LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

The room, still reeking of the aftermath of Lyerin's dark display, seemed to draw in the shadows as a new presence entered.

A man dressed in a sleek black suit, his face obscured by darkness, moved silently towards the center of the chamber. His steps were inaudible, his figure almost blending into the gloom that now dominated the room.

As he approached, the Thousand Shadow Panther, now weakened and crouching low, let out a low growl, though it didn't dare make a move against him.

The man's eyes, hidden beneath the shadow cast by his hat, squinted slightly as he assessed the scene before him. His gaze fell on the grotesque tree, its slick, black bark gleaming ominously in the dim light.

Without any apparent movement, a flash of light erupted from his side.

A moment later, the Torture Parasitic Tree was cleaved in two with such precision that its top half slid to the ground, crashing with a dull, wet thud.

The severed halves of the tree oozed a thick, dark sap that quickly spread across the floor, adding to the nightmarish atmosphere.

The instant the tree was cut, the stricken members of the Borgias Family, including Lord Victor, began to violently expel the green, viscous fluid that had been torturing their insides.

The liquid gushed from their mouths, thick and foul, and with a stench that filled the air like rotting flesh mixed with toxic waste.

The sound of gagging and retching echoed in the chamber, the members clawing at their throats, desperate to rid themselves of the vile substance.

The sight was utterly revolting—the gooey, green liquid dripped from their chins, splattering onto their clothes and pooling on the floor in nauseating puddles.

The man in the black suit remained unmoved by the spectacle, his voice calm and cold as he asked, "What happened here?" His words cut through the chaos, demanding attention. "Why did one of the Guardians alert me? Why did it tell me it was weakened?"

The survivors struggled to catch their breath, they could feel their bodies still trembling from the trauma they had just endured.

As they began to regain some semblance of composure, Lord Victor, with a shuddering gasp, pushed himself up from his seat. He wiped the green muck from his mouth with the back of his hand, with a violent gesture filled with barely contained rage.

When he was done, his face immediately twisted with fury, he suddenly roared, "LYEEERRIIIIIIIINN BOOOOOOORRGIAAAAAAAAASSSSS!!!!!"

His voice was no ordinary shout.

It was an earth-shattering bellow, filled with so much raw power that the very air around him seemed to crack.

The walls of the courtroom trembled, fissures spidering out across the concrete ground.

The sturdy wooden desks splintered, and the force of his voice even caused the air itself to vibrate with an unnatural intensity. It was as if the entire room was on the verge of collapsing under the weight of his rage.

"I WILL MAKE SURE THAT YOU WOULD PRAY THAT YOU WERE NEVER BOOOOOORN!!!!!"

Lord Victor's words rang out like a death knell, reverberating with such force that it felt like the ground was shaking beneath their feet.

As the echoes of his thunderous roar began to fade, Lord Victor's aura erupted around him in a violent flare of black energy.

The darkness swirled around him, so thick and oppressive that it seemed to suck the light from the room. His aura was like a storm, wild and destructive, suffocating anyone who dared to come close.

The power radiating from him was overwhelming, a manifestation of the fury that boiled within him.

But then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the black aura faltered.

Victor's eyes widened in shock as his skin began to ripple unnaturally, in an instant, several massive green veins appearing just beneath the surface.

The veins pulsed with a sickly light, bulging grotesquely as they spread across his skin, giving him the appearance of a monster rather than a man.

The sight was stomach-churning, the veins twitching and writhing as though they were alive, moving beneath his flesh with a life of their own.

Lord Victor's expression contorted in pain, his powerful frame buckling as he collapsed to his knees. He gagged, his throat convulsing as he was overtaken by another wave of nausea.

This time, when he vomited, the substance that spewed from his mouth was not just green, but also streaked with a toxic black fluid. The mixture bubbled and hissed as it hit the floor, releasing an acrid, sulfurous stench that burned the nostrils and stung the eyes.

The smell was beyond repulsive, a miasma of decay and death that filled the room and made even the strongest stomachs turn.

The other members of the Borgias Family recoiled in horror, their own nausea momentarily forgotten as they stared at Lord Victor.

The fear in the room was palpable, each person acutely aware that something had gone horribly wrong.

They could feel it—a strange, terrifying sensation in the pit of their stomachs, as if something was reaching inside them, draining their life force.

They could sense that Victor's power, his mighty aura, had been sucked away, absorbed by something insidious.

The man in the black suit didn't ask any more questions, but his demeanor had shifted.

"Hmmm…"

The easygoing posture was gone, replaced by a cold, steely focus. His aura, though not as outwardly violent as Victor's, grew heavier, and more menacing.

The atmosphere in the room quickly thickened, as though the air itself had become hostile.

Without warning, the man's gaze locked onto one of the remaining Borgias Family members. "Who here is willing to participate?" he asked, his tone carrying an unspoken challenge.

There was a moment of hesitation, a collective intake of breath.

Then, a figure stepped forward. It was one of the braver, if not more foolhardy, members of the family—a man whose annoyance had overpowered his fear. He raised his hand, his expression resolute. "I'll do it," he said, his voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension. "It's better to know what's happening now than to die slowly from whatever this is."

The man in the suit nodded, acknowledging his decision. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

The brave man squared his shoulders, his resolve hardening. "Yes," he replied firmly. "Better to face this head-on."

The man in the suit nodded once more, then simply said, "Ready."

The brave man took a deep breath and assumed a strong stance, bracing himself for what was to come.

The air in the room grew even colder, the tension mounting as the man in the suit prepared to act. He whispered something under his breath, it was too low for anyone else to hear, and then, with a destructive motion, reached out as if plucking something from thin air.

For a moment, nothing happened.

The room was silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Then, suddenly, the brave man's face contorted in pain. His body spasmed violently, his muscles seizing up as though struck by a powerful electric shock. His eyes rolled back in his head, and a strangled cry escaped his lips.

The sound was guttural, primal—a noise born of pure agony.

The man collapsed to the ground, his body twitching uncontrollably as whatever had been done to him took hold.

Thud!

His skin began to blister, dark spots spreading rapidly across his body. His veins turned black, stark against his pale flesh, and his breathing grew ragged, labored. His mouth opened in a silent scream as foam began to froth at his lips, the last vestiges of life slipping away.

And then, with a final, shuddering gasp, the brave man lay still, his body lifeless on the cold, unforgiving floor.

The room was deathly silent, the horror of what had just transpired was slowly sinking in deep into their soul.

The remaining members of the Borgias Family stared at the fallen man, their expressions a mix of terror and disbelief.

The man in the black suit stood over the body, with an unreasonable expression as he surveyed the scene.

Whatever he had done, it had been deliberate, calculated. He turned away from the corpse without a second glance, his presence even more ominous than before. The shadows seemed to close in around him as he moved, as if the darkness itself was drawn to his power.

The room was left in a state of shocked silence, the implications of what had just occurred hanging heavily in the air. No one dared to speak, the fear of attracting the man's attention paralyzing them.

The only sound was the slow, dripping noise of the green and black fluids seeping into the cracks of the floor. When all came down, the man would ask, "Tell me more about this, Lyerin Borgias."