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 53: Unmaking a Monster

---

Thanks to it having been made for a human and my not being a human, the eye patch’s strap has to hitch up beneath the back of my scalp plate to remain in place. I was at first worried that the scab would grow into it, but regularly taking it off and replacing it for cleaning seems to prevent this just fine.

Just as the pain did, the strap’s oddness remains centering and focusing--all the better to be completely aware and restless down here in my room where I lay all day on my mattress, doing... well, nothing, really.

Aside from necessary business I haven’t been willing to rouse myself to leave the house in a week, and my lessons with Carey on speech, diction, and words have similarly suffered though I still participate. Why go outside when all it does is worsen things?

I really just can’t be bothered--even if my stock of frozen elk meat is starting to run low and Sam has begun spicing it lighter and lighter due to the sisters’ need to conserve money.

I just itch, and I scratch, and do my best to ignore the sheer boredom, because the alternative is unacceptable.

---

“That’s gross, but... I think you were right.”

Carey flips the patch back down over my barely regrowing eye with a look of disgust and morbid fascination.

“It’s like... a tumor. Covered by the scab, bulging out in there. You really are ‘getting better.’”

I grunt. She had to bring a basin of hot water over and coax my head from my curl just to clean it today. The ruined orb had fallen out a few days ago and, according to the ‘mirror,’ in its place now is a tiny, grotesque, and greatly aching little mass.

“Emeral... please talk to me. We want to help you but we can’t if we don’t know what’s wrong. You’re clearly not happy about something.”

“Mnh.”

She sighs, gives my head a pat, and leaves to clean and put away her supplies.

---

“Emeral, please,” my Sam begs. “Take it from me: staying down here all day isn’t healthy!”

She does her best to try and coax me into uncurling but I refuse. The hunger has begun to gnaw, and I know what that does to me...

“I’ll teach you how to use my computer if you get up.”

I remain feigning sleep.

“I know you’re awake! You snore really loud when you aren’t!”

I am ‘implacable.’ I may not care to move, but I still listen when my Carey reads out words from her ‘dictionary.’

“Can you at least tell us why you’ve become a bratty teen ever since you got hurt?”

They would not understand. At worst, I would find a limit to their forgiveness. I am, after all, a monster.

Implacable. Bad. Scary. To be feared, not loved.

“You really need to eat something, at least! You skipped dinner last night and it’s almost lunch!”

She reaches around me and offers an overripe banana from my abandoned snack bowl. This, I ignore.

“Don’t make me bring out the steaks.”

Still I remain. I can smell them, already cooked and spiced, but all the scent does is make me cringe and shift restlessly.

She sighs and I feel her sit upon my side.

“Do you know why I forgave you for hurting Carey?”

I still myself, cringing even harder.

“Because you didn’t know better, Emeral, and I saw just how freaked out you got when you did. Have you done something we need to know about? You still haven’t told us how you got hurt.”

And I will not.

“I’ve... had a pretty good life, for what I was born into and what little I’ve accomplished compared to my family.”

“...”

“I didn’t really have a dad. Our mom was busy all day and it was just the two of us. I was... sheltered. I was taught not to trust other people and that stuck with me for so long that it became a fear of them. It got so bad I had a hard time explaining it to even Carey.”

“...”

“She’s always been there for me even if she doesn’t understand. She always listens, just like I really hope you’re doing right now.”

“...”

“I haven’t really achieved much. I learned how to cook from Mom--and apparently I’m pretty good at it--but I haven’t done anything with that talent. I’ve just worked with Mom, cooking for her in the back of her restaurant, and... ogling Frank when I could. Even getting to know him wasn’t really something I chose to start.”

...

“But... well, that’s changed. I stopped wallowing down here all day. Me and Frank do stuff together, and I have you to be your usual ‘entertaining’ self. To be honest, as weird as it is to say, I don’t think I would have ever gotten over my fear of people if you hadn’t... well, you know, with Carey.”

I curl tighter at the memory. Those days in the forest were... an experience, to say the least, but to think that at any moment my Carey could have fallen and never woken up, her brain gone bad. For a Kin, the brain bleeding is one of the few ways we can be permanently maimed, but for a fragile human would be assuredly fatal.

“She changed too, and for the better. She’s more understanding and I think she really likes having you as family. So please, as our family, just take care of yourself and eat something. We miss you.”

Hunger gnaws. Uncurl. Take her. Savor her screams and flailing. Devour her. Release inhibitions and renew sight with her flesh.

My body has many demands, but I am no stupid animal. I can choose. I decide what and when I eat.

Even then, I have come so close to giving in and embracing my monstrosity.

Sam sits in silence for a time, but finally breaks it with a few pats to my hard side.

