LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

After what felt like an eternity, the group dragged their battered, broken bodies forward, every step a monumental effort.

The air around them was heavy, suffocating with the weight of exhaustion and despair, but still, they moved.

They had traveled for so long—too long.

Time had lost meaning.

Hours and days blurred together into a single, endless stretch of agony.

Their legs burned with every step, and the soles of their boots were worn down to almost nothing.

Their breaths came shallow and labored, punctuated only by the occasional cough or groan.

The Younger Woman stumbled, catching herself against a jagged rock, her arms trembling as she pushed off to keep moving.

Donovan's vision swam in and out of focus, dark spots dancing at the edges of his sight.

His jaw was clenched so tightly it sent a sharp ache through his skull.

Theran walked beside him, his lips pressed into a grim line, his gaze fixed forward, refusing to glance at the lifeless body of the scarred man that still weighed heavily on their hearts.

Miriam trailed behind them, her fingers brushing against Mikhail's shoulder as if to reassure herself that she wasn't alone, that they were still alive—barely, but alive.

The landscape around them was barren and unyielding, a stretch of harsh, cracked earth broken only by jagged rocks and sparse patches of withered vegetation.

The sky above was a canvas of dull, ashen gray, oppressive and endless.

Every step they took felt like a drop in an ocean of futility, the horizon stretching ever further, as though mocking their efforts.

And then, as if the universe had finally decided to grant them a reprieve, something changed.

It was subtle at first—a shift in the air, a faint light on the horizon that shimmered against the bleakness.

The Younger Woman's head jerked up, her eyes narrowing as she squinted into the distance. "Is that…?" she whispered, her voice hoarse and cracked from dehydration and fatigue.

Donovan followed her gaze, his brows furrowing. "No," he murmured, his voice thick with disbelief. "It can't be."

But as they pressed forward, the shimmer grew clearer, more defined.

The jagged rocks began to give way to smoother terrain, the barren earth softening beneath their feet. And then, like a mirage solidifying into reality, the familiar outlines of a place they had thought they might never see again came into view.

The sight hit them like a tidal wave. A sprawling fortress of stone and wood, nestled at the edge of a dense forest.

Its high walls were weathered but sturdy, the gates looming like sentinels against the encroaching wilderness.

Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the faint hum of life reached their ears—a sound that had once been ordinary but now felt like salvation.

"It's the tribe," Miriam whispered, her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and disbelief. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground, her hands gripping the dirt as tears streamed down her face.

Theran let out a shaky laugh, his shoulders sagging as the weight of their journey began to lift. "We made it," he said, his voice barely more than a breath. "We actually made it."

But their moment of relief was short-lived.

Behind them, the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the still air. They stiffened, their bodies tensing as the shadow they had desperately tried to escape loomed once more.

Lyerin.

He walked with a casual grace, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture relaxed. A smirk played on his lips, his golden eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice slicing through the fragile hope that had begun to bloom in their hearts. "Looks like you've finally arrived."

He came to a stop a few paces behind them, tilting his head as he surveyed the scene.

.The fortress, the trembling survivors, the faint traces of desperation clinging to the air—it all seemed to delight him. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as though marveling at the sheer audacity of their journey.

"You've come so far," he said, his tone mockingly sincere. "Such perseverance, such determination. Truly, I'm impressed. I didn't think you had it in you."

The Younger Woman turned to glare at him, her lips curling into a snarl. But even as she tried to muster defiance, her body betrayed her. She was too weak, too broken. All she could do was clutch her sides and glare.

Lyerin's smirk widened. He took a step forward, his boots crunching softly against the dirt. "But tell me," he continued, his tone shifting to one of curiosity, "was it worth it? Was this place—this little haven of yours—worth all the pain, all the sacrifices?"

The group exchanged weary glances, their expressions a mixture of defiance and despair. They didn't answer.

Lyerin chuckled again, his gaze flicking toward the fortress. He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression contemplative.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now," he said, a gleam of anticipation flickering in his eyes. "Because one way or another, this is where your story ends."

The group braced themselves, their relief fading into cold dread.

"Looks like they're here," Lyerin said softly, his smile widening into a grin. And as his laughter echoed across the barren landscape, the walls of the fortress seemed to grow taller, their shadow stretching over the broken remnants of hope.

The moments following Lyerin's mocking declaration were drenched in a suffocating tension.

He lingered there, his golden eyes gleaming with a twisted sense of amusement as he slowly circled the group.

His boots crushed the dry dirt beneath him, each deliberate step echoing like a drumbeat in their ears.

