Kinverse: Volume One

PATH OF THE EMERALD MAIDEN

A naive young monster's tale by Moros, aka KinverseWriter

Legal Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise herein mentioned. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters and events in this story are entirely fictional. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental. This work of fiction contains disturbing content.

Reader discretion is advised.

Description:

A young woman from a pre-neolithic society is accidentally whisked away to another world entirely during a raid on a research lab run by alien invaders. Stranded with no friends, badly injured, and no idea where home even is, she's forced to live off the land and learn how to survive in this strange and hostile world.

There's only one slight problem, though.

She's not trapped in this world with them. They're trapped in this world with her.

Categories:

Adventure, Coming-of-Age, Isekai, Erotica.

Disclaimers:

This story contains sexual elements and disturbing themes. The contents aren't purely intended to be pornographic, but some scenes objectively are. This is about a giant monster that eats people, so reader discretion is advised. This story contains vorarephilic themes.

This story will have a very slow and intermittent pace to begin with. True stakes don't really show up until halfway through, though the build-up is always there in the background. This is ultimately not a story of grand adventure and defeating one's enemies to rise to the top, it is the tale of a lost and naive young woman growing as a person and learning new things. It is a personal one concerning her, and thus this story will be told in present-tense first-person.

Chapter 1: Hunger

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Pain. Hunger. Darkness.

Everything hurts. I can't see anything, even from my night eyes. Why? I blink. There is... nothing. At all.

Emptiness.

It feels like I'm being compressed from all sides... and I can't breathe! Where am I? What's happening!? Everything hurts. Is this what being eaten feels like? Am I going to die?

Suddenly, a vast light grows ahead, and--

PAIN.

Sound.

Sensation. I CAN BREATHE.

I greedily gulp down air, but I still can't move yet. Everything. Hurts. Ow. I didn't even get to kill that tall intruder. Slowly, I blink once more, building up the strength to view my new surroundings.

Around me is a jungle, one filled with plants I do not recognize. Gazing behind me, it's no wonder I hurt all over... I'm laying on my side at the end of a me-sized trench in a clearing of yellowing grass. If not for my carapace absorbing the impact and my having landed on my back, I would be paste.

I take the moment to examine myself. My carapace is dented and bruised, and I have odd burns, reminiscent of wounds left by the dangerous sticks of the outsiders... but I didn't get shot, did I? And certainly not all over. All the bones in my scythes are thoroughly crunched as well, a pain I have never felt so thoroughly before. While my bones and carapace are damaged, all will heal in time.

But I. Need. FOOD.

The pain recedes into a background full-body ache, but my hunger does not. It grows worse, now that I have acknowledged my wounds.

BOOM!

Startling me is a great crack through the air and an impact; an explosion. Further rumbles in the distance continue. Thunder and lightning? On a clear day? This is... not normal. None of this is.

I can smell... something. I don't recognize any of these smells. The trees not only look different, they smell different. The air itself feels... less. As if I were to eat five small prey, but only the sustenance of four ends with me. What is this place? I must find food, or else I will never heal.

I take in my surroundings yet again with all of my senses. I can see thick, lush jungle, although it seems thirsty, the air hot and dry. All around me are thin but tall trees, with many, many branches. The ground is rough and covered in thick foliage, strange plants, and carpeting the floor wherever the sun reaches is beds of needles resembling those of the trees, although longer, and entirely a light green or dying yellow. Grass; I have seen this before in the clearings where the sun reaches the floor. Below the trees exist many types of fern as well, though smaller than at home.

I am in a valley, the sun high overhead. I am unable to tell direction, but I do know it is midday, which is weird because we attacked late at night. Did I pass out and not notice? I don't think so, I must be somewhere else entirely. It is as if the world opened up and swallowed me, before spitting me back out here. Where is my prey? Has it been stolen?!

As before, the world smells weird. Alive, but weird. Already I can sense distant creatures both large and small with my nose and ears both; the winds bringing confusing scents. In the trees, I can hear odd chirping animals. Birds; baby birds, perhaps? But there are few and they are scattered, as if unattended and solitary. Birds are nothing new to me, but never like this. Either I am in the middle of a truly vast nest eclipsing even my brood's, or this is the largest they get.

I do not hear any enormous wing beats whatsoever, so I can only hope that it is the latter.

My scythes hang loose over my shoulders, every step jostling them painfully, but I must carry on. I can smell something small in the brush, not too far away. Can it not smell me? Does it not fear what I am? Perhaps it does not know what I am, as I do not know it?

