Between Floor 15 and 20
He didn't look back.
Not at the fading beast. Not at the ruined throne room. Just stepped through the open gate—body cracked, blood-stained, bones groaning under the weight of each breath.
The system didn't speak again.
It didn't need to.
He knew the next fights would only get worse.
Floor 16
The floor was nothing but mist. No walls. No ceiling. No visible floor.
Just mist and whispering shadows.
They moved when he moved. Copied his steps. Echoed his stance.
Then attacked.
Each shadow took his shape.
Not his face—his aura. His power. His style.
One after the other, he killed them.
Not cleanly. Not fast.
But he didn't fall.
The last one shattered in his grip, spine cracking like glass. He stood in silence as the floor bled darkness and the next gate opened without a word.
Floor 17
It was hot.
Not fire. Not lava.
Heat from pressure.
The moment he stepped in, the weight hit him.
Crushed him.
A planetary force.
