"Ghosts... there are ghosts in the car..."
Before he could finish speaking, two figures floated out of the car.
The white-dressed specter drifted out from the back seat, her feet off the ground as she hovered in midair.
Her face had completely rotted away, chunks of flesh falling off to reveal the bones beneath.
There were no eyeballs in her sockets, only two clusters of dim green Will-o'-the-wisps flickering in the darkness.
A hissing sound came from her mouth, like a snake flicking its tongue.
The red-dressed specter floated out from the other side, her feet likewise hanging above the ground as she hovered in midair.
Her red dress had been soaked through with blood. Dark red liquid dripped from the hem, falling onto the ground and corroding little pits into the asphalt.
Her hair was growing wildly, like countless black snakes writhing and twisting through the air, making soft rustling noises like innumerable feet crawling.
The night wind swept by, carrying an intense stench of decay mixed with blood scent and an indescribably chilling presence.
The Clones all retreated in unison.
Fear spread through the crowd like a plague. The identical faces all wore the same expression now—dilated pupils, tightly pressed lips, and bobbing Adam's Apples.
The white-dressed specter hovered in midair, lowering her head to look at her charred fingers.
Smoke still rose from her fingertips, and black fluid dripped down drop by drop like melting asphalt.
She raised her head. The two dim green Will-o'-the-wisps stared fixedly at Mo Thirty-One as her hoarse, low voice scraped out like sandpaper against glass.
"You... what do you... have on you..."
The red-dressed specter hovered as well, her hair still growing madly like countless black snakes crawling across the ground and wildly spreading toward the Clones' feet.
Mo Thirty-One looked