"Rise and shine, sleepy head." A voice greeted Niggaruth as he opened his astral eyes.
His vision blurred, but it only lasted for a moment.
Soon, he could see everything around him. It was the exact scene he remembered before dying—the underground room where he was brewing his Elixir.
Did he not die? Had he managed to survive?
Countless thoughts lurked in Niggaruth's ghost-like body… until he realized the fact… that he was in a ghost-like body.
He nearly shrieked, seeing as he had a near-transparent form, and floated like a ghost. A purple aura emanated from him, and his body was incorporeal—well, nearly.
He was made of energy, and he could even see his actual body—his corpse—lying on the ground.
Niggaruth didn't need a prophet to tell him that he was dead.
'Ghost Magic…?!' His thoughts rang, and imaginary cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
He was a ghost, so he couldn't really sweat.
