The Bitter Few 1 (Patreon)

The Bitter Few - or ‘The Plight of Human-Kivouackian Circumstances’ (The August Few: Amygdala, Human!SI)

Kivouack and Kivouackian/Kiv. Terms that mean nothing to human understanding and wisdom.

Yet, the truth is that those matters- a lot. It wasn’t a secret that many have, rightfully so, questioned the source of awareness- when did we ‘evolve’ or why we evolved into what humanity is known to be in modernity.

Yet, none can truly tell for sure due to the implications behind the secrecy of a society that came before and survived the Big Bang. It would be a lie to say that there is truly one that knows the source of everything, but… maybe we have to accept that humanity wasn’t the beginning.

It was the odd and unexpected results of pride and ambitions culminating into the destruction of the ‘Locket’s Rule’. Still, we have to track back. After all, I can’t exactly be the one to explain why I was aware of this all as a human, or why my gaze follows people and things with precision so ruthless that one would be crept out.

I wasn’t always like this, or rather, I wasn’t born to be like this. A normal human couldn’t become like this. Unless a situation is created.

Accidental Interdimensional Bubbles. That’s the terminology used to address the disappearing of peoples that are constantly delivered into new universes. At times, it was just a complete isekai, to others it was a time-travel or even a dimensional hop into an ‘alternative reality’.

My situation was a mix of the three. Time-travel is involved as I landed in a dimension where life existed before what the common folks define the Big Bang or ‘God creating the world’. Not only that, but it was also a case of isekai due to the culture I was ‘presented’ with.

The Kivouackians, or Kivs, were a group of hostile fiends. Not truly divided in ‘species’, but rather classified within their talents and age gaps. A society where a form of brutal understanding where might beats most has existed for centuries.

It all started within the year 1812 of Locket’s Rule, when I landed in what was known to the world as the Madness Frontier. At the outskirts of known ‘civilization’, where the hostility was truly perking within the true madness of a damned survival chance. No one here was bound to last for long.

Yet, I was a human- I had to survive. Perhaps it was pride or principle. Perhaps it was greed and unwillingness to surrender against a cruel and rotten nature. There were no edible plants. There was no easy prey- everyone here was both predator and prey, eater and eaten.

As a human, my ‘intelligence’ came to be insignificant when the ‘animals’ are as smart if not smarter than I was. In fact, one could say that the Kivs were far more terrifying through this and their biology.

I can’t lose myself too deeply in this, but I would say that simple words can be used: Kivs’ bodies are known to be able to withstand a lot of damage and can shape to adapt all their bits into dangerous weapons. The older the kiv, the more adaptive that bastard was to be.

Also, a kiv doesn’t die if they lose their heads. They ‘hibernate’ as their body experiences ‘Rottulation’ or ‘Capitulation’. A concept where a sick mix of pleasure and pain conceived a most submissive and ‘usable’ body as a tool. Some kivs tended to use ‘defeated’ fellows as chairs, or even as tools for pleasure.

Within consent, obviously, but even then the means of moral consent weren’t as regulated as it would be for a normal human civilization.

So, I was not in a good position. I knew that- my body knew it. The panic and the fear and the dread, all of that wrapped neatly and tightly within my chest as I tried to find shelter. I was afraid, I was nervous, but, worst of all, I was being chased by something.

I couldn’t tell what it was early on. It was long before I realized that this surreal place within the sick nature held the hopeless that sought to be saved. Not by the deeds of others, but through the bad luck of others.

And the one that chased me, hiding in the white flowers and barely standing out from those due to her peculiar fur, was not willing to let go of me. She smelled the primal sense of fright from within the sweat, the horror in my features and then… she struck.

Like a vicious feline that had waited and prodded until that moment for a situation to use and then strike through, the white and red-furred creature that came after me carried forth a sense of affection for violence uncommon even to some of the kivs all around.

Lucy Lacemaker was her name. She was young, a ‘Fowler’ by Kivouack understanding of age-gaps. Within the first years of her existence, yet already mustering the viciousness needed to survive and outlast the cruelty surrounding us.

