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 34: Cooking with Kin

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A/N:

While working on this chapter a buddy of mine binged what I’d finished so far and he noticed something: it seems as if every other chapter is in some way about eating food--even the interludes. I didn't realize this until he pointed it out and, well... he's right. After thinking on it I came to realize why: because Emeral's interactions with the world are usually through her mouth, and because eating socially serves as a good medium for bringing the human characters together.

So... all in all, great timing considering the theming of this chapter!

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The young woman sears the chunks of meat on two pans--one for the sisters, the other for me. Both pans bubble with fat and the melted goop of an odd yellow hard-but-soft mush she called ‘butter.’ This stove is subtly different in appearance to the one below but functionally serves the same purpose: flame is released, the pan is heated, and the meat is cooked. Both are significantly larger than the first one I had seen, having four elements instead of two, and a ‘room’ inset beneath.

Carey awaits food in the ‘living’ room--which from what I have gathered is for lounging in--whilst I watch over preparation, eager to learn. My head lowers close once more and Sam shoves me away, muttering about ‘space,’ ‘drool,’ and other such things I have yet to learn about. She makes little progress as I salivate to the fire and stovetop below. The food is not the only thing I marvel at and consider: the heat seems to rise to meet my face despite the lack of fire, almost as if lots of little fire is above; not enough to burn, merely enough to warm.

Perhaps this is how the food is cooked: with just enough heat. Too much produces charred remains, too little is... well, no real issue but I imagine it would take longer!

Juices flow up to the surface of the meat and Sam twists two knobs. With a pair of tongs she shifts the steaks over to a different pan set beside the stove, this one long and flat rather than circular with a handle. She repeats her original first step--applying brown, white, and black powders--and then looks at me expectantly.

I raise a hand to grab what I choose to be one of my steaks but she pulls away the tray! I glare her down but she is unmoved as she applies odd coverings for her hands. Before I can force the issue she carefully maneuvers to pull the door in the device open, partially extracting a rack as well.

The moment she does an absolute wall of heat rises to meet me and I scoot back frantically, making a loud crashing noise as my haunch hits the surface opposite the stove.

“Hey! What are you two doing in there?!” Carey calls as Sam giggles.

“Just putting the steaks in the oven. Dinner’s about half done!”

Sam has used her reprieve from my curiosity to hide the meat within the fire-room--the oven--and taps at the front of the device, making beeping sounds each time. I’ve reapproached to inquire and examine a strange part of the device that’s just like a sight-sound rectangle--a ‘television’?--but extremely tiny. It changes from ‘450’ to ‘0:00,’ then ‘1:00,’ ‘2:00,’ and so on until it reaches ‘8:00.’ Seconds after she releases her finger and steps aside it beeps once more and becomes ‘7:59.’ The symbols are all made of small interrupted lines which is something very unlike other symbols I’ve seen.

With a confused expression I watch these symbols: ‘7:58,’ ‘7:57,’ 7:56,’ and more. At first there’s seemingly no pattern but the longer I stare transfixed I unravel this mystery more and more. The symbol on the right, its slot went from the tall-no-middle one through a series of nine other sequential symbols before going back to the first again. The exact same series of symbols repeats again as I watch. And again, and again, until finally...

‘6:59.’

The two-lines different-lengths symbol on the left has gone, replaced with something like if the original symbol had had one of its sides get bent in. Watching it further yet more of the pattern is revealed: there are three sequences and each is related to the one to its right in some way. The left slot started at the symbol where all lines are filled in but both the middle and right ones started at ‘0.’ Complicating this is that the middle only went straight to the sixth in the sequences, which is similar to the fifth but has been bent in from the left as well!

It’s incredibly confusing just to think about and it doesn’t even make sense! Why does the middle one only go to the sixth? Does the left slot only go up to the third symbol? I wrack my brain hard, desperately wishing I had eaten more humans by now to steal their intellect and knowledge. The only two available to me are decidedly off-limits for now as they willingly give me what I desire in raw form, so I can’t even take a shortcut!

