Dawn Walker

Chapter 222: 222: The Bloodlust II

—

Her hood was already down. Her face was young in a way that made mortal time look like a joke. Her eyes were older than the city.

Her chaos energy did not explode.

It settled. It pressed into the hall like a great cloak being draped over everything.

The three vampires turned instantly.

Sofia’s smile faded by a fraction.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed.

Even Alex shifted his stance slightly, as if acknowledging a new power house had entered the room.

Elena’s eyes flicked once toward Seraphiel.

Not surprising. Recognition. Not fear. Annoyance.

“Elena,” Seraphiel said softly.

Elena’s response was blunt. “You took your time. I felt your present…”

Seraphiel’s lips twitched as if she almost smiled. “I was hoping it would resolve without me.”

Elena snorted quietly. “You always hope that. You always lose that bet.”

Sekhmet stared. They know each other.

Not just “met once.” Not “heard of.”

They spoke like two people who had argued in kitchens, not in wars.

Seraphiel’s gaze moved to Sekhmet for the first time.

For a moment her eyes softened, then hardened again.

“Eyra’s son,” she murmured, almost too quiet.

Sekhmet’s Blood Eye remained active. He tried to read her. His vision sharpened. Then it failed.

Her information did not show. Only blank. Only question marks. As if the system itself refused to place numbers on her.

[Ding! System notification:

Name: Seraphiel.

Status: ???

Rank: ???

Overall Battle Power: ???]

Sekhmet’s throat tightened. He remembered that hooded figure at the city gate. The one his Blood Eye could not read. The one the system had warned was too far above him.

He had forgotten the shape. He had not forgotten the feeling. Now that feeling slammed into him again.

It was her. The hooded figure. The god. Her name is Seraphiel.

Sekhmet’s voice came out low. “You.”

Seraphiel did not look away from the three vampires as she answered. “Yes.”

Elena clicked her tongue again, still fighting, still holding posture, but the arrival had changed the board.

Elena’s voice was sharp now. “Stop staring, young master. If you stare too long, you will die politely.”

Sekhmet forced himself to breathe.

Ba – dum. Ba – dum.

Sofia’s smile returned, but it was no longer playful.

It was wary.

“A god,” Sofia said softly. “So the rumor was true. The Dawn boy always has a protector.”

Seraphiel’s gaze stayed calm. “I am not his protector.”

Elena barked a quiet laugh. “Liar.”

Seraphiel’s eyes flicked to Elena, and Elena’s tone became even more irritating. “Do not give me that face. I have seen you cry. You cannot intimidate me.”

Sekhmet blinked hard. “Cry. Seraphiel. A god. Crying.”

His mind could not process it fully because it did not fit the current scene, but it lodged in him like a thorn.

Natasha’s voice cut in, cold. “We do not care about your history.”

Alex finally spoke again, voice calm and heavy. “Move aside, god woman. This is a blood sovereign business.”

Seraphiel’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You are very confident for half-gods.”

Sofia laughed once, sharp. “We are not confident. We are hungry.”

The three vampires released more of their aura.

The hall’s lantern flames dipped as if oxygen thinned.

The air tasted metallic.

The pressure became heavy enough that the stone floor seemed to complain.

Elena’s shoulders tightened.

Seraphiel’s posture remained relaxed, but her eyes sharpened to blades.

Elena and Seraphiel moved together without needing a plan spoken aloud, because old allies did not need speeches.

Elena shifted left, intercepting Natasha’s forward line.

Seraphiel stepped forward to intercept Sofia, her hand lifting with elegant calm.

Alex remained in the center. He did not rush. He watched. He waited for the best moment to strike the source.

Sekhmet.

Because Alex understood something simple.

If the original vampire died, the converted kin weakened.

The ripple ended.

The new threat ended.

Alex’s gaze locked on Sekhmet again.

“Come,” Alex said quietly.

The word was not an invitation.

It was a command wrapped in ancient hunger.

