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 27: Careying On

---

Building a campfire is an art.

You need to make sure that your fuel burns efficiently. You need to ensure that it will survive on its own with little tending required. Most important of all, you also need to make sure that it doesn't burn down the forest. Thankfully, the heat warnings were relaxed before I got myself into this mess, though since this is a survival situation I'd have had to risk it anyway.

Although... in the hot sun, I wouldn't need to do this in the first place. At least not for food.

Outside of our cave, Emeral sits within the mouth staring out at me. First I had her dig a hole to my specifications and her confusion. Finding tinder was easier than could be expected given the heavy rains a few days ago, but the ground underneath the pines is generally reasonably dry and the bark of the pines themselves makes for decent tinder.

I fucked up and due to Emeral distracting me by picking me up, I forgot to grab my knife. Luckily, I kept a swiss army knife in my bag and Emeral--bless her--grabbed said bag after I fainted again.

The first thing I'm doing when I get back is get screened for blood pressure issues.

Anyways. The Dakota campfire is an efficient method of burning what wood is available to you under windy conditions. As a side bonus--not that it really matters in this instance--it doesn't produce much smoke if constructed properly. While making a regular campfire would be far easier, my knife is only good enough for shaving off bark and cutting at branches small enough that I could just tear them off anyway. Emeral didn't want to help with that for whatever reason. And as for my good knife... I could get Emeral to bring me back to my truck again, but...

I don't want to see the body again.

The body.

The dead body just a couple dozen meters from my truck.

Holy hell is that going to be a shitshow. How am I supposed to explain all of this? I definitely can't tell anyone about Emeral, they'll kill her, or worse!

I sigh, and Emeral huffs in response.

“Yeah yeah, just you wait 'til you see this, you overgrown... something. Armadillo-pangolin alien."

...I wonder if she has a name for her people? What should I call her in the meantime?

“Armadillo alien... armadalien... pangalien..." I mutter to myself.

Whatever.

I'm freezing my ass off out here. Now is not the time to get lost in thought over this stuff.

---

This has got to be the weirdest disposal hole I have ever seen.

This was honestly inevitable in some form. All living creatures need to do it, and even dead creatures do as well! Once, at least.

First she had me dig it for her, like I'm her mother or something. Then instead of using it she ran around stealing twigs and bark from trees. And then after that, instead of just getting it done with, she's started piling them into the hole.

Wrong logs, Carey. Wrong logs.

I huff again. This is absurd, even by the standards of the things I have seen her kind make. Normally I'd have given her some privacy for this but I need to satisfy my curiosity--this is just too weird. Honestly, why the sticks?

The hole itself is technically two holes. The main one is larger and is what I would expect while the second is smaller, thinner, and leads down into the side of the bigger one. Perhaps one is for the front hole and the other is for the back, but... that makes little sense since it all ends up in the same place anyways and the entire thing is too large for her if so.

She's been keeping herself covered with the big covering ever since she woke up. I don't think it's just because of the cold because she does her best to make sure I can't see, so she must be shy. Typical Carey wants to ogle my own mound but won't let me so much as see her bare form passively. Picky, shy little Carey. I've already seen her nude anyway and there's nothing to get excited over.

Her newest antic is to crouch on her knees facing the pit as if she's going to regurgitate into it, which makes even less sense. Carey hasn't eaten any bones and her kind clearly do excrete normally judging by the anus on both sexes, so... I'm honestly at a loss here.

Yet again, to make things weirder, she's got a strange sharp-rock device she retrieved from her bag. When she noticed that I'd brought the bag she'd embraced me, which hopefully means that she doesn't mind my victory over the hunter despite her initial reaction. The device itself is composed of a bowl with a prong extending out and looping back in. It makes little scratching noises when she squeezes it with small sparks flying off.

Suddenly, a small ember of light emerges from the hole and Carey whoops in excitement! I recoil in surprise and fall on my back!

