The Pursuers

The instant Sifa saw the fireball coming, he poured his spirituality into the Sinful Bandage and activated Werewolf Transformation. Short black fur had only just sprouted on his hands when the fireball struck. He barely managed to raise his arms before an explosion of crimson filled his vision.

Heat and impact slammed into him, shaking his body violently. When it was over, he found himself sitting against a corner of the factory. His arms were a bloody mess, his sleeves torn apart, black and red mingling across them.

Wooden splinters littered the ground around him. A sharp piece of wood had driven into his abdomen like a dagger, and blood was slowly soaking through his clothes.

He had countless smaller wounds as well. Half the carriage had been blown away, and the two terrified horses whinnied as they dragged the remaining half out of the factory.

Beckron's corpse fell from the fleeing carriage, its cabin half gone. The sheet binding the two halves of his body had torn, scattering the ambassador's remains.

"So it was you! Are you a Faceless?"

An Intis military attaché climbed in through the window, orange flames burning in his hand.

By the firelight, Sifa saw a rather thin face. The man had thick eyebrows but small eyes, an incongruous combination that looked almost comical.

Sifa, however, was in no mood to laugh.

He quickly assessed the situation.

After leaving the embassy, he had used a Flash Charm to delay his pursuers. Those few seconds had been enough for him to transform into a werewolf and carry the ambassador's corpse into the square.

He had then undone the transformation, changed his appearance, and hidden the ambassador in the carriage's secret compartment. To prevent divination, he had also wrapped the Sinful Bandage around Beckron.

That meant he