“...We’ve tried giving you time, and we’re really worried about you... it’s been two weeks, please just give us something.”

...Fine.

My sworn sister is... correct. I cannot remain down here either in body or mind. I could perhaps expand my self-confinement to the house... even if it risks them.

My muscles groan and complain, already feeling their lack of use thanks to my dormancy, but still I rise and turn. With a subdued sound of surprise my Sam stands from me and we both turn to face each other.

The moment our eyes meet my vision goes hazy. Food. Kill eat food.

I grab her with one hand and my fruit bowl with the other and upend the correct one into my mouth whilst hugging her as tight as I dare. An apple lands instead on my snout and rolls off, lost.

“I am scared, Sam,” I mutter. “I hurt. All hurt. Any I go, I hurt people.”

She gasps and pants but returns the hug and pats me reassuringly as I hold my friend and fall back down to curl around her. I don’t need to leave yet, but... I don’t need to be alone.

“...Fucks’ sakes Emeral-” she gasps. “We’re definitely getting you a giant teddy bear-!”

Hug.

“I’d say you haven’t hurt me, but please hug a bit looser!”

Emotions rush through me as I squeeze her tight, but not too tight now. My arms may be weaker now but I must always be sure to control myself. They are small, they are fragile, and they are mine. I must care for what is mine and protect it, for it is mine and it is me if not in flesh then in family.

“...Thank you,” she sighs. “Thanks. For, uh, ‘giving us something.’ And don’t worry about hurting us... we’re friends.”

She’s half-buried among me and I rest my neck as best I can around her like I would a child.

“Wanted to hurt,” I admit.

“But you didn’t, Emeral,” she consoles me, finally slipping an arm free of my hold to pat me. “Did you want to? Do you still want to?”

I return her patting and ruffle her hair.

“No. Maybe then, not now. Do not want to hurt humans. Never again.”

She smiles lightly to me, though there’s an awkward tinge to it. Humans are picky about ‘personal space,’ and are especially quelled by touching their hair.

“Then that’s what matters.”

She pulls free the lost apple and offers it up to me.

Like a similarly lost and ill-found broodling, my instincts tell me to chomp down on her arm and take it too. What were supposed to be rare tears once again well up as I fight to be better and instead just take it with my tongue, offering only a bare teasing lick instead.

“Holy shit... are you crying?” she gasps out.

I blink my eyes shut. Her obvious observation is correct, but red no longer runs with them. They’re not human ‘tears of joy,’ though I certainly feel very conflicted right now. They’re tears of worry and fear over what my everything demands I do.

She doesn’t understand how much danger she’s in. I don’t want to hurt her but it would only ever take a single moment of lapsed control!

“Don’t want to hurt you,” I inform her before tightening again.

She gasps again at my hug.

“T-that’s great!” she gets out. “I trust you! Even if- you’re hugging a bit tight right now!”

HUG.

It always makes humans feel better for some reason. I understand it now... I always did love it when Mother showed me affection, and it similarly brightened her day when I would return it.

Hug.

“...No offense but you’re kind of cold.”

---

The world outside has changed.

It reminds me of ash, only instead of being hues of grey and black reeking with the stench of death, the ankle-deep snow is a beautiful white. Ankle-deep to me, that is. It’s as if the lake had been cold-burnt by a refrigerator and carelessly dumped into the winds and splashed across the world evenly.

From my perch on a living room couch I watch as Sam struggles with a ‘shovel’ in an effort to once more keep a path to Carey’s truck clear and from there to the road beyond. Shovels are how a human would dig, but this one is specifically meant for moving the snow. Apparently normally Carey would do it but the younger of the two had volunteered and, with Carey’s weeks-gone explanation on exercise, her reasons are clear.

Carey would do it because she likes being outside and she is physically stronger, but Sam has decided to prove herself. I could probably get it done far faster, but it would be... unpleasant.

Chewing ice is one thing but playing around in it is another. My Sam has had to bundle herself up in a coat which appears to have had fur from an animal attached to it at points but when I had sniffed it earlier, it smelled entirely wrong. It is not-fur.

I turn to check on my other friend. In a continuing reversal of roles, she is standing beside the stove with a pot being roasted, keeping herself occupied with her phone while she cooks the last thing I would have ever considered: water.

They’ve done it before for both my and their meals, but... it’s still odd. They cook--or rather, boil--the water so that it can be used to cook things with. Once bubbling they would either dump things in or pour it out, and in this case, it’s the latter. Water-smoke ‘steam’ begins to rise from beneath the lid’s edges prompting Carey to put her phone away, don a thick glove, and remove the lid.

She takes a peek inside and, having verified that it’s boiling adequately, shuts off the heating.

“Alright Emeral!” she calls. “Your lunch is almost ready!”

