---
The two original thugs were still standing at the back, panic in their eyes now. Their revenge fantasy was collapsing.
One of them pointed shakily at Sekhmet.
"T-this is him," he stammered. "That monster—!"
The leader thug, still coughing on the ground, snarled.
"Kill him!" he rasped. "Don’t stop—!"
Sekhmet walked toward the two original thugs.
They tried to back away.
Sekhmet moved faster suddenly. He became a blur for their eyes. In one motion, he grabbed both by their throats and slammed them against the wall.
BAM!
Their feet kicked uselessly in the air. Their eyes bulged.
Sekhmet leaned closer, voice quiet.
"You wanted revenge," he murmured. "And you forgot what I did to you."
The thugs struggled.
Sekhmet’s blood eyes flickered.
They were not remembering the feeding.
They couldn’t. His blood had already touched their minds once, even without full conversion. Sekhmet understands it. He didn’t need to ask the system about it.
It was a subtle effect, like the blood god’s passive influence twisting memory around feeding.
Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed. "Interesting."
He dropped them.
They collapsed, gasping.
Sekhmet turned back to the other thugs. His hunger surged again, sharp and demanding. He had fought. He had used chaos energy. Now his body craved blood as payment.
Bat Bat whispered, excited. "Feed time."
Sekhmet’s voice was flat.
"Yes," he said.
He moved through the downed thugs and fed. Not like before, where he bit in desperation.
This time, he fed with control. He chose targets with battle power above 4000 first.
He did not kill.
He drank enough to calm his hunger, to reinforce his chaos energy, to stabilize his blood. His new passive skill made it possible.
He could choose the outcome.
He fed.
Shhk... Shhk...
Warm blood filled his mouth. Relief returned like a wave. His body steadied. His mind sharpened. His eyes burned faintly red for a moment, then cooled. He stopped each time before death. He pulled back, wiped his mouth, moved to the next.
Bat Bat watched eagerly, licking its lips like a child watching food.
"Bat want," it whispered.
Sekhmet glanced at it. "You can take a little from the ones I fed," he said. "Don’t kill them. Leave them alive. I have plans for them."
Bat Bat squeaked happily. "Okay. I will eat little."
It darted down and bit the unconscious thug’s wrist.
CHOMP!
It drank greedily for a few seconds, then pulled back, eyes shining.
"Good," it whispered.
Sekhmet continued feeding until his hunger stopped clawing. He stood over the bodies.
Fourteen men. All defeated. All alive. All now carrying his blood in their veins.
Sekhmet stared at them, thinking. "I could kill them and be done."
But his system had given him a new passive skill. Control over infection outcomes.
And another part of his plan formed naturally.
"Ghouls are useful," he thought. "Not as friends. Not as a family. But as tools."
He did not want to turn innocent people.
But criminals?
Thugs?
Men who lived by violence?
They were perfect candidates.
Sekhmet crouched beside the thug leader (Note: he is the only leader of fourteen who came to attack sekhmet. Not the entire group leader.) and grabbed his chin, forcing his face up.
The thug’s eyes were filled with rage and fear.
Sekhmet’s voice was calm. "You will live," he said. "And you will remember this pain."
The thug spat blood.
"Freak," he hissed. "When my boss hears—"
Sekhmet smiled faintly. "You will tell him nothing," he said.
The thug sneered. "You think you can stop me—"
Sekhmet leaned closer, his eyes turning cold.
"I fed on you," he whispered. "I control you. You all are my slave."
The thug froze. His mind hesitated. His body trembled slightly, as if the words unlocked a fear he did not understand.
Sekhmet released his chin.
"You will forget," Sekhmet said softly. "But your body will remember enough to fear me."
The thug’s lips trembled.
Sekhmet stood. He glanced around.
The corridor was empty now.
People had fled.
No witnesses.
No interference.
Underground rule.
Sekhmet turned toward the stairs.
Bat Bat hopped onto his shoulder again, eyes bright.
"Go home," it said.
Sekhmet nodded. "Yes," he replied. "We go home."
He left the thugs behind, groaning and unconscious, bleeding but alive. He did not worry about them dying.
They were criminals. They had probably survived worse.
He also knew something else. He could trigger conversion later if needed.
If they become useful. If he needed ghouls. If he needed a small force that could not betray him.
For now, they were seeds. He climbed the stairs.
Step... step... step...
The stone door opened again above.
The guard at the top glanced at Sekhmet’s face, then away quickly.
No one asked questions.
That was part of the city’s unspoken agreement with the underground.
Sekhmet slipped into the night streets of Slik.
The air above ground felt cleaner.
Cooler.
But it did not erase what he had done.
Sekhmet walked back toward Dawn House, his coat swaying, Bat Bat quiet now, sleepy from feeding.
When he reached home, he slipped inside silently again.
No alarms. No guards reacting.
The Dawn House was used to Sekhmet’s presence, even if they did not see him. He returned to his room and closed the door.
Click!
Silence...
Sekhmet exhaled deeply.
Bat Bat hopped down onto the bed and curled up like a satisfied cat.
Sekhmet stood beside his table, mind racing. He opened his void land connection and checked his stored blood purchases.
The system organized them neatly.
Jars.
Vials.
Rare blood.
Fresh blood.
Divine blood.
His eyes landed on the pink dried vial again. Human god normal blood. Three drops. Enough to summon something special.
Something with hands. Something with intelligence. A humanoid harpy bat.
Sekhmet’s pulse quickened slightly.
He had promised himself he would not rush.
That he would rest. But his curiosity burned too hard. His hunger for growth was stronger than his desire for sleep.
Sekhmet looked at Bat Bat.
The bat cracked one eye open.
"Summon now?" Bat Bat asked, voice drowsy.