LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

As the tension in the air thickened, an old man emerged from the crowd, one could feel his presence were commanding enough to halt the crackling energy in the younger man's hands.

He stood tall, despite the weight of years that pressed upon his body.

His face was weathered and lined with deep wrinkles, a testament to the hard life he had endured.

His fierce, penetrating eyes glowed with wisdom and strength, overshadowed only by the long, greying beard that framed his sharp features. Ok

A cane, made of dark, polished wood, rested in his gnarled hand, its grip worn from countless battles.

The old man exuded authority, and even the rebellious survivors turned their heads in quiet respect as he stepped forward.

"Calm down," the old man said in a gravelly voice, his eyes fixed on Lyerin. His tone was firm, almost paternal, as though he were chastising a wayward son.

The man with the electrical charge obeyed, lowering his hand reluctantly, though his anger still flickered beneath the surface.

The old man turned his full attention to Lyerin, his eyes narrowing.

"You think you're in control, don't you, boy? That this tribe, these people, are yours to command. But let me tell you something."

His voice dropped, deep and steady, every word measured and deliberate.

"This is not the time for your delusions of grandeur. Not when the world outside is crumbling to dust and the skies are filled with nightmares."

Lyerin arched an eyebrow, but before he could respond, the old man continued, his tone hardening with authority.

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"We don't need more division, more war. We need unity. You think you can survive this apocalypse on your own? You're a fool if you believe that. Alone, you'll be crushed beneath the weight of the chaos out there. But together, we might stand a chance."

The crowd listened, rapt, as the old man's words sank into the pit of their stomachs.

The idea of unity, of survival through cooperation, appealed to the hopeless souls who stood there, battered and broken by the world's relentless cruelty.

But Lyerin stood unphased, his arms crossed over his chest, with an impassive expression.

"We've seen it," the old man went on, his fierce eyes never leaving Lyerin's.

"In the Ruined Magical World. We faced horrors you cannot imagine, creatures born from the darkest recesses of twisted realms. And we survived. We came back stronger than we ever were, and we brought with us powers that could turn the tide in this war against the apocalypse. Powers that could end you, if we so chose."

Lyerin's lips curled into a smirk. "Is that a threat, old man?"

The old man's expression did not change. He was calm, collected, his voice even as he continued.

"No, it's not a threat. It's a reminder. We have numbers—superhumans who have returned from the brink of death, gifted with abilities that would make any mortal tremble. We could deal with you and your so-called tribe easily, if we wanted to. But we respect those who saved us."

He gestured toward the girls standing behind Lyerin, their faces filled with apprehension: Corora, Corona, Maria, Elena, Lydia, Fiona, Emily, and Natalie. Discover more at m-vlempy _r.

"Those girls have shown us kindness, and we owe them our lives. That's why we're standing here, listening to you."

Lyerin let out a low, dismissive chuckle. "So, you're trying to tell me I should be grateful? Because a bunch of girls vouched for you?"

The old man shook his head slowly, his grip tightening on his cane.

"I'm telling you not to dig your own grave. There are plenty of us here—enough to overwhelm you if we decided you were a threat. We don't want murder. We came seeking peace, shelter, a way to rebuild. But don't mistake our desire for peace as weakness. Push us too far, and you'll regret it."

Lyerin's laughter erupted, louder and more mocking than before, echoing across the open space where the survivors stood.

The absurdity of it all amused him, and he reveled in the irony.

"Peace? Shelter? You're here because you're starving and desperate! You came to me for my food, my resources, and now you have the audacity to stand there and threaten me? You're all pathetic."

His words sliced through the crowd like a blade, leaving them shocked and silent. But Lyerin wasn't done.

His eyes began scanning the group of people standing before him, coldly appraising each of them as if they were livestock to be bought or sold.

He pointed at a tall, muscular man on the far right, his skin scarred and rough from past battles.

"You," Lyerin said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're a soldier, aren't you? An Eldren Warrior. First level, barely worth my time. And you—" He pointed to a woman with short, cropped hair and hardened features. "Another Eldren, second level at best.

You can hardly protect yourselves."

Lyerin moved his finger along the crowd, identifying each one.

"Third level, fourth, sixth... all of you barely scraping by. And you want to tell me you can take on my tribe? Your highest Eldren warrior is this one here—"

He gestured toward the man with the electrical charge, "—and your leader, the old man who can manipulate shadows." His finger pointed directly at the old man, his smirk widening.

The old man's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Lyerin's expression turned mocking as he continued.

"So what? You think a few shadow tricks and some lightning are enough to scare me? You're just a bunch of brats playing with powers you don't even understand. If you want to attack, then attack. I'm right here."

He spread his arms wide, daring them to move against him.

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of expectation.

The people didn't move, though their expressions ranged from anger to disbelief.

They knew, deep down, that despite their powers, despite their numbers, Lyerin wasn't a man to be trifled with for knowing them.

His confidence, his control over the situation, was unshakable.

The old man finally spoke again, his voice low but firm.

"You're courting death, boy. You've made your point, but you're pushing too far. We came in peace, and we don't want to resort to violence. But don't think for a moment we won't defend ourselves if you force us to."

Lyerin's smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating look.

"Peace? You keep talking about peace, but all I hear is weakness." He stepped closer to the old man, his eyes glinting with dark amusement. "You came here because you need me. My food, my shelter, my resources. Without me, you're nothing. Don't forget that."

The old man's grip on his cane tightened, his knuckles turning white. "You're right. We came here because we're desperate. But desperation makes people dangerous, boy. And there are more of us than you think. You don't know how many of us have returned from the Ruined Magical World.

You don't know our full strength."

Lyerin's laugh echoed once more, but this time it was colder, devoid of any real humor. "Your strength? Is this all you've got?" He pointed again at the people in the crowd, his gaze flicking over them like they were insects beneath his boot.

"A few weaklings and a handful of superhumans who barely survived their own battles? I'm disappointed."

The air grew tense, every breath held in anticipation of the next move.

Lyerin's confidence radiated like a palpable force, and the old man's warning lingered ominously in the back of everyone's mind.

Finally, Lyerin's eyes met the old man's once more, his voice filled with quiet menace.

"So tell me, old man... What are you really here for? Because if you've come to challenge me, I'd be more than happy to oblige."