Chapter 72: The Underground Rule III
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"You don’t know where you are," he said. "This is underground. You can’t—"
Sekhmet stepped closer.
"I know exactly where I am," he said quietly.
The second thug grinned, trying to regain control.
"Then you know the rule," he said. "Whatever happens here, stays here."
Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed.
"Yes," he replied. "So let’s keep it here."
The thugs realized too late that they had not found a hero.
They had found a hungry predator looking for an excuse.
They attacked together.
The knife thug lunged, bare hands now, chaos energy surging into his knuckles.
The second thug aimed for Sekhmet’s ribs.
Sekhmet moved once.
He did not dodge wildly.
He simply stepped into their range like he owned it.
His fist hit the knife thug’s stomach.
BOOM!
The thug folded like a broken chair.
Sekhmet turned and struck the second thug’s throat with the edge of his hand.
CHOP!
The thug gagged, stumbling backward.
Sekhmet grabbed his collar and slammed him down onto the stone floor.
CRACK!
The thug’s head bounced once.
He went still, groaning.
The first thug tried to crawl away.
Sekhmet caught him by the ankle and dragged him back like luggage.
Scrrrk...
Bat Bat whispered excitedly, "Old bag drag."
Sekhmet ignored it. He crouched between them. His throat burned. His hunger surged. He activated his new control instinctively. He did not want ghouls.
Not here.
Not tonight.
He chose the outcome.
"No infection."
The system did not need to speak. The choice settled into his blood like a switch being flipped.
Sekhmet leaned down and bit the second thug’s neck.
CRUNCH —Shhk!
Warm blood flooded his mouth.
The thug jerked, eyes bulging, then tried to scream.
It came out as a choking gasp.
Sekhmet drank.
Relief hit instantly.
The burning in his throat eased.
The pressure behind his eyes softened.
His muscles felt steady, his mind sharpening like a blade being honed.
He swallowed once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then he forced himself to stop.
He pulled back.
Blood dripped from his lips.
Drip...
He wiped it with his sleeve.
The thug shivered, still alive, pale and shaking.
Sekhmet leaned toward the other thug, who was now whimpering.
"Please," the first thug rasped. "I— I didn’t—"
Sekhmet’s eyes were cold.
"You did," he said.
He bit.
CRUNCH —Shhk!
Blood.
More relief.
More quiet strength.
He drank just enough. He stopped before death. He pulled back, breathing controlled.
Both thugs lay there, alive but ruined, staring at him like he was a nightmare they couldn’t wake from.
Sekhmet stood. He looked down at them.
"You will remember this," he said.
The second thug tried to speak.
Sekhmet stepped on his hand.
CRACK!
The thug screamed.
Sekhmet leaned closer and spoke softly, so only they could hear.
"If you try to rob anyone again," he murmured, "I will not stop next time."
He lifted his foot.
Bat Bat stared at the two thugs with interest.
"Can I eat," Bat Bat asked.
Sekhmet shook his head.
"Not here," he said. "We are not leaving bodies."
Bat Bat pouted.
"Bat sad," it muttered.
Sekhmet walked away, blending back into the crowd, leaving the thugs shaking in a shadow corner with their pride ripped out.
No one stopped him.
No one cared.
In the underground market, violence was a language. Sekhmet had spoken it fluently.
He moved deeper into the market, hunger eased but not gone. It would never be fully gone. Not anymore.
Bat Bat rode his shoulder, eyes wide with fascination.
"Many stall," Bat Bat whispered. "Many shiny."
Sekhmet nodded slightly.
He had been here once as a child. That memory felt like a blur compared to what he saw now.
The underground had grown.
Expanded.
It was not just a black market.
It was an ecosystem.
Weapon stalls with blades that hummed faintly.
Potion stalls with liquids that glowed too brightly to be safe.
Beast cages with creatures snarling in darkness.
Information brokers sitting behind curtains, selling secrets like candy.
A stall selling fake identities.
A stall selling real ones.
Sekhmet passed a table where a goblin was selling "authentic god-bone fragments."
A customer squinted.
"How do I know it’s real," the customer asked.
The goblin shrugged.
"You don’t," he said. "That’s why it’s cheap."
Sekhmet’s mouth twitched.
Bat Bat whispered, "Honest goblin."
Sekhmet murmured, "That is rare."
He found himself near a section where the crowd was quieter, voices lower. Here, the goods were not loud. They were expensive, dangerous, or both. He saw a man selling nightmare-grade materials.
A woman selling beast cores in sealed jars.
A masked figure selling sealed contracts with unknown terms.
Sekhmet’s blood eye flickered across them, but he kept his gaze subtle. In places like this, staring could be interpreted as interest, and interest could be interpreted as weakness.
He remembered Uncle Ben’s old warning.
Do not stare.
Sekhmet did not stare. He observed like a predator.
Bat Bat, unfortunately, had no such discipline.
It leaned forward, eyes shining, and whispered loudly, "That man has three eye."
Sekhmet hissed under his breath, "Quiet."
Bat Bat blinked.
"I whisper," it argued.
"You whisper like a shouting child," Sekhmet muttered.
Bat Bat looked offended again.
"I learn," it said proudly. "Child shout. I do too."
Sekhmet sighed and kept walking. He did not want to buy anything tonight. He wanted to understand.
He wanted to map the underground in his mind the way he mapped forests.
Because he knew something important. His father had left him with business. Business meant enemies.
Enemies meant trouble. And trouble often began in places like this.
He turned down a narrower corridor, where lanterns hung lower and the walls were closer. The crowd here was thinner, faces more secretive. The stalls looked older, less polished.
Sekhmet’s instincts prickled. He slowed, letting Bat Bat’s ears catch sound.
Bat Bat whispered, "Quiet place. Good for... sneaky."
Sekhmet nodded once.
Then he saw it.
A small shop tucked between two cracked stone pillars. Its sign was old wood, nearly black with age, carved with a symbol that looked like a droplet and a fang.
No loud vendor shouting.
No bright lanterns.
Just a faint red glow behind a cloth curtain.
Sekhmet stopped. His throat tightened again, not from hunger alone.
From recognition.
Blood.
He stepped closer.
The sign’s letters were faded, but readable if you looked carefully.
Blood, Sold.
Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed.
Bat Bat leaned in.
"The shop smell good," it whispered.
Sekhmet’s gaze fixed on the curtain.
He felt something strange then, something he hadn’t expected.
Not fear.
Not excitement.
Suspicion.
"Who sells blood in the underground."
He had always assumed blood was something you spilled, not something you bought.
But in Null, everything could be a commodity if someone was desperate enough to sell it and someone greedy enough to buy it.
Sekhmet stood before the curtain, listening.
No footsteps inside.
No chatter.
Just silence.
A deep, waiting silence. He lifted his hand. His fingers hovered inches from the cloth.
Bat Bat held its breath.
Sekhmet’s eyes hardened. "Let’s check what is inside," he said before he stepped inside the blood shop.
Bat Bat added, "Let’s go. I smell good thing. I feel hungry."
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