The twin moons hung high above, it was midnight.
Green ghostfires flitted through the air, flashing among tombstones and trees.
Everything was as eerily still as the Haunted Farm before it was filled with trees.
Heine activated his Eyes of the Undead, looking up at the sky, but he didn't see the soul-siphoning vortex; instead, he saw countless gray lines, woven together like a spider's web into this brilliant night scene.
It was all fake, all of it.
Those flickering ghostfires were also rented Wandering Souls from the Netherworld, but inserted into some kind of invisible container.
The reason ghostfires were shimmering was because the Wandering Souls were burrowing in and out of the containers—going in meant glowing, coming out meant they couldn't be observed by the naked eye.
—What kind of perverse pleasure was this? The Necromancer's ghoulish decorating technique?
Then, he looked at the tombstones and the forest.
