That not so important character turned out to be important

Shaun leaned against the trunk of a towering tree, its ancient bark rough against his back, and let out a low, sardonic chuckle. The moonlight barely pierced the dense canopy, casting fragmented silver shadows on the forest floor. He shifted slightly, his suitcase resting at his side, and closed his eyes—not to rest, but to bait.

His thoughts, however, remained sharp and calculating.

"They're not very subtle, are they? Whoever they are, they've been tracking me for a while. Binoculars, maybe? Or magic. Either way, they'll move closer soon. People this bold rarely think past their own advantage."

A faint breeze rustled the leaves, carrying with it whispers of movement. Shaun smirked inwardly. The presence he had sensed earlier was drawing nearer—200 meters, maybe less. It seemed the predators believed they were hunting him.

Shaun stretched out, lying beneath the tree in a deliberately vulnerable pose, his arms crossed behind his head as though settling in for a nap. His expression was calm, detached, but his fingers twitched slightly—prepared.

"Fifteen, maybe more. Heavy footsteps, some whispering. Mountain bandits. Took them long enough to make a move. I guess word travels fast when you break their pawns."

Leader: "Well, well, what do we have here? A noble brat lost in the jungle. Didn't your mommy warn you about wandering off, kid? Or did ya run away from your home"

Shaun's eyes flickered open lazily, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Shaun: "Oh no, not bandits in a dark forest! What should I do? Perhaps I'll compose my will, sob dramatically, and tremble in my boots—oh wait, did I even bring boots? What a tragic oversight! Guess I'll just curl up in the fetal position, wet myself, and hand over my lunch money while we're at it. Truly, this is my worst nightmare. Quick, someone please fetch me a couch so I can faint"

Leader: Sneering, "You've got quite the mouth on you, boy. Let's see if it's still wagging after I take that tongue... and maybe a few fingers."

Two bandits grab Shaun by the arms, forcing him to his knees, while another snatches the suitcase. The leader steps closer, eyes narrowing as he inspects Shaun's face, smirking cruelly.

Leader: "Pathetic. Tie him up. We'll take him to the hideout, sell him as a slave, maybe even break him a little. Then maybe this brat will finally understand what real terror feels like."

Shaun: Chuckling, "So, how many people do you have at your hideout, by the way? 200? 300? Or is it more?"

Young Bandit: Laughing maniacally, "What's with him? Doesn't even look scared! Is he a mad lunatic or something?!"

Shaun: Grinning wickedly, "Oh, you think so? Maybe I just find this whole thing hilarious. Keep laughing, it's the last sound you'll make."

The young bandit's face darkens, and with a swift motion, he slaps Shaun hard across the face.

Young Bandit: "Shut up, you little punk!"

The bandits burst into cruel laughter, taunting Shaun mercilessly.

Bandit 1: "Guess now he'll realize what kind of situation he's in!"

Bandit 2: Mocking, "Yeah, think he's tough? Let's see how long that mouth keeps running."

Leader: Grinning maliciously, "Oh, you guys will break him even before he got to see boss ."

The bandits' base was hidden deep within the forest, a ramshackle fortress of wooden barricades and tents. Captured villagers—men, women, children, and beastmen—were crammed into makeshift cages. The air reeked of unwashed bodies and despair.

Shaun was dragged to the center of the camp, where a hulking figure sat on a crude throne. This man, the bandit boss, was even larger than the leader, with a wild mane of hair and a cruel glint in his eyes.

The Bandit Boss stood tall before Shaun, a cruel smirk etched across his face. His rough, scarred hands gripped the handle of a crude, jagged blade. The bandits surrounding them muttered among themselves, eyes glinting with malicious amusement alongside them, the three thieves Shaun had crippled earlier stood chained, visibly nervous and shifting uncomfortably.

Bandit Boss: "So this is the kid who caused all the fuss? Doesn't look like much. Tell me something, kid—what was your issue, huh? When my men gave you the chance to run after handing over your money and belongings, why'd you have to play the hero? Why'd you try to hurt my men, huh? You fucking moron."

The bandits snickered in the background, clearly enjoying the moment. Some of them even slapped their knees, clearly entertained by their leader's mockery. They thought they had Shaun cornered now, that the little pawn had run out of options.

Bandit 1: (Laughing) "Yeah, what were you thinking, kid? You should've just handed over everything and left like a good little lamb."