It isn’t until ‘4:32’ that I realize another piece that I’m missing: these symbols mean something. I knew this already! Of course they mean something! But they mean something deeper than just symbols. They convey meaning, but what meaning? Well, that meaning is that it is counting to something!

The concept of time isn’t new to me. Timing is important for a hunter, a brawler, a mother, a Kin. There is a time to sleep, a time to eat, a time to deal with the consequences of eating, and of course a time to lounge. All of those times usually happen to be ‘when we feel like it,’ but there are patterns. Patterns to time. How long it takes for an individual Kin to run a certain distance in a race, how long it takes before getting tired, and how long it takes before a snaptrap plant realizes you’ve stolen its sweet lure before snapping shut, trapping smaller less speedy Kin to a painful death without assistance.

Time. The symbols represent time, and in this context it can mean only one thing: how long until I get to eat.

A bit of drool seeps from my toothily smiling mouth as I watch the timer. Sam reaches her hand into view and I resist the urge to snap. I’m rewarded with yet another infernal beep but rather than the symbols changing yet again, a light snaps on within the oven. I quickly shift my head down and stare.

The four slabs all glisten under the shine, errant melted fat glowing and sizzling. It’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and I lose myself for untold moments. I’m finally interrupted by even more of the beeping yet this time shrill and urgent, and Sam shoos me away. I reluctantly follow her will for I desperately want what comes next.

Carey strides into the dining room, having set aside what she was doing.

“Emeral! Here, come here,” she asks.

She continues her path and arrives at the surface--the ‘counter,’ it is called--and pulls a part of it open. She withdraws six sharp-rock sticks of two variations, all scooped clinking into a hand. One is entirely sharp-rock with four tiny sticks on the end and the other has a not-wood handle, the rest obviously a created-claw.

She gives me a pat on the shoulder with her free hand as she passes and I follow her out of equal parts curiosity and confusion. I believe that I recognize these but it has been quite some time; the hunter I spied on used these to slice up his steak. With nothing better to do while my new Sam minds the meat I tread over to observe.

One of each goes down at three locations, two across from each other and one at the end of the table. Next she pulls away the seat and sets it aside before backing away and looking expectantly to me. The implicit request is obvious so naturally I fulfill it; I will not turn down a chance to learn even while I hunger for something more material.

“Hello Carey,” I greet. “Hungry. Food?”

She smiles wide, showing her bright and amazingly white teeth. Her kind must have something they do to keep them like that, though the why shall remain a further mystery.

“Yes, food. Soon. But first I want to try an experiment!” she excitedly explains. She grabs a tool in each hand, initially holding up the pokey one for inspection. “This is a fork. You...” she makes a slow stabbing motion, “...stick it into food to hold it.”

I nod along, a gesture I have seen her do which signals receptiveness to speech and interest in content. Were she a Kin, I would have kept my mouth shut but flared my nostrils and shown my attention.

“And this,” she holds up the created-claw, “is a knife. You use it to cut.” She holds the ‘fork’ as before--straight down as if holding down struggling prey--and begins smoothly slicing at it. My mind goes back to the hunter extracting the prime meat from his kills; well, except for the heart. I can easily understand why this tool is useful for working with meat because it’s so precise. My teeth could easily chomp through a neck, sternum, or femur but that’s no good for piecing a kill without getting the blood everywhere. My tail blade and my scythes are too large and unwieldy for such even cuts but my claws may be able to rival it.

For now I shall humor her. “See? You good?” she excitedly and expectantly asks. I nod along and she holds both out.

To sit I park down my rear with my legs out ahead, though bent. This is a sitting posture I have seen both Carey and Sam perform but it obviously doesn’t work exactly the same for me. Were I a male I could sit cross-legged or squat, but thanks to the particulars of my anatomy squatting would be unstable, uncomfortable, and above all undignified. That’s how I do my business! So for now I shall sit nicely as the not-intruders do, my legs beneath the table and my tail wrapped politely around me where it will not be stepped on. In this position I may gaze imperiously over my domain and its inhabitants so it’s not too bad.

