LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

Chapter 288: Emerge

The humanoid trilobites lunged forward, their segmented bodies moving with unnatural speed.

The cavern echoed with the furious clattering of their claws on stone.

It was as if death itself had come for the soldiers, who stood frozen in terror, their breaths caught in their throats. In that moment, time stretched painfully thin.

Then, Lyerin raised his hand. With a simple gesture, the ground beneath their feet shuddered violently.

Stone cracked with a thunderous roar, fissures webbing outward like lightning across the cavern floor.

Dust and debris filled the air as great slabs of rock fell away, revealing a hidden, ancient pathway beneath.

From this newly created abyss, shadows shifted and then erupted with raw, unstoppable power.

The Pig Orcs emerged.

Massive forms, each one a living tank of muscle and brutality, surged into the cavern.

Their skin glistened in the dim light, a mottled tapestry of scars and war paint.

Eyes burned with a primal fury that needed no words.

These were not just warriors; they were forces of nature unleashed. Enjoy new adventures from mvl

The humanoid trilobites hesitated for the briefest of moments, a flicker of confusion crossing their alien faces, but it was all the time the Pig Orcs needed.

With a guttural roar that seemed to shake the very earth, the first wave of Orcs crashed into the enemy lines like an unstoppable tide.

The impact was cataclysmic.

The lead trilobite's claw, raised to strike, was caught mid-swing by an Orc's enormous hand.

Bone and chitin cracked under pressure; the trilobite screeched in agony, a sound that was abruptly cut short as the Orc slammed it into the cavern wall, shattering it to dust.

Another trilobite lunged, but an Orc intercepted it with terrifying speed, lifting the creature by its legs and tearing it apart as easily as a child rending paper.

The battle descended into sheer chaos.

The Pig Orcs moved like living wrecking balls, each one a whirlwind of destruction.

They wielded massive weapons—jagged cleavers, spiked clubs, and even slabs of stone torn from the cavern itself.

No two strikes were the same, but every strike was devastating.

One trilobite, driven by frenzied desperation, scuttled along the wall, trying to flank the nearest Orc. It didn't get far.

An Orc hurled a jagged boulder with such force that the stone cleaved through the air, striking the creature mid-climb.

The trilobite exploded in a spray of ichor and shattered chitin, fragments raining down like grisly confetti.

The air grew thick with the scent of blood, a metallic tang that clung to every breath.

The cavern floor was soon slick with black ichor, pooling around shattered remains.

Trilobites, now driven by a mix of primal rage and fear, swarmed the Orcs in packs.

They struck with precision, their claws lashing out, but it was like rain against steel.

Pig Orcs shrugged off even the fiercest assaults, their bodies seemingly impervious to pain.

One Orc stood in the center of a trilobite swarm.

It roared, the sound echoing off the cavern walls, and swung its massive club in a wide arc.

Dozens of trilobites were swept aside, their bodies crushed, bones splintering, chitin splintering like glass.

The creature's brethren tried to overwhelm it, leaping from all sides, but the Orc merely twisted, catching two of them mid-air and smashing their skulls together.

Another trilobite, larger and more cunning, crept low and struck at an Orc's exposed back, its claws aimed with deadly intent.

The blow landed, digging deep—but the Orc didn't flinch.

It reached back, yanking the creature free with a sickening squelch, and then held it aloft, squeezing until green ichor oozed from every crack in its body.

The Orc tossed the shattered carcass aside, already seeking its next prey.

The fight became a symphony of carnage.

The Orcs' roars harmonized with the dying screams of the trilobites, creating a rhythm of death that reverberated through the stone walls.

Every movement was precise, calculated brutality.

Orc fists shattered exoskeletons.

Massive feet stomped down, reducing creatures to paste.

Their weapons cleaved through limbs, torsos, and heads with horrifying ease.

No matter how many trilobites swarmed, no matter how many lunged, bit, and clawed, the Pig Orcs cut them down.

One particularly brave trilobite leapt from above, claws outstretched.

An Orc caught it mid-air, its massive hands wrapping around the creature's torso.

It roared, and with a brutal twist, it snapped the trilobite in half, tossing the pieces aside like refuse. Ichor splattered the ground, steam rising where it touched the hot stones.

The trilobites were relentless.

For every one that fell, two more seemed to take its place. But the Orcs did not tire.

They moved with a terrifying efficiency, as if each kill only fueled their strength. A trio of trilobites converged on a single Orc, striking together in a flurry of claws and mandibles.

The Orc fell back for a moment, then drove its fists into the ground.

The stone cracked, sending a shockwave that toppled the creatures, leaving them vulnerable to a final, crushing blow.

Throughout the chaos, Lyerin watched, his expression unchanging.

He moved only when necessary, sidestepping a stray claw or evading a collapsing trilobite.

There was no need for him to act.

The Pig Orcs were more than enough. His eyes flicked over the battlefield, calculating, observing.

This was more than just a fight—it was a demonstration.

The trilobites, once terrifying in their numbers and ferocity, were now nothing more than fodder.

The cavern floor was a graveyard, littered with shattered carapaces and oozing remains.

