Warrior Training System

With one of the three attackers dropping headless at Cassian's feet, things got a little easier. Two against one wasn't great, but at least their attacks weren't as overwhelming now. He had just enough time to think through his moves, deflecting or dodging the strikes. Still, the two left were no pushovers. They got more cautious, making it tricky for him to land a solid hit—though he managed to make them bleed.

"If you're gonna kill me, just do it already! Otherwise, it's your turn next," Cassian yelled into the suffocating darkness. The shadows seemed alive, swallowing every bit of light, as more of them slithered out to keep up the assault.

As he held his ground, a shadow darted forward, aiming straight for him. Cassian blocked it, a slightly shocked grin spreading across his face. The attacker, his eyes completely black and filled with rage, growled, "You think we'll let you walk away after killing our brother?"

"I mean, I did hope so. Can't you see how cute I am?" Cassian shot back with a cheeky grin, shoving the shadowy figure back while taking a quick step away. Just then, one of the remaining attackers lunged in from the side, bringing his sword down hard where Cassian had been standing moments ago.

The clash of steel echoed loudly through the darkness, each strike ringing out like a warning bell. Shadows hissed and snarled as Cassian ducked, parried, and dodged, his movements quick and calculated. The noise was impossible to ignore—he knew it wouldn't be long before someone noticed. He wasn't sure who would show up, but anyone stumbling across the fight could be an ally, or at least a distraction. Either way, it was exactly what he was counting on.

"You're making this real dramatic, you know?" Cassian quipped, spinning to deflect another blow. "All this noise—we're practically inviting the whole town to watch."

The shadow in front of him lunged again, but Cassian sidestepped, letting the attacker stumble forward. "Keep this up, and I won't even need to beat you. You'll do it yourselves," he taunted, his cheeky grin not fading.

The other attacker, still smarting from earlier wounds, growled, "We'll finish you before anyone comes!"

"Sure you will," Cassian shot back, his tone almost mocking. In truth, he was stalling. He could feel the strain creeping into his muscles, but he just needed to hold out a little longer. The thought of backup kept him moving, blocking another strike before countering with a swift jab that nicked his opponent's shoulder.

Another loud crash as their swords clashed sent a flock of birds screeching into the night sky. Cassian grinned despite himself. "Hear that? Our little party's getting louder. Someone's bound to crash it soon."

"Well, the toy's got a point..." a new voice cut through the air, sharp and mocking. Cassian froze mid-step, his instincts kicking in. This voice didn't belong to the attackers he'd been fighting—it was someone new.

Before he could piece it together, the rhythm of the fight changed. The attacks he'd predicted didn't come, and the oppressive silence around him deepened. Something was wrong. He barely had time to register the shift before a flash of movement appeared right in front of him, too fast for him to react.

Cassian's eyes widened in shock. Standing there was a chubby man with a grotesquely ugly face, his mismatched black-and-white eyes gleaming in the dark. A sinister grin spread across his face as he sneered, "Let's take this party somewhere quieter."

Before Cassian could respond, a sharp pain exploded in his stomach. He doubled over, the sudden force making his dinner threaten to come back up. Then, before he could catch his breath, another wave of agony surged through his back as he was hurled into a nearby house wall, the impact rattling his bones.

Cassian slumped against the wall, coughing as he struggled to catch his breath. His vision blurred, the edges darkening as a wave of weakness spread through his body. He forced his eyes upward, locking onto the man who had slammed him into the wall.

'What's he doing here?' Cassian wondered, his thoughts sluggish but sharp enough to piece things together. He'd seen this man twice before—once when he'd first arrived in the city, and again at Reso Veno with Cassandra, where they'd gone to confirm suspicions of cult activity. And now, here he was, attacking alongside the other cultists.

That was all the confirmation Cassian needed, but it wouldn't do him any good. His body betrayed him, the strength draining from his limbs as his world tilted and the shadows consumed his vision.

"Tell the pastor we've got one of the main investigators," the fat man said, his voice cold and smug. Those were the last words Cassian heard before unconsciousness overtook him completely.

When Cassian's eyes finally fluttered open, a heavy numbness settled over him. His body felt drained, as though all the blood had rushed to his legs. His wrists throbbed with sharp pain, and as his blurry vision cleared, he groggily looked up.

His hands were bound in chains, the iron digging painfully into his skin. He realized he was suspended a few feet off the ground, his legs shackled with looser chains that connected to a massive stone ball below, swaying slightly with his movements. Every breath felt heavier, the weight of the chains and the cold, oppressive air pressing down on him.

'Where am I?' Cassian asked himself, his mind foggy as he struggled to piece together what had happened before everything went black.

As fragments of memory began to surface, a voice from behind him interrupted his thoughts. "Where am I?" the voice echoed his own question, calm yet curious. Cassian tried to turn and look but couldn't—his body was too weak, the chains holding him in place.

The voice, belonging to what sounded like a young man, continued, a hint of amusement in his tone. "You're probably asking yourself that, huh?"

Cassian's senses sharpened as he tried to turn and see the person speaking. He wriggled and twisted against the chains, but bound at both ends, his efforts were useless. The sound of footsteps grew closer, and he could tell the man had moved to his left.

"You're asking the wrong question," the man said, his tone calm but laced with something sinister. "The real question is,

why

are you here?"

As the man stepped into view, Cassian finally got a clear look at him—and his breath caught in his throat. The man's attire was shocking: a black, one-piece garment that resembled a woman's skirt but plain and unadorned, save for the stark white buttons and a matching white collar.

Cassian's eyes widened, his voice barely a whisper as he muttered in disbelief, "

Pastor?

"