LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

Far away in the realm of shadows, where darkness reigned and light dared not tread, the six-armed Overseer loomed over his fellow shadows, his form barely distinguishable from the inky blackness that surrounded him.

The Overseer, a towering figure with a presence that exuded authority and malice, moved with a slow, deliberate grace.

His six arms, each ending in clawed hands that dripped with shadowy mist, gestured subtly as he spoke, his voice a deep, "Interesting," he said, with an echoing growl that seemed to seep into the walls of the abyss itself.

His subordinates, six other shadowy figures each sporting six arms, stood in a semi-circle around him, their forms shifting and flickering as if they were reflections on dark water.

Their eyes, glowing with a faint, malevolent light, were locked onto the Overseer, awaiting his every word.

The scene was one of reverence and fear, an assembly of beings who thrived in the darkest corners of existence.

One of the shadows stepped forward, its voice a rasping whisper that barely disturbed the heavy silence.

"Overseer, why do the Raging Pig Orcs within the maze seem far more terrifying than the ones attacking the representatives outside? The Birdmen are slaughtering the Orcs outside with ease, yet they struggle inside the maze."

The Overseer tilted his head slightly, considering the question with a faint smile that twisted across his shadowed features. "It's the nature of the maze," he began, his voice slow and methodical, each word laced with ancient knowledge.

"The maze doesn't allow anyone to use the same spell twice. It is a living entity, bound by ancient magic that feeds on unpredictability. Inside its walls, no two spells can be identical if cast by the same person."

Another shadow, its form rippling with curiosity, asked, "But how is it that Velros's subordinate used the same wind attack that Velros himself had used before? Velros could not replicate it, yet his subordinate did. Why?"

The Overseer's many hands shifted, as if stroking invisible threads of power in the darkness. "The restriction applies to the individual, not the spell itself," he explained patiently.

"Velros used the wind attack first, rendering it unusable to him again within the maze. However, his subordinate had not used it before. To the maze, the subordinate's use of the spell was new, and thus it was permitted."

Understanding dawned on the shadows, but there was still one more burning question. Another of the six-armed beings, its voice barely more than a hiss, spoke up.

"When the subordinate unleashed the same wind attack on the Raging Pigs, they remained unharmed. How could that be? The attack should have cut them down just as it did before."

The Overseer's eyes gleamed, his amusement barely contained. "Adaptability," he said, his voice tinged with dark satisfaction.

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"The minotaur spirit that now serves the Stonehooves Tribe was once a guardian of the maze, bound by its rules and shaped by its magic.

"When the humans transformed their tribal spirit into a minotaur spirit, they inherited some of the minotaur's traits.

"One such trait is adaptability. The Raging Pig Orcs in the maze, affected by this trait, learn from each encounter. They adapt. Once a spell has been used against them, they will never again be vulnerable to that specific attack."

The shadows around him nodded, finally understanding the lethal synergy between the maze's magic and the adaptability bestowed upon the Orcs by the minotaur's spirit.

This explained why the Birdmen, formidable warriors that they were, were being slowly worn down by the unrelenting Pig Orcs within the maze.

The Overseer's gaze shifted to the swirling mist that served as a portal, showing glimpses of the Birdmen inside the maze.

The Birdmen, once scattered and disorganized, had regrouped under Velros's command, moving as a single, deadly unit.

Their synchronized attacks were tearing through the Pig Orcs, one by one, their talons slashing, their magic blazing.

The maze's unpredictability made each step perilous, but the Birdmen were adapting too, adjusting their strategies on the fly.

"Look at them," one of the shadows muttered, its eyes narrowing as it observed the Birdmen's newfound momentum.

"They've regrouped. They're thrashing the maze's Orcs now. What will Lyerin do next? How will he respond?"

The Overseer's gaze remained fixed on the chaotic scene unfolding before them.

However, just as he was about to speak, his eyes flickered to another view—the open space outside the maze where Lyerin and the Stonehooves Tribe were resting.

