Dawn Walker-Chapter 198: Midnight Theft VI

---

The Rank Two fought the pull with brute chaos energy. The threads strained.

Sekhmet did not force them to hold. He used the pull to step inside. His elbow struck the fighter’s ribs. There was a sound, Crack!

The Rank Two staggered.

Sekhmet’s fist followed, hard enough that the fighter’s teeth snapped together and the man stumbled into the wall. 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

Sekhmet did not finish him yet. He had a rule tonight. Contain, then harvest. Not chaos. Not slaughter.

A second Rank Two came in from the left. A third from the right.

Seven Rank Two total, and now they moved like a pack realizing the prey was dangerous.

Dickon Iron backed away instinctively, eyes wide, the moment he saw Sekhmet in fight.

Not because Dickon had gained wisdom. Because his body remembered being thrown into cabbages and humiliated in public.

Then he remembered the status... His pride hated Sekhmet. His instincts feared him.

"Kill him!" Dickon snapped, voice rising. "Kill him now!"

A Rank Two obeyed, lunging with a short spear.

Sekhmet twisted aside, grabbed the spear shaft mid-thrust, and slammed it downward.

The spear struck the stone with Clang! sound.

Sekhmet stepped forward and then he kicked the Rank Two’s knee sideways.

The man dropped with a howl, and Sekhmet’s blood threads wrapped his throat instantly, cutting off sound and air.

He did not crush. He held the position.

A second Rank Two swung a heavy blade coated with something that might have resisted blood binding. The edge hummed faintly as it moved.

Sekhmet saw it and adjusted instantly. He did not try to bind the blade. He bound the man’s boots.

Blood soaked into the cracks in the stone near the man’s feet, it was old stains, old residue, traces the city forgot existed. Sekhmet pulled it up like a net and snapped it tight.

The man’s feet were stuck. His swing still came, but his body lost balance.

Sekhmet stepped inside the arc and drove his palm into the man’s throat.

The Rank Two gagged, his eyes were bulging.

Sekhmet grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him into the wall.

Thud!

Stone dust shook loose.

The third Rank Two tried to flank.

Sekhmet felt it more than saw it. His blood sense had changed these days. He could read movement like pressure shifts in air. He turned and snapped a blood spike forward.

The spike pierced the attacker’s shoulder. It was not fatal. Just enough to ruin the arm.

The Rank Two roared.

Sekhmet moved in and bit him with a Chomp sound.

Warm blood surged into his mouth. Instant relief hit like a wave.

The hunger eased. The energy returned. The bite was controlled, as always. He drank fast but not deep. He tore away before the man collapsed completely.

The Rank Two stumbled, pale, shaking, and Sekhmet shoved him backward into two Rank Ones who had been rushing in.

They all fell in a heap. That was when the corridor split into multiple battles.

On the far end, Vera and Vela were fighting near the upper ledge like twin knives.

They jumped and landed beside the right-side Rank Three escort.

He was a large man, body heavy with chaos reinforcement, muscle thick like compressed stone. His eyes widened for a heartbeat when he realized two women had just fallen into his path.

Then he grinned.

"Little beauties," he growled. "Cute."

Vera did not answer.

Vela did.

"Say cute again," she said calmly, "and I bite your tongue off."

The Rank Three laughed and swung. His strike was meant to flatten them. He used raw power, expecting them to be fragile.

Vera stepped back half a step and caught the arm with blood threads, not trying to stop the strike fully, only to redirect it.

Vela stepped inside and drove her elbow into the man’s ribs. They all heard the Crack! sound.

The Rank Three’s grin twitched. He had not expected an impact. He swung again in response.

Vera’s blood threads wrapped his wrist tighter, and Vela’s blood control sharpened into a blood claw that raked across his forearm.

With a Shhk! sound blood sprayed.

The Rank Three roared, his anger rising. He realized then this was not a quick crush. This was a controlled dismantling.

Vera’s voice stayed calm. "Vela. Left shoulder," she said.

Vela moved instantly, slipping under a heavy punch and striking upward into the man’s shoulder joint with the sound Crack!

The Rank Three’s arm weakened.

Vera tightened blood threads across his neck like a leash, not choking yet, just controlling head movement.

They were not trying to kill him. They were trying to pin one of the strongest threats in a box. And they were doing it efficiently.

On the opposite side of the corridor, the other Rank Three turned sharply when he felt movement behind him.

Raka arrived. Not loudly. Not with a dramatic entrance. He came like a tool sliding from a sheath. His eyes were cold. His aura carried the faint unnatural obedience of blood puppet control. He stepped in and struck.

Wham! His fist hit the Rank Three’s jaw hard enough to snap the man’s head sideways.

The Rank Three stumbled. Then he saw who hit him.

"Raka?" he hissed, disbelief twisting his face. "You... I know you. Aren’t you one of the underground market bosses? Why are you here?"

Raka’s voice was flat. "I obey my master," he said.

The Rank Three’s expression shifted from shock to rage. "What master?" He lunged at him.

Raka met him.

They clashed in the corridor’s outer edge, their impacts shaking dust from the stone. Raka used simple brutality. No fancy technique. No wasted movement. He used Punches. Kicks. Elbows. Head control. He fought like a man who had spent years surviving in underground market violence.

The Rank Three fought like a man who thought his rank made him untouchable in his rank.

Those two styles collided.

And Raka’s move was unpredictable.

Meanwhile, Rank Ones and below tried to regain control of the corridor.

They could not.

Because Raka’s men arrived.

More than fifty. Not a hundred. They were like sixty plus people.

They flowed in from side routes, sealing doors, blocking exits, cutting off retreat paths with practiced street discipline. They did not scream. They did not brag. They moved like men who understood that tonight was not a brawl.

Tonight was a trap closing. Rank Ones met them and panicked. Some ran. Some tried to fight. But most of them lost