LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

The battlefield had descended into chaos.

The Brutarians and Webweavers, once confident in their defenses, now found themselves facing an unstoppable nightmare.

Gorn Ironmaul stood in the center of the carnage, his chest heaving as he swung his warhammer with all his might. But it wasn't enough.

The Pig Orcs, already monstrous in size, had begun to double in height and bulk.

Their tusks gleamed in the firelight, their muscles rippling grotesquely as they tore through the Brutarian defenses like they were made of paper.

CRACK!

Gorn's hammer collided with one of the Orcs, but instead of the sickening crunch of bone, there was only a dull thud.

The Orc barely flinched, a malicious grin spreading across its face before it backhanded Gorn with the force of a battering ram.

WHAM!

Gorn flew through the air, crashing into the stone wall behind him, the impact leaving a crater in the rock.

Around him, his warriors were dying.

One by one, the Brutarians were being struck down by the Pig Orcs, their once-imposing forms crumpling like broken toys under the relentless assault.

The Orcs' sheer size and strength were impossible to counter. And worse, their magic resistance had grown to the point where not a single spell, not even the most powerful war shaman's hexes, could penetrate their thick hides.

"Chief! They're… they're unstoppable!" one of his lieutenants cried out as he struggled to fend off an Orc twice his size.

The Brutarian swung his axe, but it was a futile effort.

The Orc grabbed the weapon mid-swing, snapping the blade in half with its bare hands before delivering a single, bone-shattering punch.

The Brutarian dropped, lifeless, to the blood-soaked ground.

Gorn staggered to his feet, spitting blood. His vision swam, but he forced himself to stay upright.

Around him, the battle had devolved into a desperate fight for survival.

The ground trembled beneath the stomping feet of the Pig Orcs, their roars deafening, their brutish laughter chilling as they tore through everything in their path.

"We have to fall back!"

Gorn roared, his voice a thunderous command that barely rose above the cacophony of battle. But even as the order left his lips, he knew it was useless.

There was nowhere to run.

The Pig Orcs had breached their inner defenses.

The Ironmaul stronghold was crumbling, both physically and morally.

Across the battlefield, the Webweaver Coterie fared no better.

Sylkis Webweaver watched in horror from the shadows as her once-flawless traps failed to slow the onslaught of Pig Orcs.

Her intricate webs, which had once ensnared entire armies, now snapped like fragile threads under the Orcs' immense weight and power.

"More venom!" Sylkis hissed, her voice a low, frantic whisper. "Deploy all reserves!"

But it was useless.

Her warriors skittered along the cavern walls, firing volleys of venomous darts and magic-laced webs, but the Pig Orcs shrugged them off like rainwater.

Sylkis herself unleashed her deadliest spells, her hands weaving intricate symbols in the air as she called upon the ancient magics of her people. But nothing worked.

The Orcs were impervious to everything.

They had become creatures of raw, unrelenting destruction.

"Queen Sylkis, they're breaking through the inner sanctum!" one of her subordinates screeched from the darkness.

Sylkis turned just in time to see the massive form of an Orc crash through the final webbed barrier that guarded her inner chambers.

The creature's eyes gleamed with a malevolent intelligence that sent a chill down her spine. It wasn't mindless. It knew exactly what it was doing.

"No…" she whispered, backing away, her many legs trembling as fear crawled up her spine.

The Orc charged at her with terrifying speed, and in an instant, the queen of the Webweaver Coterie was forced into battle.

Sylkis dodged the first blow, her movements swift and precise, but the Orc was faster than anything she had ever faced.

THUD!

Its fist grazed her, sending her spinning across the chamber, her sleek body slamming into the wall. Pain exploded through her as she struggled to rise.

All around her, her people were falling.

The once proud Webweavers, renowned for their cunning and guile, were being slaughtered.

Those who weren't crushed by the Orcs' brute force were skewered by their crude weapons. And now, even their famed venom had lost its potency.

The poison that had once melted through flesh and bone had no effect on the newly enhanced Pig Orcs.

Sylkis pushed herself up, her vision blurring from the impact. She could feel her time running out.

The Orc loomed over her, its shadow engulfing her like the approach of death itself.

"No!" Sylkis spat defiantly, firing a last desperate spell at the Orc.

The air crackled with energy as the spell hit its mark, but when the smoke cleared, the Orc remained, completely unharmed.

With a sickening smile, the Orc brought its massive fist down upon her. CRASH!

---

Gorn watched in disbelief as more of the Pig Orcs, now towering over his warriors, began to tear through the remaining defenses.

The Brutarians fought with everything they had, but for each one of them that landed a blow, an Orc responded with brutal efficiency.

One blow was all it took.

A single punch, a swing of a crude club, and a Brutarian warrior would crumple to the ground, lifeless.

It was as if the Pig Orcs had become avatars of death itself. Their power, once manageable, had grown beyond comprehension.

"Chief! They're too strong!" a voice screamed from the chaos, but Gorn could barely register it.

He was losing warriors by the second, their bodies littering the battlefield, blood mixing with the churned earth.

As he swung his hammer once more, trying to take down an Orc that had cornered a group of his warriors, he noticed something horrifying.

The Orcs that had been injured, those that had already grown in size, were now doubling in mass.

Their bodies seemed to stretch and warp, muscles bulging grotesquely as they became even more monstrous.

Their eyes burned with a fiery red glow as if possessed by some ancient, dark magic.

Each time Gorn managed to injure one, it would rise again, stronger, faster, and more terrifying than before.

"They... they won't die!" Gorn bellowed, but it was too late.

The Orcs were cutting through the remaining Brutarians like they were nothing more than wheat before a scythe. Every blow from the Orcs was lethal.

A single hit from their oversized fists was enough to shatter bones and kill instantly.

Desperation took hold.

Gorn swung wildly, using every ounce of his strength to fend off the inevitable. His arms ached, his muscles screamed for relief, but he couldn't stop.

He wouldn't stop.

This was his clan, his people, and they were dying all around him.

But then he saw it.

The Pig Orcs were advancing on the last of his warriors, their eyes glowing brighter with each passing second.

The Brutarians fought with valor, but it was futile.

The Orcs were too strong. Too powerful.

Gorn's hammer fell from his grip, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been creeping up on him. He dropped to his knees, watching helplessly as his people were slaughtered.

And in that moment, Gorn Ironmaul knew.

They were lost.

The Ironmaul Clan, once the pride of Darrok, had been destroyed.

---

On the other side of the battlefield, in the dark caverns of Pherin, the Webweaver Coterie suffered the same fate. Sylkis Webweaver lay broken, her once-grand palace in ruins, her people butchered by the unstoppable horde of Pig Orcs.

The survivors of both worlds would speak of that day in hushed tones. They would remember how the Pig Orcs, under some unseen command, had destroyed everything in their path. And they would remember the terror of seeing their strongest warriors fall before an enemy they could not defeat.

The Brutarians and the Webweavers were no more. Their worlds, their people, had been eradicated.

And all the while, Lyerin watched from afar, a cruel smile twisting his lips.