Bandit 2: (Nods, grinning wickedly) "Guess he didn't realize the kind of mess he was stepping into."

The Bandit Boss leaned in, his voice dripping with malice as he looked Shaun up and down, sizing him up like a piece of meat. "You think you're some kind of hero? You're just a stupid kid who doesn't know when to stay down. Now you're gonna learn the hard way."

Shaun stood there, unfazed, his gaze cold as steel. He didn't react to their insults, nor did he offer any sign of fear. His demeanor was detached, almost as if he had nothing to lose.

Shaun: "Oh, so now I'm the one who's supposed to be the idiot? Interesting. Let me guess, you're some big shot with all your little lackeys here, playing tough because you can, right?"

The Bandit Boss snarled, his patience thinning. " You don't get to talk to me like that. You should be begging for mercy right now, but instead, you're giving me attitude. That's real cute."

Shaun: "Mercy? From a piece of trash like you? Spare me. You've probably spent your entire life hurting people, and now you've managed to get some misfit group together to bully and steal from anyone who crosses your path, you are trying to act like a big shot. It's so funny."

The bandits were taken aback by Shaun's words, but the Bandit Boss only laughed, a low, rumbling sound full of arrogance and scorn.

The bandit leader tossed the suitcase at the boss's feet.

Leader: "Caught him snoozing under a tree. Barely put up a fight. Bet this case is worth more than he is. I believe he's some runaway noble, that's where all that confidence of his is coming from. Wouldn't be shocked if this little brat filled the suitcase with jewels and gems."

Young Bandit: "A runaway noble, huh? No wonder he thinks he's too good for us."

Bandit 1: "Yeah, look at him. All high and mighty, thinking he's got the world in that suitcase."

Bandit Boss: "He's probably just got a bunch of worthless trinkets, but if there's something valuable in there, we'll make sure he regrets not giving it up sooner."

Shaun slowly tilted his head, a faint smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. "That's where you're wrong, buddy. You're not the one in control here. You never were. You just don't see it yet."

The boss chuckled, kicking the suitcase open. Inside, he found...

Bandit Boss: Stumbling back, his voice trembling "Wh… what the hell is this?!"

Inside the case, a pair of empty, soulless eyes stare back at him. The body inside is packed tightly, limbs contorted into unnatural, grotesque angles. It's not just dead—it's wrong. The stench of rot fills the air, but something darker, far more malevolent pulses from within.

As the Boss's eyes meet the lifeless gaze, a shiver crawls down his spine, and the body shifts. The bones crack audibly, rearranging with an eerie, bone-chilling sound. A twisted smile begins to form on the decayed face—sickeningly wide and unnervingly sharp, as if mocking the Bandit Boss from within the rigid, corpse-like form.

Bandit Boss: Backing away in a frenzy, his breath quickening "No… no, no, no—what is this?!"

*In a blind panic, the Bandit Boss flings the suitcase away, but as it crashes to the ground, the body spills out—and that's when all hell breaks loose.

A surge of black, suffocating energy bursts forth, filling the air like a living fog. It curls around the group, twisting and writhing, as though it has a mind of its own. The temperature plummets, the air thick with an unnatural chill.

The body, now fully out of the suitcase, stretches and distorts. It doesn't move like a human—it's more like a twisted, liquefied mass, its limbs folding and unfolding in sickening, liquid-like motions.

The Bandits freeze in place, paralyzed by terror, unable to tear their eyes away from the horrific sight before them.

The creature, a nightmarish mass of contorted limbs and broken bone, grins wider. Its smile stretches impossibly wide, the skin on its face pulling back like rubber. Its eyes narrow to pinpricks, darkening into voids as deep as hell itself. The grin seems to mock them all, promising death and destruction.

A guttural, rasping noise emerges from the body—an agonizing, tortured sound from beyond the grave. The ground trembles beneath them.

Suddenly, the body snaps forward. Its movements are unnatural, a violent, grotesque contortion of bones, tendons, and flesh—like a creature not meant to move. The aura explodes outward.

The first bandit closest to the creature falls, his skin tearing away in long, brutal strips, as if some invisible force is stripping him of his very life. His screams are shrill and desperate as his body collapses into a pile of bloody bones—only to be swept away by the dark tendrils of energy that consume him utterly. Not even a trace is left.

