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 44: Burning Memories

---

SoFurry A/N:

I just want to say that, judging by page view numbers, a notable number of people skip the interludes. I recommend against that as while it may feel like they take away from the fun of Emeral chapters, you miss a lot of context and plot-building. To give an example, Chapter 41 is sitting below half in view count compared to the one before, and the one after it. While the chapter before it is NSFW (which always draws curious clicks), the one after is only slightly lower. Meanwhile, that chapter contains plot very important to Chapters 50, 51, 52, and Arc 5.

Anyway, on with the story.

---

I run full-bore through the jungle after my sisters. Over roots and under boughs I steadily catch up to Boundless’ panting form, but just as I get close enough that I could bite her tail she bursts ahead in a second wind, overtaking all others and swiftly approaching the lead.

An older brother goes down in a heap, unused to his shifting proportions. I bound over him, land on a large fallen tree, and throw myself forward despite the complaints of my legs and lungs. I huff and pant but no matter how hard I try I just can’t keep up and I fall further and further behind. I can smell her exhaustion in her wake but I’m already spent.

I flop to the lichen-coated floor and fight to regain my breath. A golden glow rises around me as a horrid stench reaches my nose; turning, I balk at the sight.

Torched and twisted from the vast wall of flames my brother’s body shamble ever onward. I stumble forward and try to continue flight but I fall back down as charred jaws clamp down on my leg! I yowl and roar, pulling myself vainly ahead, but he is the fire’s now and they are inevitable.

I cry out in despair and rare tears boil from the punishing heat. My sisters are gone. My brothers are dead. They all died screaming under the fires of the tall intruders. I twist around and slash the charred avatar’s skull! It comes free from his neck but its teeth remain lodged in my leg! I turn to limp free of the creeping death around me but I can no longer tell where salvation lay.

It’s all fire. Fire, smoke, death and fire. Fire. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE. FIRE!

My claws gouge my mattress as I’m up in moments, sprinting for the basement access faster than in the nightmare. I bash the doors open and with horror turn to face the fate of my erstwhile home.

Smoke billows from the odd red-rock tower. My Carey and Sam! I rush back inside, grab my bag with my teeth, and throw open the door to the hall. Peering through Sam’s open door I find her room cold and empty. I run upstairs and check the living room-

“Emeral, what the fuck are you doing?” my Carey demands. She’s sat next to the FIRE with my Sam trapped under a mound of blankets on the chair! Only able to save one I run for and grab her in my arms, hunching as fast as I can through the kitchen to the back door. She struggles free from my grip as I try to get it unlocked and-

“Jesus Christ, Emeral! What is going on?!”

She backs herself away from me and I abandon my fiddling with the lock to retrieve her. She dodges and runs back to the living room; I’ll just have to take her out through the basement. Following her I find a freed and fearful Sam blocking my path. I grab her instead and make for the stairs.

“Eep! Calm down!” she yells.

A pillow smacks lightly against the back of my head. I turn to find my frightened Carey holding another high.

“Emeral. Calm the fuck down. You’re safe. It’s fine. I’m sorry.”

I take a breath and... note the lack of smoke for a burning room. Coming to my senses I glance around and see all in order but for the stone alcove beneath the tower. A small fire crackles among a carefully packed mound of wood. I hug my Sam closer anyway despite her struggles.

“Carey. Why fire?” I ask her.

She lets out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. Please let Sam go. It’s safe, it’s to warm us up like before.”

I follow her wish and let my shaken and frazzled Sam go. The woman stands and steps back, eyes wide and heart racing. She looks to Carey for answers.

My Carey takes a seat and rubs her arm where I’d grabbed her. “She didn’t freak out this bad when I first started a campfire, and never got anything more than a bit startled after that. I didn’t realize she was this scared of fire.”

I realize quickly what’s just occurred, and that I’ve hurt my Carey. With care I lumber to her and observe her wound--which is non-existent thankfully; just red and sore.

I meet her eyes. “I’m sorry too. Had bad sleep-thoughts. Do not like fire.”

She snorts and smiles. “Well. This was a learning experience I suppose; I guess even aliens get nightmares. Emeral, that,” she points to the stone area, “is a fireplace. The stone doesn’t burn, so the wood is safe. The smoke goes up the chimney, but we get the heat. It’s comfortable and warm.”

I look a few times between her and the fire. With a final long exhale I let the rush of panic go. Tentatively I approach the fire, finding a long metal tool discarded on the fireplace from when I’d grabbed my Carey. I experimentally grab it and poke the logs a few times, watching as they and the fire shift with my thrusts, safe and contained.

Carey sighs. “Well, it won’t be as good now because you poked at it. I’ll go make your breakfast while you don’t freak out.”

I set myself down by the fire, feeling its warmth and watching it crackle. Fire is dangerous, but fire is also useful.

