By now, the party was a (mostly) well-oiled machine. Without needing any instruction, Ihra and Tsia shot after the fleeing bandits, Nissilât trailing behind them after a moment's hesitation, leaving Jasper, the only one with a healing spell, to deal with the wounded man.

Given the man's condition, he probably didn't need to do anything to kill him, but a prisoner would be more useful. He kept a spell prepped in case the man turned hostile but lifted his hands in a gesture of peace. "Listen, I have a healing spell."

He tried not to stare at the arrow still quivering in the man's chest, but it was a difficult task. Jasper was no anatomy expert, but he was pretty sure the projectile had pierced the bandit's heart. It was a miracle he was still standing, but judging from the prodigious amounts of blood cascading down his chest and the pallor of his skin, he wouldn't be standing for long.

"There's no need to die. Drop your weapon and I'll heal you. You'll have to answer a few questions, but you'll live," he continued.

Jasper tensed as the man's hand twitched, but the bandit didn't reach for his weapon. Instead, he fumbled with his pouch, struggling to draw out a green glass vial while his blood pumped freely onto the ground.

Is that a healing potion? The vial didn't look anything like the ones Jasper was familiar with from the Empire but, if Ardûl was right and the bandits were sponsored by the Zalancthians, he supposed it was unsurprising they'd have developed their own potions. "Sorry," he said as he stepped forward, "but I can't let you take that."

He tried to bat the potion out of the man's hand, but the bandit moved faster. With a sudden surge of strength, the man staggered out of Jasper's reach and, ripping the lid off the vial, pressed it to his lips.

Green liquid oozed down his cheeks, but the bandit must have gulped down enough to do the trick as the fountain of blood pouring from his chest abruptly ceased. Jasper's hands began to twist desperately with a follow-up spell, but he hesitated when the man collapsed on his knees, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

What the hell?

Crouched on all fours, the man's gasps filled the quiet night; he coughed, spewing more blood on the muddy ground before his body began to change. Like something out of a horror flick, muscles writhed beneath his skin, rapidly expanding beyond the skin's capacity to hold them.

Jasper stood frozen as blood wept from dozens of small wounds as the bandit's skin split, uncertain what was happening. Had the man taken this world's equivalent of a cyanide capsule? Should he heal him - or was it something else?

The man was still gasping for air when his head rose defiantly. Blood oozed from every orifice, covering his face like a macabre warpaint, but all Jasper could see was the man's eyes. Pale blue eyes, wide and frightened, stared up at him. But behind them, beside them, consuming them, was a pair of yellow, slitted eyes filled with a baleful hatred.

Jasper took a step back, utterly flummoxed by what he was seeing. Humans didn't have two sets of eyes - and for that matter, he was pretty damn certain that the Zalancthian in front of him hadn't had a second set a moment ago either. Just what the hell is in that potion?

He didn't have time to ponder the question, though, as the man, with a feral, inhuman snarl that rebounded off the trees, charged straight at him.

Jasper dove behind the nearest tree for cover as he struggled to free his glaive from his bag of holding, but it proved a mistake. With a single blow of his fist, the tree turned into kindling, showering Jasper with hundreds of sharp splinters.

Jasper slipped in the mud and hit the ground, barely rolling to the side in time as the upper half of the tree crashed beside him. With another angry snarl, the man pounced toward him and Jasper fired off Punishing Hand as he scrambled out of the way. He glanced down as the pale hand emerged from the muck, counting on it to hold the bandit as he finally managed to drag the glaive out of his bag. But the spell didn't work.

The hand was flattened in the mud as the bandit ran over it and tackled Jasper. Thick hands wrapped around his neck, crushing his windpipe before the man flung him into the woods.

Jasper hit a nearby tree with another force to break right through a substantial limb and carry on past it, slamming into the trunk of another twenty feet beyond it. Stars danced across his vision as he slumped to the ground, but the bandit had accidentally done him a favor. He quickly cast Circle of Forgiveness as the yellow-eyed man raced toward him, gasping in relief as his crushed throat reformed and precious air reached his lungs again.

He rolled to his feet, snatching his glaive up, as he darted toward the nearest tree. He knew now it wouldn't hold - the crazed bandit would smash through it like kindling - but it would buy him another second to come up with a plan. Think, think, think.

Jasper was already on the run as a fresh shower of splinters raked across his back, but his hands twisted with a new spell. His leg kicked off a nearby stump as he soared into the air, and his back spasmed in pain. A pair of shadowy wings burst from his shoulder blades and, with a sudden surge of speed, he looped in a somersault backward, holding the glaive in front of him as he suddenly charged toward the bandit's unprotected back.

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But the yellow-eyed man was faster. Pivoting on his heel, with one hand he snatched the glaive out of Jasper's grasp while, with the other, he backhanded him hard enough to send him flying backward twenty feet.

Wings beating furiously, Jasper caught himself in mid-air and rolled swiftly to the side as his own glaive came hurtling toward him in a blur of grey. He soared upwards as the glaive buried itself in a tree and racked his brain for an answer. "Purge?"

