Catgirls And Dungeons (Yuri)

And just like that, with a single sentence, the god shattered our illusion of victory.

Another trial.

Another test.

The words hit harder than any blade.

The chamber fell into a suffocating silence because of that devastating betrayal, disbelief rippled through the survivors like a cold wind, sharp and unforgiving. We had barely made it through the ninth trial. Barely. Thousands had died—torn to pieces, crushed into pulp, swallowed whole by unspeakable horrors.

We had screamed.

We had bled.

We had clawed through the bowels of hell, inch by inch, breath by breath.

And now… he wanted more?

A voice broke the silence, desperate and frantic, shaking.

"But—My god! You said there would only be nine trials!"

The god's smile twisted into something darker, crueler. His eyes sparkled with vicious amusement, like a child watching ants struggle under glass.

"I said," he intoned, his voice curling through the throne room like smoke, "complete the nine trials. Entertain me. And I will release you from punishment for your crimes—trespass, theft, sacrilege. That was the deal."

"But why?!" the man cried, almost sobbing. "We fought with everything! We gave everything! Our blood, our lives—wasn't it enough?! Are you not entertained?!"

The god's smile vanished.

He narrowed his eyes, his expression turned serious, eyes blazing.

"You dare question me, mortal?"

BOOM!

It wasn't just sound—it was force.

A thunderous shockwave of divine wrath, compressing the air into a weapon.

The man didn't just fall—he was slammed into the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. The marble cracked beneath him, spiderwebs of white racing out from the crater his body made.

And then it hit all of us.

Pressure.

Unseen, unstoppable, absolute.

We dropped like stones.

Every single one of us fell, flattened to the floor by the sheer weight of his displeasure. My cheek ground against the cold marble. My ribs screamed. I couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't even think past the crushing grip that pinned us down.

It was like the air had turned to iron.

We grovelled. Not out of reverence, but because we had no choice.

The joy we'd felt just moments ago—burned away, like paper in flame.

All that was left was dread.

Raw, suffocating dread.

My heart pounded so violently I could hear it in my skull. My jaw locked so tight I thought I'd break a tooth. The silence stretched, taut and breathless.

And in that silence, I realized something:

We were not free.

Not yet.

Not even close!

Fuck…

After everything—is this how we die?

After all the blood, all the agony, all the defiance and the desperate will to survive… was it meaningless?

My teeth clenched, grinding as rage rose like bile in my throat.

Then why?

Why did we fight?

Why did we suffer?

What was the point of enduring hell if this was the end?

And then—

"However," the god said, his tone suddenly light, almost playful, "I do keep my promises."

He snapped his fingers.

Just like that, the pressure vanished.

Gone—like fog chased away by sunlight.

We gasped for breath as the crushing weight lifted off our backs. My body sagged, trembling. The silence broke, replaced by the sound of panting, sobbing, choking relief.

And then we saw it.

At the far end of the throne chamber, behind us…

It appeared.

A portal.

A shimmering vortex of silver and gold, spiraling with otherworldly light.

The exit.

The way out of this cursed realm.

The gate back to our world.

Gasps rose all around me. A collective, choked sound of hope rediscovered. For a heartbeat, no one could look away from it. That swirling light was salvation, and it was right there, so close…

My legs almost moved on their own. Every instinct screamed to run, to escape this madness once and for all. I wanted to bolt toward that light, fall into it, vanish from this nightmare.

And I wasn't alone. The same thought, the same wild hunger, was written on every face.

But still…

No one moved.

Not yet.

Because the god still sat upon his throne of gold. His smile, carved from divinity and malice, hadn't faded..

None of us dared make the first move—not without his word.

The silence dragged. It was tense, utterly suffocating.

And then, his voice rang out once more, deep and amused.

"What's wrong? Not eager to go home anymore?"

—---------------

It took nearly a full minute before anyone dared to move.

And then—finally—someone rose.

A hulking Furren warrior, shaped like a bear and clad in gleaming armor, stepped forward. His fur was dark, flecked with ash and blood, his gleaming plate armor gilded in gold and studded with runes that still hummed with lingering power. A massive golden axe hung across his back, each footstep ringing heavy against the marble as he approached the throne.

He bowed low, one clawed paw pressed to his chest, head lowered in reverence.

"Thank you… O Divine One," he said, voice shaking just enough to betray the storm beneath his calm. "For your generosity… and your benevolence. C-Can I truly… leave now?"

The god looked down at him from atop his radiant throne. His smile remained, unreadable.

"Of course," he replied, as if it were the simplest truth in the world.

A collective exhale rippled through the chamber like a wave of wind. Some gasped. Others sobbed, or crumpled to their knees, overwhelmed by the fragile bloom of hope.

So it was true.

He would let us go.

We exchanged wide-eyed glances.

But none of us followed.

Not yet.

We were still too skeptical—too raw from the last betrayal. What if this was another test? Another trick cloaked in kindness?

No one wanted to be the fool who triggered the god's wrath.

So we waited.

And watched.

The Furren warrior stood tall and turned toward the portal.

He took a step.

Then another.

The sound of his armored boots echoed across the chamber like a drumbeat. Time stretched. Hearts pounded.

Halfway there now.

Closer to the gate than anyone had dared to dream.

No smiting. No divine wrath. No thunder or flame.

Could it be real?

Was he actually going to walk out of here… alive?

Was that all there was to it?

…

Of course, once again…

We were wrong.

"Wha—?!" the warrior froze mid-step, his voice choked with shock.

Gasps erupted around the chamber.

Because now, all of his equipment…

His golden axe shuddered… then began to melt.

Right before our eyes, his armor liquefied, turning into shimmering gold that dripped from his shoulders and pooled at his feet. Even the rings on his fingers disintegrated into golden mist.

Streams of molten treasure snaked across the floor, flowing back toward the throne—back into the waiting hand of the god.

The warrior stumbled, now bare-chested, his wealth stripped away in seconds.

"I said I would let you go," the god said, his tone maddeningly calm. "I never said I would let you walk away with my treasures."

The warrior's mouth hung open.

"A-Are you serious…?"

The god leaned forward slightly on his throne.

"Make a choice," he said. "Surrender now—give up everything you've gained in this realm, and keep nothing but your pathetic lives. Or face the final trial… and emerge glorious."