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 4: Apex Predator

---

Walking through the jungle, I spot movement: a bird, pecking away at something on the ground ahead of me. I have not yet had a good chance to observe these creatures due to their small size, skittishness, and habitat in the trees. It also helps that I haven't truly bothered to actually try and seek any out, but since it's here I may as well learn.

It is covered entirely in small feathers, with the ones on its back and half of their wings being a vibrant blue and those on its breast and down its front being white. Both colors meet at its eyes, which are surrounded by black accents. I think it's rooting around for something--perhaps tiny insects? While the birds here are rather small, the insects are even smaller. If the food chain is anything like it is back at home--and from my own experience so far, it is--then I'm probably right.

I've never actually eaten a bird before, it's simply too dangerous back home and not worth it to try and catch one. They're faster than Kin, and are not only also capable of acting as swarm predators, they seem to greatly prefer to do so. Our broodlings must be watched carefully when bird swarms are around, or else they may dive and carry them off. Larger birds are even able to lift Kin of my size! Wingbeats in the air are dangerous, and the inattentive may meet their end.

So: not worth it.

And thus... this is a chance I don't want to give up now that I consider it.

I creep around through the bushes until I am as close as I can get to it--which is luckily also downwind--and I prepare my attack.

One.

Two.

Three.

POUNCE!

CHOMP!

PAH! Begone, foul bird! Chirping in panic, it flies free, though slightly damp from my saliva.

Feathers. No wonder birds aren't worth it. Oh well. Moving on. Although... I do have an idea.

---

This time, rather than eat my next bird immediately, I pulled it from my mouth and broke its neck before sitting back against a tree to get to work with my experiment. I then spent the past while steadily and carefully plucking every one of the tiny feathers adorning my catch.

I'm left with a thoroughly naked bird, and a pile of blue and white feathers. They are quite pretty, and I've never had a chance to see anything like it up close before. It was horribly tedious to get them out due to the size of my claws, but hopefully it's worth it.

Bringing it to my mouth, I begin lightly chewing and tasting it. It's quite small so there isn't much to taste at all, but it's certainly a new experience. It's significantly softer and leaner than elk, especially the animals back home. I savor the texture, made all the better by the work I put into acquiring this. I don't think doing this in the future would really be worth the time investment, but I definitely have the time right now, what with finishing off the hunter's elk. I'm in no rush.

After a full minute of just savoring it, I almost don't want to swallow, but after a time I do. I'll have to keep an eye out for larger birds, which would have both more meat and larger feathers--making it far more worth the time investment! Unfortunately, the largest kind I've seen so far are ash-black scavengers and nocturnal hunters high in the trees, swooping down to grab creatures even smaller than the squirrels. They and their feathers are still quite small as well, else I'd consider laying a trap for one.

Traps, ambushes, they're poor sport to rely on for a proper hunter of my stature and power, but they're still a part of the hunt all the same.

Different prey demand different hunts. Some prey are strong and worthy of respect. Some are weak and skittish. I ambushed that elk on my first day here, then beat it in a brawl through skill--this is the best kind of hunt there is; one where I may prove myself both a strong hunter and skilled fighter.

Hunting is important, but brawling is at the center of our culture. It decides everything, from who lives, who dies, and of course, who mates. Only the strongest get to lead and only the strongest get to create the next generation. Leaning back down against the tree and closing my eyes, I decide to rest and think. I can't really feel the rough bark through the thick carapace of my back, so it's as good a place as any to rest.

We, the Kin, are born to fight and die. Only one in four of each generation is female, the rest being males: this breeds fierce competition. Once of age and believing they are strong enough, males become itinerant, wandering the jungles and entering other broods' lands in search of a mate. There, they will fight with other foreign itinerant males, dueling to the death and taking their strength for their own should they win--and should they lose, their strength will serve another.

