Chapter 111: The Hungry Street V
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And the room, filled with laughing criminals and clinking chains, did not realize they were about to become food.
The first knife moved.
Not fast. Not efficient. Not to kill.
It moved the way cruel people always moved when they believed they owned the moment — slow enough to enjoy it.
Shing...
The blade caught torchlight and threw it across the damp stone walls. The thug holding it grinned, leaning close to Sekhmet’s face as if they were sharing a secret.
"You know," the thug murmured, voice thick with smug excitement, "I like quiet ones. Quiet ones break best."
Another man laughed behind him.
Ha... ha... ha...
A third clinked the chain again, just to hear it.
Clink... clink...
The torture rack waited like a hungry skeleton, metal arms spread, shackles open, ready for wrists and ankles. The bucket of dirty water sat at its base, surface trembling from footsteps like it feared what it might have to wash away.
Bat Bat trembled on Sekhmet’s shoulder, but she did not whine. Her tiny fingers dug into his coat. Her eyes were wide and sharp.
"Master," she whispered, voice tight. "Now?"
Sekhmet lowered his gaze, still acting weak, still acting resigned.
But the moment the first thug reached for his jaw to force his head back—
Sekhmet moved.
It was not an explosion.
It was not rage.
It was precision.
Wham!
His forehead slammed forward into the thug’s nose.
Crack!
The sound was wet and satisfying. The thug stumbled backward, screaming, hands flying to his face.
"Aaagh!"
Blood sprayed onto Sekhmet’s cheek.
Hot.
Fresh.
Alive.
The smell hit Sekhmet like a slap.
His throat tightened. The hunger inside him stirred like a chained beast hearing keys.
Bat Bat’s nostrils flared.
"Mmm," she whispered involuntarily, then snapped her mouth shut, offended at herself.
The other thugs froze for half a heartbeat. That was all Sekhmet needed.
He twisted his wrists.
The rope burned his skin, but the pain was nothing compared to the memory of chains. Compared to weeks of helplessness. Compared to metal biting his bones and leaving him hanging like meat.
Sekhmet yanked hard, using chaos strength through his body.
Snap!
The rope didn’t break cleanly — cheap fiber tore in angry strands.
He stepped forward, grabbed the nearest man by the throat, and slammed him into the rack’s metal frame.
Clang!
The rack shuddered. The man gagged, eyes bulging.
Sekhmet didn’t waste time. He lifted his knee and drove it into the man’s stomach.
Thud!
The man folded, coughing, and spit flying.
Bat Bat sprang off Sekhmet’s shoulder like a tiny arrow.
Zip!
She hit another thug’s face with both feet.
Smack!
The thug yelped in shock, stumbling back.
"What the—!"
Bat Bat landed, wings flaring, tiny teeth bared.
"Bat Bat bite!" she announced proudly, as if she had been waiting her whole life for this exact sentence.
She lunged and bit the man’s elbow through his clothes.
Chomp!
The thug screamed like his dignity had been murdered.
"Aaah! What is that!"
Bat Bat shook her head violently, trying to tear through leather like it was meat.
"Bad guy!" she hissed. "Bad taste!"
Sekhmet did not look at her. He did not smile. He kept moving.
A chaos rank one thug —a bigger man with confident shoulders— stepped forward from the group, eyes narrowing, finally taking Sekhmet seriously.
"Enough," he growled.
He raised his hand. Chaos energy flickered around his fist like a heavy glove.
Boom... boom...
The thug punched toward Sekhmet’s head.
Sekhmet tilted.
The fist passed close enough that the wind tugged Sekhmet’s hair.
Sekhmet’s hand snapped out and grabbed the thug’s wrist.
Grip.
The thug tried to pull back.
Sekhmet didn’t allow it.
He stepped in, close, and delivered a short punch directly into the thug’s throat.
Thud!
The thug gagged, eyes widening.
Sekhmet twisted the wrist hard and shoved the thug’s arm down.
Crack!
The elbow bent the wrong way with a sick sound.
The thug howled.
"Aaagh!"
The room erupted.
"Kill him!"
"Break his legs!"
"Hold him down!"
Boots thundered as men rushed forward. The fifty moved like a wave, chaotic but eager.
Sekhmet inhaled once.
Not to calm himself.
To decide.
He could fight with fists and Blood Control alone, but that would drag out and risk mistakes. He wanted dominance. He wanted fear. He wanted them to panic.
He wanted space.
He wanted control.
He wanted to feed without dying.
So he chose the moment.
Sekhmet’s mind reached into the void land.
Not loudly. Not like a dramatic spell. Just a command like opening a door in his own house.
The air behind him rippled.
Fwoom...
A dark oval formed like a wound in space.
The void land gate.
The thugs froze again.
"What is that—"
Sekhmet’s voice remained flat.
"Come out," he said softly.
Wings exploded into the room.
Fwoosh —Fwoosh— Fwoosh!
Twenty-plus blood bats burst out first, a storm of shadows with red eyes. They did not scream. They did not roar. They swarmed silently like living smoke.
The thugs screamed anyway.
"Aaah!"
"My eyes!"
"Get them off!"
The bats dove, not to kill, but to blind. Claws raked across cheeks. Wings slapped faces. Tiny fangs pinched skin just enough to sting.
Bat Bat cackled.
"Hee hee!" she laughed, delighted. "Fly chaos! Fly!"
Then the six rare bats emerged.
They were different.
They did not flap wildly. They moved like disciplined killers, wings smooth, eyes intelligent, bodies thicker with strength. Their battle power was higher. Their aura felt heavier.
Fwoom Fwoom Fwoom Fwoom Fwoom Fwoom!
They spread into a formation without being told, circling above Sekhmet like a living crown of wings.
The thugs hesitated, suddenly uncertain.
Because this was not one man anymore.
This was a small army.
And Sekhmet still hadn’t shown the most dangerous blade he had.
One thug tried to rush Sekhmet through the swarm, face covered with his sleeve.
Sekhmet lifted his hand.
Blood Control.
The blood from the broken-nose thug still sprayed and dripped onto the stone floor.
Sekhmet pulled it upward.