The oppressive humidity of Floor 17 clung to Zamasu like a second skin as he navigated the treacherous path toward the descent. The air was thick and wet, coating his skin and clothing with a persistent dampness that refused to lift.
Gradually, the constant roar of the Great Falls began to fade behind him, replaced by a different sound—the slow, echoing drip of water. It echoed through a colossal tunnel ahead, a passage so wide and dark it seemed to swallow all light.
The temperature dropped as he entered. Though cooler than before, the air was dense with the sharp, mineral scent of wet stone and ancient earth, as if the tunnel had not been disturbed for centuries.
Glowing patches of moss clung to the walls, far sparser than they had been on the previous floor. Their dim, green light stretched long shadows across the uneven stone, distorting shapes and giving the space an eerie atmosphere.
It felt less like a tunnel and more like the gullet of some enormous, primordial beast—ancient, alive, and waiting.
His boots—mythril-capped and still gleaming with unnatural resilience against the damp—crunched over loose scree and sank slightly into patches of algae-slick mud.
He paused beside a larger cluster of glowing moss, its faint blue-green light offering just enough illumination. His gaze dropped.
The white pants, bore the grime of the Dungeon. Mud streaked them from knee to ankle, while higher up, dark rust-brown stains revealed where monster blood had soaked through—some still tacky, others dried stiff.
A fine layer of dust, pale as powdered bone, dulled the fabric to a grubby grey.
Even the once-vibrant crimson sash at his waist hadn't escaped. Saturated from mist and exertion, its rich red had deepened almost to black in places.
Blood—both fresh and old—streaked across it, and dust clung stubbornly to the damp fibers.
His hands rose, fingers brushing the cool surface of his mythril bracers. At least these had withstood the Dungeon's grime.
But even mythril wasn't invincible.
Hairline fractures spread across the surface of the left bracer, radiating from a point near his wrist.
The right bracer showed similar, though less severe, stress lines near the elbow. They hadn't compromised the armor's integrity yet, but the damage was there.
His mythril greaves, protecting his shins, fared slightly better. Though scuffed and marked by a few shallow scratches, they remained structurally sound. Still, the signs were clear: even enchanted metal had its limits.
A sigh, barely audible over the steady drip of water, escaped Zamasu's lips. It wasn't frustration, nor true annoyance—just a flicker of resigned understanding.
'These outfits don't have the dirt resistance my toga had,' he mused.
Zamasu stepped out onto a broad, natural stone ledge.
Before him stretched an abyss that stole the breath. It was the source of the deep thrumming—the Great Fall of Floor 17, plunging endlessly into the depths below.
The ledge marked the top of a truly colossal vertical shaft, its walls curving outward and away into shadow. Looking down felt like peering into the throat of the world itself—vast, ancient, and unknowable.
Mist drifted in slow, spiraling vortices, obscuring the shaft's true depth.
But far, far below, barely visible through the haze, something shimmered faintly. A glint of silver, irregular and shifting.
A lake. Still and immense, it waited at the terminus of the titanic cascade—Floor 18's hidden heart.
He stood at the edge, toes brushing the precipice, as the updraft howled around him. The roar of the falls was immense—more than sound, it was a pressure that vibrated through his bones and filled his chest.
He calculated the drop. Thousands of feet, easily.
Survival wasn't in question. His immortality and strength would endure the fall.
The impact with the water below wouldn't kill him—but it wouldn't be painless either.
It would be like slamming into concrete at terminal velocity. The water might slow him—slightly—if it was deep enough, but the force would still be punishing.
Pain. The concept wasn't foreign to him or anyone else. He remembered it well from his first life.
Back then, pain had come from simple things: falling on stone, scraping flesh, breaking a bone during careless play.
He could still recall the sharp snap of a fractured wrist after tumbling from a tree, the helplessness that followed, the raw sting.
Since then, pain had taken many forms. But this… this would be something else entirely. A single, crushing moment of pure, unfiltered trauma.
Was it necessary? Likely not. Was it reckless? Certainly. Yet, as he stood at the edge and looked down into the churning mist, a cold clarity settled in.
The only way forward was down.
