The thought hit me like a sharp stone—Your motherfucker, you're just a kid... maybe I should get his wife to give birth to another one... bitch.
The frustration coiled in my chest, but beneath it, something colder and more calculated took root. If I wanted to survive here, if I wanted to thrive, I needed them to trust me. And what was easier to trust than a child?
I thought maybe I should follow that guy, as I believed it would be easier to make them trust me if I were a kid.
The leader's voice cut through my thoughts like a blade, deep and commanding. "So then... I ask you this—do you want to be part of our tribe?" His eyes bore into mine, unblinking, as if he could see straight through the lies I hadn't even spoken yet. The air felt heavy, thick with the weight of his question. One wrong word, one misplaced glance, and I'd be back in the wilderness—or worse.
I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to tremble just enough. "Will... will I get enough to eat?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, raw and desperate. For a second, I hated myself for it. But then, the laughter started.
It began with one of them—a deep, rumbling chuckle—before spreading like wildfire. The sound was rich, almost musical, the kind of laughter that came from bellies full of meat and hearts full of pride. "Hah! Hahaha!" The tallest one slapped his knee, nearly doubling over. "Kid, we're the best hunters in all the villages! Even if the whole world starves, we won't!"
I let my eyes widen, my mouth falling open just slightly. "Really?" The awe in my voice wasn't entirely faked. There was something intoxicating about their confidence, the way they carried themselves like kings in a world that should've broken them.
The leader—Tharok, as he'd later correct me—nodded, his expression softening just a fraction. "If you want to stay, you can. But there are rules." His tone left no room for argument. This wasn't an invitation; it was a test.
I kept my gaze locked on his, my spine straight. I could feel the weight of every eye on me, judging, measuring.
"1. Always follow the village head's order... that is me..." A flicker of something—amusement? satisfaction?—crossed his face as he watched me process that. The hierarchy here wasn't just clear; it was absolute.
"2. Betrayal is death..." No trial. No second chances. Just the finality of a blade or a rope. I forced myself to nod, my pulse hammering in my throat.
"3. Respect the women and elders of the tribe. They are the heart and wisdom of our people. You will treat them with kindness and honor, always." His voice was firm, carrying the weight of tradition and the importance of their social fabric.
As I stood there, listening intently to the village chief, I couldn't help but feel a sense of determination wash over me. My eyes never left his, trying to show the respect and obedience I needed to show.
I knew that this was just the beginning, that there would be challenges and obstacles ahead. But I also knew that I had the potential to overcome them, to carve out a new life for myself in this strange new world.
I nodded and said, "Understood, Village Chief..." The words were a mix of respect and determination, a reminder of the complex social structures that existed even in this primitive world.
The leader nodded with a bit of satisfaction and said, "You call me Elder... Tharok..." The name was a surprise, a stark contrast to the primitive world around us.
But I knew that it might be because of translation, a Universal Language ability that allowed me to understand any language and be understood.
I nodded, "Elder Tharok..."
The village chief introduced the others, his voice full of pride and authority.
He turned to the others, pride bleeding into his voice as he introduced them. "These are my brothers, the best hunters you'll ever meet."
He introduced a person who was as tall as I, his body a testament to the physical labor he endured daily. He looked to be in his 30s.
The chief said, "He is the youngest hunter we have... You can call him... Elder brother... Krag.." The words were full of affection, felt like the bonds of family and friendship that held these people together.
The chief introduced the other person, who had a big belly, a testament to the abundance of food in this village. He said, "He is your Elder Grom..."
Then Tharok's gaze shifted to the man beside him—a mountain of a human with a belly that spoke of too many successful hunts and not enough running. "And this," he said, grinning now, "is Grom. He's got a hut big enough for two. Grom, take him back to the village. Let him stay with you."
Grom nodded, his eyes a mix of kindness and curiosity. He looked at me and said, "Kid, what is your name?" The word was a mix of curiosity and kindness, as if he really was concerned about me.
