LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

Chapter 315: Chosen

Soon, Lyerin stood at the edge of the massive tree, his eyes narrowing as he looked out over the vast and wild land that surrounded his tribe's statues.

His arms rested at his sides, his fingers occasionally clenching as if mimicking the tension building in his mind.

The places he'd visited replayed vividly in his head—the shimmering Crystal Cliffs, the deceptive calm of the Sea of Sapphire Grass, the haunting melodies of the Starlit Swamp, and the twisted chaos of the Abyssal Hollow. He let out a slow breath, his voice low, almost inaudible.

"It must be them," he muttered, his words carrying the weight of a decision that had been simmering for hours. His tone sharpened, a hint of exhilaration creeping into it. "The Abyssal Hollow beasts. Twisted, chaotic... they don't belong here, but they thrive. They're wrong in every conceivable way, and that's what makes them... perfect."

He smirked, the corner of his lips curling upward. "Troublesome? Absolutely. But isn't that what makes it all worthwhile? A challenge that's messy, unpredictable, and consuming. A fight that tests not just strength, but resolve. Yes..." His voice grew more certain, almost reverent. "They're the ones. The Hollow demands my attention."

Lyerin turned sharply, his cloak sweeping behind him like a shadow eager to follow. He began his descent from the great tree with deliberate steps, his mind already plotting his next move. Each step was a statement of his resolve, each breath a preparation for what lay ahead.

The forests stretched before him, a labyrinth of trees and undergrowth that seemed alive with whispers of the wind. Lyerin's movements were fluid, purposeful, as he slipped through the natural barriers. His senses were heightened, his focus razor-sharp. He paused occasionally to observe the creatures that crossed his path—small mana-infused animals with glowing fur or iridescent scales. He paid them no mind, brushing past them as though they were mere shadows in his world.

His hands brushed against the bark of a tree, its surface pulsating faintly with a soft glow. "Mana even in the plants here," he murmured. "Yet nothing compares to the distortion of the Hollow. That place... it breathes differently."

As the hours passed, the landscape began to shift. The trees grew thinner, their trunks gnarled and twisted as if scorched by unseen flames. The air grew colder, heavier, the kind of weight that pressed against the chest and made each breath a conscious effort. Lyerin stopped, surveying the expanse before him—a vast plain leading to the edge of the Abyssal Hollow. The ground here was fractured, split into jagged lines that glowed faintly with a dark, eerie light.

Lyerin crouched, running his fingers over the ground, feeling the faint hum of mana beneath his fingertips. His gaze flicked upward to the edge of the Hollow. Even from here, he could see the faint orbs of light that hovered above the abyss, their movements erratic and unnatural. The beasts within were still out of sight, but their presence was undeniable—a silent menace that lingered in the atmosphere.

"No turning back now," he muttered. "They've waited long enough."

He reached into his pouch, pulling out a series of runic stones he'd prepared long ago. Holding each one carefully, he began arranging them in a circle around himself. The runes glowed faintly as he murmured an incantation under his breath, his voice steady and unwavering. The air around him thickened, a faint shimmer appearing as the runes activated one by one.

"A shield, not from harm, but from detection," he explained to no one in particular, his voice a mixture of confidence and calculation. "I won't give them the satisfaction of an ambush. This time, I'll choose when the fight begins."

Satisfied with his preparations, Lyerin stood and stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension that had built during his travels. He unsheathed his weapon—a sleek, black blade that seemed to absorb the light around it. Its surface was etched with intricate runes that pulsed faintly as he held it.

"You and I," he said softly, addressing the blade as though it were a trusted companion. "We've faced worse, but this... this will be different. These beasts... they're unlike anything else. And that's exactly why we're here."

He glanced at the sky, now a swirling mix of dark clouds and faint streaks of light. The Hollow's influence reached far beyond its borders, twisting even the heavens.

Lyerin stepped forward, each stride taking him closer to the edge of the Abyssal Hollow. The ground beneath his feet cracked and shifted, emitting faint tremors that seemed to echo from the depths below. The orbs of light above the Hollow flickered erratically, as if sensing his approach.

