Dawn Walker-Chapter 143: Fight Back III

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Sekhmet’s jaw clenched.

Earlier, he had not dared to open it.

Not because he could not.

Because he was not stupid.

His bats were not Chaos Rank One. Not yet. Most of them were still growing, still adapting, still building their bodies and their instincts.

If he had summoned them into a four versus one execution, they would have died.

Not maybe.

Died.

They would have been cut apart by weapons coated to resist blood. They would have been pierced by needles laced with poison. They would have been crushed by raw Chaos Rank Two force.

And Sekhmet refused to throw his family into a grinder just because he was desperate.

He would die first.

But now...

Now he did not have to choose between pride and survival.

Now he had Raka.

A Chaos Rank Three wall.

A monster of raw power.

A distraction that could hold the assassins’ attention long enough for Sekhmet’s swarm to do what swarms did best.

Overwhelm.

Divide.

Humiliate.

And feed.

Sekhmet’s eyes sharpened like a blade being drawn.

He flexed his fingers.

The void opening widened.

A cold wind breathed out, carrying the faint scent of iron and old tunnels and the sharp, animal tang of creatures that lived by blood.

A shadow moved inside the void.

Then another.

Then six.

They emerged one by one, not as soft bats, not as cute creatures, but as predators shaped like wings.

The first rare bat slipped out with no sound at all, its body lean and dark, with a faint silver pattern on its wings like lightning scars. It perched on the alley wall upside down, head tilting, eyes glowing a muted crimson.

The second crawled out like liquid, its wings folding and unfolding as if testing the air. Its claws clicked lightly on stone. It sniffed once, and Sekhmet felt its hunger through the link like a sharp smile.

The third was heavier, broader, with thicker wing bones and a skull that looked slightly wrong for a bat, like something that had started evolving toward a different predator and decided to keep the wings anyway.

The fourth and fifth came out together, circling once above Sekhmet’s head in a tight spiral, then landing on opposite sides of the alley mouth, claiming angles like trained soldiers.

The sixth rare bat came last.

It paused half inside the void, half outside, like it was judging whether this world was worth its time.

Then it stepped fully out and spread its wings wide.

For a heartbeat, the alley felt smaller.

Because its wingspan was too large for a normal bat. Not monstrous like a dragon, but wrong enough to make every assassin’s instincts scream that this was not natural prey.

Behind them, more bats poured out.

Not the small minion blood constructs.

Real bats.

Stronger bats.

The ones Sekhmet had fed over days. The ones who had grown smarter. The ones who had learned to follow commands with discipline instead of chaos.

They filled the air like living smoke.

Flutter. Flutter. Flutter.

The alley’s shadows became wings.

The assassins’ eyes widened as the swarm expanded.

The needle assassin swore under his breath.

"Summoner," he muttered again, but this time his voice carried the first hint of uncertainty.

The spear assassin raised his weapon defensively, spear tip twitching as he tried to track too many targets at once.

The blade assassin shifted his stance, trying to keep his back from being exposed.

Raka took one step forward.

Only one.

But the air felt heavier when he moved.

Sekhmet’s lips barely parted.

He did not shout. He did not roar. He did not waste breath.

He simply gave the command through blood, through bond, through instinct.

"Hunt," he said.

The bats answered instantly.

The rare bats did not dive like mindless animals. They moved with intention.

Two shot straight toward the needle assassin, not to kill him, but to ruin his hands.

One rare bat swept low and snapped its jaws near the spear assassin’s wrist, forcing him to flinch and redirect his spear.

Another rare bat slammed into the blade assassin’s face like a black hammer, wings beating hard, claws reaching for eyes, not skin.

The rest of the swarm spread out, surrounding, cutting off escape routes, filling the alley mouth so the assassins could not simply sprint past without being clawed blind.

Sekhmet felt it all through the link.

Every wingbeat.

Every bite.

Every scream of panic that tried to rise in the assassins’ throats and got swallowed by the sound of wings.

He let his broken Blood Sword dissolve.

It was useless against their coating.

He replaced it with something else.

Blood threads.

Not thick.

Not obvious.

Thin.

Silent.

Like spider silk made of red.

He pulled blood from his own wounds, from the ruined thug’s bleeding body on the ground, from the small droplets splattered on stone.

A dozen thin strands formed in the air, barely visible.

And with Raka standing there like a wall, Sekhmet finally had the breathing room to control them properly.

The assassins tried to react.

The needle assassin flicked.

A needle flew.

A rare bat snapped its head and caught it in its teeth mid-air.

Crack.

The bat spit it out like it was tasting garbage.

The spear assassin thrust at Raka in panic.

Raka caught the spear shaft with one hand.

Just caught it.

No technique.

No flourish.

Raw power.

The spear assassin’s eyes widened in horror as his weapon stopped like it had hit a mountain.

Raka’s other fist rose slowly.

The spear assassin tried to let go, but a rare bat bit into his forearm.

He screamed.

Raka punched him in the stomach.

Wham.

The assassin folded like wet cloth and hit the ground, choking.

The blade assassin lunged toward Sekhmet, realizing the summoner was the center.

Two bats slammed into his chest.

He staggered.

Sekhmet’s blood threads snapped forward.

They wrapped around the blade assassin’s ankle, then tightened.

Not enough to break.

Enough to steal balance.

The assassin stumbled.