Pale ghost shadows drilled out from the walls, their faces hidden by their jet-black, waterfall-like hair, wearing only white robes over their bodies. In their bloodless palms, they clutched rusty square-headed kitchen knives.
Their bodies appeared semi-transparent, and their bare feet hovered three inches off the ground, dangling weakly.
They moved like lagging characters in an online game—no motion process, just flickering forward instant by instant, line by line. Although the scene didn't look bloody or terrifying, just watching would evoke a chilling sensation rising deeply from within.
[Streamer! Turn around!]
[What did I say, that mouth of the streamer just freaking attracts ghosts!]
[Turn around quickly! No, run!]
[If you don't run now, it'll be too late!]
A barrage of messages instantly replaced the game-related comments. Bert, sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat, sighed and pointed at the ghost shadow appearing on the screen.
