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 23: Rock, Paper, Truck, Bang

---

We spent hours playing her silly little game. ‘Rock, paper, scissors’ is a genius game of wits where you need to attempt to guess which of the three your opponent will choose. It is fascinating and I believe I understand what it is meant to be: a test of skill to compare one’s strength to another’s. Thus, a game.

Kin have many games as well--they’re usually more physical though. Races, play-brawls, climbing contests, hunting contests, and of course, my personal favorite: hide and seek, which is a rather difficult game when you can easily smell your opponent’s trail. You need to constantly stay ahead of your pursuer, cover your tracks to the best of your ability, and avoid the dangers of the jungle--something admittedly easy near nesting grounds. It also grows harder the larger you get, which made me very good at it compared to my peers.

Boundless’ favorite game was one known as ‘wake-the-mother.’ Whereas rock, paper, scissors is a game of wit and cunning, and hide and seek is about stealth and hunting prowess, wake-the-mother is about seeing just what you can get away with without the mother waking up. It’s an age-old game that every group of growing broodlings eventually discovers on their own once intelligent enough to leave the nest.

My sister’s best play was talking every single adolescent in the nesting ground at the time--eighty-one, to be exact--into carefully piling onto the target female, a new mother known for her heavy sleep.

My personal favorite was one time I buried Mother in a mound of mud. It took hours and the help of a few brothers and sisters but it was worth the look on her face!

But eventually, day turned to night and we had to stop as needs called. At one point I left to hunt for myself, also returning with more berries for Carey. We ate a second late dinner, spent more time talking, and settled in to sleep: I on one wall, Carey on the other. Overall, today has been an extremely productive day, even if it did get rather painful at times. I learned many words, including new ones such as ‘yours,’ ‘mine,’ ‘here,’ ‘there,’ ‘these,’ ‘have,’ and ‘has’ during our test of cunning. I also finally figured out that ‘it’s’ is indeed a combination of ‘it is.’

‘Yours’ and ‘mine’ are two words that sound very different but are two sides to the same stream. ‘Here’ and ‘there’ are like ‘that,’ such that it is indicative of something’s position. ‘These’ is also an indicative word, but refers to there being multiple objects already being referenced. ‘Have’ is about ownership, and ‘has’ is very similar but I’m not entirely sure what the difference is. I have a bag. I has a light-projector. I have a pillow.

I has a Carey.

Speaking of which... she isn’t doing well. Even with the cave sealed the temperature has dropped rather drastically, even chilling me a little. My poor little Carey have no fur, no carapace, no thick coverings. No sleeping bag, no big covering, no heat.

This is a problem. I can’t let her cold to death.

I get up. I have to do something.

She’s too large and I am too small to shelter her within my crop. Perhaps I could emulate that sleeping bag with my neck? Mm... storage is one thing, but I do not trust my muscles while I myself slumber.

There is no need for drastic measures. I need only share my warmth.

Unable to sleep, she looks up at my dark form upon hearing the sound of my clacking claws and clinking plates. Gingerly I lay down and grab her, pulling her to me. She seems confused and limp at first, but puts up no fight. My carapace would be rather cool to the touch at first, but it is capable of heating up with time and huddling. With my back facing away from the wall I shelter my not-prey yet not-friend in a cuddle.

It works, for the most part. Her shivers subside, and she drifts to sleep.

---

A few hours later I’m awoken by soft hands on my snout.

“Psst. Emeral. Emeral, [wake] up, please.”

My eyes snap open, but I don’t need them to feel how cold she is.

Oh no. Not enough...

“U-up. I n-need up, Emeral. I’m [freezing,]” she states, her body shivering and teeth chattering.

She is cold. Like the cold-water. The ice. Her body will slow. She will freeze. And she will have no more things to teach me.

This cannot be allowed to come to pass.

But... what can I do? Well, there is the idea I came up with but I’m very leery about it.

She struggles free of my lax grip before beginning to perform odd movements in the middle of the cave. She flails her arms in repeated purposeful motions, jumps around, stretches her limbs, and runs in place, occasionally rubbing her arms or holding them to herself. Her shivers abate, and once finished she stands before me.

Hm. How curious. I knew that exertion made one warmer, but to use it to warm up while cold is smart. Smart, but not sustainable in her situation. This changes little in the long run, especially if we are out here for days.

“Emeral. I need [out.] I need ‘up,’” she says while pointing towards the crack of moonlight.

She is emulating what I said earlier--how I described leaving. ‘Out’ must have something to do with leaving, then.

