Warrior Training System

A hulking, grotesque figure loomed, its upper skin seemingly stripped away, exposing raw, glistening muscles that churned the stomach. Towering as tall as some trees, it stood motionless with lifeless eyes, its hairless body and disfigured face barely resembling human—more akin to a bloated, distorted caricature of a fat businessman, with sagging, fatty underskin grotesquely visible.

Around a flickering fire, two mages sat, their heights so diminutive that, if standing, they would barely reach the knees of the towering meaty giant nearby. Each clutched a staff crowned with large, multicolored mana stones—rare, radiant artifacts that bespoke immense power and elite connections, far beyond the reach of mere wealth. One mage, older, his eye sockets aglow with an eerie dark red, stared into the void as if unraveling the fabric of existence. The other, younger and seemingly unbothered, fixed his gaze on a slab of meat roasting over the flames, his staff propped casually beside him.

The roasting meat resembled a grotesque limb, possibly from some beast but disturbingly human-like, with five fingers and the proportions of an adult human arm. Both mages wore dark, flowing robes. The older mage closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, the glowing red orbs shifted to near-human eyes, though an unsettling dark red speck lingered in the pupils. Noticing his younger companion staring hungrily at the cooking limb, saliva nearly dripping from his mouth, the older mage’s face twisted in disgust.

"I’ve told you countless times, Barok, control your hunger!" the older mage snapped, his voice sharp with exasperation. "When you were a low-ranked devotee of the Great Dark God, such weakness was overlooked. But we are Abyssal Hands now—our purpose is to send the cult’s enemies to the abyss, not to gorge ourselves on their flesh!"

Barok, the younger mage, flushed with embarrassment but retorted, "Master, it’s not forbidden! There’s no downside—only the advantage of savoring these delicious, juicy muscles..." His eyes gleamed as he stared at the roasting limb.

The older mage’s face tightened with frustration. He pulled a fruit from his spatial ring and bit into it, muttering, "As I said, we’re Abyssal Hands, not Crimson Hands. Our strength lies in our minds, not our bodies. Human flesh suits them—they channel it into power. For us, indulging risks a mind-shattering hunger that consumes reason."

Barok grinned widely, unperturbed. "I don’t mind, Master." With a flick of his wrist, he used magic to lift the charred, human-like arm from the fire, floating it to his hands. He took a ravenous bite, his face lighting up with near-tearful bliss. "My mind was already cracked when you took me in and ran those experiments on me. What’s one more fracture?"

The older mage’s disgusted expression cracked into a smile, a bit nostalgic as he said, "Those were the days, ahh had quite some fun doing those experiments on you though but also you surviving those made me quite surprised..."