---
title: "Chapter 311: A Song..."
slug: "ch-311"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 311
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1349
createdAt: "2026-04-13"
---

Old Man Grey looked up—

And his face twisted.

His voice snapped through the group's minds like a whip:

"Shit. The stars are gone. We've lost our heading. If we move now, we'll get lost in this hell."

Panic simmered just under the surface.

Geniuses who had walked into this place with swagger now looked like cornered prey.

One of them asked, voice desperate:

"Should we fly up to get a sense of direction?"

Someone else snapped back:

"Are you insane? Flying is banned! Even if it weren't, flying up is asking to die!"

"Then what do we do?"

"We can't stay here—can't walk either—"

"We'll die either way—"

Their composure cracked.

The fog didn't just choke their vision.

It began to choke their courage.

Just as they spiraled toward panic—

It came.

Soft.

Faint.

Sweet.

Wrong.

A fragrance drifted in first—

Something floral, nostalgic, beautiful, like the scent of a lover from a time that never existed.

And then—

A song.

A woman's voice.

Melodic.

Delicate.

Haunting.

"Little friends…"

"Little friends…"

"I can help you… but you play with me…"

....

---

No one said a word.

But everyone felt it.

Their bodies went rigid.

Their skin erupted in goosebumps.

Some clenched their weapons.

Others tried not to breathe.

Because that voice—

it didn't sound like it came from anywhere specific.

It was inside the fog,

inside their minds,

inside their hearts.

And worse—

It carried emotion.

Not seduction.

Not joy.

But a sorrow so ancient, so deep, that it pulled at the soul.

Like the grief of a mother holding her dead child.

Like a ghost who still wept at the place she died.

It whispered:

"Don't leave."

"Don't run."

"Stay with me."

And the longer they listened—

The more the idea didn't sound that bad.

Even Max felt a pull.

A slow, gnawing ache in the heart, a desire to just… lay down.

To forget the weight.

Forget the danger.

Forget everything.

Just to rest.

But Max bit his lips to come back to his senses.

…..

"Do not listen to that singing!"

Old Man Grey's voice tore through the fog like a thunderclap, raw, furious, and urgent.

There was no time for private transmissions now—

He shouted.

"Seal your ears with vital essence—NOW!"

At once, his body exploded with a surge of power.

Vital essence burst outward, forming a shimmering, protective barrier that wrapped around him like a second skin.

It didn't just guard him from the fog.

It cut off all sound.

The moment it activated—

The singing vanished from his ears.

And as the fog was shoved back slightly by the blast of energy,

Max saw—

A nightmare.

The youth standing directly beside him—

Someone Max remembered speaking just a few hours ago—

Was now unrecognizable.

His shoulders hung low, his arms limp, his eyes—a glassy, sickly green, glazed over like those of a corpse three days too old.

But he was still moving.

Slowly.

Purposefully.

Brutally.

The youth began scratching himself.

First, it was his arms.

Fingernails dug into skin, tearing through flesh like paper.

Blood flowed.

Then his chest—

He clawed deeper, ripping muscle, scraping bone.

There was no scream, no flinch—

Only that same, empty gaze, as if his soul had been sucked into the fog and something else was puppeteering the body.

Then—

He thrust both hands into his stomach.

Splrch.

Fingers dived in, pulling out intestines like ribbons. One hand reached up, toward his ribs, and began tearing them open.

Then, the final horror.

His eyes.

Without hesitation—

He pressed his thumbs into his own eye sockets, digging with sickening crunches, until he ripped them out.

They dangled from tendons for a moment before sliding down his cheeks like weeping pearls of blood.

Max didn't blink.

Didn't flinch.

But his insides turned cold.

He instantly understood—

'His Soul Palace has fallen.'

That man wasn't "mad."

He wasn't "possessed."

He was emptied out.

Something had invaded his soul, cut the strings that tied mind to flesh, and was now using his body like a toy.

A dying, bleeding, twitching marionette.

