The cultists stepped into the forest, their faces twisting in disgust as they surveyed the tranquil surroundings.
"Ugh, look at this green shit," one of them snarled, kicking at a patch of wildflowers. "It's sickening. All this order. It's an insult to Agra!"
"Yeah, where's the decay? The suffering?" another cultist grumbled, spitting on the ground. "This place needs a good cleansing. A little fire."
They spread out, their black robes rustling against the leaves, their daggers glinting in the dappled sunlight, searching for any sign of Baruk, their transformed comrade. They stomped on flowers, and snapped twigs, their movements a deliberate desecration of the forest's serenity.
Unbeknownst to them, they were being watched. Michael and Gaya, hidden high above in the branches of a towering maple tree, observed their movements with cold, calculating gazes.
