The Flagellants, a frenzied tide of devotion, march with fervor, their bodies marked with scars like maps of agony. With each step, they chant hymns of penance, their voices rising like a chorus of anguish. Their flails, instruments of self-flagellation, strike with righteous fury, purging sin with each punishing blow. Clad in tattered rags, they are martyrs of faith, their souls ablaze with divine fervency. Their eyes, wild with zeal, pierce the darkness, seeking redemption amidst the chaos. Together, they march, a tumultuous wave of righteousness, painting the battlefield with the vibrant hues of sacrifice and salvation.