I said, "I am Welheim..." I said my real name. Grom nodded, his eyes were full of kindness and sympathy, maybe toward the story I had just forged.
As Grom and I walked towards the village, I couldn't help but notice the children playing together, their laughter a stark contrast to the primitive world around us.
The village unfolded before me like something out of a half-remembered dream. The huts, built from mud and straw, stood in a rough circle, their thatched roofs sagging under the weight of the sun.
Smoke curled from small fires, carrying the scent of cooking meat and burning herbs. Children darted between the structures, their laughter sharp and bright, their bodies streaked with dirt and joy.
The structures were a stark contrast to the untamed wilderness that surrounded us, a reminder of the advanced Stone Age period these people were in. They were not living in caves but in organized groups.
The huts were arranged in a circular pattern, creating a sense of community and protection. Each hut was unique, some larger than others, indicating the status or size of the family within.
The path down to the village wound through sun-dappled savanna grass, the hunters' footsteps steady and silent ahead of me. My leaf apron chafed slightly against my thighs, a constant reminder of my vulnerability in this primal world. The air was thick with the scents of crushed herbs underfoot and distant woodsmoke. Drums thumped louder with every step, a heartbeat calling us home.
Karg led the way, his saber-tooth pelt swaying like a banner. Krag walked beside him, spear balanced casually on his shoulder, while Grom brought up the rear, his heavy belly jiggling with each stride. The other hunters murmured among themselves, casting occasional glances back at me—the smooth-skinned "cub" they'd found.
My mind raced. The plan was working. They saw me as harmless, a lost youth. But beneath the act, power hummed—Eternal Regeneration knitting any wound, Blood Fury waiting to unleash godlike strength, the Living Artifact ready to reshape into anything deadly.
And Eyes of Perversion… already stirring as the village came into view.
The settlement nestled in the river-valley's embrace, encircled by high cliffs that formed a natural fortress—one of them the very ridge holding my cave. Circular huts of mud-daub and thick thatch clustered around a massive central fire pit, its embers glowing even in daylight. Smoke curled from smaller cookfires, carrying the rich aroma of roasting meat and herbs. Children darted between structures, their laughter sharp and wild, bodies streaked with dirt as they chased each other with sticks fashioned into mock spears.
The structures spoke of an advanced Stone Age ingenuity—larger huts for families, smaller ones for storage, all arranged in a defensive ring with clear sightlines to the river and approaches. Bone wind chimes clattered softly from eaves, and carved totems of beasts guarded the paths.
We reached the edge, and the hunters called out greetings. Tribespeople turned—men sharpening tools, elders weaving baskets, women tending fires or grinding grains.
Women of all ages.
My gaze swept them, Eyes of Perversion flaring unbidden.
Young huntresses in their prime—bronze-skinned, lithe yet curved, leaf skirts riding high on tattooed thighs. Numbers glowed: 180 over firm breasts barely contained by bands, 220 across hips built for speed and childbirth, 350 pulsing over hidden mounds.
Mothers with fuller figures—caramel earth tones, heavy breasts swaying as they carried water gourds, bone necklaces nestling deep in sweat-glistened cleavage. 200… 280… 400—promising rich points for every squeeze, every suck.
Even the elders—wiser, bodies marked by time and tattoos telling stories of long lives—still held a raw allure. Wrinkled but strong, nipples dark against worn leaf tops. Lower numbers, but steady: 120… 150… 250.
Explicit thoughts flooded me as we walked deeper.
I'd start with a young one—pin her against a hut wall at night, rip that leaf band away, bury my face between those firm tits, sucking hard nipples until she gasped. Then bend her over, spread those tattooed thighs, sink deep into tight heat while she bit her lip to stay quiet.
A mother next—pull her into the shadows during a feast, lift her skirt, feast on her swollen mound while her bone necklace bounced against my forehead. Make her come on my tongue, then flip her, claim that full ass, pounding until she milked every drop.