It is difficult to stealthily creep through this alien jungle, through divot and around thick foliage, but a decade of experience hunting for myself in my home allows me to do so. Were I still a broodling only able to charge through the undergrowth, I would surely starve. How foolish we are, so weak of mind and dependent on Mother to bring us our food, Father to defend us properly.

Ah. No time for musing. Rounding one of these strange thin-tall trees, I see it. There you are, little brown creature. Its fur is a slightly lighter color than my thick carapace. It roots around at the base of a tree different from the majority, gathering small objects before gorging on them. It is unlike anything I have ever seen before. In a way, it reminds me of myself: distending mouth, insatiable hunger, and yet it is so small and weak, without any claws at all. It does not appear to swallow its bounty; perhaps it is a mother?

I am upwind, but it does not seem to matter as it cannot parse my scent. It truly does not recognize what I am, but if it sees me, I have no doubt that it would flee. I could catch it, but if it climbed the tree to escape I do not believe I would be able to climb as I am. Perhaps I could climb after it up the tree it scrounges below, but not one of the tall-thin ones.

I slowly creep closer. It looks up, curious at my scent. But it is too late, little creature. I pounce.

CHOMP.

Gulp.

Barely filling, but it will need to do for now. Time to find more.

---

I meander for hours, sensing out and finding more small creatures, and soon the sun has moved enough for me to identify direction. The valley runs from north to south. Gradually, dark clouds have thickened, and the sky has turned yellow. To the south I see the flames of a growing forest fire. Definitely not going that way, then--even after nature deems it shall end there will be nothing there for me. North it is, along the valley.

It feels good to finally consume once more, after I was denied my reward at the tall intruders' place. My kind take great instinctual pleasure in eating--not only is it necessary in order to live, we must gorge to grow, grow to become strong, become strong to mate and create more of us. It is our way of life, and we enjoy it so very much.

It is efficient to be able to devour these small creatures as I am able to, but I still want to tear my teeth into something larger. If only I was a moment sooner, I would have had its throat! I was ON it! It was mine! But my prey was stolen from me and I will not forgive this. Looking down at my claws, I can see slight beads of red tipping them--my claws having barely begun to sink in. Turning my head and painfully pulling my scythes into the field of view of my main eyes, I see my prey's blood staining the blades from where I had secured it, ready for feeding. Hot anger and frustration flows through me for a moment before I can calm myself.

Now is not the time for petty anger. Food. Perhaps rest later. I must recover from my wounds.

My anger is born of stress. My stress is born of denial of what is mine. I should compensate for this. I need to relax, calm myself. I scent the air, and luckily I come across a trail very close, but a little old. Just one creature, or perhaps many similar. The tracks indicate the former, however. Odd feet, like if I were to ball a foreclaw and press it into the earth.

Time for the true hunt to begin.

I spend hours following this trail, slowly heading up the side of the valley's western slope. Gradually I grow closer to my prey. With my prior intake of food, the pain grows as I begin to heal and my scythes mend. First the shards of bone begin to extricate themselves from muscle, unifying once more. It will take time for this process to finish, and it is far more painful than when I awoke. Egh. I will bear it, it is a necessary pain and there is little I can do beyond rest, but I cannot rest, I must hunt!

My carapace heals slowest, but that is fine. It is my armor, and while it is dented, painful, and burned as if melted, it is not necessary for my survival outside of a brawl. It is wise that my body heal my scythes and my legs first, for how could I hunt otherwise?

Passing by a small spring out of the hillside, I gaze into its surface to observe myself. I see, staring back at me, my face.

My head is long and wedge-shaped with a solid piece of chitin protecting my brain and sloping down to my snout. From the sides peek my four eyes: two on the front and another two at an angle behind the main ones. All have slit pupils, with my sclera being yellow and my pupils green. My night eyes--the ones on the sides--are thin right now due to the sun being out. They allow me to see better in the dark, but in the light they merely extend my field of view to better see approaching threats, although not very well. They're still quite useful.

I smile. My teeth are as sharp and triangular as my head, with four fangs peeking above the rest: two in the front at the top, two in the bottom to match. I retract and extend my teeth. Handy for intact prey. My jaw can stretch to accommodate whatever I need, to a point--about twice what I otherwise could. Useful for the same reason.

I rear up and examine my forelegs and foreclaws. Four toes and a thumb, to better grip the limbs of my enemies or food. Sharp claws tip each of them. I gaze down at my hindlegs. Digitigrade, for better sprinting on all fours as well as pouncing on my prey. Four toes on my feet, each also with a claw: one facing back, three forward, to better grip surfaces.

Balancing carefully, I bring my tail around to grab just before its tip. On the end is a sharp blade, far larger and sharper than my claws.