A grim determination hardened his features. He took a single step back, then launched himself forward with powerful legs, not upwards, but out.
For a heartbeat, he hovered—suspended in silence—as the ledge vanished above him. The roar of the falls gave way to a different sound: the rising howl of wind tearing past his ears.
Then gravity claimed him.
He fell.
The shimmering patch of water below expanded rapidly, transforming from a distant glint to a vast, roiling expanse.
Then—
Impact.
There was no warning. No build-up. One instant, the air screamed past him. The next, everything exploded.
It was like being struck across every inch of his body by a mountain traveling at lightspeed. The shock was total. Blinding.
Agony roared through his nerves like wildfire. His lungs emptied in a single, violent burst. Vision fractured—white, black, then starbursts of pulsing pain.
The sound of the falls was instantly muffled, replaced by a profound, crushing silence and pressure.
Darkness enveloped him, cold water flooding his nose and mouth. The pain was all-consuming, a white-hot fire in his bones, a crushing weight on his chest.
For a fraction of a second, consciousness flickered, battered by the sheer violence of the impact.
Saiyan cells, infused with god ki roared to life.
Regeneration, already a potent force within him, surged like a tsunami against the tide of damage. Broken capillaries sealed.
Bruised muscles flushed with healing energy. Micro-fractures in his dense bones began knitting at a visible, almost audible rate.
He forced his eyes open against the sting of the water.
It was dim—but not dark. A soft, ethereal blue-green glow suffused the depths, casting everything in a dreamlike haze.
The light came from below, radiating faintly from the lakebed itself and from vast, drifting shapes that floated through the water like spirits.
It was beautiful. Serene.
Kicking weakly at first, Zamasu began to ascend—fighting both the resistance of the water and the lingering stiffness in his limbs.
Each movement sent echoes of pain through his frame, but his body had already healed.
The damage, once disastrous, was now little more than memory.
The crushing weight on his chest began to fade as his lungs, no longer filled with water, reinflated. He exhaled in a stream of bubbles, purging the last remnants of the lake from his system.
Then—
He broke the surface.
The sound of the Great Fall distant but ever-present.
He treaded water, the massive lake stretching around him.
The mist that had plagued Floor 17 was gone, replaced by clear air, warm and thick with the scent of damp earth, growing things, and something floral.
He turned, looking towards the shore.
The sight that greeted him stole even Zamasu's focused breath.
Floor 18.
It wasn't just a cavern—it was a world.
A vast, subterranean paradise bathed in soft, blue-green light that touched everything. The ceiling, impossibly distant, arched overhead like a sky of stone, a firmament shaped by time and wonder.
Massive stalactites—larger than ancient towers—hung like petrified waterfalls from above. But it was the crystals that stole the breath.
Enormous geodes, some the size of hills, jutted from the ceiling and upper walls. Unlike the jagged quartz of the upper floors, these were smooth, elegant, and multifaceted—amethyst, celestite, aquamarine. Each pulsed with a gentle, internal luminescence.
Their light refracted through the crystalline air, casting slow-moving waves of violet, blue, and green across the landscape.
The lake was enormous, its distant shores curving away beneath the ever-present glow.
The water around him was warm, almost bath-like, and astonishingly clear. He could see straight down to the sandy, glowing bottom, where smooth, colorful stones and patches of luminous aquatic moss lay scattered like underwater constellations.
Beyond the shoreline, forests rose in a lush sprawl.
These were not the sparse, fungal growths of the upper floors, but dense, vibrant ecosystems.
Towering Glowcap Trees loomed above all—trunks gnarled and thick like ancient oaks, but coated in velvety moss that glowed with a constant, gentle green light.
The air hummed—not with tension, but with life.
The clicks and chirps of unseen insects created a layered, rhythmic chorus.
The air was warm, tropical. The humidity clung to the skin, but it was clean—alive. It smelled of rich soil, fertile rot, and the faint, sweet perfume of blooming flowers hidden in the glowing thickets.
It was breathtaking.
Chapter 31 end
Do not pay attention to the overly descriptiveness of this chapter, it's what I like to do when my mc is first going somewhere.