LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

The air grew taut as Donovan, Theran, Miriam, and Mikhail exchanged a brief, wordless glance, their eyes gleaming with an intensity that only desperation could forge.

The oppressive weight of Lyerin's presence was a constant pressure in their minds—a predator watching, waiting, taunting.

The faint hum of their mana gathering reached a crescendo, the energy pooling into their hands, swirling like miniature storms about to unleash hell.

Lyerin tilted his head, his grin widening. He stood completely still, the picture of calm, his hands loosely clasped behind his back.

His dark coat fluttered slightly in the breeze, the moonlight casting elongated shadows across his sharp, angular features.

"Oh, is this it?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock curiosity. "Have the children finally decided to bite back? Let me guess—you're about to give me the ultimate attack, yes? Some grand, secret Borgias Family assassination technique? Oh, please, don't keep me in suspense!" His laughter rang out, sharp and manic, filling the night like an unholy symphony.

Without a word, Donovan shot forward, his form barely a blur against the moonlit forest. His mana erupted from his palms, forming a jagged blade of concentrated energy. Shiiing! The blade sliced through the air with deadly precision, aimed directly at Lyerin's throat. But Lyerin didn't flinch. He simply tilted his head at the last possible moment, the blade grazing the empty space where his neck had been.

"Predictable," Lyerin said with a chuckle, his voice carrying an almost theatrical boredom. He raised a single hand, lazily intercepting Donovan's follow-up strike with his bare fingers.

Clang!

The clash sent a reverberation through the forest, leaves shaking violently from the shockwave.

Lyerin's grin widened as he held Donovan's mana blade between two fingers, the faint glow of its energy reflecting in his eyes. "A little more finesse wouldn't hurt, you know. You Borgias assassins used to have standards."

Donovan gritted his teeth, pouring more mana into the blade. "Die, you monster!" he snarled, his voice raw with fury.

"Oh, such fire!" Lyerin cooed, his voice laced with mock admiration. "But fire without control is just smoke. And you, my dear Donovan, are all smoke."

With a flick of his wrist, he shattered the blade, the mana dissipating into the air like scattered embers. Donovan stumbled back, his chest heaving as he fought to keep his balance.

Before Lyerin could close the distance, Theran charged from his left, his mana forming dozens of floating spears, each glowing with a sinister crimson light.

With a shout, he hurled them forward, the spears slicing through the air with deadly intent. Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! The sheer volume of the assault painted the sky red, the spears converging on Lyerin from all angles.

"Better," Lyerin said, his tone almost approving. He extended his hand, the air around him shimmering as a translucent barrier materialized with a soft thrum.

The spears slammed into the barrier one by one, exploding in bursts of crimson light. Boom! Boom! Boom!

The ground trembled beneath their feet, the force of the impacts uprooting trees and sending debris flying in every direction.

But when the dust settled, Lyerin stood untouched, his barrier fading into nothingness as he dusted off his coat. "But still not good enough," he said, wagging a finger at Theran like a disappointed parent. "Your mana control is sloppy. Amateurish. What would your ancestors say, I wonder?"

Theran growled in frustration, summoning another wave of spears, but Miriam and Mikhail stepped forward, their mana crackling around them like arcs of electricity.

Miriam's hands glowed with an eerie purple light as she chanted under her breath, the air around her warping as reality itself seemed to bend to her will.

From the shadows of the forest, dozens of spectral beasts emerged—wolves with glowing eyes, panthers made of smoke, and serpents that slithered unnaturally fast.

"Ah, shadow beasts," Lyerin mused, his grin widening. "A classic Borgias technique. But tell me—do they still disappear when their caster dies? Or have you finally worked out that little flaw?"

He didn't wait for an answer, stepping forward as one of the wolves lunged at him, its jaws wide open.

He caught it mid-air with one hand, his fingers sinking into its smoky flesh. "Adorable," he said, before crushing the beast into nothingness.

The other beasts attacked in unison, their claws and fangs tearing through the air. Snarl! Hiss! Roar! But Lyerin moved like water, slipping between their strikes with an ease that bordered on mocking.

One by one, the beasts dissolved under his touch, their spectral forms disintegrating like sand in the wind. "Really, Miriam," he said, turning to her as he casually backhanded a panther. "You couldn't have come up with something a bit more creative? Shadow beasts? In this economy?"

Mikhail, meanwhile, had been gathering mana in his palms, his face twisted with concentration.

"Enough of your games!" he shouted, releasing a massive surge of energy. The blast shot toward Lyerin like a meteor, the force of it scorching the ground as it tore through the forest.

BOOM!

The explosion was deafening, a blinding light swallowing everything in its path.

For a moment, there was silence.

The group held their breath, their eyes scanning the dissipating smoke. But as the haze cleared, Lyerin's silhouette emerged, standing at the center of a massive crater, completely unharmed.

"Yawn," Lyerin said, stretching dramatically. "Was that supposed to impress me? Because all it did was ruin my shoes." He stepped forward, shaking his head. "Honestly, I expected more from the Borgias Family. You're all so... mediocre."

"Shut up!" Mikhail shouted, his voice breaking with frustration.

"Oh, but why?" Lyerin said, his grin widening once more.

"This is the most fun I've had in ages. Watching you squirm, trying so hard to hurt me, only to fail spectacularly—it's delicious." He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing like thunder. "More! Show me more of your pathetic little tricks. Entertain me!"

The four of them exchanged weary glances, their bodies trembling from exhaustion.

Despite their best efforts, Lyerin remained untouchable, his mocking laughter cutting through their resolve like a knife.

They had thrown everything at him, every ounce of their mana, every technique they had mastered. And yet, he stood there, unscathed, as if their attacks had been nothing more than a gentle breeze.

"Is that it?" Lyerin asked, his tone suddenly cold. His grin faded, replaced by an expression of mild annoyance. "Are we done here? Because if this is all you've got, I might as well end this now."

They froze, their breaths catching in their throats.

But then, Lyerin's grin returned, wider and more menacing than before. "Or," he said, his voice dripping with malice, "I could let you crawl some more. After all, I haven't had my fill of laughter just yet."

He gestured toward the ground, his eyes gleaming with sadistic glee. "Back to crawling, little worms. Let's see how long you last."

Broken and defeated, the four of them dropped to their knees, their hands trembling as they began to crawl once more. And above them, Lyerin's laughter echoed, cruel and unrelenting.