Carlos's Rage

Within the grandeur of a lavish hall, a scene unfolded as a band of bandits quietly convened. Emerging from a concealed door, they gathered in this opulent setting, a stark contrast to their rugged appearances.

The hall itself was adorned with rich tapestries and gleaming chandeliers, casting a warm glow over the intricately tiled floors and luxurious furnishings.

At the heart of this splendor, seated upon a throne that seemed almost too grand for the room, was a man of considerable girth. This imposing figure was Carlos, the financial patron and mastermind behind the bandits' operations.

His presence commanded the room, his seat elevated not just by the dais it rested upon, but by the aura of power and authority he exuded. Here, amidst the wealth and extravagance, the bandits found their haven and their orders, all dictated by Carlos's will.

Carlos surveyed the group of bandits assembled before him, his gaze sharp and assessing. His attention then shifted to the unconscious form of the bandit boss, carried in by his underlings. With a voice that carried the weight of his authority and impatience, Carlos demanded, "Explain yourselves. What's the meaning of this debacle?"

The bandits, visibly intimidated by Carlos's imposing demeanor, hesitated before one of them mustered the courage to speak. "Sir, our camp... it was overrun," the bandit stammered, fearing the wrath that might follow. "A horde of wild beasts attacked us out of nowhere."

Carlos's expression darkened at the news, his displeasure evident. "Beasts, you say? How did a mere group of animals manage to best my men and incapacitate your boss?" His tone was laced with skepticism and a growing anger, challenging his men to justify their failure.

One of the bandits stepped forward, his voice filled with unease as he delivered the unsettling news. "The thing is, boss was already down before the beasts even began their assault," he explained, his eyes darting nervously under Carlos's intense scrutiny.

Carlos's frustration boiled over at this revelation. "Already knocked out? How is that possible?" he barked, his anger palpable. "Explain to me how our leader was incapacitated before the attack even started!"

The bandit hesitated, the fear of Carlos's anger evident in his posture. "We... we're not sure, sir. It happened so fast, and by the time we realized, the beasts were upon us, and there was chaos everywhere," he replied, trying to convey the confusion and panic that had overtaken them during the assault.

Carlos's scowl deepened as he processed the information, his mind racing to understand how his formidable bandit leader could have been rendered helpless so quickly, setting the stage for the disaster that followed.

Then, one of the bandits, gathering a bit more courage, ventured to add more detail to their account. "Sir, we believe the boss was taken down by a white tiger, one that seemed to be tamed by a barbarian."

Carlos, taken aback, raised an eyebrow. "A barbarian? And how exactly does he fit into this mess?" he questioned, skepticism lacing his tone.

The same bandit elaborated, "We're not entirely sure of all the details, but this all started soon after we had an encounter with the barbarian. And, peculiarly enough, just before the beasts overran us, we saw that very tiger within our camp."

Carlos leaned forward, piecing together the narrative. "So, what you're suggesting is that this barbarian, through some talent of beast taming, orchestrated the rampage that decimated our camp?" he summarized, his voice carrying a mix of intrigue and disbelief.

The bandit nodded affirmatively, and the rest of the group murmured their agreement, confirming the suspicion. "Yes, sir. It seems too coincidental to be anything else," one of them added, giving weight to the theory that their downfall was directly linked to the barbarian's intervention.

Carlos's anger surged as he connected the dots, his voice booming through the opulent hall. "This barbarian dares to interfere with my operations?" he thundered, outrage painting every word.

He shifted his attention to a daunting presence beside him—a man distinguished by a prominent scar, an unmistakable sign of his combat experience. Carlos's instructions were clear, his tone icy with resolve.

"Track down this barbarian who commands the white tiger. And when you find him," he paused for effect, his hand slicing through the air in a swift, horizontal motion near his neck—a grim directive that left no room for interpretation.

The scarred enforcer met Carlos's gaze, the seriousness of the command was reflected in his stoic demeanor. With a single, firm nod, he acknowledged his orders. Then, with a purposeful stride, he departed the hall, each step echoing his commitment to fulfilling this lethal task.