What he saw made his eyes widen with an uncharacteristic flash of alarm.

The shadows around him mirrored his reaction, their forms quivering as if struck by an unseen force.

"Impossible!" one of the six-armed shadows whispered, its voice trembling with disbelief. "How did he do this?"

…

Back on Earth, thousands of miles away from the realm of shadows, the Asura girl sat in front of the massive projection screen that displayed the Stonehooves Tribe's ongoing saga.

She was the appointed narrator, tasked with delivering every twist and turn of this grand event to the millions of Earthlings watching with bated breath.

Her usually confident voice was now filled with elation as she watched the Birdmen in the maze regroup, their powerful wings cutting through the air, their coordinated strikes systematically dismantling the Pig Orcs that had tormented them.

"They've done it!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the live broadcast. "The Birdmen have regrouped! At this rate, they're going to wipe the floor with the Pig Orcs in the maze! Velros has turned the tide!"

The screen flickered with images of Birdmen diving, casting spells, and dismantling the maze's defenses.

The viewers at home were on the edge of their seats, their emotions riding high on the Birdmen's apparent success.

The Asura girl's commentary added to the excitement, her voice rising with each decisive blow the Birdmen landed.

Yet, even as she celebrated their victory, a nagging doubt lingered at the back of her mind.

She knew, as did everyone else who had been following Lyerin's unpredictable maneuvers, that nothing was ever as simple as it seemed with the Stonehooves Tribe.

Lyerin had consistently defied expectations, turning the impossible into his advantage time and time again.

The Asura girl's gaze flickered between the Birdmen's triumph and the serene images of Lyerin lounging within his camp, surrounded by his tribe.

"What's he planning this time?" she murmured to herself, her voice barely audible over the cheers of the crowd.

She could feel it—a subtle tension in the air, a sense that something was brewing beneath the surface, waiting to erupt.

…

Back at the heart of the Stonehooves Tribe, Lyerin sat comfortably beneath the towering statue of the Stonehooves minotaur.

The statue's eyes glowed faintly, a constant reminder of the spirit that now protected the tribe.

Around him, his new human tribe members were bustling about, busy with tasks that kept the camp functioning smoothly.

The makeshift kitchen was alive with the sizzle of cooking meat, the aroma of freshly roasted troll flesh wafting through the air.

Lyerin reclined against the stone base of the statue, his eyes half-closed as he savored another bite of the succulent meat.

He chewed slowly, savoring the rich flavors, and then let out a satisfied burp, patting his stomach.

It was a peaceful scene, almost surreal in its tranquility compared to the ongoing chaos within the maze.

The tribe members around him laughed, some playfully scolding him for his lack of manners.

The children, gathered at his feet, watched him with wide, curious eyes, still in awe of the magic tricks he had performed earlier to keep their spirits high.

Lyerin grinned, his fangs glinting in the dim light, and he stretched out lazily, his confidence palpable.

He knew what was happening in the maze; he was sure that the Birdmen had regrouped because that's the best choice, and they were tearing through the Orcs like a storm.

However, Lyerin was unfazed.

He looked up at the statue, feeling the steady thrum of the minotaur spirit's presence, and then glanced at the faint shimmering screens that monitored the numbers of his tribe members.

"196 members turned into 89," the screen read, displaying the toll that the recent battles had taken.

Lyerin's smile never wavered.

He rose to his feet, brushing off the dust from his clothes, and turned his gaze toward the distant entrance of the maze.

He took a deep breath, feeling the rush of energy that always preceded his next move.

The tribe members fell silent, sensing a shift in the air, their eyes following his every movement.

Lyerin raised his arm, extending it toward the maze as if beckoning to someone unseen.

A chilling smile spread across his face as he spoke, his voice carrying a command that rippled through the very ground they stood on.

"Come, my army," he said softly, his voice a whisper that echoed like thunder.

The ground beneath the Stonehooves Tribe began to tremble, and from the shadows of the maze, figures began to stir.

"Let the game begins!"