As he neared the edge, the first sound reached him—a low, guttural growl that seemed to resonate from within the earth itself. Lyerin paused, his grip tightening on his blade. The growl was followed by a chorus of clicks, screeches, and other unearthly noises, each one layering over the other in a chaotic symphony.

"They know I'm here," he murmured, a grin breaking across his face. "Good. Let them come."

He crouched low, his eyes scanning the darkness of the Hollow. Shapes began to emerge—twisted forms that defied logic, their bodies shifting and contorting as though the laws of nature were mere suggestions. Each beast was unique, yet they shared the same aura of distortion, an overwhelming sense of wrongness that sent a chill down his spine.

Lyerin exhaled slowly, steadying himself. "This... this is going to be fun."

Lyerin's grin widened as he stepped back from the edge of the Abyssal Hollow, his mind already working on the perfect bait. He tilted his head, listening to the grotesque symphony emanating from the beasts in the darkness. Their sounds were disjointed and chaotic, a horrifying cacophony that would make any sane person falter. But for Lyerin, it was a challenge—a puzzle waiting to be solved.

He crouched low, his lips curling into a devious smirk. "If they want prey, I'll give them prey," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the eerie noises. He closed his eyes, focusing his energy, and then opened his mouth.

From deep within his chest, he produced a sound—a haunting, otherworldly cry. It was high-pitched and desperate, wavering with what could only be described as pure terror. The kind of sound that would draw predators from miles away. The kind of sound that would make even the bravest of beasts salivate at the thought of an easy kill.

The cry echoed across the fractured land, bouncing off the jagged rocks and twisted trees. It reverberated through the air like a ghostly wail, a sound so convincing that even Lyerin felt a twinge of discomfort hearing it. He let the call linger, then broke it off abruptly, leaving an unnatural silence in its wake.

For a moment, nothing happened. The air was still, heavy with anticipation. Lyerin remained perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the edge of the Hollow. He knew better than to think they wouldn't respond.

And then it came—the sound of movement.

First, it was a faint rustling, like the wind brushing through dry leaves. Then came the scraping of claws against stone, the guttural growls growing louder and more distinct. The air grew colder, and a faint, sickly glow began to emerge from the Hollow.

Lyerin's smirk returned. "Gotcha."

He stepped back further, careful to keep his movements deliberate and quiet. The creatures were emerging now, their twisted forms barely illuminated by the dim light of the Hollow. Their bodies writhed and shifted, their shapes unnatural and ever-changing. One had a torso covered in jagged spines that pulsed with a sickly green light, while another moved on limbs that seemed too long and thin to support its massive body.

Lyerin suppressed a shudder. These were beasts born of pure chaos, their forms defying logic and reason. "Ugly doesn't even begin to describe you," he muttered, his voice low and steady.

The creatures sniffed the air, their movements jerky and erratic. They were searching, drawn by the cry but uncertain of its source. Lyerin remained crouched, his body pressed against a jagged rock for cover. His heart raced, but his expression remained calm. This was exactly what he wanted.

One of the beasts—a particularly grotesque creature with six glowing eyes and a mouth that split its face in half—let out a piercing screech. The sound was deafening, rattling Lyerin's bones and echoing across the landscape. The other creatures responded in kind, their growls and screeches forming an unsettling chorus.

Lyerin clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to cover his ears. "Shut up already," he whispered under his breath.

He let out another cry, this one softer but just as desperate. It was enough to keep their attention, enough to lure them closer. The creatures moved toward the sound, their twisted bodies casting long, grotesque shadows on the fractured ground.

As they approached, Lyerin carefully moved further back, guiding them away from the Hollow and toward a more open area. "Come on," he muttered. "Just a little further. Let's make this interesting."

When the creatures were finally far enough from the edge of the Hollow, Lyerin stood, revealing himself to the beasts. His expression was calm, almost cocky, as he rested his hand on the hilt of his blade.

The creatures froze, their glowing eyes locking onto him. Their bodies tensed, their twisted forms shifting as they prepared to attack.

Lyerin grinned. "Well? Don't keep me waiting."