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That had been his way in the old world, the way he had survived. When he faltered, when he showed weakness, he would make sure that his next actions were decisive, brutal.

It was his way of compensating, of ensuring that he never felt that vulnerability again.

But this was different. Everything was different now.

The image of the blonde girl flashed in his mind—her pleading eyes, her tears, the way she had looked at him with a mixture of hope and fear.

He had let her go, a moment of weakness that had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. In the past, he would have doubled down on his cruelty afterward, ensuring that nothing like that would ever happen again. But now… now he wasn\'t so sure.

He didn\'t want to fall back into that pattern.

This wasn\'t the same world he had known before, and he wasn\'t the same man. He had to be smarter, more calculated. Cruelty for the sake of cruelty was a weakness in itself, a crutch that kept him from evolving, from becoming something more than what he had been.

He needed to assess everything calmly, to think through his actions rather than reacting on impulse.

Lyerin\'s eyes drifted downward, to the scene below him.

The elevated highway stretched out like a bleak monument to the world that had once been.

The road, cracked and weathered, was littered with debris, broken vehicles, and the jagged remains of the city\'s former infrastructure.

Below the highway, he had carefully set up sharp, thorny metal objects—twisted pieces of scrap that jutted out like spikes. He had also placed tanks full of gas at strategic points, knowing that they would ignite with a spectacular force if triggered correctly.

He stared down at the three bound individuals at his feet, their eyes wide with terror as they struggled against their restraints.

They had no idea what was coming, no idea of the fate that awaited them. Lyerin had made sure of that.

"Next time…" he whispered to himself, barely audible over the wind. "Next time, I\'ll be better. I\'ll be smarter. I won\'t let weakness define me."

His mind snapped back to the task at hand.

This was his plan, and he was going to see it through. He couldn\'t afford to second-guess himself now.

Without another moment of hesitation, Lyerin jumped from the rooftop, pulling the three terrified individuals with him.

Their muffled screams filled the air as they plummeted toward the ground, the wind whipping around them in a chaotic frenzy. But Lyerin\'s descent was controlled, deliberate. He landed with a heavy thud on the elevated highway, his boots crushing the asphalt beneath them.

The three bound captives squirmed in panic, their eyes darting around as they tried to make sense of their surroundings.

Lyerin ignored their futile struggles as he dragged them to the small, makeshift prison he had constructed.

The cage was simple but effective, made from reinforced metal bars and tightly secured with chains. It wasn\'t much, but it would hold them long enough for what he had planned.

He shoved them inside, locking the door with a satisfying clang.

Above the prison, Lyerin had rigged a speaker he had scavenged from the mall, its wires snaking down to a portable amplifier he had cobbled together.

The captives thrashed against their bonds, their fear palpable, but Lyerin paid them no mind. This wasn\'t about them anymore. This was about the bigger picture.

Leaving them there to squirm, Lyerin moved swiftly to block all the potential paths where the Eldritch Fleshers might come from. He had spent days scouting the area, mapping out every route, every alleyway, every crack in the city\'s crumbling infrastructure.

He knew exactly where to place his barricades, where to destroy obstructions that might deter the creatures from heading toward the highway. He worked quickly, his movements precise and practiced.

This was a routine he had perfected, a dance of death that he knew all too well.

When he was satisfied with his work, Lyerin returned to the building where he had left the microphone.

His eyes glinted with a dangerous light as he picked it up, his fingers curling around it like a viper ready to strike. He took a deep breath, feeling the power surge within him, and then he unleashed it.

His voice boomed through the microphone, amplified to a deafening level.

The shockwave of sound rippled through the morning, reverberating off the decaying buildings, echoing through the empty streets like the roar of a vengeful god.

It was a sound designed to provoke, to lure, to draw out the horrors that lurked in the shadows.

And it worked.

The guttural cries of the Eldritch Fleshers began to rise, at first distant and faint, but quickly growing in intensity.

It was a sound that crawled under the skin, a morningmarish symphony of despair and hunger.

Lyerin could hear them coming, their footsteps pounding against the ground, their claws scraping against the concrete.

The city itself seemed to tremble in anticipation as they drew nearer, their numbers swelling with every passing moment.

From the darkness, they emerged—dozens, no, hundreds of them.

The Eldritch Fleshers, twisted and grotesque, their bodies contorted into unnatural shapes, their black eyes glinting with a malevolent hunger.

They moved with a terrifying grace, their limbs bending in ways that defied logic, their mouths oozing with that same black liquid that dripped from their eyes and ears.

Their guttural growls filled the air, creating a cacophony of sound that drowned out everything else.

And then there were the Eldritch Horses, monstrous creatures with elongated limbs and gaunt, skeletal frames.

Their hooves clattered against the ground, leaving cracks in the asphalt as they galloped forward, their empty eye sockets glowing with an eerie, otherworldly light.

Their whinnying was unlike anything Lyerin had ever heard before, a high-pitched screech that sent shivers down his spine.

The sheer number of them was overwhelming.

They filled the streets, a writhing mass of flesh and bone, their bodies twisting and turning as they moved with single-minded determination.

The ground shook beneath their weight, the buildings around them creaking and groaning as if they, too, were afraid of the oncoming horde.

Their eyes, all of them, locked onto the elevated highway where Lyerin stood.

They were drawn to the sound, to the chaos, to the promise of fresh prey.

Lyerin could feel their hunger, their desire to rend and tear, to consume everything in their path.

Lyerin didn\'t hesitate. With a flick of his wrist, the metal prison containing the three captives was lifted from the ground, the chains rattling as it ascended into the air.

The Eldritch Fleshers and Horses surged forward, their movements frantic, desperate to reach the source of the sound, the source of the prey.

With a final, almost casual gesture, Lyerin\'s feet transformed, his boots replaced by the powerful, stone-like hooves of the Stonehooves tribe. His legs coiled with a tension born of eldritch energy, and then, with a thunderous crack, he launched himself into the air, the wind whipping around him as he sped away from the scene.

He could feel the vibrations in the air, the tremors in the ground as the creatures converged on the elevated highway.

The tanks of gas were positioned perfectly, right where the horde would be at its thickest, where the pressure of their combined weight would cause the most destruction.

Lyerin\'s heart pounded in his chest, but his mind was clear, focused. He didn\'t look back. He didn\'t need to. He knew what was coming.

And then, it happened.

KABOOM!