Free Web NovelChapter 3: Chapter 3: The Tiny Demons were crybabies
Swanly stopped breathing.
For a moment, the whole forest seemed to lean closer to listen to the sound of her brain breaking.
She stared at the three little black panther cubs in front of her, and the three little black panther cubs stared right back with the kind of innocent confidence only babies and terrifying wild animals could have. Their round eyes were wide. Their tiny paws were planted in the leaves. Their soft ears twitched at her as if they had said something completely normal.
But you are mama.
Swanly’s lips parted.
Then they closed.
Then they parted again.
No words came out.
Because what was she supposed to say to that?
No, actually, I am a random apocalypse survivor who woke up in a primitive animal hide dress with no system, no shoes, no weapons, no food, no explanation, and absolutely no plan?
That sounded insane even inside her own head.
The largest cub blinked up at her.
The middle cub leaned against him quietly.
The smallest one sat a little apart from the others, still looking personally wounded from being thrown twice in the same morning.
Swanly slowly raised both hands and pressed them against her temples.
"Okay," she whispered. "These things are insane."
The smallest cub’s ears drooped again.
Swanly saw it.
She ignored it.
No, she tried to ignore it.
She had survived the apocalypse. She had seen people bitten. She had seen safe houses fall. She had seen grown adults betray each other for food, batteries, medicine, and once, a single packet of strawberry candy that was not even good candy. The old world had taught her one thing very clearly. If she wanted to live, she had to put survival first.
She had not been the strongest fighter.
She had not been the smartest strategist.
She had not been some cold, legendary warrior who could cut through zombies with a kitchen knife and a dramatic background song. She had been a normal person with a system, a lot of fear, and a very loud instinct that screamed at her whenever something was wrong.
Right now, that instinct was grabbing her by the soul and yelling, Leave the baby predators before the adult predator returns, you beautiful idiot.
Swanly swallowed.
Her expression hardened.
The cubs, who had just started looking hopeful because she had not run again, immediately froze under that stern look.
Swanly pointed at them.
"Listen here, you little pieces of shit."
The largest cub’s ears twitched.
The middle cub’s eyes rounded.
The smallest cub shrank slightly.
Swanly felt a sharp stab of guilt but forced herself to continue because guilt did not stop claws, teeth, or angry mama panthers.
"You will stay here, and I will leave. I am not your mother. I am not Mama. I did not birth you, raise you, feed you, or sign any forest paperwork saying I am responsible for three tiny talking murder kittens."
The smallest cub made a tiny sound.
Swanly lifted one finger quickly. "No. Do not make that noise. I am speaking."
All three cubs stared at her with their little mouths closed.
That made it worse.
Why did they look so obedient?
Why did they look like she had just crushed their whole world with one finger?
Swanly’s face twitched, but she forced herself to stay cruel because this was not a cute pet adoption scene. This was survival. This was a forest. This was danger with leaves on it.
"You are cute," she continued, voice trembling slightly with effort, "but cute things can still get people killed. I know this. I once saw a woman get bitten because she tried to rescue a dog from an infected alley. The dog was fine. She was not. So no, I am not falling for this. You three are staying here. I am leaving. Your real mother can come back, lick your tiny faces, feed you whatever panthers eat, and we can all pretend this never happened."
The largest cub’s lower lip trembled.
Swanly’s chest tightened.
She pointed harder, as if her finger could protect her from emotion. "Do not do that."
The middle cub lowered his head.
He was the quietest one. Since she had woken up, he had barely spoken. He had just watched her with those deep, glossy eyes, sticking close to his brothers like a little shadow that did not want to be noticed too much.
Now his small mouth puckered.
His nose wrinkled.
His ears flattened against his head.
Then his eyes filled with tears.
Swanly’s stern expression cracked.
"No," she said immediately. "No, no, no. Do not cry."
The middle cub let out a tiny broken sob.
It was not loud.
It was worse than loud.
It was soft and wounded, the kind of helpless baby sound that stabbed directly under the ribs and twisted there.
The smallest cub looked at him, then looked at Swanly, then looked at the ground.
His little body began shaking.
Swanly’s eyes widened. "Wait. You too?"
The smallest cub opened his mouth and began crying.
His cry was higher than the second one’s, thin and pitiful, as if the world had personally stepped on his tiny tail.
"Mama mean," he sobbed, his words coming out broken and wet. "Mama no want us again."
