Michael and Agra is about to meet
Agra and his followers marched towards the forest, a chaotic procession of black robes and flickering torches. From a distance, they looked like a swarm of angry fireflies, their lights bobbing and weaving erratically across the darkened landscape. There was no discipline, no order, to their march. Some sang obscene songs, their voices raucous and off-key. Others hopped and skipped, their laughter echoing through the night. Agra himself, still clutching one of the wooden boxes containing a severed head, was bouncing up and down like a hyperactive child, his painted face contorted in a manic grin. They were high on chaos, fueled by a potent cocktail of blind faith, religious fervor, and probably some… questionable substances. Back on Earth, they'd have been diagnosed with every mental disorder in the book, locked up, and medicated into oblivion.