Kin battles can be quite brutal. It's difficult to kill us, requiring either many bleeding wounds, or disabling and executing the enemy Kin--usually by severing the spinal column in the neck or tearing out their throat. Even losing an entire limb won't stop us, and if we survive we'll just grow it back given enough time and food. That's why males tend to fight to the death over mates: not only is it impossible to satisfy everyone, it's foolish to risk them coming back a few years later when you're not prepared. Today's spared loser could always be tomorrow's winner, but by then it would merely be disrupting a family.

After the males have finished fighting, the females fight for dominance and hierarchy, to establish who is the strongest and thus affecting how easy it is to attract a strong winner. Whereas the male fights are vicious and almost always end in death for the loser, these are rarely ever lethal and any deaths are usually by accident. They're still almost as vicious though, since it's so hard to accidentally land a killing blow unless you're trying to.

The males fighting rarely ever know each other prior to the brawls due to their itinerant nature. However, almost all of the females do actually already know each other due to being from the same brood--not only would it be stupid to cripple our kind in this way, we're sisters! It's hard to actually kill someone you've known your whole life unless it's for survival. Much as I've had my issues with her, I couldn't imagine hurting even my least-favorite sister, Boundless.

Finally, once both sexes' brawls are finished with, the survivors can contest the results for one last attempt to improve their standing, but this part of our traditions is exceptionally rare--any who would contest are simply already dead. For having proven their strength, these fights are also rarely lethal, but it is neither encouraged or discouraged, especially helped by the fact that these fights are usually based around a greater context, like a rivalry or a grudge.

Brawling is at the center of our culture. Older broodlings spend their time play-fighting and learning how to hunt. Adolescents brawl for social dominance over their siblings and cousins. Even--and especially--hunting ground disputes are resolved through violence, but unlike the deadly rites of the males, it's rare for deaths to occur outside of special circumstances because whoever's losing usually just leaves and accepts defeat rather than risk death.

Food can always be found elsewhere, and especially for a broodmother, there are things more important than dying for your next meal.

The death of the Burnt Brood... was special circumstances. It wasn't a minor border skirmish caused by someone wanting to eat a little bit better or having been displaced, it was an invasion. Our populations are actually relatively low due to needing so much food, else the jungles would be empty and we would starve anyway. Had the Burnt Brood come in peace they could perhaps have settled within our brood's lands until their own recovered, but everywhere that played host would have died in the end or been forced to make the same exodus as food ran out.

So yes, brawling is at the center of our culture, but hunting is and will always be our way of survival. Both are fun, but I personally prefer to hunt.

Sitting up and stretching, legs, tail, neck, and scythes straightened out, I realize something. I've never really thought this hard about the way of things in a long time, not since I learned about all of it so many years ago. It is the nature of broodlings to not really pay much attention to their parents and just play, but while we do listen, rarely do we consider.

The elk. Are its kind the inverse, many females and few males? Or do they engage in brave romantic jousts and wrestling matches with their powerful antlers to weed out the weak? Without spending a prohibitive amount of time and effort watching them I doubt I'll ever know, and for some reason, this thought... disappoints me?

I doubt learning this about my prey would help me hunt, but I can't help shake that curiosity. Mother always said that it was her favorite thing about me; that I was her most curious daughter, and that while it always got me into trouble as a broodling, it would serve me well once I was an adult.

I'm so deep in thought that I- whump.

Ow.

I just tripped over a large root. Getting up, I spot something odd in my peripheral vision and turn to get a better look. Turning, I find a line of gouges in the tree I just tripped over! Territory marks!

But not made by Kin claws.

Trouble indeed...

---

I've seen a few other predators and the occasional scavenger, but so far nothing that wouldn't fit in me. I haven't really bothered to go out of my way to eat any of them since first discovering each of them the first time, but now that bird's got me curious. Bar the elk I've just been eating things whole.

Having made my way away from the marked tree, I sit, gaping my nostrils and sucking in the smells of the jungle. While I won't go seeking whatever marked that tree, I will go indulging in this curiosity. The territory marks almost certainly indicate a larger predator, especially to have claws almost as large as mine, and there were huge paw prints below it.

Definitely not something that I'd like to tangle with right at this moment, but perhaps in the future. Like the hunter, I will remember you, mysterious rival for empress of the hunt!