Swanly’s heart dropped into the dirt.
The largest cub still had not cried.
He stood in front of his brothers with his little legs stiff and his ears pressed down, trying very hard to be brave because he was the biggest. But he was still a baby. His whiskers trembled. His tiny claws dug into the leaves. His eyes shone so brightly that Swanly could see the tears gathering even before they fell.
For the three little brothers, this was not the first time their mother had spoken to them with dislike.
Their earliest memories were not warm arms, soft songs, or a gentle voice calling them precious. Their earliest memories were cold looks, impatient hands, and a mother who always seemed angry that they existed. They had been born small, hungry, and full of love they did not know how to hide. Every time they crawled toward her, she pushed them away. Every time they called for her, she frowned. Every time they tried to rub against her legs, she moved as if their little bodies were dirt.
They did not understand why.
Babies did not understand hatred.
They only understood that the person who smelled like mother did not want them close.
Then today, she had finally woken up and touched them.
She had held them.
She had kissed their heads.
She had called them cute in that strange loud voice of hers, and for one bright little moment, all three of them had thought maybe Mother had changed. Maybe Mother liked them now. Maybe Mother would finally let them curl against her chest and sleep where it was warm.
Then she threw them.
Then she shouted.
Then she said she was not their mother.
The largest cub’s little chest rose and fell quickly.
He tried to hold it in.
He failed.
His face crumpled.
Then he cried too.
Swanly stared at the three crying cubs in horror.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "Are you all crybabies?"
The crying got louder.
Swanly panicked.
"No, no, no, wait, stop. Stop crying. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I did not mean it. Well, I did mean some of it, but not in a way that should make tiny animals emotionally collapse."
The middle cub sobbed harder.
The smallest one hiccupped.
The largest one turned his face away as if trying to be strong, but his little shoulders shook.
Swanly looked around wildly.
The forest suddenly felt too big, too dark, and too full of listening things.
"Shh," she hissed, dropping to her knees. "Please shut up. Please. Lovingly. Respectfully. Shut the fuck up. You’re going to attract something."
The smallest cub sniffled. "Mama say bad word."
"I will say ten more if you do not lower your volume."
The largest cub cried harder.
Swanly grabbed her hair.
"Okay. Fine. Fine. You want to cry? Then I’ll cry too. Is that what we’re doing now?"
Tears had already gathered in her own eyes, not because she wanted to cry, obviously, but because she was exhausted, overstimulated, barefoot, systemless, lost in a forest, surrounded by supernatural baby panthers, and very possibly about to be eaten by their mother.
That was a lot for one woman before breakfast.
So Swanly sat back on the damp leaves, pointed at the three cubs, and burst into tears.
The cubs stopped for half a second.
Then, because babies were unreasonable creatures, they cried again.
Swanly cried louder.
"You think you have problems?" she wailed. "I survived zombies! I had a system! I was doing fine! Not great, but fine! Then I woke up in a forest wearing roadkill fashion, and now three talking panther babies are calling me Mama!"
The smallest cub cried, "Mama no like us!"
"I don’t even know you!"
The middle cub hiccupped. "Mama scary."
"I am scared too!"
The largest cub sniffled, trying to blink his tears away. "Mama loud."
"Yes, because Mama is losing her mind!"
The word left her mouth before she could stop it.
Mama.
Swanly froze.
The cubs froze too.
For one delicate second, the three little brothers stared at her with watery eyes, as if that single word had tucked a tiny blanket around their bruised little hearts.
Swanly immediately pointed at them. "That was an accident. Do not get attached."
The smallest cub’s tail gave one hopeful little twitch.
Swanly nearly cried again.
She was so busy trying not to be emotionally blackmailed by creatures smaller than her arm that she did not notice the forest behind her go still.
She did not notice the birds quieting in the branches. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
She did not notice the shadows shifting between the trees.
The cubs noticed first.
All three of them lifted their heads at once.
Their crying stopped.
Their ears perked.
Their wet eyes went wide, but not with fear.
With expectation.
Swanly saw their faces change.
Her skin prickled.
"Why are you looking behind me like that?"
The cubs did not answer.
A deep breath sounded behind her.
It was heavy.
Low.
Animal.
So close that Swanly felt the warmth of it brush the back of her neck.
Her tears stopped instantly.
Every muscle in her body locked.
Then came a low growl.
Not loud.
That made it worse.