The battle was crude, even within the notion of survival. The pain of being clawed within my arms, the stubborn effort of the ruthless critter to draw blood and guts, and then the retaliation. One can be afraid for so long before the element of surprise runs out and allows the biggest of the opponents to strike back.

Lucy was not built to last long in prolonged fights back then- even now she tends to tire so easily, which is why she had long adopted a brutal method of combat which revolved around overwhelming and killing her prey fast. I was the one that initiated her in that thought by enforcing her loss.

She didn’t Rottulate. Such a development would have been fatal for someone as young as her. Rottulation was, after all, not truly the end of life but the one of extension of a line or a dynasty. If you Capitulate that harshly, you tend to ‘release all your DNA out of your sexual member’ or ‘Gower’ as the Kivouack terminology describes sexual organs.

The fight was fierce on both sides, but we were ultimately spent. Tired and somewhat dying. I wasn’t truly on the verge of death, but Lucy was… hungry. She had been hungry for a while.

The vicious critter was still trying to fight even as her body had given up. The stubbornness, that pride. It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t have mattered and it didn’t. What mattered was what surprised me in that moment- tears. Tears of anger, pain, of not wanting to die. It was too… humane. Too intelligent, too… difficult to ignore.

It was one of the last times I showed humanity towards a Kiv, and I have to say that…

I couldn’t have shown it to anyone better than this one.

“Truce?”

The word gained perch on her attention. The critter paused as her silver eyes narrowed against mine. There was fear, confusion and… interest.

“Why?”

“I die, you don’t live for long. You die, I would lost a potential ally against others.”

“...Why?”

“I want to,” I replied flatly and her surprisingly well-spoken English delivered a very amusing response.

“Fucking twat, you hurt me!”

“And I will do it again if you try your luck on me, dumbass,” I hummed sharply, causing the critter to… ‘give up’.

“Fine.”

I had wounds open, so it wasn’t too difficult for Lucy to just drink blood off me. She was no vampire, but Kivouack were quite the predators and were not unfamiliar with cannibal tendencies. So, blood was on the menu together with flesh and bones.

That mere truce was the basis of a far longer cooperation. One that saw Lucy regain some strength as I had to carry her around the cold terrain and that continued even as we found some ‘smiling bastard’ willing to help us.

Goldune was his name, a foxy-like fellow that was quite sadomasochistic- his tails wrapping tightly around his belly, cutting at times, as he sought pleasure through pain. He was ‘nice’ as he allowed us to gain some of his resources, and ‘indebting’ us to him.

Lucy thus became a vicious spy for him while I served as his ‘unofficial Blackhall’ with my mostly covered face and body, hiding my human nature. I had to punch away at those trying to disrupt his business. He was a trader or something, or someone that handled stuff. This is how we were ‘welcomed’ into Vileborne, the place where ‘dreams’ tend to start and also end.

Two years into working as an enforcer, learning from books and sharpening my skills through the brutality of beatings, and our ‘savior’ suddenly left. No letters, no messages, nothing was left for us to know what had happened.

Lucy was distraught- the Fowler had learned so much through his efforts to give her education, but it was clear the foxy cunt never cared for us. We were free thugs for him, and he ignored that Lucy had thought of him as a close friend.

She behaved so dispassionately for the next two years as she longed by the outskirts, hoping for his return…

“He’s back, you fuckin’ tit!” Lucy came announcing as I was trying to catch some sleep in my ‘flat’, having slipped through the window crack of my room, accommodating on my bed.

Gone was the feral mongrel that sought to extract pain to others senselessly. Now she was more cautious and far more precise with her brutal craft.

“What about it?” I groaned, knowing it could lead to more slaving for the bastard in the long run.

But that’s when I turned and saw the vicious grin on Lucy’s face. It wasn’t a happy smile, it was one that promised pain.

“I need your help for… something~.”

Lucy wanted to murder Goldune. What… did I actually miss?

—--------d-d-d-d—----

AN

Story is based on The August Few: Amygdala by Sam Fennah. Those that remember the name, this series was originally known as ‘The Satellite City’ and it was a Web Series- then it was ‘soft rebooted’ and given new air through this massive book. It’s 1025 pages! But it’s a good read.