Chapter 161: Hunger and Rules IV
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Sekhmet reached his room at last. Bat Bat was not there.
Good.
Elena had likely forced her to sleep under homework threat.
Sekhmet removed his robe and placed it carefully on the chair. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands.
His fingers still looked human.
But they had created true vampires tonight. His blood had turned into a weapon that could change lives and shake Null.
Sekhmet exhaled slowly. He needed to get ahead of everything before the auction. He needed information. He needed allies. He needed control.
He lay back on the bed. His eyes stayed open for a long time. The mansion creaked softly.
The city breathed beyond the walls.
And in a room nearby, two newborn true vampires lay awake in silence, listening to every heartbeat in Dawn House like hungry wolves learning the scent of their new territory.
Sekhmet’s thoughts settled into a single cold truth.
"The auction will decide everything."
He closed his eyes. Sleep did not come gently. It came like a blade sliding into a sheath.
And far away, beyond Slik City...
The middle domain did not welcome travelers from the lower domain of Null. It destroyed them.
Above the vast plateaus of Null, where the sky looked too close and the clouds moved like heavy bruises, there were roads that were not made for feet. They were made for ranks. They were made for beings whose bodies could endure domain pressure without collapsing into paste.
A mortal would have stepped into this place and died before they could scream.
Even Chaos Rank seven beasts trembled here. Even high lords wore protective charms and moved with escorts... because the middle domain had its own hunger. It pressed down on the soul the way deep water pressed down on lungs.
And yet, three figures walked as if the pressure was weather.
They moved across a bridge of black stone that arched over a canyon so deep it swallowed sound. Beneath that bridge, red mist swirled like blood that refused to settle. Every few seconds, the mist formed hands that reached upward, then broke apart again as if something unseen slapped them down.
The three did not look down.
They did not need to.
They were predators who knew that anything hungry enough to reach this high was also hungry enough to bite back.
The first was a man.
He walked in front, not because the others were weaker, but because his presence naturally claimed the path. His hair was dark and long, tied loosely behind his head, and his face carried the kind of beauty that made people uncomfortable rather than attracted. Too symmetrical. Too calm. Too sure.
His eyes were not red the way new vampires’ eyes were red.
His eyes were deeper than red.
They were the color of fresh blood seen through a glass of old wine, dark and luminous and cold at the same time. When he blinked, it was slow, like time belonged to him.
His clothing was not noble silk, not armor, not robes.
It was practical black, layered, clean, fitted to a body that looked slim until you noticed the way the fabric pulled slightly at the shoulders, the way the sleeves hugged muscles that were not built for display but built for killing.
There was no visible weapon on him.
He did not need one.
Behind him walked two women.
Not servants.
Not followers.
Not pets.
They moved with the same half step of respect a soldier gave a commander, but neither of them looked submissive. Their beauty was the kind that made a room go quiet, not because men wanted to flirt, but because instincts told people to stop breathing too loudly.
The first woman on the left was tall and long legged, with silver hair braided in a loose crown and a mouth that looked permanently amused, as if the world was a small joke she had heard too many times. Her eyes were crimson, but the crimson was restrained, the glow hidden behind control.
The second woman on the right wore her dark hair straight and loose, and her gaze stayed ahead like a blade aimed at the horizon. She looked younger than the other two at first glance, but only until you watched the way she moved. It was too precise. Too balanced. Too trained. She was the kind of woman who could sit at a banquet and smile while planning which throat she would open first.
If you stood near them long enough, you would notice something else.
Their shadows did not behave like normal shadows.
Under middle domain light, shadows were supposed to obey. These shadows did not. They curled and stretched slightly, as if the darkness itself wanted to cling to their ankles.
True vampires.
Not new ones.
Not cheap cursed things.
True vampires whose ranks sat in the uncomfortable space between mortals and gods.
Half god.
Not full divinity.
But far above the city lords who ruled lower domains.
The man’s name was Alex, and in the middle domain, names were not introductions. Names were warnings.
The silver haired woman was Sofia.
The black haired woman was Natasha.
They did not announce themselves. They did not need to. Their aura did it for them.
Every time a gust of wind crossed the bridge, the wind slowed when it reached their bodies, as if it hesitated to touch them. Dust did not settle on their boots. Insects did not fly near them. Even the mist below the canyon seemed to quiet, like it recognized that these were not meals.
At the far end of the bridge, two stone pillars stood like broken teeth. Between them floated a gate, not a door but a sheet of air that shimmered with layered runes.
A teleport corridor.
Not the cheap kind used by merchants to hop between streets.
A domain corridor, built by ancient hands, maintained by contract and tribute, guarded by organizations that did not care who you were.
A post stood beside it.
On that post, a symbol was carved.
A circle within a circle, with a line cutting through both.
The mark of teleportation authority. Managed by the teleportation association. Here a low level god’s governance extended like a shadow across the teleport network. He is Incharge here.