LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

The Skyclaw Brotherhood stood at the edge of their base, perched on rocky outcrops and the sprawling branches of enormous trees.

Their defense batch, a mix of young and seasoned warriors, moved in calculated precision, their hawk-like forms cutting through the air as they dispatched the Raging Pig Orcs with swift, swift lethality.

The sound of talons raking against orcish flesh and the powerful slashes of wind magic filled the air, accompanied by the frenzied grunts of the Pig Orcs as they fell one after another.

The air was thick with tension, the stench of blood and sweat mingling with the acrid smell of burnt feathers from the magic blasts.

The Brotherhood was holding their ground, their confidence fueled by their superior vantage point and aerial prowess.

Yet, despite their apparent dominance, a subtle unease began to creep into the minds of those fighting at the base.

One of the younger warriors, Zarek, a sharp-eyed scout known for his instinctual battle sense, finished off an Orc with a precise dive and slash, his wings flaring as he landed back on the branch.

He looked up, eyes darting towards the distant direction where Sir Velros and the others had ventured earlier.

The sight of those tangled clouds, seemed to be cloaked in shine and mystery, sent a shiver through him.

"Why does it seem like Sir Velros and the others are taking so long?" Zarek muttered, his voice tinged with a mixture of impatience and concern.

The others, still locked in combat, glanced his way but quickly turned their attention back to the unending onslaught.

They too had noticed Velros's prolonged absence. He was their leader, their commander, and his absence was beginning to feel like a gaping wound in their defensive line.

As each Pig Orc fell, the sense of victory was hollow, overshadowed by the growing realization that something was terribly wrong.

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Meanwhile, across the other bases, the representatives of each world were locked in their own struggles against the relentless Pig Orc tide.

The Olerai of Kaeloris fought with the grace of the jungle, their vine-covered bodies merging with trees as they struck with nature's wrath.

Branches lashed out like whips, and roots burst from the ground to ensnare the Orcs, crushing them under immense pressure. Yet, even they could feel a strange, unsettling energy in the air.

The Solrath warriors exchanged worried glances, silently questioning the origin of this seemingly endless wave.

In the underwater realm of Treneron, the Sevarin were manipulating tides and currents, their fluid forms gliding through water like serpents as they used the river itself as a weapon.

They created whirlpools that sucked in the Pig Orcs, tearing them apart with merciless force. But for every Orc they dragged into the depths, another would emerge, their sheer numbers creating a sense of dread that even the strongest tides couldn't wash away.

Vortan's Volcaris, beings of molten rock and fire, were a blazing inferno on the battlefield.

Lava spilled from their bodies as they erupted into combat, turning the ground beneath them into rivers of molten fury.

Their lava-like blood scorched the Pig Orcs, reducing them to smoldering heaps. But as their volcanic rage subsided, they too could sense the weariness setting in, the unending wave threatening to exhaust even their fiery resolve.

Darrok's Brutarians, massive and powerful with their four-armed forms, were smashing the Pig Orcs into the ground with earth-shaking blows.

Their muscle-bound forms, carved from years of battle, were like living battering rams.

However, the Pig Orcs kept coming, wearing down even these giants with their relentless advance.

The Thrylos of Malvaros, using their telepathy and telekinesis, were trying to control the battlefield with their minds.

Objects flew, Orcs were thrown against each other, and invisible forces crushed the invaders from within. But no matter how many they sent flying, the Pig Orcs pressed forward, seemingly unphased by the psychic assault.

In the shadows, the Seraphians of Keros moved like phantoms, shifting between form and darkness, striking the Orcs from blind spots and melting back into the night.

Yet even the masters of stealth and ambush found themselves unable to quell the tide entirely.

The Zygron of Yvarka wielded frost and ice, freezing the Pig Orcs in place, their bodies encased in thick blocks of ice that shattered under the weight of their own power.

The battlefield was a frozen wasteland of shattered Orcs and icy structures, but as more Pig Orcs emerged, the temperature seemed to drop even further, as if the very presence of the Orcs was somehow fighting back against the cold.

Finally, the Araknae of Pherin, the spider-like humanoids, spun webs of magical energy, entangling the Pig Orcs in traps that drained their strength and left them helpless.

They watched as the Orcs struggled, their eyes glowing with cruel satisfaction, but even they couldn't ignore the gnawing doubt creeping into their minds.

Why were these creatures attacking with such mindless fury?

Suddenly, a deep, resonant sound broke through the chaos—a bellowing roar that echoed across the battlefield, ROOOOOAAARRRRR shaking the ground beneath every representative.

The sky seemed to tremble as a single, massive Pig Orc stepped forward, distinct from the others.

It was larger, more muscular, and its tusks were like jagged swords jutting from its snarling mouth.

Its eyes glowed with a sinister intelligence that none of the other Orcs possessed.

The Pig Orc looked over the battlefield, with its gaze seemingly piercing and calculating.

Then, with a mighty roar that sounded more like a horn blast from a war god, it commanded the other Pig Orcs, "ROOOOOOOIIINNNKK!!"

The sound echoed in every direction, and it was as if the battlefield itself held its breath.

The Pig Orcs, mid-attack, froze for a moment before slowly backing down.

"Oing??"

Their beady eyes, which had been filled with bloodlust moments before, now looked strangely calm, almost disciplined.

The representatives watched in stunned silence as the Orcs began to retreat, pulling back from the bases they had been so fervently attacking.

"What… what just happened?" one of the Solrath warriors murmured, eyes wide as the jungle floor grew quiet once more.

The Pig Orcs, previously an unstoppable force, were now calmly stepping away, as if summoned by an invisible call.

The Sevarin looked at the water around them, the tides settling as if in response to some unseen command.

The Brutarians, still heaving with exertion, exchanged puzzled looks, their four arms hanging limp at their sides as they watched the Orcs depart.

Even the Thrylos, with their advanced minds, struggled to comprehend the sudden shift in behavior.

It wasn't just a retreat; it was an orchestrated withdrawal.

The Pig Orcs moved with a sense of purpose, their savage nature seemingly tamed by the roar of their leader.

The battlefield that had been a maelstrom of violence moments before was now eerily silent, save for the fading footsteps of the Orcs as they disappeared back into the wilderness.

Velros's subordinate, still fighting in the maze, paused and wiped the sweat from his brow, eyes darting to the horizon.

"Did the beast wave finally calm down?" he asked aloud, disbelief lacing his voice.

But as the last of the Pig Orcs vanished, each representative knew one thing for sure—their battle wasn't over, only paused, there would be next wave left.

They had no idea why the Pig Orcs had suddenly retreated, but the uneasy truce that now hung over the battlefield was a grim reminder that something far worse could be looming just beyond their sight.

The taste of victory was bitter, and every warrior present felt the dread of the unknown creeping back in, chilling their very souls.