Vargus, the very barbarian who had unwittingly become the target of Carlos's wrath, had unknowingly ventured into the town where Carlos held sway. Unaware of the danger lurking in the shadows, Vargus made his way to a local inn, seeking shelter for the night.

Despite their fierce reputation, barbarians like Vargus were often recognized for their formidable strength, which made them sought-after for laborious tasks. Thus, barbarians were not uncommon in this town, allowed entry due to their potential as valuable workers.

Upon arriving at the inn, Vargus navigated through the cozy lobby to the front desk, where he secured a room for himself and Auris. With a room key in hand, he ascended to his allotted space, where he began to unpack his belongings, setting down his gear with a sense of relief.

Auris, who had been perched on Vargus's shoulder throughout their journey, gracefully hopped down to explore their temporary quarters.

The innkeeper had been particularly charmed by Auris's cuteness, allowing the small tiger access to the inn and even offering Vargus a discounted rate for their stay—a testament to Auris's undeniable appeal.

Settled into the room, Vargus took a moment to appreciate the quiet comfort it offered, a stark contrast to the wilds they had traversed. Here, in the heart of potential danger, they found a temporary respite, oblivious to the storm that was brewing just outside their door.

Embracing Auris gently, Vargus couldn't help but express his affection with a warm hug and a series of soft pats. "You know, Auris, your cuteness truly surpasses everything," he mused aloud, his voice filled with admiration.

He continued, almost philosophically, "I could spend a lifetime in the company of such cuteness. Truly, cuteness must be the most powerful force there is."

Auris, snug in the comfort of Vargus's arms, basked in the affection being lavished upon him. In the quiet of his own thoughts, Auris considered his situation with a sense of wry humor. "Well, looks like this is my life now," he thought, a blend of acceptance and content coloring his silent musings.

The idea brought a mental chuckle. "As long as my fate doesn't mirror that of the bandit leader's, I guess there are worse things than being adored and pampered." This internal commentary from Auris highlighted his appreciation for the security and affection Vargus provided, despite the prospect of endless cuddles and attention.

Following an extended period of warmth and affection, Vargus finally succumbed to the embrace of sleep, with Auris nestled comfortably in his lap. The room was quiet, the only sound the steady breathing of the sleeping pair.

However, the tranquility was abruptly broken when the window gently creaked open, allowing a shadowy figure to slip inside—the scarred man, a silent predator sent by Carlos. His eyes quickly found Vargus and Auris in their vulnerable state.

With a disdainful sneer, the scarred man couldn't resist mocking the unconscious barbarian. "Foolish barbarian," he whispered, though his words were meant only for the silent room. "To think you wouldn't bother to conceal your whereabouts."

He shook his head, amused by what he perceived as Vargus's naive sense of security. "You've made this far too easy," he added quietly, his presence in the room a looming threat to the peaceful scene before him. The scarred man's arrival marked a perilous turn in the night, unbeknownst to the slumbering Vargus and Auris.

As he silently closed the distance between himself and the unsuspecting pair, the cold glint of a dagger was revealed. He drew the weapon with a deliberate slowness, savoring the anticipation of the deed he was about to commit. "You've crossed someone far more dangerous than you could imagine," he whispered, almost regretfully, acknowledging the gravity of his mission.

The moonlight streaming through the window cast an eerie glow on the blade, underscoring the imminent threat. The scarred man, now mere steps away from Vargus and Auris, was a shadow poised to extinguish the tranquility of their rest, driven by the dark directive of vengeance.

His eyes, cold and unyielding, locked onto Vargus. In a whisper that carried the weight of finality, he said, "Tonight marks your end." The declaration hung in the air, a grim promise of what was to come.

Moving with calculated grace, the scarred man edged closer to his target, his intentions clear and deadly. The moonlight streaming through the open window caught the edge of his blade, highlighting the imminent danger. He readied himself to strike, embodying the very essence of Carlos's vengeful will, poised to bring a violent end to the peace of the night.