps ever. The willingness to share burdens, to face dangers as a pair rather than alone.
"Then come home," he said. "But be careful. Things are not what they were when you left."
"Things never are." He could hear her smile through the phone. "But that's okay. That's what makes life interesting."
After they hung up, Demri sat in the darkness for a long time, thinking about what was to come. The shadows were gathering. Derek was attacking. The community center hung in the balance.
But Aylin was coming home. And somehow, that made everything seem slightly less impossible.
*You are growing attached*, the curse observed.
"Yes."
*That attachment will be used against you. The shadow-kin will target her specifically because they know you care.*
"I know."
*And you persist anyway?*
"I persist because of her. Because of all of them." Demri looked out the window at the city lights, each one representing a human life full of hope and fear and determination. "They're worth protecting. Worth fighting for. Worth risking everything."
*Even your soul?*
"Even that."
The curse was quiet for a long moment. Then, softer than Demri had ever heard it: *Perhaps I underestimated you. Perhaps we all did.*
"Perhaps you did."
And in the darkness beyond the window, the shadows continued their patient vigil—unaware that their prey had begun to plan their defeat.
---