Meal time for any spiritual practitioner was sacred. A time to consolidate their foundations, to prepare their stomach and soul for the incoming resources that would help them grow and develop from humans into much more powerful beings. Beings made of fire, ice, lightning, stone, gems. All manner of material could be processed by the body and the Bloody Baron and his fiefdom of bloodthirsty hounds was no exception.
Human cultivators. They followed the flesh path. Meaning they must intake various substances related to that field of study.
Each and every cultivator was the same and yet different in that way. Some specialized in bone, others in skin, flesh or even muscle. But the Bloody Baron himself was the harbinger of blood. He bathed in it, drank it by the gallon and marveled in its beauty. To him the luster of a crimson wine was more beautiful than any jewel, much more enamoring than any mortal beauty. Instead of jade beauties and beautiful princesses' he would break apart that exterior and see just how beautiful they were on the inside.
Jade and gold be damned, he wanted to see a world dyed in entrails. And have control over every centimeter of it. That he would.
Youngsters thought of the Baron's Bloody Goblet as a natural formation of the land, the castle placed atop by human labor. But the crater, the sheer cliffs and even the molten blood at the bottom were all a fixture from eons passed.
They were wrong.
It was said that the Baron spent multiple years in his youth as a novice practitioner punching, kicking and digging further into the earth. At the time they thought of him as mad, wasting his time digging to an early grave.
The Baron however, had a different vision. The sight which his cattle now looked upon in wonder and fear. This crater was formed with intention, each and every hovel in the surrounding cliffs formed a network of complex tunnels allowing for a civilization to exist even in the recesses of the mountains.
He had immense recurring visions of himself, looking down on a crucible of blood, standing at the top as a God made of flesh.
All those years ago that was what he had dreamed.
Starting as a nobody in a land long forgotten, with no inheritance or allies of his own. To the first step of his long cultivation... He still remembered the taste of her. His first meal. What was he supposed to do? Leave resources alone? To avoid the path of strength? Circumstance asked it of him and he obliged readily.
Those years were tough. Imbibing the flesh of others, avoiding capture and death from those he had wronged. It was a tiresome, gruesome ordeal until the Baron had firmly stepped onto the first rung of the ladder.
A self-sustaining supply of meat. So long as he managed it well then he could almost certainly ascend to Godhood.
Then came the bloodthirsty hounds of the Baron. Originally they all stood at a similar stature. There was no pecking order established yet, for the flesh cultivators often had lacking foundations. That all changed over the course of a quick decade. Cattle reproduced and became feedstock for the group, they ate meat no matter the quality. The quantity alone would provide them with quick results, even if their cultivation took a few steps back in the future it was all worth it for this moment. They ate and ate and ate. Becoming strong enough to be noticed as a threat.
That was the beginning of the Goblet's creation. Several generation after it's creation the original progeny of the cattle was now onto its umpteenth generation of offspring and they would continue to mass produce until he had reached that level. Until the fleshy cocoon of a being not quite monster or man gestated and a God emerged from inside.
Only, he never planned to be absent before that time arrived.
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Let's take a step back.
Perhaps you've heard this story before or perhaps you've even met the person I'm describing. He isn't a good person, he isn't a particularly skilled person. He isn't even someone people like to be around. He was for lack of better understanding; a good-for-nothing.
That wasn't because he lacked in material possessions, earnings, looks etc. etc.
The job he held, the place he lived, even the woman that he had married. They were all exquisite. On paper this man was what you should aspire to be, he was living the life, the dream...
Who's dream?
He was hollow. Engaged in vices simply out of lack of restraint and boredom more than anything else.
He used his advantages against people whenever he could. Not out of some need for an improvement in social status or even because it served a purpose, it simply amused him when he trod on other people. Gripped with narcissism and a god-complex this man was no joy and brought no happiness to the people that surrounded him.
So much so that eventually there was no one left.
People interacted with this man out of convenience and necessity. And he knew it.
The job he held wasn't important in any grand scheme, he didn't need to be the one in that position either. It fell into his lap because he was unafraid to do what others were. Throughout the admittedly short career of this man more than a hundred employees had been wrongfully discarded by his hand alone. It was a weekly occurrence when a member of staff would be called to his office and chastised. Harassment during office hours, unlogged overtime. These were the guiding principles of his employment.
The 'friends' he had were more of his people. They were only present for the benefits of knowing someone in a high position. You may think to yourself; good they understand each other's goals, surely that means they can get along to a degree?
Wrong.
He and his ilk hated the world and the people that inhabited it. But more than anything they hate themselves.
Even with that God-complex they held the opposite belief system in scrutiny. They were inferior to the same people they mocked. They could never admit it though. Change was scary. Throw away power? Why would I do such a thing? What if I can't defend myself? What if I get hurt?
A smart man had once stated; "Well if you're so smart, then why are you so unhappy?"
To which this person would tout his worldly possessions. The watch he wore, the belt which rest snugly against his waist. Ties and shirts with expensive labels, a briefcase monogrammed with his own initials on it. Flaunting wealth and expensive things, but that's all they were; objects without real meaning.
When refuted he would point to his successes, he was in good shape; men would be jealous of his looks and figure, whilst women would covet his affections.
But if that were the case; why would a happily married man need the affections of other women?
To this he would laugh and jibe. But it was obvious why.
He cultivated his strength and looks to attract attention and admiration from others, even if he didn't know them. He engaged in frivolous sexual activity behind the back of his spouse because there was no love in their marriage. He wore expensive suits to signal to others that he was someone of importance. When really this world and it's inhabitants didn't care for him.
Whilst he was self-serving, he was a a slave to desire. A slave to the whims of the public. Though he derided and stomped on the pride of those beneath him, he had forgotten to realise that he was always looking downwards longingly.
Resources.
Whether it was this world or a different one entirely, they were treated as the be all end all. You couldn't simply make enough money to live, nor could you be average looking, you couldn't enjoy meaningless things. There had to be a reason for every one of your actions. You always had to be doing better, after all more is better isn't it?
Perhaps that will allow the man to succeed in this world too.
He was truly successful in that world, wasn't he?
He was a slave to desire and whims of the world before... Let's see; how will a man who coveted gold, jewelry and lust act in a world where flesh is cheap? In the Baron's Bloody Goblet where his only sustenance shall be the remains of the cattle he stands atop.
I wonder...