LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

As Lyerin marched forward, his senses heightened by the manifestation of his abilities, he began to feel the whispers of his tribe members creeping into his consciousness.

The subtle hum of their fear, doubts, and deliberations filled the air around him, weaving a web of uncertainty.

One of the tribe members, his voice low, spoke to the others, "Maybe… maybe we should stay. Lyerin's strong. He can handle these monsters. We'd be safer here than anywhere else."

Another, still wiping sweat from his brow after the recent battle, chimed in, "Yeah, you saw what he did to those Fleshers. And the Pig Orcs—they're powerful. We'd never survive out there alone, not with these beasts."

A woman, trembling slightly, interjected,

"But did you hear him earlier? He said we're level thirty now, like it means something.

"What does that even mean? It's like he's playing with us, like we're pawns in some game we don't even understand…"

The voices continued to echo in Lyerin's mind, each one weighing their options, trying to make sense of their situation.

Their doubts, their hesitations—they were all so predictable.

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He could feel the threads of their loyalty tightening, binding them more securely to him with every thought, every second they considered their future.

They were afraid to leave, afraid to stay.

It was perfect.

Suddenly, Lyerin's sharp voice cut through the rising tension. "Pig Orcs, stop helping them."

The order was so sudden, so unexpected, that a wave of panic rippled through the tribe.

The Pig Orcs, massive and intimidating, halted immediately, their dark eyes glancing at Lyerin with a silent obedience.

"What?!" One of the men, wide-eyed, turned to the others. "Did he just—what's he doing? Is he going to leave us to die?!"

Another woman, visibly shaking, whispered, "This can't be happening. He… he's going to let us fend for ourselves? After everything?"

The murmurs turned to outright fear as more voices joined in, the tribe members huddling closer together, unsure of what to do.

"He's finally going to kill us!" someone shouted, their voice cracking with terror. "We should've left when we had the chance!"

The air around them became thick with anxiety as they all turned their gazes toward Lyerin, who stood unfazed, a cold smirk playing on his lips.

He could feel their fear, their rising desperation, and he reveled in it. But then, he snorted at them, as if dismissing their worries like they were nothing more than childish complaints.

"Stop acting weak," Lyerin said sharply, his voice dripping with disdain. "Look at the creatures. Do you really think they're unbeatable?"

The tribe, trembling, hesitated, turning their attention toward the hippopotamus-like creature lying in the street.

It was massive, its dark, leathery skin glistening with sweat and blood.

Its thorny back and gnashing teeth were terrifying, and yet—despite its size and ferocity—it was on the ground, breathing heavily, its body riddled with wounds.

It wasn't dead, but it was gravely injured, barely able to lift itself.

Lyerin watched as realization dawned on their faces.

The creature, as menacing as it was, had been brought to the brink.

It was still alive, yes, but vulnerable.

The sight of it struggling to rise, its strength failing, was enough to make them realize: they weren't helpless.

Lyerin turned to them, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

"You think I brought you here to kill you? No, I'm showing you something far more important.

"These creatures—these monsters—they bleed, they fall, just like anything else. And so will you, if you don't learn to stop cowering."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, there was silence.

The tribe members exchanged uncertain glances, their fear slowly giving way to something else—a flicker of resolve, perhaps, or a grudging acceptance.

Whatever it was, they were no longer just paralyzed by terror.

Lyerin had manipulated them once again, subtly forcing them to see that their survival depended on him.

Not because he was going to save them, but because he had given them no other choice but to adapt.

He had to break them down, only to build them back up under his control.

As the grotesque creature before them struggled for breath, the tribe members began to understand.

They couldn't leave.

Not now.

Not ever.

They would survive only if they stayed by his side, if they submitted to him. Lyerin watched them, satisfied with the shift in their demeanor.

The scene ended as Lyerin gestured toward the beast, his voice casual but firm.

"Finish it off and take the crystal inside. Time to learn what it means to fight."

The air was thick with tension, the tribe members visibly trembling as they stood around the injured creature.

Lyerin remained calm, perched confidently on the shoulder of the Pig Orc, his sharp eyes observing the scene unfold.

Corora stood silently beside him, her expression unreadable, though she kept her gaze fixed on the tribe.

"If you don't do something," Lyerin's voice cut through the uneasy silence, "that thing will heal… and when it does, you will be the ones in danger."