My Carey 'giggles' in response. When they find something amusing, they make that noise. Sometimes when I ask her something she smiles and laughs, or gives me that look that I do not yet understand.

Now with my wits about me, I scoot closer to figure out what, exactly, is going on. I think I might have been wrong in my theory about the hole.

The twigs and bark have swiftly caught light and are crackling away, consuming the material. As the fire grows I notice something truly strange.

There is very little smoke.

I knew that they could make fire, but to do so as simply as she has and in a way that I have never seen or heard of before is something else.

“Carey, that?" I ask her, pointing a claw at the hole.

“It's a [campfire.] I need it to [dry my clothes.]"

She grabs her coverings from beside her, holding them up to me and then pointing to them.

“Clothes," she states. 'Clothes' must mean coverings then. Next, she points to herself, and states: “They, um... mine--my--clothes. They [are] my, me, me-my clothes. 'Are' like 'is.'"

Bah, yet another few words that might as well be the same thing as another. So... she needs the 'campfire' to 'dry' her coverings. Clothes. That makes sense... the wet cov- clothes can't be too comfortable.

She needs the fire for her wet clothes, which means she... wants to not-burn them? Warm them as one would the meat? Remove the... water and cold-water?

Ah. I get it now.

“Emeral. You here, [come] here," she calls to me.

I approach the fire to better observe it. Putting my foreclaw over the smaller hole, I can feel air flowing into it for some reason but that doesn't make much sense. Wind either puts out flames or spreads sparks, and where is the wind coming from, anyway? So many things she does for seemingly no reason at all yet they just... work. It just works, and I don't know how or why.

In a way I've felt like a young adolescent first learning how to hunt and survive in the jungle all over again. So many new things. Perhaps I may be sacrificing longevity and strength later in life for strength now, but perhaps the knowledge I gain here may make up for it...

I have heard tales of small and weak Kin born extremely rarely who hold a great interest in creation. They are alone, of pitiful strength, and almost always die as an adolescent or early into their adult years. Instances of them passing on what strength they have is extremely rare, and for the females, well... family matters are difficult, to say the least.

I couldn't imagine trying to raise even the single broodling one would spawn. But regardless, I am not them. I am true Kin, not aberration, and perhaps back home these creations would be accepted. The Skywar is an existential threat to the brood's survival and future according to Mother, and we must be cunning predators lest we be the prey.

What is more cunning than creating things that make you stronger?

This fire is mesmerizing. I feel like I could stare at it all day, contained and controlled as it is. I nearly lean too far forward and dip my head in, but an errant lick of flame reminds me to back away and keep my distance.

Carey, a blur in one of my night eyes, approaches from my side with what I presume is her clothing. I feel a vague sense of touch on my back so I muster up the strength to avert my eyes and figure out what she's done.

“You here, yes. Thank you."

She's... draping her clothes on my back. Why? Am I like the sharp-rock tool used for heating the steaks?

Huh. Odd.

Carey settles in against me by the fire, her covering trapping warmth between us. She occasionally gives me a look of sorts that I've only occasionally seen and never with enough context to guess at.

We remain by the fire for an hour before getting lunch.

---

The butchered kill is lain over a lattice of sticks to let it not-burn over the fire. I spent a full hour searching for elk but came back empty-clawed, and was thus forced to gather smaller creatures. The surrounding lands must be feeling the effects of the hunter's own greedy predations. On a whim I gave Carey a somewhat slimy rabbit along with the berries--the former taken with great reluctance, but still taken. She even broke its neck without my needing to do so.

After that she'd lain it on the ground and begun to slice at it with her tiny created-claw. She carved out strips of lean meat and tossed aside most of the organs, the edible ones going missing shortly after. The meat then gained a somewhat charred texture, but significantly less than when I had prepared my pilfered steaks.

“Emeral. Want to try a piece?" Carey asks.

Prior to preparing the meat, she had sharpened a small but sturdy stick and has since used it to shift around her food. Now, she stabs at one of the pieces and offers it up to me.

