LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

Lyerin stood at the head of the gathered crowd, his eyes sweeping over the faces of the people who had been dragged from their homes and lives by the relentless apocalypse.

Some were weak and malnourished, others looked angry and defiant, but all of them were waiting with bated breath for the conditions he would impose.

Among them, Krisella stood beside the military man, her face hidden under the grime and exhaustion of survival. But Lyerin paid her no mind, not anymore.

He had more important things to handle now. He had a tribe to protect, and these people—these desperate, hopeless survivors—could be of use to him. But only on his terms.

His voice rang out, sharp and cold.

"First, if you wish to join my tribe, you must pledge your absolute loyalty. To me. Not just to the tribe, but to me personally."

He crossed his arms, with a dark and commanding expression.

"Your lives, your skills, your very existence now belong to me. In return, you will have protection under my banner, but make no mistake: betray me, and you'll be discarded like the rest of the weaklings out there."

A murmur of disbelief rippled through the crowd.

People began whispering to each other, shocked by the absurdity of what he was asking.

One man, a scruffy, middle-aged survivor with a missing tooth, stepped forward, his voice dripping with disbelief.

"What? You want us to pledge to you? Who the hell do you think you are?" The man's face twisted with anger. "You think we'll just roll over and give you our lives?"

A woman beside him, cradling a small child in her arms, nodded vigorously. "This is madness! We came here for safety, not to become slaves!"

Lyerin remained unmoved, his expression cold as ever.

He let the voices of dissent rise for a moment before raising a hand to silence them.

His tone was dismissive, as if their protests were nothing more than the wind rustling leaves.

"You misunderstand," he said, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

"This isn't a negotiation. You need me. Without my protection, you're nothing but fodder for the monsters that roam outside these walls. I offer you a chance to survive, to thrive. But in return, I expect absolute loyalty. The kind that doesn't falter in the face of fear or discomfort."

His gaze swept across the crowd, eyes locking on anyone who dared meet his stare.

"This is how I ensure my tribe—my eldritch tribe—is never betrayed. Your loyalty is the currency by which you buy your survival. I am offering you life, and all I demand in return is everything."

The crowd fell into an uneasy silence. People exchanged uncertain glances, but no one seemed willing to step forward and challenge him.

They knew he was right, even if they hated it.

In this world, there were only two paths: survive or perish.

One of the younger men, with dirt smeared across his face and arms, spoke up, his voice trembling but laced with frustration. "But that's... that's too much. We're not soldiers. We're not trained to fight! How can you expect us to follow you like this?"

Lyerin smiled, a slow, menacing grin that sent a chill through the group.

"Who said anything about being soldiers?"

He tilted his head slightly, almost playfully.

"You will fight when I tell you to fight. You will learn what you need to learn. If you die in battle, you will have died for a cause that matters: ensuring the survival of this tribe. But if you live, if you prove your worth, you will have a place in the new world I am creating."

The murmurs began again, this time louder, angrier. People were starting to lose patience.

"This is insane," a woman in the back shouted. "You're talking like some kind of dictator! We're not your property!"

Lyerin's eyes narrowed, and he chuckled under his breath.

He let the tension build, reveling in the control he had over them, even in their defiance.

Then, without warning, he raised his hand and issued the second condition, his voice echoing through the tense air like a thunderclap. Explore m,v,l,e,mpyr today.

"And second—" He paused dramatically, letting the silence stretch, ensuring all eyes were on him.

"All resources you possess—food, weapons, technology, whatever you have scavenged—are now the property of the tribe. You will contribute everything you have to our shared survival. Nothing is yours alone anymore."

This time, the crowd erupted in outrage.

"That's ridiculous!" someone yelled from the back.

"We worked hard for what little we have left!" another shouted.

"We won't just give it all to you!" a man in a tattered jacket spat, his fists clenched.

The protests grew louder, and the atmosphere grew more hostile.

People were shouting over each other, their frustration boiling over. Lyerin stood amidst the chaos, unmoved by their reactions.

It was as if he didn't even register their anger, like their voices were nothing but background noise to him.

He waited, patient and cold, until the shouts began to die down, then spoke again, his tone calm and unbothered.

"You think your scraps of food and broken weapons matter in the grand scheme of things? I don't ask for your resources because I want them. I ask because it is necessary to ensure this tribe's survival.

"We are stronger when we share everything. When every resource is used efficiently. When no one hoards for themselves."

Lyerin's eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.

"And if you don't agree, then feel free to leave. But remember, out there, you're nothing. You won't last a day without the protection of a tribe. This isn't the old world anymore. This is my world. And in my world, survival comes at a price."

For a long moment, the crowd was stunned into silence.

The weight of Lyerin's words hung heavy in the air, suffocating the hope and resistance that had briefly sparked within them.

But one man, his face twisted with anger, stepped forward, glaring at Lyerin with barely contained rage.

"Are you turning this tribe into a war machine? Are you planning to make us fight your battles?" His voice trembled with fury. "We're not soldiers. We didn't come here to die for your ambitions."

Lyerin's eyes flicked to the man, his expression hardening.

For a moment, it seemed like he might lash out, his temper barely restrained. But then something clicked in his mind, and his lips curled into a smile.

A war tribe.

Yes, it made sense now.

"You're right," Lyerin said, his voice dangerously soft.

"This tribe will be a war tribe. We will fight. Not just for survival, but to dominate. To crush anyone who stands in our way. This is not just about surviving the apocalypse anymore. It's about thriving in it.

And if you're too weak to see that, then maybe you're not cut out to be part of this tribe."

The man, angered beyond reason, raised his hand, and in an instant, a surge of electrical blue light crackled from his fingers, illuminating the area around him.

"You've gone too far," the man growled. "If you don't let us leave, we'll have no choice but to fight."

Lyerin's eyes widened slightly, intrigued. He recognized the power, similar to Sophia's, a natural ability drawn from a ruined magical world.

His surprise quickly turned into amusement, and he began to laugh—a cold, menacing laugh that sent shivers down the spines of those watching.

"You can try," Lyerin said, his laughter dying down to a wicked grin. "But even with your fancy tricks, you won't leave. Not until I allow it."

The man's hands crackled with energy, and the tension thickened, on the edge of violence.