I abandon my Sam-watching and head for my place at their--our--table. She continues her final preparations and begins to pour much of the boiled water into a waiting larger pot, this one already filled with tan flakes and the occasional clump of brown grit. She mixes the flakes and the water together creating an odd slurry.

Beside it is a pile of opened similarly brown packets. She finishes the strange meal off with a decent addition of milk and additional stirring, which I briefly worry over given what the sisters have warned it does to me but brush this off quickly.

Good food has sacrifices, and surely she knows what she’s doing. It’s only a little bit, after all.

“Oatmeal!” she presents to me, placing the pot down along with their largest spoon. ‘Largest’ is still tiny for me, but... they try, and she seems incredibly pleased that I am up, about, and in need of feeding, despite how much work it must take from the far smaller people to provide for me. The offered fruits sated me briefly but as paltry as this is, it will certainly be enough for now.

I give the mush an uncomprehending eye. It doesn’t look like much; I’ve seen them eating the stuff before so it must be food but it still just looks like mud or worse.

“It’s the breakfast of kings and queens!” she continues. “You’ll love it. Some people don’t have it with sugar but they’re crazy; we buy these fancy packets that come with brown sugar already in them.”

Brown sugar? Interesting. She had mentioned sugars being something foods are made of, but we never did get a chance to go into further detail...

Humoring her instead of just dumping it all down, I grab the spoon and dip it in. Normally the large plastic implement would be used for serving from the pot but given my difference in size it’s more comparable to one of their ‘tea’ spoons.

“Blow on it first!” she supplies. “It’s hot.”

Good advice. I’d rather not burn myself... the water had just been boiling.

I purse my lips and blow to cool it, but... the oatmeal instead flies from the spoon to splat across the dining table’s wood. Carey just snorts and slaps my shoulder a few times.

“Not that hard. Try again!”

...Right. My lungs are almost large enough to fit her if they weren’t filled with lung-stuff.

I take another spoonful, blow on it as gentle as I can, and without much in the way of expectations serve it into my mouth.

...And it tastes infinitely better than mud!

After days of barely eating it tastes absolutely amazing! I swiftly spoon up another and don’t even bother to blow, as desperate as I am to have more. It burns beautifully all the way down, but first I can taste some delectable hint to it. The ‘brown sugar’ she mentioned, perhaps? Whatever it is, it’s good.

“I don’t know what you and Sam talked about but you were definitely hungry. Please stop scaring us like this, it’s getting old.”

It’s a shame that they have to supply so much of their food just to feed me a snack; this looks like it would keep one of them fed for a week’s mornings. I really should start hunting again, both to sustain me and allow for more of their great meals.

As long as I stay out of town everything will be fine.

Spoon in hand, the memories once more come back along with every bit of regret.

But even then... humans are around. It used to be that humans could not escape me but now I can’t escape them.

Pat pat pat.

“Hey, it’s okay, Em,” Carey says. “We’re here for you. What’s wrong?”

I finish my spoonful and choose to continue opening up.

“Sad,” I explain, as if the single word could ever convey as much as simply scentspeaking could.

She smiles slightly. “Well... yeah, we knew that. But what’s bothering you?”

Between continued spoonings I explain.

“Don’t want to hurt you, but do.”

She cocks her head.

“You don’t want to hurt me, but you do want to? Or do you not want to, but hurt me anyway?”

I slip in another spoon. The meal is already half gone. I have been getting better with my words, but it may never be enough.

“Hurt anyway,” I respond. “I am a monster.”

Her face... slackens.

“Emeral! No...”

...But she throws her arms around me as best she can in a hug.

“You’re not a monster! You’re a person, with feelings, and we may not understand much about you but you’re part of our family!”

The demands clamoring for her begin to fade. Fighting them becomes easier than before.

“We keep telling you that we’re here for you and we mean it! Now will you finally tell us how you hurt your eye?”

I... pause, to think.

After a time I finally set down the spoon and huff out a long sigh.

“...Tried to hurt someone,” I admit. “Found me. Saw me. Witness.”

She cringes and her face goes grim.

“I was worried about this...” she sighs. “But... just, continue, please. I’ll let you finish.”

I take another moment to consider and plan my words.

“Did not want to hurt her. But tried. Act-but-slow-act.”

“You hesitated,” she corrects me.

“Yes. Thank you, Carey.”

Rather than my usual licks for tasting I give her cheek a quick tap with my tongue for affection before continuing, which she must normally mistake them for. It earns a scoff but renewed smile.

“Hesitated. She fought. But I won, but did not keep trying to hurt her. I let her go.”

She repeats her hug.

“You did the right thing, Em. You’re not a monster, you just haven’t known better and we want to help change that as much as you clearly do too.”

