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The sterile, controlled environment of the farm was a stark contrast to the chaotic world he had just left. Immediately, he noticed his mother, Lina, was gone.

Panic veins bulged on his forehead, but Lyerin forced himself to stay calm, to assess the situation with the same methodical approach he used in combat.

His eyes landed on a briefcase sitting conspicuously on the metal workbench.

The position of the briefcase, the thin layer of dust on its surface, and the faint indentation it had made on the bench all indicated it had been there for about between three or five hours.

Lyerin\'s mind began to think of a solution. They had taken his mother five hours ago.

"Damn it!" he growled, and clenched his fist.

He approached the briefcase, every step measured. He flipped the latches and opened it, revealing a single item inside—a token, like a coin. It glinted dully in the harsh, artificial light. Engraved on the token were the words "C Borgias Family."

Lyerin\'s heart pounded as he grasped the significance of the token.

It granted access to the C sectors, high-ranking territories with clean environments and safety from radioactive creatures.

In the year 2333, after the nuclear war had ravaged Earth, these sectors were a haven compared to the slums he currently lived in. The slums were teeming with danger, mutated animals, and harsh living conditions, while the C sectors were among the few remaining sanctuaries for humanity.

But now, it became even words as the world was sent to other dimensions.

He scrutinized the briefcase and the token, his mind working furiously. "They took her to make sure I comply," he muttered to himself. "They don\'t care if she survives the punishment. To them, she\'s just leverage."

The memory of the man\'s mocking laughter echoed in his mind. His mother, Lina, had always been his anchor, the one person who had given him strength.

Now, they were using her to control him.

"Borgias damn bastards!" he spat, the rage simmering just below the surface. He wanted to storm the Borgias Family headquarters immediately, to tear down their fortress brick by brick. But he knew he had to be strategic.

He was not worried blind fury would get him killed—but the worse, it would doom his mother.

"I\'ll enter the game first, before I storm their headquarters!" he vowed, the determination in his voice unwavering.

Lyerin spent the next few hours preparing himself. He checked the supplies in their small section of the vertical farm, ensuring he had everything he might need for his return to the ruined magical world.

As evening fell, he lay down on the thin mattress, exhaustion tugging at his limbs. But sleep was elusive, his mind a whirl of plans and contingencies.

Finally, as the artificial lights dimmed to simulate night, Lyerin felt the familiar pull, the sensation of being drawn back into the other world.

The ruined magical world awaited him, and he was ready.

---

Lyerin woke with a jolt, the harsh light of the summoning circle burning into his eyes as he was ripped from the void and thrust back into the heart of the Borgias Family. His body ached from the abrupt transition, and the magical residue of the spell tingled unpleasantly on his skin.

As his vision cleared, he took in the familiar, austere chamber, its high ceilings and gothic architecture a stark reminder of where he was.

The faces that greeted him were stern and expectant, their eyes glinting with a mixture of superiority and impatience.

He recognized the crests on their uniforms immediately—the sigil of the Borgias Family, his supposed kin but more accurately his captors.

Lyerin\'s heart hardened, and his mind sharpened, readying himself for whatever came next. He was used to this. To being summoned, used, and discarded at their whim, but it will soon change.

Before he could fully steady himself, one of the older men, his robes more ornate than the others, stepped forward. His voice was like gravel, and it grated on Lyerin\'s nerves. "Lyerin, you are tasked with a mission of utmost importance," he began, the words flowing in an unending stream.

"The Devil Horned Tribe dared to enter the Borgias Family territory . You are to infiltrate their ranks, gather intelligence, and report back. Failure is not an option, as you well know. Should you falter, should you fail in this task, your mother will suffer the consequences. We have not been lenient with her, and we will not start now. Do you understand the gravity of your mission?"

Lyerin stood tall, his expression impassive despite the torrent of words aimed at him. But when he noticed their eyes on him, he just snorted.

The threat against his mother was a familiar one, a tool the Borgias wielded with precision. His mother, who had done nothing but love him, was their leverage, and it enraged him. But he let none of that show. He merely nodded, a single, sharp dip of his head. "I understand," he replied, his voice steady, betraying none of the storm within.

Immediately, the room around Lyerin seemed to darken, a prelude to the next phase of his torment. His vision blurred, then blackened completely. He felt the suffocating grip of shadow magic enveloping him, the handiwork of the shadow slaves from the Borgias\' wizard section.

In the past, he had learned to ignore the suffocating darkness, but since his body felt new, the feeling of being squeezed through a tight, unyielding space, felt new again.

It was an all-too-common method of transport for him.

When the world came back into focus, he found himself in a dense forest.

The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, the canopy overhead blotting out much of the light. The forest was ancient, its trees gnarled and twisted, their branches interwoven in a complex, natural lattice.

The ground was a mosaic of fallen leaves, moss, and undergrowth, soft underfoot and almost soundless as he moved.

Lyerin knew this was the work of the shadow slaves.

Their presence was as familiar as the air he breathed, though he chose to ignore them, focusing instead on the task at hand. His landing was rough, and he staggered slightly before finding his balance.

Almost immediately, the same group of people who had summoned him stood before him again. One of them stepped forward, holding out a scroll.

"This is a shapeshifting magic scroll," the man said, his tone condescending. "It is perfect for your purposes, allowing you to infiltrate without detection. You would do well to use it wisely."

Lyerin took the scroll with a sharp, almost disdainful motion. "Understood," he said curtly. He was here. Finally, No more schemes, no more manipulations to get him here. He had what he needed, and he could move forward on his terms.

He turned away from them without another word, his steps measured and purposeful. He could feel their eyes on his back, their sneers practically tangible in the air.

"Halfblood bastard," one of them muttered, the words filled with contempt.

Lyerin\'s jaw tightened, but he did not respond. They could think what they wanted. They could call him whatever names they pleased. It did not change who he was or what he intended to do. He had a mission, and he would see it through. For his mother, and for himself.

The only difference was, in this mission, he will create a magical tribe to burn the Borgias Family down!

Soon, the forest closed around him as he walked, its ancient silence a stark contrast to the venomous words of the Borgias. He welcomed it, drawing strength from the solitude, the quiet determination of nature itself.

This was his world now, this was his tribe now, and he would navigate it with the same strength and straightforward resolve that had seen him through every trial before.

He was Lyerin, and he would make this Devil Horned Tribe become the strongest!