And admittedly... cozy; cozier than the ‘heaters’ along the walls. The nightmare has already faded from my mind.

---

While I dig into my plate of bacon and its side of omelettes cross-legged in front of the fire, Carey tells Sam of how she met me.

“...So it was pretty scary at first, but it turned out she was just a cuddle monster. I was able to get talking with her, and she ended up asking me for a name. Having to try and communicate to her that I needed to check what was between her legs first has to have been the most awkward thing I’ve ever done.”

The omelette is interesting: it has had unknown vegetables inserted into it before being spiced and cooked. I like it better than goopy raw eggs, and ‘boiled’ ones are interesting too but they’re just too small for my liking; these are thin but flavorful and take to my tongue better. The bacon is simpler and consists of meat strips tinged with tasty fats.

Sam smirks. “And no fun happened out in that cave, just the two of you, all alone?”

Carey giggles. “Ha! No, no. We did play rock, paper, scissors, though. Em caught on quick.”

I feel inspired and get a thought. I smile wide, stare down Carey, and bark out a “Hak, hak, hak!” in imitation of her laughter.

She and Sam stare at me for a moment, dumbfounded.

She fights to keep it off her face but I can see her lip quivering. All at once she bursts out in a fit of giggling and Sam quickly joins in. I smile wider myself and begin my own imitation barking again. I set my plate aside and pull her free from the chair into my lap. Like I’d seen on television of someone petting a ‘cat,’ I rub her short hair and gently scratch her head with my knuckles.

The woman begins to struggle and complain, but my Sam laughs all the harder. I began this morning worried that I was losing my home for a second time... but all is good.

---

“I’m home!” Carey calls from the hall. Beside the fireplace I raise my head from a pillow and glance past Sam on the couch where she’s been reading her book. My Carey steps into view with two open-topped bags carried by two loops. She’d left a few hours prior and I’ve remained here, enjoying the warmth. She’d said something about going ‘shopping.’

She sets down her bags and fumbles for something in one of her pockets. Losing interest I set my head back down and return to my lazing; I’ll have ample time to investigate later.

“Carey, that’s a terrible idea...” Sam remarks.

Just as I’m about to close my eyes an anomaly appears in my view. It’s a strange... red light without obvious source. I focus hard on it, my eyes dilating, and rise again. My lazy bones and settled muscles creak as I bring a claw forward to touch the anomaly but it flicks to the side. I try again but once more it moves, this time away from me. For some reason Carey chuckles at this.

I make another go for it but it’s out of my reach now; I’m forced to get up. I sit on my haunches staring down at it but as suddenly as it appeared, it goes missing. A moment later it reappears at the edge of my vision.

This is... new.

I grab at it again and this time succeed. Rather than be smothered the light instead appears atop my grasping hand. With my other hand I poke at it, finding it doing the same thing again. It’s almost like rather than it being a source of light, it simply is the light, but it’s... strange. Why is it so small? It’s almost like... a really tiny flashlight.

I quickly judge the angles it’s blocked from and glance to what must be its source; indeed, in Carey’s hand is a tiny flashlight with a red light emitting from its front. She’s smiling wide with a mischievous twinkle in her blue eyes, and sniffs in amusement. I huff and return to my warm spot by the fire.

“She’s too smart for that, Carey,” Sam states. “She’s not our pet alien.”

Her mention of something new intrigues me. “What is a pet?” I ask.

Carey shoves the tiny flashlight back in her pocket. “Pets are animals we keep around as friends. They aren’t as smart as us but they’re still fun to have.”

That keeps my interest. Lesser creatures kept around for enjoyment? I suppose my Carey and Sam are my pets, then.

“That laser pointer is something animals called ‘cats’ go crazy for. I picked one up to see how you’d respond to it,” she continues. “We used to have a ‘dog’ growing up. Both of those pets are pretty smart, but not as smart as you.”

Mmmm. Yes. I am very smart.

“...Even if you act like a cat a times...” she adds before scratching her neck for a moment in thought. “Oh, shit, right. Uh...”

Her hand goes into her other pocket and retrieves her phone. She taps at it for a bit and rounds the couch to me to shove the shining device in my face. On its surface is an image of two creatures: one large and brown, the other small and grey, both on a backdrop of grass. I’ve seen animals like them before.

“The big one is a dog, but they vary in size, shape, and color. The small one is a cat, and they’re different colors and patterns. If you ever see them, avoid them--they’re peoples’ pets, okay? They care about them so don’t try and eat them.”

I give her a slight nod to mollify her but if any tiny, yappy creatures with more noise than sense attempt to bother me, I’m definitely going to continue silencing them with my gullet. The large ones at least have the sense to fear me, and the cats as a whole avoid me as they should. The dogs being different sizes and shapes is odd; perhaps the tiny ones have similarly tiny brains whereas the cats are as they should be.

