LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

Chapter 82: Tentatorn

The night was thick with a tight atmosphere, like a suffocating shroud that wrapped itself around the ruined city that fell just in a few days.

Lyerin watched, with a steady breath, as the soldier's body convulsed violently in his grasp.

The transformation was beginning, and Lyerin's gaze narrowed, focusing on the grotesque spectacle before him.

The soldier's flesh quivered, as if something deep inside was pushing, struggling to break free.

With a sickening crack, his ribs began to collapse inward, the bones bending and snapping under some unseen force.

Pop! Pop!

The sounds of ligaments tearing, muscles contracting, filled the air, echoing against the silent ruins.

Lyerin could hear every visceral detail, the symphony of destruction unfolding within the soldier's body.

The man's face twisted in agony, his eyes bulging as blood vessels burst beneath his skin, painting his face in a network of crimson lines.

Then came the stomach, the true horror emerges.

The flesh began to ripple, the skin stretching taut over the soldier's abdomen.

Creak! Snap!

His internal organs were being compressed, crunched together by some monstrous force, all being pulled toward a single point.

Lyerin watched as the skin around the stomach began to sink inward, like a deflating balloon, the mass beneath compacting with a dreadful slowness.

The soldier's spine arched unnaturally, bones bending with an audible crack as his vertebrae were crushed inward, forced to collapse around the growing black mass within him.

The flesh continued to fold in on itself, collapsing like paper under an invisible hand, the sounds growing more grotesque with each passing second.

Squish! Crunch!

The body was being twisted into something unrecognizable, something otherworldly.

Lyerin could almost feel the heat radiating from the black, crystalline sphere that was now forming within the man's body, a heart of darkness surrounded by the remains of what had once been human.

Lyerin's lips curled into a faint smile, his eyes glinting with dark satisfaction.

The transformation was nearing its climax. With one final, gruesome crunch, the soldier's body imploded completely, every remaining fragment of bone, flesh, and sinew compressed into the black sphere.

The sound was like a final, guttural exhale as the body collapsed inward with a horrifying thud, leaving only a small, gleaming orb in its place.

For a moment, there was silence.

The air was heavy with the scent of blood and burned flesh, the soldier's body nothing more than a grotesque memory. But then, from the heart of that black sphere, something began to stir.

Schlk!

A wet, slithering sound broke the silence as a single tentacle emerged from the orb, glistening with a slick, oily sheen. It uncurled slowly, revealing rows of sharp, pointed thorns that gleamed under the faint light.

The tentacle was long and sinuous, the thorns along its surface twitching as though tasting the air.

Schlk!

Another tentacle followed, then another, until three of the writhing appendages extended from the black mass, each one dripping with a thick, black ichor.

The creature squirmed and twisted, its body undulating with a sickly, rhythmic pulse.

Lyerin remained motionless, watching with a cold, calculating gaze. He knew this was just the beginning, the creature still in its infancy, yet the potential was clear. Its very presence was a testament to the twisted power of the Eldritch.

But then, as the seconds ticked by, nothing more happened.

The creature, though pulsating with a strange life, did not continue its transformation. It simply squirmed there, the tentacles twitching as though testing their surroundings.

The mass of black, crystalline flesh seemed to pulsate weakly, the life within it fragile, not yet fully formed.

Lyerin's smile widened, turning into something more malevolent, more sinister. His hand shot out, quick as lightning, and he grasped the creature's entire body in his massive eldritch grip.

The tentacles thrashed wildly, but Lyerin's hold was unyielding. His fingers tightened, the creature's flesh giving way beneath the pressure with a sickening squelch.

A high-pitched, shrill shriek erupted from the creature, krieeek! a sound that echoed through the night like the cry of a tortured soul.

It writhed desperately in Lyerin's grasp, its tentacles whipping through the air in a futile attempt to escape. But Lyerin only tightened his grip, his fingers crushing the creature's body with an almost casual ease.

The tentacles went rigid, frozen in place as the creature's resistance waned.

Lyerin squeezed harder, and with a final *

crunch, the creature's body went limp, the life within it snuffed out.

The tentacles fell slack, hanging lifelessly from Lyerin's fist, the crystalline black sphere now dull, devoid of the sinister energy it had once held.

Lyerin began to laugh, a low, rumbling sound that grew louder, more manic with each passing second.

The laughter echoed off the ruins, a sound that carried with it the weight of his dark knowledge, his twisted satisfaction. "Perfect," he hissed between his laughter, his eyes gleaming with a malevolent light. "Absolutely perfect."

His mind raced back to the past, to the ancient texts and the forbidden knowledge he had acquired in his previous life. "A Tentatorn," he mused aloud, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and malevolence. "A carnivorous eldritch creature, born from the darkest corners of the universe."

He continued, his voice growing more excited, more feverish with each word. "It poisons its prey, sending quills of toxic thorns deep into their flesh. And those thorns... oh, they're just the beginning. Once inside, the creature adapts to the body's own acids, growing stronger, feeding off its host from within. It's a perfect parasite, evolving so rapidly that it can reach its peak in mere days."

Lyerin's eyes glowed with a manic intensity as he spoke, his laughter bubbling up again. "And to think, this one was almost there. It would have taken just three days for it to evolve completely, to reach its third cycle peak. But the blood... the blood tells me there are chemicals, additives, that accelerated its growth. They knew what they were doing.

They wanted this, they wanted it to reach its full potential."

His laughter turned almost giddy, a twisted joy bubbling up from within him. "Three days!" he repeated, the words laced with a manic excitement. "Just three days, and it would have been unstoppable. But there's a flaw, a fatal flaw. Once it reaches that third cycle peak, it can grow no more. It stagnates, trapped in that final form, never able to evolve further."

Lyerin's laughter echoed into the night, a sound filled with a dark glee. He could see it now, the potential this creature had.

The power he needed to bring it down for his tribe's safety. "This... this is what I need," he whispered, his voice dripping with malice. "I will reach the third cycle peak. I will bring my tribe to that power, hide us in the shadows, and when the time is right... I will kill the representatives of the Families.

One by one, I'll tear them apart."

His laughter finally died down, replaced by a cold, calculating calm.

Lyerin's eyes narrowed as he gazed down at the lifeless Tentatorn in his hand, its body now nothing more than a broken shell.

The creature had served its purpose, a stepping stone in his path to power.

"It's time to move," Lyerin said softly, his voice resolute. He dropped the dead creature to the ground, his gaze shifting to the distant horizon where the Leading Families plotted their games, unaware of the storm that was coming. He would be that storm, a force of nature they could never anticipate.

Lyerin's form blurred as he sped off into the darkness, his mind already calculating, planning his next move. He would grow stronger, his tribe would grow stronger, and when the time was right, the world would tremble before them.

The Families, with all their power and influence, would fall.

It was only a matter of time.

And time, Lyerin knew, was on his side.