Chapter 118: The Seat of the Nest IV
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He couldn’t finish his sentence. Raka moved before that. Raka is Sekhmet’s loyal subordinate now. So he needed to act.
Wham!
His fist slammed into the thug’s face.
Crack!
The thug collapsed sideways.
Raka grabbed him by the collar and lifted him halfway.
"You question," Raka hissed, eyes blazing. "You dare question in front of the master."
The thug spat blood, eyes wild.
Raka punched him again.
Thud!
Again.
Thud!
The hall flinched. Several men recoiled, hands lifting as if they might intervene, but none moved because of fear.
Because they were afraid of Raka. And now they were afraid of Sekhmet.
Sekhmet raised one hand slightly.
"Stop," Sekhmet said.
Raka froze instantly. His fist remained raised, trembling with restrained violence.
He lowered it slowly.
"Yes, master," Raka replied, voice strained.
Sekhmet stepped forward. He looked at the thug on the floor.
The man’s eyes were still defiant, but fear had crept in now, crawling behind the anger.
Sekhmet crouched slightly, meeting his gaze.
"You want to know why," Sekhmet said calmly.
The thug swallowed. His lips trembled. But he did not look away.
Sekhmet’s eyes became colder. Then, inside his mind, he made a choice. He thought about ghouls.
He thought about the passive gift of the blood god. The control over infection. The ability to trigger transformation within range for those he had fed on.
He did not need to bite this man again. He did not need blood on his mouth to prove a point. He only needed intent.
Sekhmet focused.
The air seemed to tighten. The thug suddenly stiffened.
His mouth opened in a silent scream.
His body convulsed.
"Aa—!"
Pain rolled through him like fire under skin.
Veins darkened. Muscles twitched. His back arched.
The transformation was not elegant. It was ugly. It was the body being forced into a shape it did not understand.
The thug’s face stretched slightly. His teeth sharpened. His eyes dulled into a hungry red glow.
The other men backed away, horror spreading through the hall like smoke.
"What—"
"He —he... is changing— !"
Raka’s eyes widened slightly.
Even Raka, the rank three leader, did not look comfortable. Because this was not a chaos energy technique.
This was blood law. This was control beyond fists.
The thug’s transformation finished with a shudder.
He rose slowly, movements jerky, posture wrong, like a puppet learning to stand.
Sekhmet’s voice remained calm.
"Raise your arm," Sekhmet ordered.
The ghoul did. Its arm lifted stiffly, fingers twitching.
Sekhmet stared at it.
"Remove it," Sekhmet said.
The hall froze. The ghoul’s face did not change. It simply obeyed.
Its other hand grabbed its own arm, twisted, and pulled with monstrous strength.
There was a wet tearing sound.
Several thugs gagged and looked away.
One man retched.
The ghoul tore the arm free as if it was ripping cloth. It held the severed limb in its hand, blood dripping down onto the stone.
Drip... drip...
Sekhmet stood up slowly. He looked around the hall. His voice carried clearly.
"If you disobey me," Sekhmet said, "this is what you become."
Pin drop silence...
Not a whisper.
Not a cough.
Even the torches seemed quieter.
Sekhmet continued, calm as a merchant describing price.
"I can kill you with a thought," he said. "I can turn you into something that will cut itself apart if I ask. You will behave. You will obey. And you will not test whether I am joking."
No one spoke. No one raised a question. No one breathed too loudly.
Sekhmet turned to Raka.
"You will keep me informed," Sekhmet said. "You will keep them in line."
Raka bowed his head. "Yes, master," he replied instantly.
Sekhmet reached into his void land and withdrew a communicating stone. It appeared in his palm with a small ripple. He tossed it to Raka.
Raka caught it reflexively.
Sekhmet spoke firmly.
"You report to me," Sekhmet said. "You do not make major moves without my approval. You move quietly. You gather dirt. You prepare leverage. You do not start wars."
Raka nodded.
"Yes, master," he said.
Sekhmet looked at the ghoul with the missing arm. It stood there, obedient, bleeding, expression empty. He could smell its blood and feel nothing but cold practicality.
This was what the blood path created.
Tools.
Servants.
Monsters made from men.
Sekhmet did not enjoy it.
But he did not flinch from it either.
He opened his void land gate slightly.
Fwoom...
He tossed the ghoul inside like discarding a broken object.
The gate closed.
The hall shuddered, the thugs staring at the space where the ghoul had vanished.
Sekhmet turned away. He did not give them more drama. The drama was for fools. He had already delivered the message.
Now he will leave. He had bats to manage.
He had a scavenger ghoul inside his void land to check on soon. The one he had tossed in there near the city gates, the thief who had tried to rob him before he entered the city.
Sekhmet had not seen him since. He didn’t get any time for it. Or he might have forgotten. Who knows. He did not even know if the man was alive. Now he remembers the scavenger ghoul.
"I will check later," Sekhmet told himself.
Not tonight.
Tonight he wanted walls and beds and the scent of his own house.
He walked out of the hall, Bat Bat perched on his shoulder again, unusually quiet.
Raka followed a step behind, then stopped at the tunnel entrance like he was unsure whether to continue.
"Master," Raka asked, voice careful, "where are you going? Should I come with you?"
Sekhmet did not slow down.
"I am going home," he replied.
Raka hesitated. A leash pulled inside him, demanding he follow, demanding he guard.
But Sekhmet’s voice was final.
"You stay," Sekhmet said. "You do your work."
Raka bowed.
"Yes, master," he said.
Sekhmet left. He did not look back.
Behind him, the hideout remained full of trembling criminals who had just learned their world had gained a new predator / ruler.