Warrior Training System

Cassian's thought process had shifted completely. The man who once hesitated to harm was now a vessel of cold, unflinching fury. There wasn't a flicker of remorse in him for killing the fat man—understandable, given the torment he endured. But now, as he stood over the smashed skulls of two guards stationed outside the chamber, their blood pooling beneath his feet, he felt nothing. No pity. No regret.

For him, their deaths were justified. They had been complicit. They had kept him locked away, standing guard while that grotesque excuse for a man tortured him for amusement. In Cassian's eyes, they were no less guilty. They all deserved this, every single one of them.

He tightened his grip on the stone ball's chain as he moved forward, his eyes burning with determination. His thoughts weren't just on these accomplices—they were on the one who orchestrated all of this.

The pastor.

The man who had him kidnapped, who sanctioned his torment. Cassian's fury sharpened as he imagined that sanctimonious bastard's face twisted in fear, just like the others.

"They'll all pay," Cassian muttered under his breath, his voice low and venomous. His steps were slow but purposeful, the metallic scrape of the chain dragging behind him like a grim prelude to the massacre he envisioned.

Killing was no longer a question of morality for Cassian. It was justice—his justice.

Behind him trailed a macabre symphony of rattling chains and the wet, metallic scent of blood. The ground was painted crimson, a gruesome path marking the demise of those foolish enough to stand in his way.

There had been many—too many. Some were ordinary guards, while others bore the strength and training of circle warriors. Yet, none proved a match for Cassian or the relentless stone ball he wielded with terrifying precision. Each swing of the massive weapon sent bodies crumpling like broken toys. Those who required a second strike received it without hesitation, Cassian's fury leaving no room for mercy or restraint.

But his path of destruction was not without cost. His body bore fresh wounds from the clashes. A deep gash tore through his leg during one skirmish, but as the stunned attacker looked on, the flesh began to knit itself back together within seconds. The sight left his opponent frozen in disbelief, but Cassian offered no explanation.

Without a flicker of pain or pause, he stepped forward, his glowing red eyes locked on his enemy. His fist clenched, and with a bone-crunching strike, he drove it into the man's skull, nearly bursting it open in a sickening display of raw strength.

As Cassian stood over the lifeless body of his latest victim, his eyes caught sight of a familiar weapon—the green-hued blade that had been taken from him. He leaned down and picked it up, running his fingers over the hilt. "Thanks for returning it," he muttered coldly, the blade emitting a faint green glow as though it resonated with his fury.

Without hesitation, he swung the sword downward in a sharp motion, severing the heavy chains that bound his body. The clinking sound of the chain hitting the ground echoed briefly before silence returned, broken only by the rustling movements of the remaining enemies ahead.

"Die, you monster!" one of the cultists screamed, their voice raw with anger and desperation as they lunged toward him. Others followed suit, roaring in unison. But they never made it to the ground, well alive. As with a single, fluid slash, Cassian swung his blade through the air, and their bodies split apart mid-flight, collapsing to the blood-soaked earth in two clean halves.

The glow of his blade reflected in the wide, horrified eyes of the remaining cultists. For the first time, the dark, emotionless voids in their eyes flickered with something unmistakable—fear. They hesitated now, their earlier aggression replaced by trembling uncertainty.

Cassian stood tall amidst the carnage, his blade poised and his glowing red eyes burning with a cold intensity. Around him, the wide, open space had turned into a macabre battlefield, the ground beneath his feet drenched in blood, with lifeless bodies strewn like discarded refuse.

But they kept attacking him not willing to let go of him after killing so many of them, they would have been able to keep him if there was more circle warrior at there base but there was totoal of seven with one being second circle one and cassian has already made the mush of them with the stone ball now collored red from all the killings he had donw with it.

"Do not hesitate, my brothers and sisters! He is but a disgraceful creature!" one of the cultists shouted, his voice laced with fervor and desperation. Raising a blade, he slashed his palm, letting blood drip to the ground. "Let us offer our body to our lord Silas, so he may cleanse this wretch's soul with his merciful light!"

The others followed his lead, slicing their hands and letting their blood mix with the earth. As their chant grew louder, an ominous dark fog swirled around their bodies, seeping into their skin. Their veins bulged grotesquely, crawling across their faces like blackened roots. Their movements became faster—blindingly so—charged with unnatural strength.

But Cassian stood his ground. Even as a dozen enhanced cultists lunged at him, their attacks quick and unrelenting, he met them blow for blow. Each swing of his sword pushed them back, their strikes deflected with almost inhuman precision. Sweat dripped down his face as he grunted, his voice low but filled with defiance.

"It's all futile," he growled, shoving one of the frenzied cultists away with a powerful strike. "I'll massacre all of you... and your gods." His eyes glinted with unyielding fury as he braced himself for the next wave.

Then, with a guttural roar, he unleashed a surge of energy. "AHHHHHH!" The red glow enveloping his body flared brighter, pulsating violently. Dust and debris rose around him, whipped into a chaotic storm by the force radiating from his form.

The crimson glow around Cassian intensified, surging outward until it erupted into a blinding pillar of red light that shot straight into the sky. The beam pierced through the dark canopy above, casting an eerie glow across the surrounding area. Its brilliance was so intense that it could be seen for miles, even from the distant peaks and high grounds.

Far away, those who witnessed the pillar halted in their tracks, their expressions a mix of awe and dread. Without hesitation, they turned and rushed toward the source, urgency driving their every movement. The ominous light was not something to ignore—it was a call, a challenge, or perhaps a warning.

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