
Apocalypse Expert in a Beastman World
Genevieve woke up choking on her own blood, a fatal gash tearing through her abdomen. The memories of a primitive world crashed into her mind—she had transmigrated into the body of a sadistic beastman Mistress.
But the five powerful beastmen "mates" standing over her hadn't come to her rescue. They had come to watch their tormentor die.
"We should just leave her," Kameron sneered coldly. "The scavengers will clean up the mess."
Gilberto spat in disgust, while Angelo, a silver-scaled snake-man, trembled in pure terror at the sight of her. The original owner had whipped them, humiliated them, and driven another mate to suicide. Now, they were letting her bleed out in the mud, their eyes filled with undisguised loathing and satisfaction.
She was a top-tier apocalyptic survival expert, yet here she was, paying the ultimate price for a stranger's monstrous sins. It was a bitter, unacceptable irony to die helplessly in the dirt while her supposed protectors waited for her corpse to rot.
She refused to accept this ending.
Forcing a chaotic surge of energy through their shared Biological Link, she brought all five men to their knees in agonizing pain, commanding them to carry her back. In the dark cave, without a single scream, she plunged her bare hands into a fire and brutally cauterized her own gaping wound with searing ash. As the beastmen stared in horrified awe at the unbreakable soul now occupying the tyrant's body, Genevieve wiped the blood from her face and began to rewrite her fate.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
The metallic tang of blood on her tongue was the only thing keeping Genevieve from sinking into the welcoming darkness. It was a stark reminder that she was alive, and that the men standing over her wanted that to change.
"We should just leave her," Kameron's voice was as cold and smooth as polished stone. "The scavengers will clean up the mess. No need to dirty the cave."
His words were a key, unlocking the most vicious of the original Genevieve's memories. They flooded her, not as a story, but as a series of brutal, sensory shocks.
Flashback-A cliff's edge. The original Genevieve, her face twisted in a mask of rage, corners a terrified rabbit-man, his long ears flat against his head. Case. He was beautiful, and he was hers for the taking. Yet, even beneath the veneer of trembling fear, there was a fleeting, calculating gleam in his red-rimmed eyes-a subtle manipulation that the original Genevieve had been too blinded by lust to notice. "Link with me, or you'll have nowhere else to go," she'd sneered. Case's eyes, quickly masking that sharp cunning with a look of pure, tragic defiance, stared back at her before he chose the abyss, leaping from the cliff rather than submitting to her bond. The humiliation had been a physical blow, and she had stormed back to the cave, overturning a table laden with precious roasted meats and fruits.
Flashback-The cave. Her fury, denied its original target, had turned on the easiest one. Angelo. The slender snake-man, whose only crime was his silent, trembling obedience. She'd grabbed a thorny whip. The crack of it slicing through the air was followed by the sickening sound of it connecting with his silver-scaled tail. Scales, like chips of pearl, flew into the air. Blood welled up, dark against the shimmering silver. Angelo had curled into a ball on the floor, biting his lip so hard it bled, his body convulsing with each lash, but never making a sound.
Flashback-A roar of fury. Gilberto, the tiger-man, unable to watch any longer. He had charged forward, a protective wall of muscle and rage, and shoved her. "Enough!" he'd bellowed. She had stumbled backward, her footing lost on the loose scree of the cave entrance. A sharp, tearing pain as she rolled, a jagged rock ripping through her dress and deep into her belly.
The memory and the reality collided. A fresh spike of agony lanced through Genevieve's abdomen, forcing a pained grunt from her lips.
Gilberto heard it. He let out a cold snort, crossing his massive arms over his chest. "Serves you right," he muttered, his voice thick with contempt.
High above, perched on a branch like a silent angel of death, the hawk-man Jameel watched her life drain away with unnerving stillness.
The wolf-man, Dalvin, had a flicker of something-pity? -in his eyes, but then he glanced at Angelo, who was still shaking, and his expression hardened. He turned his head away.
Genevieve took a ragged breath, forcing down the disgust she felt for the woman whose body she now inhabited. This wasn't the time for a moral reckoning. It was time for survival.
She tried to push herself up onto her elbows, but the slick mud offered no purchase. Her arm slipped, and her chin cracked hard against a half-buried stone. The new pain was a dull throb she barely registered.
Her eyes, however, never left their target.
She locked onto the one she had identified from the memories. The weakest link. The most broken one.
Angelo.
Her gaze fixed on his ankle, just visible behind Gilberto's leg.
Kameron, ever observant, noticed the shift in her focus. His brow furrowed, and he took a half-step, subtly blocking her line of sight to Angelo.
But it was too late. Genevieve knew she was out of time.
She marshaled every last shred of her fading consciousness, her will forged in the fires of the apocalypse, and focused it inward. She searched for the Biological Link, the chaotic, violent threads of energy the original had woven. It was a mess, a tangle of rage and pain.
Ignoring the splitting headache it caused, she found the one connected to the trembling snake-man. She grabbed hold of it in her mind.
Kameron flinched, a sharp pain stabbing at his temple. He took a wary step back, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
Genevieve bit down on her lip, hard. The pain was a firework, a brief, brilliant explosion of energy. She used it.
Her arm shot out, a desperate, mud-caked lunge.
Gilberto flinched, thinking she was about to attack, his hand instinctively going to the bone knife at his hip.
But she wasn't attacking.
Her fingers, stained with dirt and her own drying blood, closed around Angelo's ankle.
The contact was like a lightning strike. Angelo let out a choked, terrified cry, his entire body going rigid. The scales on his skin seemed to stand on end. He tried to yank his foot back, a purely instinctual reaction, but her grip was like a manacle of bone and desperation.
Her nails dug into his cold skin.
Slowly, with an effort that seemed to tear her apart, Genevieve lifted her head. Her matted hair clung to her pale face. Her eyes, burning with a terrifying, unyielding light, locked with his.
She pulled herself forward another inch, her voice a raw, broken rasp that was barely a sound.
"Save... me."
The whisper, carried on the faintest tremor of the Biological Link, echoed not in the air, but directly inside their minds.
The forest fell utterly silent.
You may also like

