002 Language Barrier


    The normal skeletons? Yeah, I decided to call them Normies.


    As for the one on fire, well… Skully sounded about right.


    Hey, it wasn’t my fault I had a bad naming sense.


    Skully, unfortunately, seemed very unhappy with my presence. His jaw clacked aggressively as he waved his bony hands around like a very angry Italian, complete with exaggerated gestures that made him look like he was about to flip a table.


    "Yeah, yeah, I get it," I muttered, crossing my arms. "You''re pissed. But buddy, I have no idea what you''re saying."


    He didn’t seem to appreciate my lack of reaction. If anything, my indifference only made him angrier. His blue flames flared higher, casting eerie shadows on the cathedral walls.


    Then, suddenly, his temper snapped.


    With a dramatic swipe of his arm, he summoned a giant fireball the size of his own skull.


    Huh.


    I tilted my head, watching as the swirling mass of blue flames crackled ominously in his hand.


    "You gonna throw that?" I asked.


    He threw it.


    And I just… didn’t care.


    Honestly? Annihilate me. I should be dead already, anyway. Give me peace. I’d prefer being nothing than suffering a probable hell.


    I didn’t flinch. Didn’t brace for impact.


    And then the fireball hit me.


    Or rather, it didn’t.


    It phased right through my chest, passing harmlessly like I was made of air.


    "Huh?"


    Skully froze.


    He slowly lowered his still-burning hand, staring at me in awkward silence.


    I stared back.


    "Uh…" I scratched the back of my head. "Tough luck?"


    Skully wasn’t done.


    After the fireball fiasco, he raised a bony finger toward me, flames flickering wildly around him. His eye sockets burned brighter as crackling blue lightning sparked at his fingertips.


    Oh boy.


    Before I could even blink, he hurled the lightning straight at me—except, uh, his aim wasn’t great.


    ZAP!


    A nearby Normie took the hit instead, convulsing violently before collapsing into a smoldering heap of bones.


    Skully paused. I paused. The remaining Normies also paused, all of us processing the skeleton-on-skeleton violence that had just occurred.


    "Uh," I said, pointing at the fried remains. "You missed."


    Skully ignored me. Instead, he raised both hands, his bony fingers twisting in intricate motions. A spectral hand—shadowy, malevolent—appeared out of nowhere and reached for me.


    Okay, that looked creepy.


    I expected it to feel awful. Maybe soul-wrenching agony? Maybe instant death?


    Instead…


    It tickled.


    And not in a bad way.


    "Oh. Oh wow," I mumbled as a weirdly pleasant sensation washed over me. "This is… kinda nice?"


    Skully immediately dispelled the hand as if I had personally offended him. His flames flared brighter, his jaw clacking rapidly in what I could only assume was sheer frustration.


    Then, he tried again—this time, a sickly green ray shot out from his hand, its eerie glow making the surrounding shadows dance.


    It passed through me without a trace.


    I sighed. "You’re really trying, huh?"


    Skully didn’t answer, because at this point, I was pretty sure he was entering some kind of magical tantrum phase. He whirled toward the Normies, barked something in his spooky, unintelligible language, and gestured at me like, "Get him!"


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    The Normies hesitated.


    "Uh-oh," I muttered.


    Then, swords were drawn.


    Rusty. Dull. Some looked more like glorified butter knives than actual weapons.


    The Normies charged at me—swinging, stabbing, flailing.


    And, uh… it didn’t go well for them.


    Since I was apparently untouchable, their swords simply phased through me and hit each other instead.


    Bones went flying. Two skeletons lost their skulls. Another tripped on its own femur. One unfortunate Normie got stabbed right through the ribcage by his buddy.


    By the time the dust settled, about half of them were reduced to scrap piles.


    Skully stared at his own forces.


    I stared too.


    "Wow," I said, nodding in approval. "Solid teamwork."


    Skully growled (or at least, made a very angry rattling noise) before storming off toward the cathedral’s massive doors.


    I watched as he disappeared inside, wondering if he’d finally given up. Maybe he was reporting me to his skeleton manager. Maybe he was grabbing a bigger weapon.


    I wasn’t expecting him to come back out holding a tiny glass vial.


    Okay. That was new.


    Before I could react, he uncorked it and flung the liquid right at me.


    I felt a few droplets land on my face.


    Nothing.


    The sensation was identical to being hit with regular water.


    I wiped my cheek and sniffed. No smell. Just… water? It was weird enough that I could interact with it. But then I heard a faint whoosh beside me.


    I turned my head just in time to see three Normies disintegrate into ash where the liquid had splashed on them.


    Oh.


    Oh damn.


    I looked at Skully. Looked at the pile of ex-skeletons beside me. Looked at the vial still clutched in his bony fingers.


    "...Was that holy water?"


    I honestly couldn’t tell.


    Skully, meanwhile, just stared at me, completely motionless.


    Now, what would a skeleton suffering a mental breakdown look like?


    This.