“Carey out?” I ask, confused. Out is colder.

“Yes. Out. I need out. I’m [going] to freeze [if] I [don’t].”

I... need to trust my Carey. I need to let her out. I may not understand her reasons, but I need to trust that she will not flee from me into the biting cold and her death.

Conflicted, I head for the rock, and shift it aside. Once there is enough room for my own bulk, I clear the passage, step outside, and stare at her beckoningly. It is time for the moment of truth: if she were to continue moving like in her earlier flight from me... she may be able to keep herself warm.

For the first time in over half the day, Carey steps out of the cave... and stands by my side, looking up to me.

“Thank you, Emeral.”

She remains.

“I need [to go back to my truck,]” she states.

I stare at her uncomprehendingly.

She sighs, and grabs a nearby stick. With it she drags its point through the cold mud and dirt, forming lines and furrows. In the thankfully abundant moonlight she makes art: three large boxes side by side, with the first being short, the second being tall, and the third being long. She finishes her drawing with two circles below it, and a second part consisting of a series of lines attached to one line, with another circle atop it.

It is... it is what? Is that second one meant to be her? It looks like a crude shape of her.

She then draws another strange arrangement of lines, this one with its four protruding lines pointing the same direction--down. She then draws a circle disconnected, and a longer line leading to it before finally finishing with a squiggly line opposite the circle.

And that... is me?

If these are representations, then that must be... her mover.

She wants to go to her mover, with me.

I understand it. Perhaps she has something there that can help her...

...like a sleeping bag!

Of course! How else would she survive the night out here?

Padding over to her, I round her and approach from behind before scooting my neck between her legs and raising it back up.

“Eep! Emeral! [What are] you [doing?!]”

She stabilizes herself and settles in at the base of my neck, just as intended, and I slowly begin to pick up speed towards where I recovered her. This surprises her even more, and she leans forward to hold on to my neck. I bring my scythes down to gently press against her sides and hold her in place. This must be how Mother feels.

The trip passes by quickly and while she did begin to shiver from the cold wind, we rapidly reach our destination and I need not worry.

Her mover is unsurprisingly exactly where I left it: smashed into a tree. The moment I stop, my passenger slides from my neck before shakily stumbling around for a moment, likely dizzy. After gathering her bearings she fumbles around for the covering I had first found her hiding under, and she pulls it around herself.

There. Problem solved.

With that out of the way and eager to return to shelter, I rear up and grab her, ensuring that the covering is still bundling her up nicely.

“[Wait!] Emeral, no! I’m not [done here!]”

Oh, what now?

I have my bag around my neck. She has her big covering. I have my Carey. What else could she need? For a moment I consider just wrapping her up in her objective and carrying her back, but... she stayed. She trusts me, and I must trust her to trust me.

So... I let her down again.

This is all very new to me; trusting a not-Kin. A prey, or rather, a not-prey. Normally that which is not Kin is food, and if it is inedible then it is of no value. Carey is something entirely new.

She holds her covering tight around her in the chill of this land and gets to work quickly. The opening-wall and the seat inside are still covered in that see-through material from when I broke the mover open. Carey carefully clears the large pieces away with a stone the size of her palm before reaching inside and fiddling with something. Something within thnks and the opening-wall performs its purpose, swinging open.

She seems to fear the material--perhaps it is dangerous. Thankfully for her, her seat is clear of it due to any shards landing on the covering and spilling off during my subjugation. She still thoroughly checks it, even taking out my light-projector and shining it around at odd angles within the mover to try and spot pieces. She does pick out a few with this method, so there must be valid reason for it.

Finally, she takes a seat and shuts the opening-wall behind herself, and sighs in contentment. She begins to fiddle with something more, so I stick my head in to figure out what’s going on.

She puts a palm to my jaw and shoves me back out!

“No, Emeral. [Sorry.] I need [room.]”

Hrrrm. I do not like being told no. I know not what she needs, but whatever it is, she needs it I suppose.

She goes back to her fiddling and the mover begins to sputter to life once more, but after a few attempts, fails again. It will not wake after the impact. Darn. This one is definitely large enough to hold me, too!

However, lights within the front and on each corner do come alive. Yet more fiddling results in more lights.

The entire contraption shakes as I mount the side and climb into the open rear section. My actions startle Carey a bit but she quickly goes back to whatever she’s doing up front. My bulk takes up most of the space back here. Thankfully there isn’t much to compete with. There are a few containers butting up against the front part but that’s it. For now, I simply curl up in silence.

Silence which is broken quickly.

