---
Sekhmet walked out of the prison side of the Void Land alone and let the silence around him settle properly before he allowed himself to think. The dark there had a way of stripping unnecessary noise from the mind. Good. He needed that. Too many things had stacked themselves together over too few days. Mihos. Iron House. Leaf and the Bloodlands. Sofia and Natasha. The old myth. The offer of service. The vision of Lucard dying with betrayal all around him.
He did not slow.
He did not stop.
But inwardly, the decision formed.
He would not claim the Blood God title.
Not now. Possibly not ever.
He will create his own title.
He did not want a dead god's throne, and he did not need some ancient broken race looking at him as if he had crawled out of their oldest prayer. Titles like that came with chains hidden under the gold. Expectations. Histories. Enemies that arrived before loyalty did. A throne could wait. If it wanted him badly enough, it could keep waiting.
