LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

For once, no one argued.

The decision to stay in camp felt like a small victory in itself, a brief reprieve from the relentless pressure they had been under.

As the day stretched on, the soldiers tended to their injuries, repaired their equipment, and shared what little food they had left.

But even in rest, the shadow of the beast loomed over them.

Its roar echoed faintly in the distance, a reminder that their enemy was still out there, waiting.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the camp in darkness, each of them silently wondered if rest would truly be enough—or if they were merely delaying the inevitable.

As the days stretched into weeks, the soldiers found themselves growing more hesitant to venture out again.

Their collective failure against the beast had left scars deeper than the ones they bore on their bodies.

Though they had promised themselves they would rest for a day, that day soon turned into two, then three, then a week, and now none of them spoke of returning to the forest. Instead, they focused on preparations—not out of determination, but out of desperation.

The camp became a hive of subdued activity.

Tessa, who had been among the most vocal about resting, now spent her days meticulously repairing her arrows and ensuring her bowstring was taut and ready.

She sat apart from the others, her fingers moving mechanically as if the repetitive task would drown out the lingering fear in her heart.

Every so often, she would glance toward the edge of the camp, where the dense trees stood like silent sentinels, hiding the creature that had bested them time and time again.

Jonas, still nursing his injured arm, had taken it upon himself to experiment with new traps. He sat near a pile of broken twigs, rope, and crude metal scraps, mumbling to himself as he tested different configurations.

"If it's too strong for snares, then maybe… maybe we use its strength against it," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His face was pale, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights spent obsessing over their failure.

Caron, once the steadfast leader, was now a shadow of his former self. He wandered through the camp aimlessly, occasionally stopping to give orders that no one followed or cared to hear.

The weight of leadership had become unbearable, and his shoulders slumped under its invisible burden. He avoided eye contact with the others, ashamed of his inability to rally them.

The rest of the group busied themselves with mundane tasks—sharpening weapons, reinforcing armor, and rationing what little food they had left.

Every conversation was laced with tension, their words clipped and their voices low.

They spoke in hushed tones, as if the beast could hear them even from miles away.

"We need more information," one of them finally said during a rare gathering around the campfire. It was a simple statement, but it carried the weight of their shared frustration.

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" Jonas snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. "We've been out there, remember? We've seen it, we've fought it. What more do you want to know? That it's smarter than us? Stronger than us? That it's just waiting for us to come back so it can finish the job?"

The group fell silent, the crackling fire the only sound between them.

Tessa broke the silence. "He's right," she admitted reluctantly. "But that doesn't mean we can give up. We need a real plan this time, not just blind traps and brute force."

"What do you suggest?" Caron asked, his voice flat and devoid of hope.

Tessa hesitated, her gaze dropping to the fire. "I don't know," she admitted. "But we can't keep doing the same thing over and over. We need to be smarter. We need to think like it does."

"Think like it?" Jonas scoffed. "It's a beast, not a tactician."

"Then why does it always seem to know exactly what we're going to do?" Tessa countered, her voice rising. "Why does it avoid every trap, counter every move we make? If it's not thinking, then what is it doing?"

The group exchanged uneasy glances, the unspoken truth settling over them like a heavy fog. The beast wasn't just strong—it was intelligent, far more so than any of them had given it credit for.

"Maybe we're not the hunters here," one of the younger soldiers said quietly. The others turned to look at him, his words striking a nerve none of them wanted to acknowledge.

"We prepare," Tessa said firmly, cutting through the growing despair. "We rest, we plan, and we prepare. We don't go out there again until we're ready."

"And what if we're never ready?" Caron asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tessa didn't answer, because she didn't know. None of them did.

The days that followed were a blur of activity, but it was aimless and chaotic. They trained, but their movements lacked conviction. They crafted new weapons and traps, but each creation felt inadequate against the memory of the beast's overwhelming power. They argued over strategies, but every plan fell apart under the weight of their shared fear.

And all the while, the forest loomed in the distance, its shadows hiding the creature that had become the embodiment of their despair. Every roar that echoed through the trees was a reminder of their failure, and every day they spent preparing felt like another step closer to giving up entirely.

But they couldn't give up. Not yet. Not when the portal to Earth remained out of reach, taunting them with the possibility of escape. They had no choice but to keep going, even as the weight of their failure threatened to crush them. And so, they prepared—not out of hope, but out of necessity.

On the side, Lyerin was watching them struggle. He would shake his head and turn around to leave. "Soon, it's not time yet."