Once again that base instinct rises, but I fight it down. I will not bite the hand that feeds me for am I no base animal. Instead, I gently take the stick into my own claws and bring the meat to my face.

Nom.

It's hot, but not enough to burn my tongue. Much of the juices boiled off and fell to the fire below, and unlike the elk steaks there was very little fat to begin with. Overall it is slightly better in taste than my amateurish attempt but there is so little and it took more preparatory work. I swallow and hand the stick back to her. I give it a three out of five claws; it vaguely reminds me of the birds I had eaten but feels somehow emptier, which isn't good because I'm still a tad hungry. I'm injured, after all.

“You [like] it? It good?" she asks.

“It... “ I begin but stop as I try to formulate the words. “I eat."

Carey frowns. “Not good? Is it [bad?] I [think] I [cooked] it ri- um, good."

Good is positive. Bad is opposite? So... negative? It isn't bad, just not something I'm used to. It's weird.

“Not bad. Not good. I eat it. Food is food."

In the time it's taken to talk, the rest of the meat has continued to not-burn... until now.

“[Shit!]" Carey yells.

The meat is a bit crispier but it should be fine. Crispy meat is ultimately still meat. Then again... she is quite picky.

Regardless, she stabs another piece, blows on it a bit for some reason, and then summarily takes a bite. Her face scrunches up, but she begins making noises as she eats.

“Mmm. A [bit overcooked, but] it's fine."

She smells 'happy.' She smelled like this when she saw her truck and when I handed her her bag, so that must mean that she likes it. Finally, picky Carey is not being picky. I lower a claw toward the cooking meat to try and acquire another piece but Carey, not having learned from last night, stops me.

“No, Emeral. I need to eat. I can't eat [only] berries."

Need. I need to eat too, but you don't see me eating you, Carey. I had to spend so much time sniffing out little tiny morsels because someone doesn't know how to sustainably hunt! I can't even go back and finish him because he'll no doubt be carrion by now!

I clack my jaws in irritation. Ooooh. That's it, I need food and this isn't cutting it. To make matters worse the pain in my rear still hasn't gone away and if anything, has only been stinging more.

While Carey quickly finishes her meal I grab my bag and loop it back around my neck. An errant berry falls out so I toss it in my mouth. By now, Carey's clothes have long dried off on my back and are sitting in a neat pile in the dried mud surrounding the fire. I roughly grab the bundle and toss it at her as she sticks the final bite of meat into her mouth.

“Ahp! Emeral! What's that [for]?" she complains.

I then throw her bag at her.

It sends her sprawling back. “EMERAL! Okay! Okay!"

She pulls her clothes under the big covering--a 'blanket,' or so I'm told--and emerges fully clothed. She packs the blanket away into her bag and kicks the pile of dirt from my digging into the hole, dousing the fire within. Finally, she looks up at me expectantly.

“What? What do you want?"

I lightly clack a scythe down onto my shoulder.

“We're [going somewhere?] Okay. Fine with me."

She loops her arms through her bag and climbs atop my shoulders once more, clinging to my neck. It makes me pretty front-heavy and her weight kind of hurts over long periods of time but it's better than her trying to grab onto my scythes I suppose. If only she had claws and I was larger, she could lodge them in the creases between the plates on my back.

I take off in an easterly direction, further distancing myself from the lake and the likely dead fire. There is nothing for me back there other than revenge, and while I may be strong enough now, I have a Carey. Maybe in the future I will return to this place.

As I leisurely jog through the trees I realize that I have a problem ahead of me. What do I do with my Carey? Do I just... live in the forest with her? I suppose that I could but I don't think she would like that, and I need her happy or else she won't teach me things. If she won't teach me things then I'll need to eat her and find a new Carey or Carey equivalent. I have no idea how hard that could be and she has so far proven to be an extremely useful source of knowledge so that might not be my best option.