The bandit stumbled as the spell took hold, his hand reached for his throat with a pained expression, and Jasper's hopes soared. The man dropped to his knees as his bulging muscles began to collapse on themselves, reversing the process that had strengthened him. Now wanting to take any chances, Jasper kept his distance as he watched the man writhe, and cast Fiery Shackles in another bid to hold him in place.

Despite struggling against his restraints, the man's frenzied strength was no more. The fiery manacles held firm until his struggles ceased and the bandit's head drooped lifelessly against his chest.

"Well, crap." With a sigh, Jasper dropped back to the earth and examined the man's corpse unhappily. "So much for getting a prisoner." His eye fell on the only thing that had survived his initial volley of Soul Sear - a pouch hanging from the bandit's neck. "Maybe there will be something useful in there," he muttered as headed toward him.

But as he got within spitting distance, the man's head rose. This time only one pair of eyes glared back at him, inhuman yellow eyes filled with hate as the man reached a trembling hand toward him.

Lurching out of his reach, Jasper cast Scourge of Despair. This time, the spell didn't need to draw any blood; the night air was filled with the screams of the hungry ghosts as the scourge coiled around the man's torso, drinking deeply of the many wounds in his torn flesh. He struggled futilely against the ghosts, but even though the yellow eyes had somehow managed to avoid Purge's influence, the body they had inhabited had been too badly damaged to maintain its integrity. It crumbled beneath the blows of the specters, though the baleful yellow eyes did not fade away until one of the ghosts ripped the bandit's head off his shoulders.

With the man's limbs scattered across the clearing, Jasper was pretty sure the bandit was actually dead this time, but he'd already been wrong once tonight. He waited several minutes before approaching, carefully watching for any sign of movement, and when he finally did approach he cast Fiery Shackles, just in case.

This time, though, the desecrated corpse didn't move as Jasper quickly retrieved the pouch hanging from its now headless torso and moved away.

"Kruvas̆? What happened here?" As he straightened up, Nissilât emerged from the woods, gazing around at the shattered trees and delimbed corpse with astonishment.

"We lost them-" Ihra fell silent as she shoved past Nissilât and caught sight of the clearing. "Was he undead?" she asked, leaping to the obvious conclusion.

With a weary sigh, Jasper ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know what he was. But I'm pretty sure our mission got a whole hell of a lot more complicated."

As they reconvened by the fire, Jasper told his story. "It was like nothing I've seen before," he wrapped up. "I don't have a clue what those yellow eyes were. Back home, I'd think it was a demon, but that's not really a thing in your world as far as I know."

Ihra and Tsia shook their heads blankly, but Nissilât perked up with interest. "Demon? I've seen the word before, in texts from the Sidhe. What are they?"

"Evil spirits. Servants of a dark god. Tricksters. There's no one definition," Jasper said idly. "In some cultures, the term can even have a positive connotation. The thing that makes me think of them, though, is those damned eyes. In our folklore, demons are often said to be able to possess people's bodies, make 'em do things they wouldn't normally do. But like I said, those legends don't seem to exist here."

"I've heard of no such spirits," Nissilât agreed, "but there are rumors that Gemlir's cultists know of certain rituals that allow something similar to this 'possession' you speak of."

Are these 'rumors,' or do you know about them because you were a cultist? Jasper didn't give voice to his doubts. "Did these rituals involve a potion," he asked instead.

"I wouldn't know," she replied coldly. "Cultists don't share their rituals with the rest of us."

I guess I wasn't as subtle as I thought. Suppressing his wince, Jasper continued rapidly. "Is there anyone who we could ask?"

"Priests?" Tsia spoke up. "Dūr-Sūqerbettu is an imperial fort, so it will have at least one temple. Maybe one of the priests would have some insight."

He glanced over at Nissilât, who inclined her head in agreement. "We should take the body too," she added. "Even if these eyes had nothing to do with one of Gemlir's rituals, there can be no doubt that some foul magic was involved. Perhaps the priest can glean something from the remains before he purifies them."

The thought of carting the dismembered body with them was hardly appealing, but Jasper decided they were right. "Sounds like a plan," he sighed. "I guess that gives us one lead." He patted the pouch sitting in his lap. "Haven't had the chance to go through this yet, but with any luck, maybe we'll find another there. What about you? Did you get anything out of the bandits before they escaped?"

"Nope." Ihra shook her head discontentedly. "They are as swift as they are cowardly. I think I wounded a couple of them as they fled, but it was too dark to follow the blood trail once we lost sight of them."

"And what about you," he asked Tsia. "Were your spells as worthless as mine?"

"Worthless is a strong word," the girl scowled, "but they weren't as effective as usual. My wind blades can slice through solid steel, but they only wounded these men, despite the fact they wore nothing but leather armor. Your commander was right - they must be stoneflesh."

"Oh yeah," Jasper chuckled mirthlessly. "Ardûl's a real genius - sent a bunch of mages to deal with the one group of enemies resistant to magic. But he wasn't wrong about their identity, damn it."

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