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Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed.
"You are not supposed to say that part like it is a heroic achievement."
The bat ignored him.
"I... partner," it said, voice earnest. "Partner need name."
Sekhmet felt something shift in his chest.
Not softness.
Not sentimentality.
Just... recognition.
The bat had been with him through everything these last two months. It had seen him fight. It had watched him drink blood. It had slept in his pocket while he walked through hell landscapes. It had eaten what he killed. It had become stronger with him.
It was not a pet.
It was not a tool.
It was... his.
Sekhmet exhaled slowly.
"You want a name," he said.
The bat nodded vigorously.
"Yes. Name."
Sekhmet stared at the creature for a long moment, then spoke with dry honesty.
"I am not good at naming things," he admitted.
The bat hovered, waiting, like a child staring at a parent holding a gift.
Sekhmet’s mouth twitched slightly.
"You only say two words most of the time," he said. "Bat. Bat."
The bat blinked.
Then it puffed up proudly.
"Bat Bat," it said, as if hearing the idea made it instantly love it.
Sekhmet stared.
"That is not—" he began.
The bat cut him off, louder.
"BAT BAT."
Sekhmet sighed.
"You are naming yourself," he said.
Bat Bat nodded again, satisfied.
"Yes. Bat Bat."
Sekhmet shook his head slowly, unable to stop the faint amusement that crept into his voice.
"Fine," he said. "Your name is Bat Bat."
Bat Bat chirped loudly and fluttered in a small circle above Sekhmet’s head like it was celebrating a festival.
"Bat Bat! Bat Bat! I Bat Bat!"
Sekhmet rubbed his temple.
"You are going to tell everyone your name, are you?"
Bat Bat hovered and blinked innocently.
"Yes."
Sekhmet muttered, "I created an extrovert."
Bat Bat did not know what that meant, but it sounded like praise, so it said proudly:
"Yes!"
Sekhmet sighed again, but the sigh was less heavy than before.
He checked Bat Bat’s battle power later that day with Blood Eye.
[Name: Bat Bat
Species: Blood Bat (Evolved Hatchling) Battle Power: 3000
Status: Energetic. Hungry. Proud.
Role: Scout / Companion
Note: Intelligence improving. Chaos language capability detected.]
Sekhmet stared at the number.
Three thousand.
Bat Bat was now stronger than most of Sekhmet’s low-level enemies.
That made Sekhmet feel two things at once.
Relief.
And the unsettling realization that his companion might someday be stronger than him.
Bat Bat leaned in close, reading Sekhmet’s expression.
"Three... thou... sand," Bat Bat said slowly, proud of saying the big number. "I strong."
Sekhmet nodded.
"Yes," he said. "You are strong."
Bat Bat squinted.
"You... strong too," it said, voice oddly serious for a tiny creature. "You... hide strong."
Sekhmet froze slightly.
Bat Bat tilted its head.
"I see," it said. "You hit hard. You not die."
Sekhmet’s gaze softened a fraction, then hardened again.
"I survived," Sekhmet said.
Bat Bat nodded.
"Sur... vive," it repeated, like tasting the word.
Tap... Tap... Tap...
The two months were not only about blood and language.
Sekhmet trained constantly.
He did not train like a noble with a courtyard and instructors.
He trained like a man who expected a knife in his back at any moment.
He practiced Blood Control by pulling droplets from the air when it rained, forming them into needles, then threading them through narrow gaps between stones without touching the sides.
He practiced Blood Sword by shaping the blade in different weights, different lengths, forcing it to remain stable during movement so it would not dissolve mid-swing.
He practiced Blood Eye until he could appraise quickly without getting distracted by unnecessary details.
He practiced Blood Summon, over and over, learning how much chaos energy it took, learning how blood quality shaped the result, learning how to call without wasting resources.
He did not use Blood Puppet yet.
Not because he forgot it.
Because the skill was dangerous.
Not in combat.
In identity.
He had not decided what kind of master he wanted to become.
So he waited.
But Blood Summon did not wait.
It grew in use.
At first, Sekhmet summoned one bat from Benimaru’s blood, and that was Bat Bat.
Then he started experimenting with lesser blood.
When he killed a creature with decent blood but not worthy of becoming a companion, he used it to summon minions.
The results were not beautiful.
They were not smart.
They were loyal and hungry and of low intelligence.
They were tools.
And Sekhmet needed tools.
The process became a ritual after battles.
Kill.
Drink what he needed.
Then summon.
Sometimes he summoned one minion.
Sometimes he summoned three.
Sometimes he summoned a small swarm when the blood was thick and abundant.
Each time he did it, he could feel the system’s structure adjusting inside him, as if the blood system was pleased that he was using it for what it was meant to do.
On a late afternoon near the end of the second month, Sekhmet killed a humanoid monster that had stalked him for half a day.
The creature looked almost human, except its skin was grey and its eyes were milky, and its mouth opened too wide when it hissed. It wore scraps of armor looted from dead travelers. It carried a jagged spear.
It attacked at dusk, thinking Sekhmet would be tired.
Sekhmet was tired.
He killed it anyway.
The fight was short and brutal.
The monster’s battle power was around four thousand, and it hit hard, but Sekhmet’s movements were clean, efficient. Bat Bat acted as scout and distraction, fluttering around the monster’s face, biting at its ears, making it swing wildly.
"Miss! Miss!" Bat Bat yelled, laughing like a child watching someone fail.
Sekhmet had snapped, "Stop talking during combat."
Bat Bat had yelled back, "No!"
Sekhmet had nearly gotten stabbed because he was busy being offended by a bat’s attitude.
He ended the fight by stabbing the blood sword through the monster’s throat.
Shhk!
Blood spilled.