His words sent a ripple of fear through the group.

They exchanged nervous glances, each one reluctant to make the first move.

The creature, lying on the ground with its thorny back rising and falling with labored breaths, emitted a low, guttural sound as if it were gathering its strength to strike again.

Its massive body twitched, and the sight of its six glistening eyes, half-lidded in pain but still alert, sent a fresh wave of dread through the tribe.

"Who's going first?" a man asked, his voice shaking as he looked around at the others. "I mean, Lyerin's right. It's either we kill it now or it gets back up…"

"I'm not going," a woman responded quickly, her hands clenching into fists. "Did you see what it did to those Fleshers? It's a monster! One hit from that thing and we're dead!"

"We have to do something!" Another man, his face pale, looked desperately around. "If we just stand here, we're as good as dead anyway!"

They continued to murmur among themselves, voices rising in panic and indecision.

"I… I can't," one of them stammered. "I'm not a fighter! I didn't sign up for this!"

"None of us did!" a voice from the back shouted. "But if we don't act, we're finished. It's still alive, and who knows how long before it regenerates! We're all dead if we wait too long!"

"But who's going to do it?!" another cried, stepping back, his hands visibly shaking as he tried to avoid the gaze of the others. "I'm not risking my life for some—"

"Quiet!" a stern woman interrupted, her face tight with frustration. "Arguing won't get us anywhere. We have to decide—someone has to do it."

The group fell silent for a moment, the only sound being the ragged breathing of the injured beast and the occasional snort of a Pig Orc standing nearby.

The creature shifted slightly, causing a ripple of terror to shoot through the tribe as they watched in horror.

Its wounds, though deep, seemed to be slowly closing, the eerie regenerative power of the monstrous being working against their dwindling time.

"I can't believe we're just standing here," a young man muttered, shaking his head. "It's going to get back up, and then we're screwed."

Lyerin watched, amused, as the fear began to take hold of them.

None of them wanted to act.

They were terrified, indecisive, and desperate for someone—anyone—to take the first step.

"If you don't move now," Lyerin added, his tone almost mocking, "you'll have no one to blame but yourselves when it tears you apart."

The tribe members shifted uneasily, looking at one another, hoping someone would finally make a decision.

Their eyes darted from face to face, each one silently pleading for another to step up, to be the first to confront the monstrous creature before them.

"I'm not dying here," a man whispered to himself, but loud enough for the others to hear. "But I'm not going near that thing either…"

"We don't have time!" a woman hissed, glancing nervously at the beast. "It's healing!"

"Someone just do it!" came a frustrated voice from the back.

"Why don't you do it, then?" another snapped.

"I… I can't…" the person stammered. "I don't know how to fight something like that!"

The pressure mounted as the group became increasingly agitated.

Every second that passed felt like an eternity, the weight of their fear and indecision pressing down on them, suffocating them.

Lyerin's cold gaze scanned their faces, watching as the tribe members wrestled with their cowardice.

And then, the creature shifted again.

Its thorny back arched slightly, its six eyes narrowing as if it were gathering strength.

A low, menacing growl rumbled from its throat, and its massive limbs twitched. The sight was enough to push them over the edge.

"No! It's moving!" a woman shrieked, stepping back.

"Someone do something!" a man cried out, his voice breaking in fear.

The creature's thick, dark-green skin pulsed as its body began to heal at a visible pace.

The air was thick with the stench of fear as the tribe members looked on, frozen.

Finally, amidst the panic and chaos, a single figure stepped forward.

"I shall do it!" he shouted, his voice trembling but filled with a sense of desperate resolve.

The tribe turned to him in shock, their eyes widening as the man, previously silent, raised a shaking hand and gripped a makeshift weapon—a jagged piece of metal—his knuckles white from the strain.

The others gasped, some backing away in surprise, while others murmured in disbelief.

The man's eyes locked onto the creature, and though he was terrified, there was a glint of determination in his gaze.

"I'll kill it!" he cried again, louder this time, trying to steady his breathing.

He took a step forward, his heart pounding in his chest, as the others watched, still uncertain if he would actually go through with it.

Lyerin's lips curled into a smirk as he observed the man's internal struggle.

The tribe's indecision, their terror—he had orchestrated it perfectly.

Now, the moment had come.