An elder to teach me their ways—seduce her with whispers, strip her slow, trace those story-tattoos with my tongue, fuck her deep and slow, showing her what a real man's strength could do.
All ages, all mine—bodies to claim, points to harvest, tribe to dominate.
Karg halted at the central fire pit, where a crowd was already gathering—word of the "found cub" spreading fast.
Tharok—wait, no, Karg was Tharok? The names blurred in my mind for a second, but the leader stepped forward, planting his spear upright in the dirt.
The tribe quieted. Elders sat on woven mats. Children hushed. Women paused their tasks, eyes curious on the newcomer.
Tharok raised his voice, deep and commanding, holding the spear like a scepter.
"River Fang! We have found a lost one on the ridge path. He claims no tribe, his kin slain by a striped death-beast. He seeks shelter."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Tharok's eyes locked on mine.
"Do you wish to join River Fang, cub? To hunt with us, eat with us, live as one?"
I swallowed, letting vulnerability show while scanning the women again.
A young huntress near the front—numbers flaring 160 over perky breasts, 210 hips. I'd make her first—strip her after a hunt, fuck her against a tree, those thighs wrapped around me as I thrust deep.
"Yes," I said, voice steady but soft. "I do."
Tharok nodded.
"Then swear the oath of River Fang."
He thrust the spear higher, voice booming.
"First: Obey the hunt-leader and elders always. I am Tharok, voice of the tribe."
I nodded solemnly.
While he spoke, my eyes drifted to a mother in the crowd—heavy breasts straining her leaf band, bone necklace nestled between them like an invitation. 190… 260… 380. I'd take her slow—suck those dark nipples until milk leaked, bend her over her hut's fire, pound that fertile cunt while she moaned low.
"Understood, Elder Tharok."
"Second: Betrayal means death. No mercy."
An elder woman at the edge—strong despite lines on her face, thighs thick with sacred ink. 130… 180… 280. She'd teach me secrets—on her knees, sucking my cock while I traced her tattoos, then flip her, claim that experienced ass until she begged for more.
"I swear it."
"Third: Respect our women and elders. They are the heart and wisdom of River Fang. Honor them with kindness and strength."
The words hung heavy.
I bowed my head, hiding the smirk.
Respect? I'd honor them—with my cock buried deep, making them scream in ecstasy, Eyes of Perversion harvesting points from every hole, every curve.
The tribe murmured approval.
Tharok lowered the spear.
"You are welcomed, Welheim. Prove yourself."
He turned to the hunters.
"Krag—youngest and strongest. Teach him spear when hunts allow."
Krag—the tall, 30-something hunter with corded muscles—nodded. "He'll learn quick, Tharok. Arms like his—good for throwing."
"Grom," Tharok continued, pointing to the big-bellied one with kind eyes. "You have the largest hut. Take him. Feed him. Show him our ways."
Grom grinned, slapping my shoulder. "Come, cub. What's your full name?"
"Welheim," I said, following as the crowd dispersed.
Grom's hand was heavy but warm. "Welheim. Good name. Means strong river in old tongue."
We walked through the village, children staring wide-eyed, women glancing curiously.
One young beauty passed close—numbers flaring. I'd have her soon—legs wrapped around my waist, nails raking my back as I fucked her senseless.
Grom's hut was larger, near the center—mud walls reinforced with bone, thatch roof wide enough for a family.
Inside, the air was thick with smoked meat and herb scents. Animal skins covered the floor. A small fire pit smoldered.
"Sit," Grom said, tossing me a fur mat. "You look half-starved. Meat soon."
I sat, mind racing.
River Fang.
My new beginning.
And soon—my empire.
The voice purred approval.
Well played, my lord. The path to dominance opens.
I smiled into the shadows.
The women are waiting.
And I was hungry.