I take up my own tools and do my absolute best to repeat her motions. The knife and fork are far too small in my larger hands and I find myself forced to try and grip them only in my fingers rather than supported by my palms as Carey demonstrated. Still I fail, clinking them together to Carey’s undisguised amusement.

Clink, clink, clink, clink, clink, they go. Now I’m just doing it because it’s an interesting noise I’ve never heard before--one accompanied by a familiar pair of soft giggles.

I hear activity behind me so I twist my neck around to see. Sam is now moving a green bush-like plant from a pot to three plates. Next she pours a speckled tan goo different from the butter, then the next, but before she can move on to the third Carey interrupts her.

“Don’t give her any. Dairy product,” she grimaces. “Also, don’t take it personally if she doesn’t like the broccoli. I’ve only seen her eat raw meat and lots of berries so I have no idea how she’ll like it.”

Sam nods along as she works, making sure to keep the mysterious goo I absolutely must taste to herself and my best possession. Already I hatch a scheme to swipe one’s plate before the night is done and lick it clean, perhaps before it is even finished with.

Interrupting my plotting comes Carey again vying for my attention. “Come, Emeral. Wash.”

She has me get back up again and leads me over to the kitchen’s water basin, one far different in design to the one below us. Rather than a smooth bowl with a sloping water-release device, the basin is angular with rounded edges, and water enters from a tall and curving tube. Beside it is an empty series of not-wood rises that baffles me in its use.

Just as before she turns on the water. Rather than cup water she squirts a bit of fruit-scented goo onto her hands from a bottle before scrubbing. When she finishes she uses a nearby comparatively tiny blanket to dry them off, and she presents them for me to see. Instinctively I open my mouth to taste the fruit but I catch myself and she pulls back in a brief look of concern before moving on.

“Wash your hands before eating. You’ve been walking on them all day,” she chides. Something about my foreclaws--hands--and washing. Washing my foreclaws? I thought I already did in the bathroom but okay. I grab her fruit juice container and once more resist the urge to devour, instead squirting a larger dollop on a hand. Now that I can scent it better I notice a stranger tone to it, one reminiscent of my female prey’s not-water. No tasting then.

I run my hands beneath the water and scrub. Nothing much comes off due to having already rinsed them of grime and grit but the goo becomes slick and slippery. My scales slide over and against each other as well as the filth likely would. I can only conclude that having said detritus on your hands causes problems for eating? Maybe for Careys and Sams, but not for I. Whatever.

I grab the towel and dry my hands; by the time I’m done it has little dry surface left but it’s worked, even if my claws are still a little wet out of worry they would shred it. I do my best to walk hunched upright over to my sitting space to the awe of Sam and daintily take it. By now she has finished what she’s doing, having removed the steaks after those final few beeps.

I wait expectantly and I am absolutely rewarded. “Eat slow,” Carey emphasizes unnecessarily. You can absolutely bet I will be savoring this.

Sam first places one plate down in front of me before sitting with her own. My plate has two steaks rather than one, and my plants have no sauce. I ignore the cutlery completely and lightly stab the tips of my claws into one hunk. With my other hand I take my innermost finger and press it between two claws, slicing the meat in half. I repeat this a few more times to the curious gazes of my not-intruders before I finally end up with diced chunks, one sunk on each claw.

I pull it from its skewer with my lips... and the taste... oh, the taste...

This... is... THE BEST THING I HAVE EVER TASTED.

Before I can think, it’s gone. Just gone. Swish, gulp, gone. What happened? My meat? It’s already gone?

Exerting conscious effort this time I take a second piece and savor it. It almost has the texture of uncooked meat but it’s got very slight charring and a delectable crispiness with just perfect juices. My voicebox rumbles as this too passes, and I continue on in a state of bliss.

Only now that I finish the first steak do I notice the wide-eyed look on my Sam and Carey’s faces, neither having touched their own food yet. They look between each other and back to me.

“She’s... purring, Carey,” Sam exclaims. “Purring. Just like a cat.”

“I know,” she responds. “It’s been very rare but I’ve caught her once or twice. This is why me and Mom say you’re cut out for culinary school.”

