Warrior Training System

It was nearing midnight, and the three pursuers were growing restless. The two "rats" who had slipped past them earlier were still nowhere to be found. Frustration hung thick in the air, showing clearly on the faces of the two underlings. One of them kept glancing at the now-dry, bloodless arm they'd been carrying—held possessively by their leader like a prized snack.

"Where the fuck did they go?" the leader muttered, his voice tight with annoyance.

He brought the severed arm to his nose again, inhaling deeply, then sniffed the air around them like a predator trying to catch a scent. Just as the irritation on his face deepened, his expression suddenly shifted. A wide, delighted smile spread across his blood-stained lips.

"There you are…" he whispered, eyes gleaming.

Without another word, he blurred forward with inhuman speed, leaving the other two blinking in confusion before they hurried after him. By the time they caught up, their leader already had one hand clenched around a red-haired boy's throat.

Cassian.

His face was turning pale, lips tinged blue, and his freshly regrown arm was bleeding through a makeshift cloth bandage.

The leader licked his lips and grinned. "Looks like I don't even need to drain you first. Saves me the trouble."

As the other two finally caught up, he glanced at them and added, "Now do me a favor and make this even easier—tell me where the other one is hiding."

"Eeaa... ieee…" Cassian tried to speak, his voice choked and slurred.

The leader raised a brow, tightening his grip just slightly. "What?"

Cassian gave a raspy cough, then managed to speak a little clearer, a smirk forming on his bruised lips. "Eat my dick…"

The leader blinked, then let out a low chuckle, clearly entertained. "Not really my taste," he said, flashing a wicked grin at his companions. "But I'm sure you two wouldn't mind me, taking him up on that offer, right?"

"Just let me have his balls—I'm gonna sell them for a good stack of coins," one of them said, licking his lips with a twisted grin. "And can we eat him now, Acolyte? We haven't had a damn thing since morning..."

"Yeah," the other chimed in, practically drooling. "Gulp Just a little bite won't kill him right away. We can still get the other one's location while we... gulp eat him piece by piece. Maybe roast him gulp nice and slow over a fire..." His hunger was so overwhelming, he had to stop mid-sentence just to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth.

Cassian could only wheeze as the grip around his throat tightened again, his vision blurring under the pressure. The leader—clearly someone who held the title of "Acolyte"—pressed his domain down on Cassian like a crushing weight. Watching his two underlings drool like feral beasts, the Acolyte chuckled darkly.

"You might find their hunger disgusting," the Acolyte said, voice smooth and dripping with malice. "But that hunger is what they need to climb the ladder. It's just how we are. So don't blame them for wanting to devour you…" He leaned in, lips curling into a wider grin. "But you can hate me—for what comes next."

With that, he grabbed Cassian's wounded arm and gave it a harsh squeeze. Blood poured out in thick rivulets, dripping steadily.

One of the underlings rushed forward, cupping his hands to catch the fresh blood, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Cassian's body jerked in pain, face twisting in agony, but his crushed throat left him unable to even scream—only a choked gasp escaped.

The two underlings began to fight, snarling like animals as they both tried to drink. Blood smeared across their faces and hands as they fought for each drop, licking it from their palms and one another, their eyes wild with hunger as Cassian writhed in their grip.

Cassian's performance was so convincing, the leader looked thoroughly entertained—almost delighted. With a twisted grin, he gave the mangled remains of Cassian's arm one final, brutal squeeze, crushing meat and bone into a pulpy mess.

He lifted the bloody mash in front of Cassian's tear-streaked face, savoring his torment. "Such a treat," he whispered, like he was showing off a fine delicacy.

The acolyte slurped the mess down with a sickening grin, tossing bits to the other two, who had just finished clawing at each other like starved animals. Their faces and hands were smeared with Cassian's blood and flesh, but their hunger still hadn't dulled. They licked their fingers and smeared cheeks with grotesque satisfaction.

The acolyte turned his attention back to Cassian, his voice now laced with cruel amusement. "So… are you ready to talk?" he asked. "Because if not, like my friend here, said, I'm going to roast you—slowly. Keep you breathing just long enough for the heat to start boiling your brain from the inside. You'll feel it cooking, hotter and hotter, until—" he snapped his fingers, "—your skull pops, and your thoughts paint the trees."

One of the underlings, still slowly licking the blood off his fingers, looked genuinely disappointed, his brows furrowed like a child denied a treat."Aww, don't waste the brain, sir… I really like brain. It's like creamy eggs. So tasty…"

The acolyte turned sharply, his amused expression darkening into something sharp and venomous. His eyes flared with irritation as he glared at the blood-smeared underling still licking his fingers.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he snapped through gritted teeth, his voice calm in that unnervingly refined, sarcastic way that made it even more menacing. "Here we are, trying to conduct a civilized interrogation, and you two are busy gnawing on leftovers like dogs fighting over a bone in a gutter."

He took a slow step toward them, boots crunching softly on the forest floor, his tone dipping lower. "I ask for silence, focus, and just a hint of intimidation. What do I get instead? One of you drooling over brain jelly like a child begging for dessert, and the other looking like he bathed in a butcher's bucket."

The one who spoke looked down sheepishly, blood still smeared across his chin. The other froze, halfway through licking his palm.

The acolyte sneered, "Honestly, it's like working with half-trained pigs. Next time I'll just bring a pack of wild hounds. At least they don't try to negotiate for brains mid-torture."

He exhaled sharply, smoothing back his hair with bloodstained fingers. "Now, if you two could please, for the love of our dear rotten gods, hold yourselves together for just five more minutes—maybe we can get something useful out of this meat sack before you carve him up like festival dinner."

He turned back to Cassian, his smile returning—cold, polished, and dangerous.

"Now then. Shall we pick up where we left off?"