“Hello? Hello? Frank? Elijah? This is Carey. Is [anyone] there?”

What’s she asking about now? Frank? Elijah? Anyone? New words, new words.

The transparent pieces of wall are dim and partially opaque but I can still vaguely see what she’s doing. She has yet another strange device and is holding it up to her face. What is she asking me?

“Hello? Frank, Elijah, [come in.] I need [pick-up.] Please [respond.]”

Hmmm, I suppose I better go see what’s got her going. And I was just getting comfortable.

Once more the mover shakes as I leave it. When I do, I realize just how much my weight had held it down, as if whatever supports it was straining under me. It isn’t as noticeable as with the small mover but it still occurred.

She did not like me shoving my face in, so I try a new approach. This time I investigate the other opening-wall. In its middle, below the see-through part is a protruding stick recessed into the side. This... is familiar. I recall seeing something similar to this in... where?

Ah. Right. The tall intruders’ place where this all began. They use things like this to open and close their opening-walls. They came in many variations: some you needed to twist, some you needed to push, and some you needed to pull. I spend a good few seconds studying this particular one to divine its method.

Finally, I give the latch a light tug with a few claws, but it remains fast. I tug again. And again. Do I need to give it more strength? And again--

Noticing my attempts, Carey leans over and tugs at its counterpart on the other side. It swings free. What was I doing wrong?

She gives me a dumb look. “That’s a [door,] Emeral. It [was locked.]”

It is a ‘door.’ It ‘waslocked.’ That doesn’t sound right, though. Was locked? Two words? That is assuming I am correctly understanding how the word ‘it’ is used. Is the door the opening-wall or the thing keeping the opening-wall closed?

Oh well. It’s open now.

The interior is very curious indeed, but little that I had not already seen. Carey has returned to her speaking variations of the same phrase over and over again at the device in her hand but is now eyeing me.

“I’m [going to assume] you [two don’t] have your [radios handy.] That’s understandable, it’s the [middle of] the [night.] I’m [going] to [start trying other frequencies.]”

Her newest one is a mess of words that I can understand and words that I cannot. One day. One day I shall be strong in words.

The middle of the front part has many strange knobs on it that I could not really get a good look at before with Carey and the covering in the way. Before I get to those, I first check out yet another latch, this one on the underside of of the bit in front of the seat on my side. When I gently tug on this one it relents and grants me entry. Within are many flat pieces of something reminiscent of the things I had found in the hunter’s created-nest, complete with symbols and masterful drawings.

As I reach in, Carey slaps my foreclaw away. She gives me that look again.

Oh, so you can touch all of my things, but I’m not allowed to touch yours? Touch I will, Carey! Touch I will!

“Hello. My name is Carey Fairbanks. Is [anyone] out there? Please [respond-- hey, stop that.]”

Touchy, touchy, touch touch touch! I lay my claws all over everything in reach despite her attempts to bat me away, grabbing the seat, grabbing the front, grabbing the middle stick, grabbing the knobs, grabbing the thin symbol things, grabbing her leg, grabbing her arm! I grab everything!

“Emeral! [Stop it!] Please! I’m [busy!]” she shrieks.

Finally, I grab her device from her hands with a quick yoink. This infuriates her further to my delight and I take it away to start toying with it. She lunges across the seat to try and steal it back but she’s too slow! Mine now!

Gripping it a bit harder than I should, it begins to make a noise. The same noise that it had been making when she was talking into it.

Ohhh, interesting! I bring it to my own face.

“Hello? I Emeral. Pleaze food to me. Thank you.”

Hehehe! This is fun! It’s a thing you talk into, but why?

“Emeral! I need that, [give] it here!” she insistently demands.

I hold one foreclaw to her shoulder as she leans over to try and nab it from my other foreclaw, just barely out of reach of her own. I might be channelling a bit too much Boundless again.

“Stop! Please! Emeral, [come on!]”

Oh, fine. She looks so cute when she’s mad. She’s shrieking and fuming in anger and frustration now, so I release my hold on her and let her grab it from me--

BANG!

---

A/N:

The truck may not have started, but this chapter went from zero to a hundred real fast. Perceptive readers might note that the title of this chapter is multi-faceted.

‘Rock’ refers to the rock blocking the cave’s mouth that Emeral has opened for Carey, signifying her acceptance of needing to trust her new friend.

‘Paper’ refers to Carey’s need to be covered up and the paperwork Emeral fiddles with.

‘Truck’ is a truck. Because they go back to the truck.

‘Bang’ is a bang.

Please clap.