“Also...” my Carey turns to my Sam. “I got you those ear plugs you wanted. I didn’t think her snoring was that bad but I don’t live in the next room over, so...” she hands her some box from her pocket, “here you go.”

Sam smiles and fiddles with the box. She sets aside her book and coverings to rise and approach my front.

“Emeral, can you give me your hand real quick?”

In confusion I accede and raise an arm up on its elbow to present my foreclaw. She takes it in her far smaller, fleshy fingers and begins to pierce tiny things on the tips of my claws. When she finishes I set my hand back down and she kneels to get at my other. She repeats the process and stands triumphantly despite her extremely weird actions.

“There we go! Now you can pick things up without having to worry about damaging them!” She glances back down to my claws. “...As much, at least,” she adds. “You’re surprisingly delicate already but I’ve noticed you having some trouble poking things. Don’t poke or squeeze too hard or you’ll break the plugs and I’ll need to put new ones on.”

I bring up a hand to study the new addition to my claws. Lightly pressing two tips together reveals them to have a slight give. I can definitely see how this could be useful.

I break into a smile. “Thank you Sam. Thank you Carey.”

The latter sister goes back to her bags and pulls another box free along with sheets of paper. “I’m not done yet. Sam’s idea is going to make my gift work a lot better.”

For my inspection she brings her tribute over. This tall and thin but wide box is very colorful and has an open portion through which I can see rods coming in multiple colors reminiscent to a rainbow.

“I noticed you didn’t really have much to do and you were spending a lot of time sleeping around the house so I decided to get you something to help you express yourself.” She kneels and sets the paper down and unclasps the lid to pull free one of the rods; it’s thicker than her finger and aside from a paper coating seems to be made of a single solid, pressed color. She sets the box down in front of me along with a single piece of paper.

The rod she’s pulled out is a nice green that reminds me of healthy leaves. With one hand to keep the paper still she brings its tapered tip across, leaving a similarly green mark.

“These are crayons,” she explains. “Really big ones, so hopefully they work for you. You can use them to draw and express yourself.”

This tribute is odd. “Why?” I ask her. I could see something like this being very useful for drawing ritual carapace glyphs, though it’s unlikely they would replace the blood of vanquished foes. These seem like colorful versions of their pencils and pens, but I can’t write, so these are useless to me.

She gives me a surprised look. “What do you mean, ‘why’? You can draw stuff. Maybe not well, but you can. It’s fun. Watch.”

She takes out more of the crayons and begins to use them all over the paper. I watch on in silence and mounting interest as I begin to recognize what she’s doing. When she finishes, what’s left is a crude representation of a forested mountainside beneath a blue sky and shining sun.

“Now do you understand?” she beams.

I nod. She grabs another page and shoves the green ‘crayon’ in my hand, delicately held in the ear plugs. “Now you try it!”

I press the tip to the page to begin...

...And then sit there, not moving it at all.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

I consider for a moment. “What draw?”

She gives me a mildly horrified look. “You draw what you want to. Don’t you have anything you want to try and make?”

Her explanation throws me for a moment. My people have never been artistic, the closest being the glyphs, which are just simple lines and swirls. I start there, dragging the green crayon out in an increasing swirl. It’s crude, messy, and nowhere near as good as the ones I’ve seen made, but I suppose it’s mine.

Carey smiles wide and claps me on the shoulder. “There, see? It’s easy!”

It is. I bring the swirl out into a line away, and make another swirl spinning outwards and back on itself. When I finish I lift the crayon and press it back down elsewhere, drawing more lines and more swirls in increasing complexity.

“Just draw what you want, Emeral. That’s what art is about.”

“What art?” I ask, not stopping or looking up.

Sam scoffs from her bundle on the couch and I can hear Carey tapping away on her phone. “Art is expression, Emeral, and there are lots of kinds. Drawings, paintings, writing, music-”

“Expression?” I interrupt her. “Like face-move?”

I don’t catch hers because I don’t bother checking, engrossed as I am in the act of creation. “Kind of?” she responds. “It’s like... facial expressions are how you express your feelings, but art is how you express your thoughts and what you like. So, also feelings, but different. I’m not good at explaining these things.”

“Like my books,” Sam adds. “Or my computer games. They tell stories and you experience them. There are even some games that let you express yourself instead of just experiencing others’ artistic expressions.”

I nod along. Their words make some sense. The glyph rituals were a method to demonstrate to others strength and power. The blood of a great beast or good kill would be used to mark the victorious hunter as deserving of respect. The blood of a defeated enemy in battle would denote power and strength. During the mateship brawls, victorious males’ carapaces would become coated in ever-more blood both from battle and adoring females laying claim. Each of these were methods of this expression; this is simply another form. Mother has spoken of distant broods which dabble in more than just blood; perhaps that’s like this?

