LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

Lyerin strolled down the cracked, desolate streets, his boots kicking up dust as he exhaled deeply, a breath of temporary relief.

He glanced up at the sky, his mind momentarily at ease, knowing the Shuras wouldn't dare to launch an immediate attack.

"It's only to make them stop attacking continuously and they didn't even question if I am telling the truth or not, probably because they have that ability."

They'd decided to keep their distance, convinced that his Stonehooves Tribe was a worthy training ground for their younger Asura warriors.

The absurdity of it almost made him laugh.

To them, he and his tribe were nothing more than stepping stones, their immortality and resilience something to exploit.

Still, it gnawed at him—the fact that other races had been watching, witnessing him expose the weaknesses of his tribe.

The truth was, Lyerin hadn't divulged everything.

The weaknesses he'd shared were real, but they were not all-encompassing. And now, with those vulnerabilities out in the open, it would be up to him to increase his tribe's resistance, to fortify them against the very things he had let slip.

Yes, he would level up those weaknesses and make his Tribe the strongest.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted to the streets around him, abandoned and forgotten.

The remnants of a world long gone lay in disarray—buildings crumbled, vehicles rusted in place, and a heavy silence blanketed the air.

He was alone, save for the sound of his boots on the asphalt and the occasional distant scuffle of the brainless Fleshers.

Lyerin stopped in his tracks as he spotted a group of four Fleshers, their grotesque forms moving aimlessly across the ruined landscape.

They were mindless creatures, their flesh twisted and malformed, scavenging through what remained of the once-thriving city.

Each one moved in a different direction, their chaotic actions almost comical in their absurdity.

To his left, one Flesher was obsessively rummaging through the remains of an overturned car.

Its gaunt hands clawed at the vehicle, trying to pry open the door, though the car had long since rusted shut.

The Flesher, its face a mass of wrinkled skin and hollow eyes, tugged and pulled at the handle with a fervor that made Lyerin shake his head.

The thing was so determined, so utterly focused on this pointless task, as if opening the door would somehow bring meaning to its miserable existence.

On the opposite side of the street, another Flesher was fixated on a streetlamp, its twisted body circling the metal pole.

The creature seemed fascinated by the object, running its hands up and down the rusted metal, occasionally stopping to gnaw at the base.

Lyerin watched in mild amusement as the Flesher bit down, only to recoil as its jagged teeth snapped against the steel. Yet it persisted, circling and biting, oblivious to the futility of its actions.

Further ahead, a third Flesher stumbled around in circles, dragging a piece of torn fabric behind it like a child clinging to a favorite blanket.

Its movements were erratic, jerking one way and then another, as though it couldn't decide where to go or what to do.

The fabric—once part of some long-forgotten banner—flapped uselessly in the wind, and the Flesher's emaciated form wobbled beneath it, unaware of how absurd it looked.

Finally, Lyerin's eyes landed on the last Flesher.

This one had somehow managed to climb atop a pile of rubble, where it stood motionless, its arms outstretched like a grotesque statue.

It faced the empty street, as if waiting for some grand procession to pass by.

Its hollow, dead eyes stared blankly ahead, and Lyerin could almost imagine it thinking it was something important—a sentinel guarding the remains of the city.

But in reality, it was nothing more than a mockery of life, a hollow shell waiting for the inevitable end.

Lyerin smirked, shaking his head.

These Fleshers were little more than remnants of humanity's past, twisted and broken beyond recognition.

He couldn't help but wonder how they would react if they saw real humans again.

Would they be confused?

Terrified?

Perhaps they would try to mimic their behavior, foolishly attempting to blend in.

The thought amused him, though it also left a bitter taste in his mouth.

These creatures were a reminder of how far the world had fallen, how the once mighty had been reduced to this.

Still, he moved forward, leaving the Fleshers to their mindless antics.

The apocalyptic landscape stretched out before him, a desolate canvas painted with the remnants of a bygone era.

The silence was thick, oppressive, broken only by the occasional sound of distant wind whipping through the hollowed-out buildings.

As he continued walking, Lyerin's gaze fell upon a familiar sight in the distance.

The Stonehooves Tribe.

At first, it was a mere shadow on the horizon, indistinct and hazy against the gray sky. But as he drew closer, the shapes became clearer.

He could see the sturdy figures of the tribe members, their muscular forms moving with purpose, even in the midst of this wasteland.

They were tending to their own, sharpening weapons, preparing meals over open fires, and reinforcing their shelters with the precision of warriors who had seen many battles.

A sense of pride welled up in Lyerin as he approached.

This was his tribe.

His people.

Despite everything—the killings, the wars, the endless trials—they had survived.

They had remained strong. And now, they were preparing for the next chapter, whatever that might bring.

The Stonehooves Tribe was a testament to resilience, a living, breathing force in a world that had tried to crush them time and time again. And Lyerin, with all his madness and cunning, had ensured they would continue to rise, stronger than ever before.

As he stepped closer, the tribe members noticed him, their eyes lighting up with recognition.

Some nodded in acknowledgment, others offered brief smiles.

However, he could sense their fear on him.

After all, they realized how cunning and dangerous he was as person.

Lyerin returned the gestures, though his mind was already racing ahead, formulating plans for their future.

He had shared their weaknesses with the world, yes—but that was only the beginning.

Now, it was time to turn those weaknesses into strengths.

He grinned to himself, his mind already churning with ideas.

The Shuras, the Asuras, the other watching races—they all thought they had seen the limits of the Stonehooves Tribe. But Lyerin knew better.

He knew there was more to come.

The game was far from over.

And as he approached the heart of his tribe, the Stonehooves, he felt the weight of destiny settle on his shoulders.

It was time to prepare.

Time to face whatever lay ahead.

But for now, he would enjoy this moment—a brief pause before the storm.