Drooping over my shoulders are my scythes. Tipping each are blades the same size as the one on my tail. We use these for jabbing into and securing uncooperative prey, and getting in cheeky stabs in brawls. Unfortunately, they're totally pulped right now, appearing more like limp tentacles than limbs with an internal skeletal system.

My carapace is shattered all over, especially on my back, though it is hard to get a good look. I can bend my head down enough to look at my belly, and a bit to the sides, but until I am older and my neck grows longer--as is the norm for females--I will not be able to. I lower myself back down, and continue my journey.

The trail has taken me northwest up and nearing the ridge, through a creek down its slope--where I gladly drink my fill. While walking along a cliff, I turn a corner and spot blurred oranges and reds from my left night-eye. I look.

Flames. Cresting the hills. They've overtaken the valley to my west far more than the one I've just come from, blocked in by the craggy ridges. I should have known something was up; the amount of smoke in the skies has steadily risen.

Hm. Time to pick up the pace. The view is quite nice, but soon it will all be ashes.

This does not stop me from scooping up the occasional still-wriggling critter. I am injured and on the move, thus my metabolism is raised. It would do no good to arrive at food and be too tired to be able to secure it! Although, if other creatures are as weak as the ones I have found so far, perhaps it would not be so difficult?

As if having second thoughts from the danger, the trail veers back north, cutting along the ridge rather than over, before finally descending back down the first valley's slope once more.

Hopping down a small bluff I enter a clearing. The scent is slightly heavier here, my prey having spent time in this place. I do not find a location where it came to rest, it must have grazed here. There are spots where the yellowed grass has been torn off as well, likely eaten. Not even a predator; a prey through and through! At least that first small brown creature I found feasted upon would-be trees. This is a clearing--filled with grass!--the lowest part of the food chain!

Boring. But it will do. I've become hyped up after Mother recognized me as mature and strong enough to risk death warring with the tall intruders and allowed me to prove myself in the great hunts. Hm. No wonder I was so bitter earlier.

Time and scenery pass me by, and with a few hours more I'm finally nearing my prey. Perhaps it is resting? I have since left behind the ridge, and found myself back in the bottom of this strange overgrown valley; just as beautiful, just as green, just as brown, and of course: just as yellow.

The trail continues, as do I.

The scent grows stronger and finally it enters the next stage. I creep closer towards a grassy clearing and there it lies, resting opposite me. I maneuver around and approach from downwind. A good habit to maintain. Breaking through the thickest of the undergrowth and peering in, I observe it. It's closer to the upwind side of the clearing than where I am approaching from, which is perfect. So long as I don't linger for long, staring.

I was right of course: definitely a larger creature. It's actually decently bigger than I am; though where I am longer and lower to the ground, it has long bony legs, a thick neck, and great horns atop its head. While I was right about its size, I was wrong about its strength. As it is seated I am unable to tell its height, though I can see its feet, and it is clear it has no claws. I am able to tell that its mouth does not appear suited to biting at an enemy, and even if it has powerful teeth my carapace would surely stop them. Its horns are impressive and must be its primary--and only--weapon.

I will still have to watch out for those horns. If I am not careful, they may actually be able to break through my carapace! It may be strong, but it does not make me invincible, especially shattered as it is now. Mother's thicker plates would be able to turn them away or at the least lodge them in place.

Its head lifts, revealing an eye on each side gazing vacantly to the forest. Their location is akin to my night eyes, but this creature has no front-facing eyes, so they must not be special like mine are. This, too, is nothing new: there are a few prey creatures back at home with eyes like this, however they are usually larger and stronger than whatever this thing is.

Its ears twitch and its eyes search. I've spent too long observing and considering this creature, and it has scented me. Well, time to earn my dinner; the sun is going down soon.

I maneuver around directly to its rear as stealthily as I can and enter the clearing.

Tactics. Even though it already knows that I am here, tactics are a necessity. Even a moment more before it realizes that it is in grave danger and bolts is just that little bit closer that I am to it. Besides, I am no fool--the horns of this prey are a threat. Years ago, a sister of mine died making the mistake of underestimating a well-placed horn. The distraction did make it easier to fell the beast that ended her, and her flesh was both one less mouth to feed, one less competitor, and part of the bounty of the trip.

The weak are eaten. The strong get stronger.

It is our tradition that the meat of the fallen return to the mother, so that they may be reborn. As sad as it can be, this does mean more prey may go to the brood.

Focusing back on my target, I continue creeping toward it around the occasional burrow or patch of dying flowers. It knows that something is wrong, and turns its head, quickly spotting my approach.