Yet, the Orcs pressed on, relentless, unstoppable. Their rage was a storm that left nothing but destruction in its wake.

One final trilobite, battered and broken, tried to crawl away.

It dragged itself across the blood-soaked stone, mandibles clicking in fear.

An Orc loomed above it, weapon raised high.

There was no mercy, no hesitation.

The club came down, and the trilobite was no more.

Silence fell, broken only by the heavy breaths of the Orcs.

They stood amidst the carnage, victorious, their eyes burning with the satisfaction of a battle well fought.

The ground was slick with ichor, the air heavy with the scent of death.

The soldiers, now mere spectators, could only watch in awe and horror.

Lyerin lowered his hand, his expression calm. "It's not done," he said softly, and every heart in the cavern froze.

Lyerin's eyes scanned the battlefield, the carnage fresh and raw, the scent of ichor clinging to every breath.

The Pig Orcs stood triumphant, their massive chests heaving with each breath, the rhythmic rise and fall echoing through the cavern.

The soldiers stared in stunned silence, the reality of what they had witnessed rendering them momentarily numb.

Some clutched their weapons tightly, knuckles white, while others simply stood slack-jawed, unable to tear their eyes away from the colossal figures that had saved them.

Lyerin broke the silence, his voice calm but firm. "The Pig Orcs cannot breathe underwater."

A ripple of confusion passed through the soldiers.

They exchanged glances, a mix of disbelief and exhaustion etched into their features.

Was he serious? After what they had just seen, it seemed absurd, even laughable, but there was no humor in Lyerin's expression.

He was resolute, unyielding.

"They're... useless down here," he added with a dismissive wave of his hand, as if dismissing the Pig Orcs' incredible might.

"I only summoned them because you were without weapons after transforming. But now—" he paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "You'll need to prepare. Quickly."

The words hung heavy in the air. For a long moment, no one moved.

The gravity of what they had just endured, the idea of another fight without the titanic protection of the Orcs—it was too much to process.

Sweat dripped down their foreheads, pooling into the dust and ichor at their feet.

The soldiers shifted uncomfortably, looking to one another for any sign of courage or certainty.

With a subtle gesture from Lyerin, the Pig Orcs began to move.

The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the cavern walls seemed to vibrate as one by one, they dropped to their knees and began to dig.

The sight was almost surreal; these massive, primal beings, their hands large enough to crush skulls, now clawing through the earth with a precision and speed that defied their size.

Stones cracked and shattered under their weight.

Great handfuls of dirt and rock were displaced, tossed aside with casual, almost indifferent power.

Some of the Orcs dug with their massive hands, each motion sending a shudder through the ground, while others used their weapons, tearing through stone and soil like it was paper.

The noise was deafening—the scraping of claws, the rumble of rock being displaced, the occasional low grunt that reverberated through the cavern.

Dust and debris filled the air, a thick, choking haze that caught in the throats of the soldiers, who still watched, mesmerized and paralyzed.

Minutes dragged on, each second a reminder of their precarious situation.

The Pig Orcs burrowed deeper, their forms gradually disappearing from view.

The ground continued to rumble until only faint tremors remained. Silence descended once more, a vacuum filled with uncertainty.

And then Lyerin turned, his piercing gaze sweeping over the soldiers like a blade. His voice rose, sharp and unyielding.

"HURRY!" he bellowed, the force of his words crashing into them like a physical blow. "THERE ARE MORE OF THESE CREATURES!"

The effect was immediate.

Soldiers jolted awake as if from a trance. Heartbeats quickened.

Fear coursed through their veins, and the haze of shock lifted, replaced by raw, urgent adrenaline.

Weapons that had been dropped in haste were snatched up.

Feet stumbled over loose stone as they scrambled to obey.

Men and women searched desperately, eyes darting across the blood-soaked ground, fingers scrabbling at dirt and debris.

"Move!" one soldier yelled, his voice tinged with panic as he shoved past others, his eyes wide and wild. "Where's my blade? Did anyone see—?"

Another soldier, caked in dirt and sweat, pulled a bow from beneath a shattered trilobite.

"Here!" he gasped, almost in disbelief that he had found it intact.

Others were less fortunate; weapons shattered in the chaos were of no use now. Desperation made them frantic.

Fingers closed around splintered wood and bent metal, anything that could serve as a weapon in the absence of their own.

"I need... I need a machete!" a voice called out, cracking with fear. "Does anyone have—?"

"Here!" someone shouted, tossing a blade haphazardly across the cavern. It clattered against the stone before sliding to a stop at the soldier's feet. He grabbed it with trembling hands, the weight unfamiliar but necessary.

"Focus!" barked another, trying to impose order amidst the chaos. "Form up! Find your weapons and get back in line!"

Slowly, the chaos took shape.

Soldiers stumbled back into formation, weapons gripped tightly, breaths coming in heavy gasps.

Eyes met, and in those fleeting glances, they shared the same fear, the same determination to survive.

Bloodied, bruised, and still shaking, they raised their weapons, readying themselves for whatever came next.

Lyerin's gaze lingered on them, a mix of calculated interest and faint approval.

They had found their footing—barely. But he knew the battle was far from over.