LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

The weight of Lyerin's gaze pressed upon the soldiers like a storm cloud threatening to burst, heavy with untold consequences.

His crimson eyes swept over them, taking in their fear, their confusion, their rising despair.

He stood tall and calm, his demeanor an unshakable pillar in the chaos of their frayed emotions.

The light from the portal shimmered behind him, an eerie, almost divine glow that cast long, distorted shadows across the ground.

For a long moment, he said nothing, letting the silence grow, letting their anxiety stew in the unspoken truths that hung like a noose over their heads.

Finally, with an air of deliberate purpose, Lyerin clasped his hands behind his back and began to speak.

His voice was soft, almost conversational, but it carried the weight of finality—a quiet storm that brooked no argument.

"You seem confused," he began, tilting his head ever so slightly, his tone drenched in mockery laced with patience. "Perhaps you've misunderstood something about our arrangement, so allow me to clarify."

The soldiers bristled at his words, their tension palpable.

Some exchanged glances, as if hoping one of their comrades might have the courage to interrupt, to demand answers. But no one dared.

They were trapped, pinned under the weight of Lyerin's presence, unable to do anything but listen.

"When you first came to this world," Lyerin continued, pacing slowly now, his steps measured, deliberate, "you bore the mark of servitude, branded like cattle by the Borgias Family. A cruel and demeaning fate, one I found… distasteful."

His voice carried a faint note of derision, as though even the mention of the Borgias Family sullied his tongue.

"So, I offered you a deal—a chance to break free from that mark, to shed your chains and claim your lives as your own. And in exchange…" He paused, his lips curling into a faint smile.

"You would build my tribe here. You would carve out a place for us in this land, in this world."n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

He stopped walking, turning to face the soldiers fully now. His gaze was piercing, his expression unreadable.

"You fulfilled your part of the bargain. The tribe stands, as strong and as self-sufficient as I could have hoped for. And I, in turn, fulfilled mine."

He gestured vaguely toward the soldiers, as though their freedom was a trivial matter. "The marks are gone. You are no longer slaves. The weight of the Borgias Family's control has been lifted from you. Our deal is done."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, low and uneasy.

Some soldiers nodded slowly, as if trying to convince themselves that his words were true, that this was all he owed them.

Others, however, clenched their fists, their anger barely contained. It was one thing to fulfill a bargain, but to abandon them now, after all they had endured, felt like a betrayal.

"But the portal…" one soldier dared to speak, his voice trembling. "You opened the portal to Earth. We thought—"

"You thought what?" Lyerin interrupted, his tone sharp, cutting through the man's words like a blade. His gaze bore down on the soldier, silencing him instantly.

"That I opened it for your convenience? Out of some sense of obligation?" He chuckled, low and dark, the sound carrying an edge of mockery. "You overestimate your importance to me."

Another soldier stepped forward, her voice trembling with both fear and anger. "But we helped you! We built this tribe for you! Doesn't that mean anything? We trusted you!"

Lyerin's eyes narrowed, his smile fading as a cold, sharp edge crept into his voice.

"You did as you were paid to do. Do not confuse a transaction for loyalty. I gave you your freedom. I gave you your lives back. And now," he said, his tone softening but losing none of its gravity, "I owe you nothing."

The weight of his words settled over the soldiers like a heavy fog, suffocating and inescapable.

For a moment, no one dared to speak.

They stood frozen, their minds racing, their hopes crumbling like fragile glass.

Some lowered their heads, their shoulders sagging under the realization that they had been used, discarded now that their usefulness had come to an end.

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"But… what are we supposed to do now?" someone whispered, their voice barely audible.

Lyerin's gaze swept over the crowd, his expression cold and detached.

"That," he said, "is not my concern. You are no longer slaves. What you do with your freedom is entirely up to you."

The crowd erupted then, voices overlapping in a cacophony of anger, fear, and despair. Some shouted accusations, their faces red with fury. Others pleaded, their voices quivering with desperation.

"You can't just abandon us here!"

"We trusted you, Lyerin!"

"What kind of freedom is this, if we're stranded in this forsaken place?"

"You owe us more than this!"

Lyerin let their protests wash over him, unmoved, his expression a mask of calm indifference.

He waited, letting their anger burn itself out, until the crowd fell silent once more, their voices hoarse and their spirits broken.

Then, with deliberate slowness, he raised a hand, and the camp fell quiet.

"You misunderstand me," he said, his voice low and even. "I did not say there was no way for you to use the portal. I merely said that I have no obligation to take you through it."

The soldiers exchanged confused glances, their anger momentarily replaced by a flicker of hope. Lyerin's smile returned, though it was colder now, lacking any trace of warmth or humor.

"There is a way," he said, his tone almost teasing, "but whether you can claim it… well, that remains to be seen."

"What do you mean?" someone asked, their voice cautious.

Lyerin's smile widened, his crimson eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "If you want to use the portal," he said, "you will have to earn it."

The camp fell silent once more, the soldiers staring at him in stunned disbelief. Whatever Lyerin meant by "earn it," they knew one thing for certain: the path to Earth would not come without a cost.