---
When Sekhmet stepped back into the Void Land, the first thing he felt was not the red sphere.
It was hunger.
Not the ordinary awareness of an empty stomach. Not the mortal sort of need that could be delayed with discipline and ignored through duty. This was the sharper thing that lived beneath his skin now.
Blood hunger.
Deepened by creation. Stirred by transformation. Aggravated by the amount he had given, the amount he had taken, and the sheer strain of holding his body and mind in order while too many impossible things happened around him in too little time.
The hunger hit him cleanly the moment the Void Land air closed around him again.
His mouth tasted faintly of old iron. His pulse thickened. His attention sharpened at the edges in a way he had learned to distrust.
He stopped where he was for half a heartbeat and let himself identify it properly before it could grow teeth and start pretending it was only fatigue.
Bad timing.
