Warrior Training System

The situation was tricky—Kalso was dead set against striking the enemies first, insisting on heading back to warn the camp. Cassian, left with no other option, sighed, "Fine, I’ll take out as many as I can. You go ahead and alert the folks back at camp..."
"What if that mage starts attackin’ you?" Kalso asked, worry creeping into his voice. He hadn’t sensed the mage himself, but a Pyraxis-ranked mage was way too much for a First Circle Warrior like Cassian to handle alone.
Cassian didn’t seem fazed, though. "Don’t sweat it. I can always bolt if it gets dicey. And if there ain’t an attack happenin’ at the camp already, just grab someone strong to back me up..."
Though Kalso was still skeptical, he nodded and muttered, "Be careful..." before slipping away into the shadows. Cassian’s red eyes glowed faintly in the dark as his crimson domain enveloped his body. To Kalso, if he’d stayed, Cassian might’ve looked more like a cultist than the real ones—his aura was just too eerie.
He glanced at the dark bracelet on his wrist, a reward from cracking the Valtross Academy case for the city’s law department. It did a solid job masking his presence, even dulling his radiating killing intent to some extent, though it still leaked despite his efforts to rein it in.
Those mutated, low-level cult scum wouldn’t notice, even if he stopped concealing it altogether. The mage commanding them was another story, though. Cassian spotted him floating just above the treetops, moving toward the camp at a swift pace. With a soft whoosh, Cassian melted into the night air.
"Man, why’d they call us back? I was finally gonna get some pussy tonight..." one of the cloaked figures grumbled. He was a Hollow Fang, a low-level grunt in the cult, ordered to be battle-ready tonight. There were plenty of them scattered across villages and human settlements, blending in as spies, gathering sacrifices, or handling the cult’s dirty work.
Another Hollow Fang, leaping from tree to tree with unnatural speed and strength, shot back, "What, with consent or without?"
The question made them both pause on a thick tree branch. The one who asked crouched, scanning ahead, while the other, looking surprised, snapped, "Are you dumb?" His eyes widened in a creepy, moonlit glint, a matching grin clearly lurking under his black mask. "Of course without... guk!" Before he could finish, a hand shot out of thin air, clamping his throat and silencing him. Shocked, he tried to glimpse his attacker, only to see a red-haired boy wreathed in a deep red glow, standing there with a wide, menacing smile.
Cassian hoisted the Hollow Fang into the air with ease, the cultist struggling, kicking his legs wildly, one foot grazing his friend crouched on the same branch. A flicker of hope sparked in the cultist’s eyes, expecting help. But no aid came—only the dull thud of a body hitting the ground below. His eyes bulged, gasping for air as Cassian’s grip tightened. "If she ain’t givin’ consent, manipulate her into it, don’t force it. Ain’t gentlemanly," Cassian sneered. "But what do you cultist bastards know?" He drove his sword into the cultist’s stomach, ensuring the kill, then let the body dangle from the tree. Moving silently, he hunted the next target. The Hollow Fangs were spread out at comfortable distances, unaware, making it easy for Cassian to cut their numbers down considerably before they’d notice.
Some cultists leaped from tree to tree, only to have their legs sliced mid-jump, heads bursting open as they smashed into trunks. Others lost their heads before they even knew what hit them. A few lucky ones glimpsed their killer—Cassian, driving his blade through their chests—but most only saw the ground as their vision faded to black.
Cassian cut through them swiftly, though silently taking down a larger group was proving troublesome. "You fucker!" one cultist yelled, his friend beside him sliding forward as his legs were suddenly severed mid-run. The man turned, eyes wide, catching a glimpse of what he could only believe was a red-eyed demon. He hurled his knife, but the figure—Cassian—moved like the wind, a silent, curving blur. The cultist’s face was cleaved in half. Another, barely recovering from the shock, saw a sword flash near his face before it plunged into his skull.
As the last cultist on the ground, barely clinging to life, tried to raise his voice, his severed leg’s pain finally hit, unleashed by his reeling mind. Cassian’s sword plunged through the man’s wide-open mouth, splitting his face and exiting the back of his skull. The body slumped backward as Cassian yanked the blade free, giving it a sharp flick.
Cassian felt electrified, taking a deep breath, savoring the thrill of the kill. The last time he felt this alive, he was locked in battle with a stone-skinned Circle Warrior, too busy to relish the moment or rack up kills. Now, having cut down nearly a dozen cultists in mere minutes, his focus sharpened—his vision clearer, his movements precise.
"Haaa, so liberating..." he said, gazing up at the sky. The full moon bathed his handsome face in light, his red hair glowing and flowing in the night breeze.
His’s domain pulsed in sync with his emotions, glowing brighter and enveloping his body more intensely. It even coated his weapon, something he’d struggled to achieve the past few months. His green blade now shimmered with a fierce red glow.
"Kill... kill..." The words echoed in Cassian’s mind, his ears buzzing with the urge. He knew it was dangerous to listen, to give in to himself, but the intoxication was too strong to resist. Hearing multiple sets of footsteps halt behind him, he grinned widely. "Guess you got the news late," he said, turning to face five cloaked figures. "I started with the ones in the back. Wouldn’t have missed ya if you’d been on time..."
Their dark eyes burned with fury, and Cassian watched them mutate in real time—bodies swelling slightly, dark veins crawling from their eyes across their faces. One, gripping a long, claw-like weapon, snarled, "How did you know about us?"