Charred stumps are scattered randomly and haphazardly across this pale, withered world; on top of each stump sits a gray-white, ghost-like entity, each holding an equally shapeless shakuhachi, playing that sharp and faintly mocking music continuously and uninterruptedly.
Although these shapeless performers have obscure appearances, based on their rough forms, it's possible to deduce that they are the other missing members of the Ogre Tribe.
Clearly, at this moment, all the ogres in this tribe have been merged together through some eerie and terrifying magic. The gray-white shadows left outside are as fragile as soap bubbles in the sun, so vulnerable that a gust of wind or a flying stone could shatter them to pieces.
Then, amidst the flute's wailing tones, the shattered gray-white pieces slowly gather together again, their forms becoming increasingly thin, continuing their monotonous and dreary spectral existence.