Sekhmet’s blood answered inside him.

Rage pressed against the system’s restraint.

The blood god will snarl.

Elena and Seraphiel engaged the two women.

Sofia attacked Seraphiel with a whip-fast strike of condensed chaos energy shaped like a crescent blade. Seraphiel flicked her wrist and the crescent shattered into shimmering fragments mid-air, as if her aura had rewritten the attack’s meaning.

Natasha attacked Elena with direct brutality, her movements clean, her claws aimed for tendon cuts. Elena met her with short, efficient blocks, her fingers tapping joints and pressure points like she was scolding a child with a ruler.

“You are sloppy,” Elena said calmly, even as she stopped a throat strike by millimeters.

Natasha’s eyes flashed. “I will eat your tongue.”

Elena’s reply was irritatingly maternal. “Try me, child.”

Seraphiel and Sofia clashed again.

Their impacts created ripples that made the lanterns swing.

Sofia hissed, amused and furious. “You are stronger than you pretend.”

Seraphiel’s voice stayed soft. “I have been pretending for a long time.”

Alex moved. He stepped toward Sekhmet.

Elena tried to shift to block him, but Natasha’s pressure kept her pinned.

Seraphiel tried to shift too, but Sofia’s speed forced her to commit.

For a breath, Alex had a lane.

Sekhmet’s mind tightened. He raised Blood Control instinctively, blood threads forming in the air, but his blood threads were not the same kind of energy threads as Elena’s refined ones. His were hungry threads. They moved fast, sharp, eager.

Alex’s aura tore through them like cloth.

Sekhmet stepped back. His heel hit the edge of a bench. He caught himself. His breath stayed controlled.

But inside, panic tapped his ribs.

I cannot fight him like this.

Alex’s hand lifted.

The air around his fingers turned darker, as if blood itself was being summoned from the memory of the room.

Sekhmet felt the bloodlust inside him spike.

The system chimed.

One notification.

Not cold.

Not mechanical.

A blunt, urgent statement that felt like someone grabbing him by the collar and forcing his eyes open.

[Ding. System notification- Bloodlust threshold breached.

Current Bloodlust: 91%.

The host must release within a safe window to prevent soul strain.

Recommended action: Trigger Bloodlust State under controlled target focus.

Suggested target: Alex.]

Sekhmet’s throat tightened. He did not want to. He had planned to prepare. He had planned to choose a location.

He had planned to vent in a controlled field, with criminals and distance and no witnesses.

But plans were polite fantasies.

Reality was a blade.

Alex stepped closer again, aura pressing.

Elena was still fighting Natasha.

Seraphiel was still holding Sofia.

Two against two.

One predator remained free.

And that predator was reaching for Sekhmet’s throat.

Sekhmet swallowed once. He made the decision. It was not out of desire. It was out of necessity.

His mind spoke to the system like a man speaking to a weapon he hated but needed.

“Do it,” Sekhmet thought. “Release it. Focus it on, Alex.”

The system responded instantly.

Not with comfort.

With activation.

A pulse ran through Sekhmet’s veins like molten iron.

His heart slammed once, heavy enough that the hall’s sound seemed to dim for a fraction of a heartbeat.

Ba – dum!

Then the blood god will inside him surged up like a beast finally given permission to open its eyes.

Sekhmet’s pupils tightened. The air around him thickened. His blood threads snapped outward, not like wire now, but like living serpents tasting the presence of prey.

Across the hall, Alex’s eyes widened slightly.

Not fear. It was recognition.

Because he felt it too.

The moment the original vampire’s true predatory state began to awaken.

Elena felt it and her jaw clenched, still fighting.

Seraphiel felt it and her eyes sharpened, still holding Sofia back.

Natasha smiled faintly, excited.

Sofia’s breath hitched, thrilled.

The hall’s lantern flames flared red for a breath, as if the light itself had been stained.

And Sekhmet’s body stood at the edge of something he could not take back.

The bloodlust state opened its door.