"Max, front left! Break out there!"

Blob's voice hit like thunder—fast, sharp, full of urgency.

"I know what we've met! This is no ordinary trap. It's a soul-reaping illusion field formed by an ancient cursed Bone Frame! If you stay—you'll be shredded from the inside out!"

Max didn't hesitate.

Not for a second.

In the blink of an eye, his body exploded with aura.

Not a soft rise—

An eruption.

Fusion State Aura — 50%.

No holding back.

No pacing.

His body became a whirlpool of raw power, every nerve screaming with intensity.

58 Draconic Essences ignited all at once—

Flooding his limbs, his mind, his soul, surging through his meridians like molten fire.

His muscles swelled.

Bones hardened.

Eyes blazed with pitch-black lightning.

He pulled the black sword from his back, its surface already glowing with black flames.

Then—

"Point Blink."

The second move of the Voidborne Edge: Sevenfold Sword Technique.

A blink forward.

No buildup.

No warning.

Just pure, brutal velocity—

His body becoming a black meteor, compressed into a streak of shadow.

He slammed into the fog on the front-left—

And it was like hitting a glass wall hidden inside water.

The air shrieked.

Space rippled.

Crack.

Then—

BOOOOM.

The fog tore open.

Like a ripped veil.

Like shredded silk soaked in death.

The illusion shattered.

The soul-charming field screamed in protest, a haunting echo rushing outward.

Max shot forward—crossing 10,000 feet in an instant.

No resistance.

No hesitation.

He didn't look back.

He kept moving, letting the rush of his aura devour the space ahead, cutting a path of survival through death.

From the rear, Old Man Grey's eyes widened—then glinted with recognition.

"RUN AWAY TOGETHER!" he bellowed, voice thunderous.

"THAT BOY FOUND A WAY OUT! FOLLOW HIM!"

His crescent sickle flared to life.

The old man moved—

Vital essence surging as he raced through the rip in the fog Max had created.

The remaining geniuses didn't need to be told twice.

Those who had survived the siren song, those who still had enough clarity of mind, rushed after Max like men chasing the edge of a cliff before the world collapsed.

Amara followed, her eyes icy and focused.

Others scrambled in panic, hands glowing, weapons drawn.

Some stumbled.

Some ran blindly.

But all followed the path Max had carved out—

The only path not leading to death.

Behind them, the fog howled.

The singing didn't stop—

But it warped.

Twisted.

Now it was no longer sweet, no longer sorrowful.

Now it was hungry.

"Why run, little friends…"

"We were having so much fun…"

The voice cracked, as if grating against stone.

Like bones being ground underfoot.

But—

Max didn't stop.

Not for the screams.

Not for the sound of bones cracking behind him.

Not even for the deadly fog snapping at his heels like the jaws of a starving beast.

He kept moving.

Every single movement skills he had—

Dash, Super Dash, Phantom Dash, One Step Dash, Blink Dash—

Each one erupted in layered bursts.

Lightning Steps wrapped around his legs, sparking with flickers of purple-white light, as if thunder itself guided his every stride.

He wasn't just fast.

He was untouchable.

"Now—right side! 300 feet! Strike with everything you have!"

Blob's voice didn't waver.

Urgent. Calculated.

Max didn't question.

Didn't slow.

He rotated his body mid-air like a shadow spun by lightning, poured Fusion State Aura into his blade again, and launched his technique:

"Point Blink."

CRACK—BOOOOM.

A sound like a cosmic eggshell breaking echoed through the dark.

Something unseen—some invisible wall of nightmare and illusion—

Shattered beneath the force of his sword.

Max tore through the breach like a comet, body wrapped in streaks of lightning and black aura, and burst out the other side.

The fog instantly thinned.

From black to gray.

From choking to breathable.

Above—

Stars.

Dim, but visible.

And in this place, that meant everything.

Max skidded to a halt 10 miles out, his feet cracking stone, his lungs burning.

But he didn't relax.

Not fully.

Not yet.