Instantly, it bolts upright, trying to turn to face me, but I pounce! As I dig my claws into its side it lets out a bray and attempts to flee. Too late! I have you! Two lines of slash marks mar its dark brown hide, pouring its blood to the jungle floor. Falling back to all fours, I jump back and assess.

It has completed its turn to me, and has backed up to the edge of the clearing, leaning slightly forward with its head down. A charge, then. Unsurprising. If I was hunting with a sister, now would be a good time for her to burst from the treeline and repeat my attack.

While it has long and thin legs built for running straight, mine are powerful and omnidirectional; multipurpose. It begins its charge, and in return so do I. It lowers its head, and just before it would skewer me, I juke, missing it by a foot as I launch myself far to the left! As it thunders past me it cries in pain, and I turn around to check on my prey once more. A shallow rend from my bladed tail now darkens its side. The wound is suboptimal; I didn't intend to clear it by that much, I'll need to adjust, I only clipped it!

This is a classic technique for dealing with charging prey, at least when performed precisely. The same technique my sister tried and failed, for she misjudged her own speed and took a horn to the collarbone for it, dodging too late or without enough power. The opposite of my mistake, one that carries fatal consequences rather than a missed opportunity.

The beast balks and bleats in a panic and attempts to turn after finishing its charge, but it's too late. While my second strike may not have inflicted much damage, I'll correct for my third.

Turning around for another charge, it builds up momentum but is slightly slower from the pain of all three wounds. If I'm lucky it will stumble or step in one of the many burrows in the clearing's floor. Once more it comes pounding towards me, head down, horns ready, and once more I dodge, this time to the right, leaving a deeper matching slice on this side too.

Rather than turn once more and prepare for a third charge, I continue my own sprint and make for the trees. I have won, and while it has only slowed, I will not risk making stupid mistakes for little gain. This was fun, but... it's not the challenge that I seek. This was refreshing and I did enjoy it but it's not the same as back home. No sense playing with it, I just want to end it and eat. I'm hungry.

Peeking from around a tree, safe from a charge, I see my prey once more. Its flanks rain red with its blood, and while it seems to be wanting to charge again, it knows it can't, and not just because I'm where it can't do so. It attempts to back away, turning to the woods to flee. Conserving my energy I follow it through the jungle, its blood staining the dirt, the ferns, the rocks, all in its path.

The patient and slow hunter will always win over the quick and dead one. I have the luxury to be patient and slow here, and it has paid off.

Letting out one final mournful bray, I hear it collapse. I pick up the pace, eager, finding it at the base of a boulder.

Instantly I move in to finish my hunt and get my feast. Approaching from behind its back, I grasp its head with one claw and support myself with the other as I tear out its throat, swallowing my first taste of victory, simple as it was.

It is over.

One day, I will be big and strong like Mother, able to simply run down my prey. She would have ended it with her first pounce, although she would also have been seen or heard first; the price of strength.

For now, I tear into its side. This is the first true meal I've had here that I've been able to taste. The meat is lean, with little fat, and doesn't have much gameyness to it. I crunch through its ribs, devouring all I come across. There is simply no way that I could eat all of this, even injured and metabolizing faster. This should be enough to heal me however. If I had my scythes I could drag it with me, but as it is, I am not yet strong enough to do so efficiently; I would be slowed too much.

When I am done, a quarter of the elk is gone and I am overfull. My biology allows for me to eat significantly more than I otherwise could for my size. I am unsure why I have seen no other animal with this ability, but regardless, I trudge off, belly happy and sated with flesh, high on the pleasure of a good hunt, and pleased with my day.

Night is approaching, and despite having woken up a few hours prior to our attack half a day ago, the stresses and pains of whatever this all is are getting to me.

I find a nice sheltered divot in the terrain, and sleep.

ARC ONE: ARRIVALS

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A/N:

This is the first chapter of my first story. It has gone through multiple editing passes and a few revisions and additions since it was first made, but it is nonetheless where my foray into writing began.

I think it's a good first chapter. Immediate draw wondering what exactly is going on, who and what the main character is, basic fight scene to establish some more about them. No massive exposition dump, for one; I hate tell-not-shown exposition dumps. Explaining her appearance was close, but it was simple enough and was after most of the show-don't-tell.

She's a murder-alien who was doing murder-alien things when something went wrong and now her life's gonna get more interesting. Simple as.

There's also three bits interspersed that remind you of exactly what you're getting into, here: murder-alien that eats things. That is absolutely not the extent of what the story will ever be, but it is a defining factor of the plot.