As Magnus moved through the darkened streets of Kilo Point, he reached into the minds of those around him, visions blurring their attacks, bolts striking far from their marks. And yet, even as he directed his own visions, he found something wrong. For the minds of the Purge he touched were already broken. The religious fervour in their eyes as they swung their blades and fired their Repeating Crossbows was revealed for what it was - what it always had been. Insanity.

Cultivated, shaped, carefully applied. Like the hammer of a sculptor, carefully chipping away at the spirit. A process of indoctrination, a play of hope and lies, a continuous decent into extremism. It was a psychological weapon, applied by a master of manipulation, not simply through words but with emotions and visuals. Every moment of despair, every moment of happiness, everything was channeled into this unending devotion, this unbreakable faith, this.... obedience. Not truly faith in the conventional sense, but the trappings of it. Faith honed into a weapon, capable of overriding every human instinct, of shattering even the sense of self preservation.

The scene of their minds was solid, it was straight as an arrow. Unbending, unerring, forged steel. It was not bravery that prevented those poor fools from fleeing, but the incapability to feel fear. It was reminiscent of Muslim extremism, but cultivated solely for the purpose of war. The perfect tool to turn men into weapons.

And it worked. Even as blades entered their ribs, even as their brains started shutting down, even as pain would have crippled even the most valorous of men, they kept fighting. Mid-death, they still slashed at him, torsos grabbing his legs even after being separated from their lower halves. The slain stood once more, hearts cleaved from their chests, lungs burst, their last breaths spent facing their enemies. That hidden potential of the mind, that capability unlocked only in the most desperate of moments. Through this weapon, they had channelled, perhaps, the full human potential.

Even to an Oldblood, the sight of the mostly dead still fighting was unnerving, and as Magnus found his feet held in place by those he would trample underfoot, he was snagged more than once by a passing blade. Even as his blade dug deep into a man's heart, powered by his increased strength, the man stabbed at him, his own sword nearly impaling the Oldblood. Those behind him simply stood up, walking towards him to the best of their ability, organs already falling out, simply waiting for their brain to die.

This, was the true power of the Purge, when fully enraged.