Demonic Skeleton God
Chapter 98: Floor 8

Chapter 98: Floor 8

Only objects emit frequency, not living beings. Plants also emit frequency, but not plants that have consciousness. Therefore, no one can tune into Flain’s frequency because he doesn’t have one at all.

Most of the objects Flain is supposed to tune into have a more distinct and stronger frequency than others, which is why it didn’t occur to him right away.

The wall has the exact same frequency as, for example, a speck of dust — nothing special. Flain had a feeling he had figured it out, even though of course he could be wrong, and that nothing could be learned from the frequency the wall emitted.

Flain quickly completed the 6th floor and found himself again in front of the wall.

"Hey Flain." Denji’s voice called out again from the wall.

Flain focused and tried with all his strength to tune into the frequency coming from the wall — it sounded easier than it was to actually do.

Flain concentrated with all his might, and in the end, he managed to tune in, and his theory turned out to be correct — he really did find out what was expected of him.

Illusions would come out of the wall, meant to evoke emotions in Flain, and if Flain expressed any emotions, he would automatically fail.

That’s why Flain failed before — because he had shown a slight bit of confusion.

"Flain, help me! I can’t take this pain anymore." Denji’s scream came from the wall.

Flain stood there with a blank expression, and not even a single twitch crossed his face at the scream.

There was loud banging echoing from the wall and cries for help, but Flain remained cold.

"Congratulations, you have successfully passed the 7th subconscious floor, you may pass through the wall." A congratulatory message came from the wall.

Flain stood coldly. It was probably meant to make him feel relief or happiness, but Flain wasn’t stupid enough to fall for that.

Nothing happened for a moment, but suddenly something strange started happening to Flain — he felt as if he were suffocating. Flain felt as if his body was reacting in panic, which shouldn’t be possible because he’s a skeleton and doesn’t need to breathe — his body is just a mixture of bones, no blood or brain.

At the same time, Flain felt that the false breathing was functioning normally. Flain stood there motionless for another moment.

Flain’s mind suddenly became shrouded in a soft mist and he appeared somewhere else. He was in the slave mine where he grew up, in his childhood body, which was kneeling on the ground.

He was extremely weak and couldn’t even stand. Around him were guards led by Geir.

"Hahaha, look at that weakling. I’m sick just looking at him," Geir shouted.

There was still a soulless expression on Flain’s face that didn’t flinch for even a second.

"Hahaha hey slave filth, I heard your friend died — heh, shame, I wanted to kill him myself," a guard from the crowd shouted.

"Hahaha I heard your own parents threw you in here, I might cry," another guard shouted.

The guards kept mocking Flain, but then Flain’s mind broke free from the mist and returned back to his body in the 7th floor.

Flain stood carefreely on the 7th floor, waiting for the next obstacle. It wasn’t over yet because the darkness blocking the entrance to the 8th floor hadn’t disappeared.

Flain just stood there for 10 minutes and nothing happened to him. Then the wall disappeared, along with the blocking darkness.

Once it subsided, Flain’s red eyes narrowed, and his body overflowed with an immense surge of rage — he was shaking all over.

BOOM

Flain slammed his fist into the tower with full force, then again, and again, and again, and it went on like that. Flain hated those guards, he wanted to crush them and make them beg him to kill them. Even if it was only an illusion.

Eventually, Flain calmed down, and the cold expression returned to his face. Flain thought about what those last 10 minutes were — maybe it was something his skeletal body was immune to, or maybe it was just a suspenseful wait, meant to make Flain show some nervousness or fear.

In any case, Flain was still quite angry, so his mind wasn’t working at full capacity.

But then his rage suddenly vanished, and a devilish smile appeared on his face.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Flain began laughing uncontrollably. "All the more I’ll enjoy it when that guarding insect begs me to kill them," he growled with narrowed pupils.

Flain moved on, because he didn’t have time to waste, and he proceeded to the 8th floor.

The room before him was instantly swallowed by silence. No hint of light, no trace of walls. Just an endless space, where every step he took echoed with a deep rumble. Flain stepped onto the floor — it was cold. With firm steps, he walked three meters forward and stopped. No smoke, no dust, just emptiness.

It was a very similar feeling to that time in the labyrinth, but also quite different. Flain just hoped it wasn’t something like that again, because it would be a waste of time.

’No visual stimuli. No tactile ones. Purely sound and the sense of one’s own body in space,’ his mind summarized the remaining sensory cues.

He forced himself to relax his jaw, where he felt slight pressure from previous focus. He closed his eyes — let the light from the previous room disappear completely.

Steps. A step. Another step. Every one of his steps echoed the same, even when he tried to reduce pressure on his heels. Miraculously, the sound was soft, almost smooth — no overlapping echoes. Flain picked up a different frequency in the sound’s shadow.

’Something like a diffuser...’ he thought. ’Placed about two meters to my left.’

By recognizing the tiny delay between the original tap of his shoe and the second wave of the echo, he built a mental map: he was walking on some kind of bridge that should be straight, but the diffusers were forming side walls, distorting the path.

He turned half a degree to the right and continued. The wall of emptiness disappeared, and in his steps there was a unified, gentle hum — confirming solid ground.

Flain continued forward...