9.3
She sells flowers. He spills blood. And he will stop at nothing to make her his. Elena Rossi has always lived quietly among roses and lilies, dreaming of love as gentle as the petals she arranges. She thought she found it in Daniel, the man she planned to marry. Until her wedding day when a dangerous stranger walked into the church and shattered everything. Adrian Volkov is a king in the underworld, a man feared for his ruthlessness and power. But to him, Elena is not just a prize. She is an obsession. A storm he cannot live without. And he will burn the world and anyone in it, to claim her. Torn from the life she knew, Elena resists him, manipulates him, and even runs from him. But Adrian is relentless. His love is dark, his touch both punishing and tender, and his obsession inescapable. When betrayal and bloodshed close in, Elena must face the truth: She doesn't just fear him. She doesn't just hate him. She loves him. Petals and Blood is a haunting, passionate tale of obsession, betrayal, and the dangerous kind of love that blooms in shadows.

7.9
June was an ordinary architect struggling to pay rent, completely estranged from her high-society mother.
But one night, she was kidnapped and beaten in an abandoned warehouse by Gage Becker, the city's most ruthless billionaire, who demanded payback for her mother's sins.
Gage pointed a high-definition camera at June's battered face and video-called her mother, threatening to release the footage and ruin her upcoming billion-dollar wedding.
"I will never throw away a billion-dollar marriage for a useless daughter."
Her mother's cold voice echoed through the warehouse before the line went dead.
From that moment, Gage systematically destroyed June's life. She was publicly humiliated and forced to hack off her own hair with a cigar cutter. She was blacklisted from every firm in the city, evicted by her landlord, and violently mugged in a freezing New York blizzard.
Curled up in an icy tunnel waiting to die, June felt a suffocating despair. She hadn't spoken to her mother in months. Why did she have to endure this hell for a woman who didn't even care if she lived or died? Why was a monster like Gage so obsessed with driving her to the grave?
When Gage's armored Maybach pulled up, he stepped into the snow to mock her, waiting for her to finally surrender and beg for his mercy.
But the absolute humiliation snapped the last thread of June's sanity.
Instead of crying, she lunged forward with feral energy and sank her teeth directly into the devil's flesh.

7.6
Dumped by her fiancé just days before their wedding, only to watch him marry someone else-what would you do? Cry yourself to sleep, or dress to kill for revenge?
That was Elaina's reality. She's no Cinderella, yet she lost a shoe while recklessly crashing her ex's wedding. Her revenge plan went up in flames, but fate had other ideas, throwing her into the path of Alister-a man who is handsome, charismatic, and dangerous... and ironically, the person closest to her ex-fiancé.
Amidst heartbreak and vendettas, Alister paints her world in new colors, turning Elaina into a modern-day Cinderella. But will this story end in "happily ever after," or is Alister merely leading her into a much more dangerous game?