The group was too weak to resist, their bodies slumped, limbs trembling, and eyes dulled with exhaustion. Yet, even in their broken state, they could feel the suffocating weight of what was to come.

"Stand up," Lyerin's voice cracked like a whip through the heavy silence, sharp and uncompromising.

None of them moved.

Donovan, the closest to some semblance of strength, tried to push himself off the ground, his arms trembling violently beneath his weight. His jaw was clenched so tightly that veins popped against his skin, but it was no use. His body simply refused to obey him.

Lyerin clicked his tongue in exaggerated disappointment. "Tsk, tsk, tsk," he muttered, crouching low until his face was level with Donovan's. His golden eyes burned with amusement, his lips pulling into a sharp grin. "Is that all you've got left? After all this time, all that effort? Pathetic."

The Younger Woman flinched as Lyerin suddenly stood upright again, towering over them with his commanding presence. "Alright," he said, clapping his hands once with exaggerated cheer. "If you're too tired to walk, I suppose I'll help. It'd be cruel of me to leave you here in the dirt like the insects you are."

With no further warning, Lyerin strode over to Theran and grabbed him by the back of his collar. Theran gasped as the fabric bit into his throat, but there was no strength left in him to fight back. Like a predator dragging its prey, Lyerin began to pull him along the dry, cracked ground.

The others could only watch as Lyerin worked his way through their group one by one. He dragged them with an almost careless ease, his grip unrelenting as if handling nothing more significant than sacks of grain. Dust and dirt clung to their clothes and skin as they were hauled forward, their bodies jostling limply against the ground.

Donovan winced as he felt the harsh pull of Lyerin's hand gripping his arm, jerking him forward. The roughness of the motion sent a sharp pain shooting through his shoulder, but he bit back a groan. He could feel the dirt grinding into the open wounds on his body, but he was too weak to resist. Beside him, Miriam let out a soft, ragged sob as she was dragged along, her face pale and streaked with grime.

Lyerin didn't stop. Step by step, he moved forward, dragging all of them along like broken puppets on strings. The faint shimmering outline of the tribe's entrance grew closer with every moment, the massive wooden gates towering over them in the distance.

The barren landscape around them offered no reprieve, the sunless sky casting everything in a muted gray light. Jagged rocks jutted out of the earth like broken teeth, their sharp edges gleaming faintly. The occasional gust of wind stirred up clouds of dust, stinging their eyes and biting at their already raw skin.

Lyerin, however, seemed unfazed by it all. If anything, the struggle beneath his hands seemed to amuse him. "You've come all this way," he said, his voice dripping with mock admiration. "And yet, you still can't muster the strength to stand on your own. What a waste."

His words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. No one responded. They didn't have the energy to.

At one point, the Younger Woman tried to lift her head, her lips trembling as if to say something, but before she could, Lyerin turned his attention to her. "Don't," he said simply, his tone laced with quiet menace. Her head fell back down, and the spark of defiance she'd tried to summon flickered out.

The sound of their bodies being dragged against the rough ground filled the air, accompanied only by their labored breaths and the occasional groan of pain. It was a symphony of suffering, and Lyerin seemed to revel in it.

"You know," he began, his voice taking on a conversational tone as he continued dragging them forward, "this could've been easier for you. If only you'd been more entertaining. If only you'd fought harder. Maybe then I wouldn't have to do this." He chuckled softly, his golden eyes flicking down to the limp forms of his victims. "But I suppose it's too late for regrets now, isn't it?"

The gates of the tribe loomed closer and closer, their intricate carvings visible even from a distance. They were tall and imposing, crafted from thick, dark wood reinforced with steel. The sight of them should have been a relief, a promise of safety and sanctuary. But in the presence of Lyerin, they felt more like the entrance to a cage.

"Almost there," Lyerin said with a grin, his voice lilting as if he were guiding them on a pleasant stroll. "I hope you're ready for the next part."

His victims exchanged weary, fearful glances. Donovan's eyes met Theran's, a flicker of desperation passing between them. Miriam clutched at the fabric of her torn clothes, her fingers trembling. None of them dared to speak, but the unspoken question lingered in the air: What's next?

Lyerin came to a stop just a few feet from the gates, his golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He let go of each of them in turn, their bodies collapsing to the ground like discarded dolls. Dust billowed around them as they lay there, gasping for breath and clutching at the dirt beneath them.

"Looks like you made it," Lyerin said, his voice low and almost playful. He glanced over his shoulder at the towering gates, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Welcome home."