    Skully, unable to process the absolute failure of all his death magic, decided the best course of action was to blast everything in sight.


    He turned away from me and started hurling fireballs at trees, lightning at boulders, and just randomly cursing at the sky in his spooky, unintelligible language.


    One particularly large tree exploded into splinters. A nearby boulder? Reduced to pebbles.


    At one point, he even turned toward me and gave me the middle finger.


    That’s when it hit me.


    The middle finger might actually be a universal language for insults.


    Or… or what if it wasn’t?


    What if it was a skeleton gesture of respect? A sacred, honorable sign of acknowledgment? What were the chances that Skully had just offered me his friendship in the form of a raised bony middle digit?


    ...Nah. He was definitely flipping me off.


    "Hey, it’s okay," I told him, watching as he incinerated yet another boulder. "Life’s hard. Or, well, death’s hard. I get it."


    Skully responded by snarling and throwing a lightning bolt at a completely innocent tree.


    I sighed and crossed my arms. "Look, I’m sure everything will be fine. Who knows? Maybe we can be friends."


    Skully stopped, slowly turning to glare at me. His blue flames flickered violently, as if personally offended by my suggestion.


    I held up my hands. "I’m just saying, you’re free to keep trying to kill me. Seriously. No hard feelings. In fact, I’d actually appreciate it if you figured out a way."


    Because, let’s be real, I should not be here. I should have been dead-dead. Not stuck in a skeleton-infested afterlife.


    Skully just kept staring at me.


    Over time, Skully and I settled into a routine.


    See, ghosts and walking skeletons didn’t exactly need sleep. That meant our afterlife activities were wide open.


    Skully’s schedule was surprisingly consistent:


    <ol>


    <li>Read books(which was weird because he had no eyeballs).</li>


    <li>Hurl random magic at things(usually the same poor trees and boulders).</li>


    <li>Talk to himself(full-on monologues, hand gestures included).</li>


    <li>Cuss at me(even though he knew I didn’t understand).</li>


    </ol>


    It was nice. In a completely absurd and tragic kind of way.


    As for me? I did the only thing I could do—I stuck around Skully, listening to him mutter and curse, hoping to piece together his language.


    Hey, I had an eternity to learn, right?


    …Or at least, a probable eternity.


    I was certain his language was nothing I’d ever heard before. It was neither English nor Russian. It wasn’t Latin. It wasn’t Spanish. It wasn’t even remotely close to Filipino or any dialect I knew. But that just made it more exciting—something new, something unknown.


    And honestly? Not worrying about bills the next day? That was a win.


    I mean, sure, I was dead, but at least I wasn’t dealing with job interviews, rent, or my family nagging me about “real-world responsibilities.” Silver linings, right?


    Besides, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do.


    As it turned out, the afterlife was boring as hell.


    At first, being a ghost was kind of cool—no responsibilities, no deadlines, no rent. But after a few days? It got old. Fast.


    I needed to entertain myself.


    So, I started experimenting with my ghostly physiology.


    Ghost Log #1 – What Even Am I?


    I’d learned a lot from my parents about ghosts—mostly because they were obsessed with that stuff. According to them:


    <ol>


    <li>Ghosts go insane over time as they degrade.</li>


    <li>Ghosts are weak to daylight, though not as bad as vampires.</li>


    </ol>


    But guess what? None of that applied to me.


    No mental breakdowns. No fear of the sun. Still ugly as ever, but that was unrelated.


    Ghost Log #2 – I Have (Lame) Powers


    After some trial and error, I made some discoveries:


    ? Telekinesis – Weak. Like, "nudge a rock an inch" weak. But hey, practice makes perfect.


    ? Flight – It was more like floating, but close enough.


    ? Phasing Through Walls – Absolutely as fun as it sounds.


    And then I had a thought—what if I could push this further? What if I could defy all logic and become something insane?


    I got a little hyped, imagining myself as some superpowered ghost hero.


    Hah~! Yeah, right.


    I tried to recall every horror movie, every supernatural gossip, and every piece of folklore I’d ever heard, just to figure out what kind of powers I might have.


    Teleportation? Possible.


    Electrokinesis? Also possible.


    Pyrokinesis? Just as possible.


    Possession? Definitely.


    It was at that moment I realized just how truly overpowered ghost lore was.


    Like, no wonder Mom and Dad never considered ghost hunting as a career. If ghosts were really this broken, then fighting them would be a terrible idea. No holy water or salt circles were going to stop a being that could fly, phase, control objects, and potentially fry your brain from the inside out.


    Instead, my parents took the scam route—Mom the Mangkukulam, Dad the Albularyo. Not that they were legit. They mostly peddled miracle cures and questionable potions, but I guess people paid for that kind of thing.


    Still, despite all the nonsense, a small part of me... kind of missed them. And yet, another part of me was glad to be free from their weird rituals and expectations.


    I sighed. Being dead was complicated.


    Anyways…


    Why was Skully packing his stuff?