7.1
The last thing I remembered was the blinding flash of my starship crashing. But instead of a rescue crew, I woke up tied to a wooden post, surrounded by hostile beastmen.
My universal translator kicked in just in time to hear their priestess, Chelsea, declare that I was a cursed demon who ruined their hunt. To save the clan from winter starvation, I was to be burned alive.
The flames were already blistering my legs, and jagged stones hurled by the crowd gashed my forehead. I barely negotiated a three-day reprieve to find them food, venturing into the deadly primeval forest.
I found a massive supply of wild potatoes and even gained the protection of Bronson, a terrifyingly powerful saber-toothed tiger beastman.
But Chelsea wouldn't stop.
She labeled my food as poisonous, tried to sentence me to starve in a penitent's cave, and when my agricultural knowledge proved her wrong, she invoked an ancient law. She incited the tribe's savage warriors to fight over me, turning me into breeding property.
I was a scientist offering them endless food, yet their primitive ignorance and one woman's vicious jealousy kept pushing me toward a brutal end. I was terrified, completely powerless against their monstrous physical strength.
As five ruthless challengers drew their bone axes to claim me, I begged Bronson to leave me and run.
Instead, he pulled me against his scarred chest and kissed me fiercely in front of the entire clan.
"She is my mate," he roared, unleashing a soul-crushing aura. "Anyone who wants her, come at me together."

8.6
I was the untouchable Mafia Queen, but my reign ended in the blood-soaked depths of a damp dungeon.
My half-sister, Kelsey, drove a rusted, sharpened spoon into my chest, screaming about the unfairness of fate.
In my past life, my father sold me to the ruthless Don Dante Blackwell as collateral to pay off his debts.
To survive, I took a black-market fertility drug, birthed his heir, and clawed my way to the throne through sheer ruthlessness.
But in the mafia world, a pregnant woman isn't a queen; she's a walking target.
I survived countless bombings and poisonings, only to be betrayed and slaughtered by my own family.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand. I had sacrificed everything to secure our survival in the empire. Why did my blood and tears only earn me a rusted spoon to the heart?
Opening my eyes again, I am seventeen, sitting in my father's drawing room.
Two black velvet boxes sit on the mahogany table.
Kelsey greedily snatches the box containing the fertility drug, her eyes gleaming with feverish triumph.
"I'll take this one, Papa."
She thinks she is stealing my golden ticket to the crown, completely unaware that she just chose a death sentence.
I lower my gaze, letting my eyelashes mask the cold, lethal amusement pooling in my eyes as I take the remaining box.
Inside is the detailed psychological profile of the Don's dead fiancée.
This time, I won't be a breeding mare fighting off assassins. I will dissect the devil himself.

8.9
Ava Kidd just wanted to escape her abusive stepmother when she got drunk at a high-end club and stumbled into the wrong hotel room.
She woke up the next morning in a luxury penthouse, lying naked next to a terrifyingly handsome man covered in her scratch marks.
Recalling rumors of the hotel's secret underground concierge, she immediately assumed she had accidentally slept with an elite male escort.
Desperate to settle the bill, she offered him her only debit card with a pathetic $1,800.
But the man, who was actually Garrison Terry, the ruthless billionaire CEO, was deeply insulted by the cheap plastic.
He trapped her against the bed, coldly demanding a half-million-dollar service fee.
When Ava frantically offered her dead mother's tarnished locket as collateral, he cruelly dismissed it as worthless junk.
Ava was humiliated, her heart pounding with absolute terror.
She didn't understand why this arrogant gigolo was acting like a deranged extortionist, demanding a fortune from a broke girl who had clearly made a mistake.
Furious and refusing to cower, she sneaked out, put on his oversized designer shirt, and aggressively ate his $800 truffle breakfast.
Having no money left, she grabbed her cheap red lipstick, wrote a defiant IOU on his expensive linen napkin, and fled the hotel.
She thought she had escaped a criminal, but upstairs, the billionaire traced her lipstick-stained name with a predatory smile.
"Ava Kidd, I will absolutely find you."