Not long after searching around, I find a trail and some small tracks.

Having picked up what I'm looking for, I begin my hunt. The scent of the rival apex predator seems to have scared off most other carnivores in the area, but not all--helped by the mark seemingly being rather old. If it had been raining, I doubt the smell--let alone either set of prints--would even be here still.

While up and about during dusk a few days prior I'd sighted a small creature nimbly climbing a tree and looting a bird's nest. The bird was quite displeased, but couldn't succeed in defending its young, allowing the bandit to make off with an egg. The bird had put up a token resistance, but after chasing it for a while, it seemed to give up and prioritize watching over the remainder of its kind's future.

I was quite far during all of this, else I doubt the creature would have been so bold with an odd scent in the air. While this wouldn't normally be a problem for my own hunting, I've come to realize how much of a problem it can be while observing. So, I couldn't get a very good look.

Whether it was a last-minute meal or a lucky break for their night, I also don't know yet. Many predators and scavengers in my home do their thing when it's harder for their prey--or other predators--to spot them, but some, like my fellow Kin, actually prefer to hunt during the day, or operate on a system of one mate being awake and the other asleep. We still generally prefer to hunt during the day though, which may seem a bit odd considering how well we can see during the night.

But ultimately, it's just instinctual. We may be the smartest of our jungles' population, but that doesn't mean we don't still fall into those same instinctual ruts that dumber creatures do, just that we can be self-aware and fight it. Most Kin would ultimately be either nocturnal or diurnal, with some of the greater brood being awake during the nights and others being awake during the day, but most prefer daylight.

While the creature I'm tracking did pass through the large predator's territory, I don't think it risks hanging around much. Now that I know what my rival smells like, I can avoid it and its places; at least those frequented most. As Mother always said: 'It is good to be curious, but it is better to be wise and know when not to be.'

Knowing her life, that piece of wisdom comes from experience.

Eventually, I find where the creature has ended up: I can smell its lingering scent from within a hole in a dead, hollowed tree. It must be slumbering, then: nocturnal it is.

It's a little ways up the tree, but not enough to be safe from me. Slowly approaching, I rear up onto my hindlegs, putting one foreclaw on the tree and digging into it so as to not fall over, and then with my other I begin reaching into the hollow, slowly. Feeling around, my hand brushes up against fur and I grab.

Instantly it bolts awake and starts struggling and clawing, briefly breaking out of my unluckily poor hold on it, but it has nowhere to go and I get my fingers around its belly. Extricating it from its den, I inspect my prize as it fruitlessly tries to dig its claws into the scales of my foreleg.

Its fur almost reminds me of that covering the tall intruders; but this creature's is a bit longer though. With stubby yet versatile legs it would be sitting low to the ground. Its paws are all similar to my foreclaws, having great dexterity, further evidenced by its propensity to climb. Its tail is big and bushy, perhaps to trick dumber predators into thinking it is larger than it actually is, with rings interrupting its odd white-grey coloration. From its head sprouts two stubby rounded ears, and much like the black accents of the birds I found earlier it has a mask on its eyes.

Dropping back down to three legs, I lightly poke it with the blunt side of one of my scythes. It takes a swing with its claws at it, but doesn't really do anything considering it's a single piece of sharpened keratin almost as thick as its wrist is.

After quickly and painlessly breaking its neck, I open my mouth and plop it in, without even really needing to distend, jaw still locked in place. I'd rather it not claw me all the way down, and harming it to prevent it from doing so would be needlessly cruel. I'm all for having a bit of fun, but it's just so much weaker than I am--it would be unsporting. Swallowing, my throat and esophagus distend, bringing it down to its final rest.

. . .

I pause for a moment, in thought.

Wait. I was planning to taste that.

Oh well. It's not worth regurgitating just to eat again. I'll find another.

---

The next day, I wake up... in a tree.

It wasn't the most comfortable, but it was a novel experience, one inspired by the raccoon. I've climbed trees before, of course; I've even launched ambushes from them once or twice, dropping down on large unsuspecting herbivores that should've been paying significantly more attention to the smells in the air than whatever they were doing. What is new is the sleeping part and climbing this particularly large tall-thin tree.