Over the course of the next few hours we travel in silence. At one point, Carey began to almost-purr, a humming sound coming from her throat. The sound was flowing and lyrical as if meant to mean something. Other than that, she was quiet most of the time but for a few minor questions about 'where we are going,' whatever that means. Her emotions fluctuated many times--sometimes happy, sometimes fear whenever I jumped around, and occasionally she would be exceptionally quiet and reek of a particular scent almost like fear.

Slowly, the pain deep within my bowels has built up more and more. I personally have never experienced this before, but I have suspicions for what it is:

A gut wound.

Though it had sealed up during the night and scabbed over, the puncture from the hunter's weapon has left its mark on me, and not just in my steadily mending head-plate. I can do nothing but continue forward and hope that it heals properly. It will be extremely painful, but there's nothing I can do about it.

Kin rarely get sick and die, but it happens and gut wounds are one of the causes. Something within just sort of goes wrong, and we get weaker and hotter inside. Already I can feel my gnawing hunger growing worse, and the desire to just flop over and rest.

But I can't. I have no brood to care for and protect me, I have a Carey and that's it. As I crest a hill I collapse huffing in the dirt, her weight having tired my legs out too much.

Huff. Huff. Huff. Huff.

Carey gets up from my shoulders.

“Emeral? Are you okay? What's [wrong?]"

Huff. Huff. Huff.

I leave my head where it rests.

“No good in. Need eat. Need down," I pant out.

She considers for a moment before placing a hand to my rough head-plate. This doesn't satisfy her, and she instead begins to feel around at the edges of my plates on my side. What now?

“Emeral. 'Not good in?' What does that mean?"

Her voice has an unknown edge to it. I have heard it once before... when we first spoke. Her scent gives me the clue that I need to identify it: fear.

Concern. Worry. For... me?

I raise my head to look at her. “Not good in. Bad..." I imitate the sound of the hunter's bang to the best of my ability. “...in me."

Her face goes white.

“Oh... [shit.] You're [hurt still.] I [forgot!]" she says before slapping her forehead.

She begins to pace around, muttering to herself and seemingly forgetting whatever she was doing with my plates. “It's not [bleeding,] and if it was [internal she'd be dead by now... Fuck. It hit her rear so it's a gut wound,] that [makes] it [worse...]"

I lower my head back to the ground. I just want to take a little nap. Or should I take her arm first? I should have stopped to eat and rest an hour ago...

I spot a glint in the distance through the trees and down the hill. A mover, perhaps?

“Carey," I murmur. My insides are burning...

She continues to mutter. “If it's a [gut wound,] it [might be infected.] I need [antibiotics, but how] the [hell am] I [supposed] to [get those?]"

“Carey," I repeat, raising my voice a bit this time.

She still doesn't notice. “[We've been heading east] I [think, so we should be near] the [highway soon, so-]"

I muster up the strength to shift and flop towards her. “CAREY," I half-shout.

She finally turns to me. “What, Emeral?" she says exasperatedly.

I turn my head towards where I saw the glinting. “That."

Another bit of sharp-rock shines in the sunlight.

“[Well] I'll [be damned.] Good [timing.]"

---

A/N:

The bracketed text is a bit iffy, but it's only going to be around for so long. I've considered colored text but ultimately went with brackets instead.

Carey's unable to brood as life comes at her fast, Emeral is sick, and the park is behind them both.

Poor Carey. She's been through a lot. First she gets chased for hours by an alien monster, then she's in a car accident and is abducted by said monster. After that she had to try and teach said monster basic English so she could try and communicate with it. Then she witnessed a murder committed by said giant alien monster that she has seemingly befriended. Now it's sick and, to her knowledge, could be dying.

Well... the hits don't stop coming even if Emeral does stop running.

Also, there is a plot hole to address in this chapter: Why is Carey specifically making a type of fire which would make her less likely to be found? It's because she's forgotten about that. She is scatterbrained when she has a lot on the mind--it is a part of her character and has been mentioned a few times.