"Transference of Consciousness," Michael whispered. He focused his will, his gaze locking onto one of the black-robed figures patrolling the perimeter of Agra's temple.
The world around him seemed to shift. Blur. And then he was there.
He saw through the cultist's eyes, felt the rough fabric of the robe against his skin, and smelled the stench of blood and incense that permeated the air. It was disorienting. Overwhelming. But also exhilarating.
He was in the cultist's mind, experiencing the world through his senses, controlling his movements.