I ignore their shocked mutterings and continue my meal. It’s paltry compared to what I would normally eat, even when not trying to grow. The plants especially are rather bland but crunchy in a good way. I’ll have to find something else after we’re done here, either another elk or something more exotic. Just like the first the second is gone too soon and I find myself sitting back, pleased. A paltry meal indeed but even if I were to just gobble up my little Sam here and now there is no way her supple flesh could ever stand up. Truly a shame that she is unlikely to cook her own kin for me.

Dessert shall come later for certain but now is the time to savor lingering perfection.

I nearly nod off then and there but Sam’s voice interrupts me and I open my eyes once more.

“This is cool and all, but... how are we supposed to feed her?” she asks. “She looks like she could eat for both of us and then some.”

Carey smirks. “Are you calling Emeral fat?” She turns to me. “Are you fat, Emeral? Do you overeat? Are you a tubby alien?”

Her nonsense carries a clear edge of humor, both evident by recognized tone and Sam’s light snort.

“Don’t worry,” she continues. “She can provide for herself. And it’s not like an alien needs a hunting license, right? Otherwise I’d need to report her!”

Both laugh while I sit unamused, unable to partake in the assuredly very funny quips.

“Aren’t you worried though?” Sam asks. “About her being so close to town? What if someone sees her?”

Carey looks thoughtful for a moment before responding. “Yeah, I thought about that already and I was worried about it, but... after thinking about it more I trust her not to be dumb. Earlier I found her doing her business out in the forest instead of, y’know, the basement or backyard.” She turns to me again, this time with a markedly different tone. “You down, Emeral? No up in town?”

Town. Town is this place. She doesn’t want me in town. There’s a fat chance that I abide by that but she won’t need to know that.

“Yes, Carey. No town,” I answer smugly. Yes town, very much indeed town! Though at night, carefully and sneakily.

She sits back relaxed and just-as-smugly smiles to her sister. “See? Low profile. She’s smart.”

Getting up I arch my back in a great stretch to the sisters’ amusement. Salivating further as I round to my Sam’s side of the table I come up behind her. Carey goes silent and still. She cautiously opens her mouth to say something but before she can get her warning out I wrap an arm around my personal cook, chair and all, and hold her close once more.

“Hey!” she half-heartedly complains. “It can’t have been that good! Down, girl!” she giggles.

While she’s distracted I snake my other arm around not to complete the hug but to swipe my prize. Quick as an errant broodling I swipe the plate and bring it to my face, slurping and slobbering as I taste the leftover sauce and juices. It’s an interesting taste and I can imagine it complimenting the plants well.

Carey bursts out laughing as Sam indignantly struggles free of my loosened hold, grabbing for the plate. The former gets up and escapes with her own to the kitchen where she rinses it off in the sink.

“Alright you two,” she calls. “Frank gave me an idea earlier. We’re playing something a bit more complicated than Rock Paper Scissors tonight.”

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A/N:

The depictions of cooking a fancy steak are actually second-hand from a friend of mine who explained the process. I do not have experience in this so any inaccuracies are to be explained away with that--unless you want to handwave it as Emeral not really knowing what she’s watching.

“My procedure for steaks: Leave at room temp to thaw for at least 30 mins, pre heat a skillet and the oven to 450, butter the pan with 1 tbsp of stick butter, sear both sides until juices come out the other side, after I flip the first time Salt and Pepper, then when I flip it the second time I put it straight onto an oven pan, season the other side, finish it off with about 8 minutes in the oven, comes out great. Usually a bit rare in the middle and pretty juicy and that's how I like it, but still gets just a little bit of crisp on the outside, especially if I seasoned it well.”

Now, what I would have done is the Carey method: thaw meat (which she didn’t do in Chapter 31), season steak, oil pan, heat pan, cook steak for three minutes, flip steak and cook for three minutes, and finally: serve.

...Y’know what, I should really try my buddy’s method. Writing this made me hungry...

Oh, and for reference regarding a throwaway line: no she does not have the ability to gain knowledge and memory from people she eats. She thinks she does and that’s a later plot point.