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One was a thick-necked beastkin with a shaved head and iron rings in his ears. The other was a slender human with a tattoo running up his neck like a snake.
They blocked the door with bored posture.
Sekhmet approached.
The tattooed man lifted a lantern and squinted at him.
"What do you want," he asked.
Sekhmet’s voice was calm.
"Underground market."
The beastkin snorted.
"Everyone wants the underground," he said. "Question is, do you belong."
Sekhmet did not answer with words.
He let a fraction of his chaos pressure slip out.
Just a fraction.
Not enough to crush.
Enough to warn.
The air around him tightened.
The lantern flame flickered.
Fzz...
The beastkin’s face shifted.
His bravado hesitated.
He was strong enough to bully normal people, but he could feel the difference between a bully and a predator.
The tattooed man swallowed.
He forced a grin.
"Alright, alright," he said quickly. "No need to glare like that, friend. Rules are rules."
He stepped aside and knocked on the stone door in a specific rhythm.
Knock-knock... knock... knock-knock.
The stone door trembled.
A hidden mechanism clicked.
Click.
It opened inward, revealing a staircase descending into darkness.
Warm air rose from below, carrying smells that did not belong to clean city streets.
Smoke.
Metal.
Blood.
Perfume.
Spices.
And something else.
Something like greed.
Bat Bat whispered, "Smell like trouble."
Sekhmet muttered, "That is the point."
He descended.
Step... step... step...
The staircase was narrow and old. The walls were carved with runes that absorbed sound, making the world above fade quickly. By the time Sekhmet reached the bottom, it felt like he had stepped into a different city entirely.
The underground market spread out like a hidden kingdom under Slik.
Lanterns hung from chains.
Drip Drip Drip...
Water fell from the ceiling in some places, collected into shallow gutters that ran between stalls. The floor was stone, worn smooth by centuries of illegal footsteps.
The crowd was thick.
Not only humans.
Beastkin, goblins, lizardfolk, insectoid humanoids with glimmering eyes, even a floating jelly-like creature in a glass tank carried by a merchant who kept yelling, "Do not tap the tank!" at everyone who walked past.
Vendors shouted deals.
"Nightmare-grade steel! Real steel! Not fake city garbage!"
"Chaos stones cheap! Cheap! Just don’t ask where they came from!"
"Love potion! Guaranteed! Side effects include obsession, crying, and biting—!"
A woman slapped the vendor.
"Do not sell that to teenagers," she snapped.
The vendor shrugged.
"Teenagers are my best customers," he said.
A fight almost started near a weapon stall, but it stopped before it began, because a man with a black armband stepped between them and spoke quietly.
The two fighters backed off instantly.
Sekhmet’s eyes narrowed.
Rules.
The underground had its own law.
And it was not polite.
Bat Bat’s head moved constantly, scanning everything.
"Many face," it whispered. "Many sharp teeth."
Sekhmet did not reply.
He was listening.
He could feel the underground’s rule without anyone explaining it.
Here, everything was permitted.
But only here.
If you started trouble above ground, the city would crush you.
Below ground, you were allowed to be a monster — as long as you kept your monster inside the cage of this place.
Sekhmet moved through the crowd like he belonged, because now he did.
His blood eyes flickered on, quietly appraising the environment.
People’s battle power danced across his vision.
[Overall Battle Power: 2100]
[Overall Battle Power: 4600]
[Overall Battle Power: 7900]
[Overall Battle Power: 11200]
He saw thieves and killers and smugglers wearing smiles like masks.
He saw a merchant selling "holy water" that was clearly just tap water with glitter in it.
He saw a demonkin woman selling cursed rings while flirting with every customer, her voice sweet and dangerous.
He saw a group of hooded men arguing over a crate of shadow beast bones like it was gold.
Sekhmet kept moving.
He was not here to shop.
Not yet.
He needed two things.
A test of his power.
And blood.
He found the quiet place he wanted near the edge of the market, where the lantern light dimmed and the crowd thinned. A narrow passage led into a shadowed corner where broken crates formed a half-wall. Most people avoided it.
That meant it was exactly the kind of place predators used.
Sekhmet waited. He did not have to wait long.
A cry broke soon, the low hum of the market.
"Please—! I already paid!"
Sekhmet turned slightly.
A young man, maybe eighteen, was pressed against the wall by two thugs. One held a knife. The other held the man’s wrist, twisting it painfully.
"Pay again," the knife thug said, smiling. "Underground tax."
"That’s not a real tax," the victim stammered.
"It is," the other thug said. "We invented it. Congratulations."
They laughed.
Sekhmet’s expression remained calm.
Bat Bat whispered, "Bad guy."
Sekhmet muttered, "Yes."
He moved. Not fast. Just... suddenly.
One moment he was leaning against a crate.
The next moment he was standing behind the knife thug.
The thug did not even realize it until Sekhmet spoke.
"Let him go."
The thug flinched and spun. His knife slashed instinctively.
Sekhmet caught the wrist.
Crack!
The knife fell.
Clink!
The thug’s face twisted in pain.
"What the—"
Sekhmet slammed him into the wall.
THUD!
The second thug lunged toward Sekhmet’s side, fist glowing with chaos energy.
Sekhmet turned and blocked casually with his forearm.
BAM!
The impact echoed.
The second thug staggered backward, eyes widening.
He had expected a weak target. Instead he met a wall.
Sekhmet’s blood eyes flickered over them.
[Thug 1: Overall Battle Power 4300]
[Thug 2: Overall Battle Power 4700]
Bat Bat hummed approvingly.
"Good snack," it whispered.
Sekhmet did not answer. He looked at the young victim.
"Leave, Run!" Sekhmet said.
The victim stared at him, trembling.
"But—"
"Leave," Sekhmet repeated, voice sharper.
The victim did not argue again. He ran.
TapTapTap!
Sekhmet turned back to the two thugs. They were recovering.
The one he slammed against the wall spat blood and snarled.