Catgirls And Dungeons (Yuri)

"WAIT—WAIT A MINUTE!" I scream, my voice cracking as my brain claws to keep up with the sheer lunacy shredding the world before me. "ISN'T THIS JUST DI VENTARIA SWORD STYLE… BUT DOUBLE?!"

"NYAHAHAHA! FUCK YES!" Princess Felicia roars, her laugh a jagged, feral explosion. Her eyes blaze—twin infernos of madness, sharp as shattered glass, wild as a storm breaking free. She spins. She slashes. She thrusts. She cuts. She tears through the horde like a living tempest, a whirlwind of steel and bloodlust given flesh.

And through our shared eyes, I watch in awe and terror, as the carnage unfold.

If the Di Ventaria Sword Waltz was a graceful dance of silk and steel, this Chaos Tempest is a meat grinder's anthem! The movements, the techniques, the slashes and the power that fueling these things are all raw, unhinged, a symphony of destruction so vicious it's beautiful.

Yet, there's still rhythm in the chaos, a brutal cadence driving every move. She's a storm given flesh, and I'm caught in its bloody wake.

—————

Felicia starts low, crouching like a predator, then erupts. Her twin blades lash out in a synchronized arc. SHRAAAK!—slicing cleanly through two zombies at chest height. Their ribcages burst open, spewing ropes of black guts and splintered bone as their upper halves topple backward, legs still twitching.

She pivots instantly, right blade thrusting forward—SPLURCH!—impaling a skeleton through its mana core inside its rib cage. It detonates in a crimson flash, shards of bone spraying like shrapnel as she yanks the blade free, already spinning.

Her left sword then swings upward in a vicious diagonal—KRRSSHH!—cleaving a zombie from hip to shoulder. Its torso peels apart, organs slopping out in a wet cascade, painting the ground in a glistening smear.

Without pause, she leaps, twisting midair—both blades cross overhead in an X and slashes down towards another zombie. SPLURCH! The impact splits it down the middle, brainpan to pelvis, its halves collapsing.

A trio of zombies lurch in, claws slashing.

Felicia doesn't flinch—she dances forward, right blade whipping in a horizontal blur—VZRRRT!—decapitating the first, its head spinning off in a fountain of gore. Then, with momentum, her left blade follows, plunging straight through the second's chest—CRUNCH!—ripping out sideways in a spray of shredded lungs and splintered ribs. The third lunges; she sidesteps, spins, and drives both swords downward in a savage double-thrust—SHUNK!—pinning it to the earth. Its body convulses, splitting apart as she twists the blades and rips them free, blood jetting like a geyser.

And just like that, in moments, the battlefield has become a slaughterhouse, with corpses pile up in steaming heaps, severed heads roll, guts coil across the stones like grotesque snakes. Blood pools thick and black, skeletons shatter into bone-dust clouds, and the air reeks of iron and rot.

And yet, they just.

Keep.

Coming.

They just keep coming.

Zombies. skeletons, there's even ghouls in rusted armor.

They don't just advance—they erupt, stepping over one another, pushing, trampling on one another as they charge, surging in like a tidal wave of rot and bone, crashing again and again against the storm that is Princess Felicia.

But the more they come, the more she dances, and the more she fights, the more feral and madness her dance becomes!

Her blades blur—so fast they leave afterimages, like echoes of light.

Her feet glide so quickly, it's like she's not even touching the ground.

Like she's lightning.

VZRRRT! VZRRRT!

Her swords now sing with every strike, shrieking with joy and death, as this mad princess is giggling, howling, completely overtaken by the thrill!

And somehow…

Despite the madness, despite the carnage, despite the chaos...

It's still utterly breathtaking.

It's still mesmerizing to see for some incomprehensible reason.

—————-

And so, through the swirling maelstrom of gore and ruin—after Felicia obliterates hundreds of undead with her Chaos Tempest Sword Style—it hits me.

A flicker of clarity pierces the madness.

Finally, and slowly, I see it. I understand.

The hidden formula, the brutal genius of how this sword style works.

Turns out, those wild, batshit-crazy, utterly unhinged maneuvers she's unleashing—they're not random moves, or anything new, but the Di Ventaria Sword Style at their root!

That same elegant, breathtaking dance of blades, once tethered by rigid grace, now laid bare, its shackles smashed, its essence reborn.

The original thirteen moves have evolved, splintered into countless variants, many nameless, and yet, each one surging with more raw destruction than the original version!

"Hoh?" Felicia's grin flashes, wicked and sharp, her twin blades spinning in her hands like extensions of her feral soul. Her eyes gleam with dark amusement, catching the blinding glow of mana cores bursting around her. "You're sharper than I thought, little one."

"Nn!" I reply, still breathless, still trying to piece my mind back together.

But now, I get it.