Bandit 1: Screaming in horror, attempting to flee, but his legs buckle beneath him

His body jerks uncontrollably as the aura wraps around him, pulling him back into its grasp. His flesh twists and tears as his limbs are wrenched from their sockets, the bones cracking with sickening snaps. His screams are garbled, incoherent, before he is violently reduced to nothing—disintegrated into ash, the remains scattered to the wind.

Bandit 2: Eyes wide with terror, but unable to move, his body locked in place

The air hums with an ominous vibration, the aura vibrating in a maddening rhythm. Before he can even attempt to flee, his body begins to contort in horrifying angles, his skin peeling off in chunks as if being sucked away by some unseen force. His flesh is consumed, absorbed into the darkness, until only his bones remain—gnawed and hollowed.

The remaining bandits, frozen in terror, watch in abject horror. Their bodies are gripped by an unseen force—some cannot even scream as they're pulled into the suffocating aura. Their very souls seem to be ripped from their bodies, drained in agonizing, slow moments of eternity.

As the entity continues its rampage, the Bandits' bodies are consumed one by one, their screams fading into nothingness. Flesh is torn from bone, consumed by the dark, rotting force that has taken hold. Their bodies are reduced to mere husks, thrown into the darkness where they vanish as if they had never existed.

Through it all, Shaun stands unmoving, watching the destruction unfold with a chilling, detached amusement. His expression is calm, almost casual, as though this is all part of a plan.

Shaun: Voice cold, yet oddly compassionate "All the bandits are yours, Jim. Enjoy the feast. Except the civilians."

At Shaun's words, the carnage continues, but there is a deliberate pause—a moment where everything seems to hold its breath. Jim, still twisted and noodle-like, shifts its focus to the remaining bandits, continuing its relentless assault. It does not stand, but the power surrounding it lashes out like a whip, devouring the life from those left in its wake.

The remaining survivors—those too terrified to flee—watch in horror as their comrades are consumed by the unholy terror unleashed from the suitcase. They are reduced to blood-soaked earth, scattered limbs, and scattered, lifeless remnants.

The Bandit Boss, once full of arrogance and brutality, stares into the abyss of Jim's twisted grin. His mouth opens, but no words come out. The reality of his inevitable death crashes down upon him. His body quivers as the darkness envelops him, and in a final, violent lurch, his flesh is torn from his bones. A scream rips through the air as he is pulled into the void, consumed by the very terror he unleashed.

And then, nothing.

The final screams of the bandits fade into an eerie silence.

All that remains is the twisted, smiling form of Jim, its grotesque grin stretched wide as it revels in the carnage it has caused. The earth is soaked in blood, the smell of death heavy in the air, and Shaun remains where he stands, watching the aftermath with a cold, indifferent gaze.

In the distance, the soft rustling of wind whispers through the trees, carrying the echoes of a massacre that will never be forgotten.

The bodies of the bandits, devoured and consumed by the nightmarish aura, were all but gone, leaving only their ashes behind. The survivors—those three thieves and the civilians—stood trembling in the aftermath, their eyes darting nervously toward Shaun.

In the midst of this uncanny stillness, Shaun stood there, holding the suitcase that had once been the source of unimaginable terror. His fingers gripped the cold, worn handle, his expression as unmoved as always. The smell of blood lingered faintly in the air, but it was drowned out by the faint hum of something far more ominous that lingered in the distance.

His gaze shifted to the suitcase, the tool he had used to create such chaos. With a sigh, he crouched down, placing it gently on the ground before unzipping it. The moment the lid cracked open, the hollow eyes of Jim appeared once more. His body, though once human, was now a grotesque, twisted form, an amalgamation of something beyond mortal understanding. His eyes, empty and lifeless, stared back at Shaun without any semblance of recognition or emotion.

Shaun: "Well, Jim... looks like it's time to return home."

jim's body shifted ever so slightly, the way an inanimate object might, his limbs unnaturally bent and elongated as though he had no bones. But then, with an eerie, almost mechanical movemen

Jim's hollow gaze turned to Shaun. There was no recognition in his eyes, no anger, nor understanding—just a dead, lifeless stare.

Jim: (In a low, monotone voice, barely audible) "Yes... master... jim obey."

With a slow motion, Shaun reached down and closed the suitcase once more, securing the lid tightly. There was no struggle, no further resistance. It was as if Jim's existence had no meaning outside of what Shaun commanded. The unnatural aura that had surrounded the suitcase faded as the dark presence of Jim was locked away once again.