While it has many branches, not many of them are thick enough to support my weight, so I've had to sleep in a rather odd position: hindlegs saddling the branch, forelegs hugging the trunk, face smushed against it staring straight up. I feel like an idiot and I've no doubt that my sisters would be laughing themselves silly if they'd been here to see it.

One more story to tell my broodlings I suppose. It's embarrassing to have my sisters laugh, but if it were my children? Their joy would make my day. I think I'm starting to understand Mother more and more as the days go by.

Getting up and latching back onto the trunk, I carefully climb back down. A fall from this height wouldn't come close to killing me, but I just healed my carapace! The pain in my muscles from sleeping weird has replaced the dull ache of my burnt and busted armor, which is a trade that I'll gladly make.

Having reached the jungle floor once more, I'd prefer to get some food into me so that I can grow larger and then laze the rest of the day. I absolutely do not need to eat again so soon what with being healthy and already having had a few good meals, but I need to grow larger and stronger if I'm to fight against the tall intruders on my path home, wherever home is.

I can't overdo it though. It's always a tight balancing act for our kind: the larger we grow, the thicker our carapace and the stronger we are, but it is only with age that our muscles and carapace become denser. Too many foolish and ambitious young broodmothers have their brood gorge them in order to try and contest the local dominant matriarch, only to fall in battle from their inexperience and hasty growth.

The largest of our kind are to be feared and respected, but those who truly deserve respect are the smallest of elders. Mother is old, having delayed her own growth in favor of her explorations, and thus keeping the number of ovulated eggs she processes down, in turn delaying her menopause for many years longer than the average.

Normally a broodmother-to-be hunts for a few years and lazes in life with her mate and brawls with her sisters in order to grow stronger before they begin their own brood. Mother did not do this out of both necessity and wise choice, preferring to be stronger later in life when she would need it, rather than when she didn't necessarily have to be. Being stronger is always a benefit, but it is oftentimes most needed in the direst of circumstances, like the Skywar.

I... don't have that luxury right now. I'd delayed my own growth as Mother did, at the cost of not being able to join the fighting against the invaders or participate in the mateship brawls--though the latter was my personal choice. I want to be as big as her, as wise as her, and as strong as her but I don't think that I can have all of that. Having to make a choice, I'd rather be as big and wise as her, if not as strong.

What she says about curiosity doesn't apply only to looking for trouble, but also looking for strength. I can't focus on the then over the now. She and her sisters wandered the jungles together. I am alone.

We're not supposed to be alone. We're what Mother calls 'social creatures.' We get lonely without others, which is why we stay near our sisters and live in loose communities.

I miss home. I miss Mother. I miss my sisters, even if they do tease me for my smaller size and call me weak for not wanting to fight for a mate yet. By the time I do--assuming I even get home--I'll be fighting my younger sisters for younger males, and I don't want that. If I'm lucky I can find a male whose mate has died, but I wouldn't wish that pain on anyone!

Sulking, I realize there's nothing I can really do about any of this and press on. I need to grow stronger. That's all I can do, right now.

---

A/N:

Homesickness. Determination. Lust for power. It wouldn't be an isekai without these three themes, now would it?

More worldbuilding, more character development. Emerald Maiden is at its core a coming-of-age story with a monstrous twist to it, because some monsters are people too. Going back and reading this chapter during my final editing pass, I came to realize just how important it truly is for the protagonist's future development. In the end, she just wants a happy ending, but she knows she's going to have to fight for it, and even then she may never be able to get precisely what she wants.

It's an all-too-real story played out many times across the ages and can be found in all genres of fiction.

Sometimes, just as she has decided on short-term strength, you just have to settle for what you can get. And that's... sad, to be honest. But that's all just part of the journey: learning to appreciate what you have over what you'd like to have.

As for the chapter itself, there's a lot of worldbuilding dumped in it. Not immediately important worldbuilding, just explaining the background to who and what the main character is.