LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

The group pressed forward, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they navigated the dense undergrowth of the forest.

The laughter was faint at first, an echo that barely reached their ears, but it was enough to send a chill down their spines.

As they ran, the Scarred Soldier gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed as though it might snap.

Beside him, the Younger Woman kept her gaze low, her hand clutching a small dagger, though she knew it was useless against what was chasing them.

Then it grew louder.

Lyerin's laughter wasn't the sound of a man enjoying a lighthearted moment—it was deep, resonant, and filled with a menacing delight.

The forest seemed to amplify it, twisting the sound so that it came from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

It was the kind of laughter that burrowed into the mind, leaving an oppressive weight on their thoughts.

The sound forced them to slow, their fear beginning to manifest in whispers and worried glances.

"That laughter," Theran muttered, his voice hoarse as he pushed aside a low-hanging branch. "It's not... it can't mean—"

"Don't say it," Donovan snapped, his voice sharp, though it cracked under the weight of his fear. He glanced back, his usually composed face betraying the turmoil within. "He's not dead. There's no way. He wouldn't—he couldn't—"

Miriam stumbled over a root but caught herself, her breaths shallow and quick. "But what if he is?" she whispered, her voice trembling. Her eyes darted to the others, searching for reassurance she knew they couldn't provide. "What if... he didn't make it?"

"Shut up!" the Scarred Soldier barked, his weathered face contorted with fury and denial. "He's strong. You know he is. He wouldn't fall that easily. Not to someone like him."

"But that laugh..." Mikhail finally spoke, his voice low and grave. He stared ahead, his steps slowing as though he could feel the oppressive presence creeping closer. "You all heard it. We've heard it before. That's the sound he makes when—when someone falls."

"No," the Younger Woman said sharply, her voice cracking. "It doesn't mean that. It doesn't! He's probably just toying with us. He wants us to think that Tall is gone. It's just a game to him. That's all it is."

They fell silent for a moment, the weight of her words hanging in the air.

No one dared to agree, yet no one could deny the gnawing truth that lingered at the edges of their minds.

The forest seemed to close in around them, the dense foliage and shadows pressing down like a living thing, suffocating them under the enormity of what they refused to accept.

Theran shook his head violently, as though trying to dispel the thought.

"We need to focus on moving forward," he said, his voice tight and strained. "He told us to keep running. That's what we're doing. He's buying us time."

"But at what cost?" Miriam asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

A long silence followed her question, broken only by the sound of their hurried footsteps and the faint rustling of leaves.

Then, Donovan spoke again, his voice low but steady.

"He wouldn't fall. Not like this. We can't think that way. We can't. If we give in to that fear, then we're as good as dead. He told us to trust him, and we have to."

The Scarred Soldier glanced back over his shoulder, his gaze hard but his eyes betraying the doubt he didn't want to acknowledge. "You're right," he said gruffly. "He's fine. He has to be. That's the only way this works."

But the laughter grew louder still, closer, wrapping around them like a sinister melody.

They could feel it now—a palpable energy in the air, like the distant rumble of a storm that promised destruction.

The sound seemed to mock their defiance, each peal of laughter eroding their fragile hope.

Finally, Mikhail stopped in his tracks, his broad shoulders slumping as he let out a shuddering breath.

"He's gone," he said quietly, the words heavy with resignation. He looked at the others, his expression grim. "We have to face it. He's gone, and we're on our own."

"No!" the Younger Woman shouted, her voice breaking. She turned to Mikhail, her eyes wild with desperation. "He's not gone! Don't say that! He can't be gone!"

But the others didn't meet her gaze. Theran lowered his head, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

Donovan placed a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, her chest rising and falling rapidly as panic began to take hold.

"It doesn't make sense," she said, her voice rising. "He was strong! He was supposed to—he was supposed to protect us!"

"And maybe that's exactly what he did," Mikhail said quietly, his voice calm but tinged with sadness.

"He stayed behind to buy us time. We have to honor that by surviving. That's what he would want."

The Scarred Soldier turned away, his jaw tightening as he tried to suppress the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. "We shouldn't have let him stay behind," he muttered. "We should have—dammit, we should have done something!"

"There wasn't anything we could do," Donovan said firmly, though his voice wavered slightly. "We all knew the risks. He knew the risks. He made his choice."

As the reality of their situation sank in, the group began to argue about what to do next.

Theran suggested splitting up, thinking it might confuse Lyerin and give some of them a chance to escape.

Miriam vehemently opposed the idea, saying they were stronger together and that splitting up would only make them easier targets.

"We don't even know if he's following all of us," Theran argued. "What if he's just going after one or two of us? If we split up, he can't get us all."

"And what happens if he catches one of us alone?" Miriam shot back, her eyes blazing.

"Do you really think any of us can stand up to him one-on-one? We're barely holding it together as a group!"

The Scarred Soldier remained silent, his mind racing as he weighed their options.

Finally, he spoke, his voice cold and decisive. "We stick together. No one's splitting up. If he catches us, we'll face him as a team."

"And then what?" the Younger Woman asked, her voice trembling. "What do we do when he finds us?"

"We fight," the Scarred Soldier said simply, his gaze hard. "We don't have a choice."

"But what if fighting isn't enough?" Mikhail asked, his voice low. "What if we can't stop him?"

The Scarred Soldier didn't answer. None of them did.

They all knew the truth, even if they didn't want to say it out loud.

Lyerin wasn't someone they could stop—not with their strength, not with their weapons.

Their only hope was to delay him long enough to escape, but even that seemed like a distant dream.

The sound of laughter echoed again, closer this time, and they all tensed.

The oppressive presence was almost suffocating now, a constant reminder that their time was running out.

They couldn't afford to waste another moment.

Finally, the Scarred Soldier turned to the group, his expression grim. "We move," he said. "No more talking. No more arguing. We keep running, and we don't look back."

The others nodded, though their faces were pale and their movements reluctant.

They had no other choice.

They had to keep going, even if they knew it was futile. Even if they knew he was coming for them.