This—this madness, this chaos—is the perfect example of that one phrase I've heard before:

"Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist."

Yeah. That.

Exactly that.

Form doesn't have to be some stiff, ceremonial dance—it can be wild.

Wild like a goddamn inferno.

And yet still flow like a river.

Still carry meaning, rhythm, precision beneath the mayhem.

For example…

Her footwork, her movement…

Even though they're fast and seem so random—nope, every single move is still heavily calculated, still precise as hell but dripping with so much crazy creativity it's unreal.

Oh god… My brain's melting right now, witnessing this Chaos Tempest unfold.

It's absolutely insane, filled with contradictions, but it's still so damn theatrical my brain's exploding with so much orgasmic hype I could bust right here!

"Nyaa! NYAAHAHAA!" Felicia's laughing her ass off, and damn it, my soul's laughing too, vibrating like a maniac!

This! This is true liberation!

A true upgrade!

No, a goddamn ascension!

"As you can see," she smiles, grinning wide as she carves through undead like they're just weeds, "Chaos Tempest is mine—my personal twist, forged from my family's ancient swordcraft.

"And then, after years of trial, years of blood—I perfected it.

"Chaos breeds order, order breeds chaos.

"Freedom isn't breaking tradition—it's about twisting those traditions it into something new.

"Elegant when I damn well please, savage when I crave it.

"There are still rules, but they are my own damn rules.

"Hey, isn't this Just like me?

"A princess cursed by fate, but blessed to do whatever the fuck I want?

"HAHA! YES! THIS IS ME! FELICIA AURELIA DI VENTARIA! THE BERSERK ER PRINCESS! THE INCARNATION OF MADNESS!

"THIS IS WHO I TRULY AM!"

….

And as she finish that, she has already infused more demonic energy into her blades!

The air crackles. The swords tremble, vibrating so violently it feels like they're alive.

Building up…

More and more…

The heat swells, rising through the hilt, sizzling through my grip. Both blades begin to glow—a furious red-orange, like molten iron fresh from the forge.

Smoke hisses from the edges, trailing like dark silk.

"Oii…

Oii!!!"

Our heart is thumping, to the point it starts hurting.

I can feel our mana core going wild.

Is this.. a sign of something?

Does this mean… there's an ultimate move I'm going to see?

And then—

"NYAHAHAHA!!"

Felicia's laughter bursts out—wild, unhinged, echoing across the battlefield like a war cry torn straight from the mouth of hell. It howls through the chaos, riding the winds of carnage.

And then comes the move.

"Chaos Tempest— Crimson

"APOCALYPSE!!"

She spins, both blades blur into a cyclone of steel—twin whirlwinds whirling with impossible speed!

And from those blades—

SCHWEEING! SCHWEEING! SCHWEEING!

A storm of red-hot arcs erupts from her spinning form, slicing outward in every direction like a flower of death unfurling!

Hundreds..

Thousands of arcs!

The arcs travels through the air, passes through Zombies and skeleton and buildings alike!

…

However…

Nothing happens.

No blood. No screams. No collapse.

The undead keep coming, unfazed—unstopped.

…

"WHAT???"

I'm confused.

Such a flashy move… and yet… nothing happened?

All that flash… all that fury… and nothing?!

The enemies are still coming—closer now, just meters away. Their moans echo louder, flesh and bone nearly within reach.

But just when I start to get panic.

Felicia smirks—a wicked, knowing flash of teeth.

"Boom," she whispers.

And then…

BOOOOOM!

The world explodes!

Every enemy in her radius detonates!

Zombies burst into fountains of gore—heads popping like overripe fruit, guts spraying in sticky arcs, limbs tumbling through the air. Skeletons shatter into storms of bone shrapnel, mana cores igniting in crimson blasts.

Meanwhile, buildings and towers buckle and crumble, stone and wood splintering under the onslaught, collapsing into rubble with deafening roars.

And as I watch all this, only one thought crashes through the chaos:

Holy fuck.

Now I get it.

Now I understand why she named it that.

Crimson Apocalypse.

Because that's exactly what this is.

It's not a battle—it's a goddamn extinction event.

An end-of-the-world, nothing-left-standing kind of moment.

An entire army, erased in a heartbeat.

And at the center of it all…

Felicia stands tall—still laughing, still feral—twin blades crackling, disintegrating in her hands like burning paper.

Her eyes are wild with bloodlust and triumph.

Then—

When the climax winds down…

She bows.

A slow, elegant flourish, like a performer at the end of her magnum opus.

A war goddess, acknowledging her audience.

Splatter. Splatter.

Sploosh. Splat.

Blood and guts and bones and unknown chunks of rotten flesh rains down like confetti from heavens above.

And I— I'm speechless.

Felicia then straightens, flashing a fanged grin through the haze.

"So, want to learn this?" she asks, brushing blood from her cheek with the back of her hand.