I return to my cooling oatmeal for another few spoonfuls to keep the taste fresh before and, with my other arm, grab to pull her into a side-hug which she accepts.

“Thank you,” I say with meaning. “Worried she would talk to humans and they would hurt me. But no. She wanted to learn too. Learn of me.”

She does her best to try and keep her composure smushed against my chitinous side.

“That’s... interesting,” she remarks. “And this person, did they, uh, happen to have had pretty distinctive red hair?”

That sounds familiar. I remember remarking to myself that it was the first and only time I’d ever seen a human with the feature.

“Yes. Wanted to know what I am.”

Carey wiggles free from my side-hug and begins to pace up and down the table’s side, to and from me.

“...Shit,” she eventually curses.

I give her a curious look.

“What?”

She turns to face me, her expression one of clear displeasure I feel a pang at.

“I’m gonna be honest Em, as horrible as it would have been, it may have been better if you did, uh, ‘deal with her’ as a witness. That lady was a reporter who came by the day you got hurt asking about footprints from what must have been you, and I think she thinks all of the local deaths were caused by you. This is bad...”

This is quite confusing to me. Why would she actually want me to hurt another human?!

I’ve heard ‘report’ before, but...

“What is a ‘reporter’?” I ask.

She gestures to my pot.

“Finish your oatmeal while I explain.”

I do so, and she follows through.

“A reporter, also called a journalist, is someone who works to make something called ‘news.’ This news is how people learn about things that happen. She was investigating the deaths and disappearances around town and the park--both your incident and the animal attacks--and was indeed looking to learn about you. But not to actually learn about you, but to warn humans about you.”

That... sounds bad. I finish another spooning.

“She seemed nice,” I defend. “Scared. But curious. Did want to learn about me.”

She sighs.

“I’ll have to trust your judgement on that. Anyway, there’s nothing we can do about it; either she’ll tell people or she won’t. If a bunch of people show up here, you need to run as far as you can, okay?”

I nod.

“Okay. Sam on back, you run with.”

She shakes her head as if that isn’t the most sensible option. She would definitely be able to keep up!

“No, Emeral, we wouldn’t be able to come with you. All we could do is pretend that everything is normal and we don’t have a giant alien living with us. And besides, we wouldn’t be able to live out in the forest like you can.” She eyes my carapace. “Although it might be too cold for you anyway. I don’t know how well your armor insulates you, but it can get pretty cold out there and you don’t even know how to make a fire.”

I...

My heart falls and I catch myself frowning instead of pursing my lips. I have found a home here and put a time limit on it. One day so long as that ‘backup’ lives this one will be taken from me too--and this reporter would be no friend to escape to, but rather the one to have destroyed everything.

This the consequence of my transgressions. Now that I’ve finally found my place I can’t enjoy it in peace because I’ve left blood in my steps and death in my wake for predators to track.

It almost seems fitting that I would have to choose between more killing or flight. If I were to run, perhaps I could survive, but from what little I have been able to learn about ‘heat’ from the sisters, ‘cold’ is simply a far slower fire which cooks you through apathy.

Fight and die a hunter’s death, or run and die to stop the death?

“Aw, shit. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you sad! I’m sure things will be fine!” she spouts.

I just purse at her.

“Tell you what. You seemed to really like that oatmeal, and I think I have an idea why. So... that gives me another idea!”

She disappears behind me to the fridge and opens the smaller of the two doors. While she’s distracted I quickly lift up my nigh-empty pot and slurp it clean of its ‘oatmeal.’ Once done I lower it down to find her smirking with a strange plastic bin mostly undetailed other than words and images on its lid. With it she replaces the pot and cracks it open for my curious browsing whilst she sets aside the slobbered pot for cleaning.

The first and most obvious fact of this food--for it must be food if it came from the freezer!--is that it is COLD. So cold that just being near it feels cold. But, rather than ice or a food frozen hard, inside is a white expanse of... something.

Carey puzzles over the plastic serving spoon for a moment before setting it aside.

“We don’t have any spoons that would work for this, so... just, uh, lick it I guess?”

I give it an even more befuddled look than the oatmeal. I suppose she was right about that stuff, so she must be right about this too...

She notices my apprehension anyway.

“I called oatmeal the breakfast of kings and queens, but this is the dessert of kings and queens: icecream! It’s the go-to food for sad people; you can use it to eat your sad thoughts while keeping your happy ones!”

Rather than the icecream, I instead direct my lazy gaze to her as I await further explanation for the pile of strangeness she just dumped on me.

“...Just lick it,” she orders me.

However, she quickly looks up and glances around.

“...Okay, Sam wasn’t around to hear that one. Nevermind then, we’re fine.”

I huff. Humans.

To put an end to any further human nonsense I lean in and flick my tongue across the white mass.

Huh. Neat.