“So anyway, there’s also music,” Carey continues. “It can be vocals--stuff people are singing--or it can be instruments. It’s usually both, but there’s lots of different genres.”

She’s lost me again with all of these new words but I continue to nod my assent while I work. I quickly run out of space on my page as it’s become covered in green lines, swirls, dots, and shapes so I reach for another along with a brown crayon.

Carey continues babbling in her own world while I draw. She speaks of ‘rocks,’ ‘rolls,’ ‘classicals,’ ‘pops,’ ‘electricity,’ and many other confounding things. I pay little attention as she does and instead focus on trying to perfect my own crude imitations of life.

“...Here, I’ll play some,” she finishes.

A harsh and grating noise spouts from her phone and I envy those dogs and cats for their abilities to splay back their ears. I give her a hiss and the ‘music’ stops.

“Whoops, sorry. I clicked the wrong song. This one should be better.”

Instead of weird bwonging and bwinging noises this one slowly rises and holds soothing tones. A female human’s voice rises with it; she speaks of strange things that I do not understand, but the intent itself is clear: to make something that is nice to listen to.

It winds down after a few minutes. “So, what do you think?” Carey asks.

I think for a moment on how to tell her my thoughts. “I think... it okay. I liked the voice. Did not know the words.”

She smiles with pride and works more at her phone. I go back to my neglected drawing as she does, this time coming up with something I find myself happy with.

Pages of brown lay scattered in front of me; some depict Kin which could be mistaken for an arrangement of sticks, and others depict malformed Kin-shaped objects. A few are larger and focus on heads, faces, and even a few with hands--which are awful--but my newest is one that truly came from the heart.

The art itself? It’s terrible. Without knowing what it’s supposed to be, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell. The proportions are wrong, there’s no nuance to the colorations, and I ran out of space on the page so the tail is forced to curl around the rear legs toward the front. The head is too large and the carapace plating makes her look like a mess of brown shapes, but to me, it’s Mother. She has a line for a happy smile, dots for eyes, and sticks for blades; but in my heart it’s her, and I suppose that’s what matters, right?

Scattered around her are many indistinguishable siblings--with me on her back--and high above in red is the best rendition of a Kin heart that I could make; according to humans a heart symbolizes love, though theirs are simple indented circles. My crayon heart represents both love and strength, for together we were strong.

I look up from my work to find Carey and Sam at my shoulders studying it. They’re both frowning... do they dislike it?

Carey breaks the silence first. “I assume that’s your family?” she asks.

I nod. “Yes. Mother and us. Family.”

There are only about a dozen stick-Kin on the sheet rather than the full ‘eighty’ or so; I ran out of room.

A faint smile crosses her lips and she looks to Sam. I follow and find her with an... interesting look on her face. Over the past few weeks I’ve gotten to know them and their expressions better but it will be a long time before I’m able to quickly and easily understand exactly what every little pull and twitch means. What I can guess at is this: though she has a similarly slight smile as her sister, hers is sad; she’s most likely thinking about my situation again.

Carey claps her hand on my shoulder. “We should pin it to the fridge,” she states. “We’re all a bit old for it, but who cares? Getting you out of your own shell a bit should be celebrated.”

I turn and give her a confused look. Getting out of my carapace? “Shell?” I ask her. “Need it. Why get out of?”

She chuckles and rubs my now-smooth back. “It’s just an expression, Emeral. Well... a ‘saying,’ something that you say to mean a lot, without having to say all of it.”

That makes more sense. Humans and their expressions are strange, confusing, and like many things to do with their communication, tend to mean multiple things depending on the context. My Carey takes my drawing and heads for the kitchen with me and Sam in tow. She makes a brief stop at a drawer to grab a small and shiny object before approaching the fridge and holding the page up to it among other pages stuck to the machine which have words on them. She presses the object at the top of the page and lets go, but rather than fall down the page remains pinned along with the object.

“There. We’ve got more magnets lying around so we can put up more of your drawings. Want to see if we can find some music you like now?”

I give her a satisfied smile and eager nod.

---

A/N:

Yep, it’s another transitionary chapter, if a lengthier one. This one helped me depict a lot of more slice-of-life stuff as an interlude of sorts before the arc’s plot rises due to Emeral’s usual shenanigans. With most of the difficulties surrounding Emeral’s existence sorted out, life in the Fairbanks residence is pretty good. It’s only a matter of time until Emeral’s unruly and monstrous nature introduces a new set of challenges, though...

Also: Emeral really doesn’t like fire. This has been mentioned and exhibited many times, but she really doesn’t like fire.

That nightmare is loosely based on an actual event that occurred many years ago during the initial part of the Skywar, which will be depicted in the prequel.