He was hungry.
Not for food—though that hunger existed too, a primal need to consume to fuel the apocalyptic changes still occurring at the cellular level. This was a different hunger. A hunger that lived in the lowest parts of his brain, in the reptilian systems that cared nothing for thought and everything for survival, reproduction, dominance.
The beast inside needed to mate.
The transformation had awakened something else within him. Beyond the power, beyond the physical superiority, there was a drive older than civilization, older than thought itself. The golden serum from the meteorite had not just upgraded his body; it had amplified everything about him, including instincts that lay dormant in modern humans.
His body was screaming for one thing: Offspring. Territory. Dominance through breeding.
He walked for hours through the grasslands, driven by this imperative he could neither understand nor resist. His enhanced senses tracked every movement, every vibration, every thermal signature. The landscape was a symphony of life, and he was the maestro of predation.
It was near dusk when he found her.
She was alone—truly alone in an era when humans rarely traveled solo. She was gathering seeds from tall grasses, her movements practiced but not particularly careful. Her skin bore the weathering of survival in a harsh world, but her frame was strong, her movements capable. She was perhaps 21 winters old in an era where thirty was ancient, yet her genes carried the strength of survival.
Most critically: she was alone.
Acheron's breathing stopped. Everything in his reconstructed body went still—a predator detecting prey. But this wasn't prey in the conventional sense. This was something deeper. His eyes, those new golden orbs, drank in her thermal signature, the curve of her body, the way she moved through space.
His mind, for all its new sophistication, reduced her to a single metric: Viable.
The hunger that had been gnawing at him crystallized into a singular purpose.
She didn't see him at first. Humans of this era had poor distance vision, relying more on movement and proximity. But when a shadow fell across her gathering area—a shadow that seemed to absorb the dying sunlight—her head snapped up with the reflective wariness of a creature that knew predators.
What she saw would forever change her understanding of what was possible.
Acheron stepped into the clearing, and the woman froze. He was massive—nearly two meters of muscle sculpted to impossible perfection, his skin bearing the faint glow of transformation not yet complete. His eyes—those golden amber irises that seemed to hold internal fire—fixed on her with absolute predatory focus. The late afternoon sun caught the residual energy still radiating from his form, casting him in an almost supernatural luminescence.
For a moment, she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think beyond the ancient animal knowledge: This is death.
But she should have run. Some primal instinct should have screamed at her to flee. Her legs had strength. Her mind had awareness. Escape was possible if she moved now, in this moment before he closed the distance.
She didn't run.
Instead, something else stirred in her genetic memory—something deeper than fear, older than survival. Because what she recognized in that creature before her was not just a predator.
The Apex.
In this era there was only one law of biology: the strongest bloodline survives. And standing before her was the strongest bloodline her species had ever produced.
She lowered her head.
Acheron moved forward, and the woman didn't resist. There was no struggle, no fight, no denial. Just acceptance. The most primal acceptance. The acceptance that comes when a female creature recognizes supreme alpha dominance and submits not from fear but from recognition of genetic imperative.
The gesture was subtle but absolute. In an era where formal language had not yet evolved, where verbal communication existed only as grunts and cries of warning or need, the body became the grammar. Submission was a language written in muscle tension and downward gaze. Acceptance was conveyed through stillness.
Her hands moved to her furs.
She removed them with deliberate slowness, exposing her body to the cooling evening air. This was not modesty—the concept didn't exist. This was an offering. This was recognition of the new hierarchy written into her genes across millennia of mate selection.
When Acheron approached, she made no attempt to flee. She simply stood before him, her entire being communicating a single message that needed no words: You are strongest. I recognize this. I accept this.
What followed was raw, primal, utterly devoid of anything resembling gentleness or consideration.
Acheron's body burned with need—a hunger that transcended the physical. His cock hardened with such intensity that it felt like it might split his skin, straining against the confines of his form. The golden light that still clung to his body seemed to intensify, responding to his primal urge. Every nerve ending blazed with desire, with the overwhelming need to assert his dominance through the most fundamental of acts.
He moved toward her with the inevitability of a force of nature.
The female's breath hitched as he approached, her body trembling with anticipation and fear—yes—but beneath it was something far more powerful. Recognition. Acceptance. The biological certainty that her genes were screaming one truth: this was the mate her evolution had always been searching for.
His hands gripped her hips with controlled ferocity, his fingers—powerful enough to crush stone—holding her in place with the confidence of something that knew absolute dominance. His length, hard and ready, pressed against her from behind. She gasped at the sensation of him, at the sheer size and intensity of his arousal.
Without hesitation, he plunged into her with one fluid motion.
She cried out—a sound somewhere between pleasure and overwhelming sensation—as he filled her completely. His penetration was deep, thorough, leaving no doubt about his claim. Her body stretched to accommodate him, her walls gripping him with a tightness that sent shivers of ecstasy down his spine.
Acheron's golden eyes blazed as he began to move within her, each thrust powerful and deliberate. This was not lovemaking. This was possession. This was the biological expression of dominance written into her very cells across millions of years of evolution. Her body had been designed for this—to receive him, to accept his power, to be claimed by the apex.
The sound of their union echoed across the grassland—skin against skin, breath intermingling with breath, the primal rhythm of conquest and surrender. His hands never released her hips, holding her in place as he thrust deeper, claiming every part of her with relentless intensity.
She pushed back against him, craving more, demanding more, her body responding to instincts that bypassed her conscious mind. Her moans rose higher with each powerful stroke, each penetration. Her entire being surrendered to the ferocity of his dominance, welcoming it, celebrating it.
His thrusts became more intense, more relentless, as the pleasure built to overwhelming heights. He could feel her body responding, her walls tightening around him, drawing him deeper. Her breath became gasps, her cries of pleasure echoing into the darkening sky.
The intensity built between them—a crescendo of primal satisfaction. His pace quickened, his rhythm becoming almost violent in its power. Every fiber of his transformed body focused on this single act—claiming her, marking her, breeding her with the certainty of supreme dominance.
He pounded into her with the force of a storm, each thrust forcing moans from her throat. She felt him stretching her, filling her completely, his massive cock driving deeper with each motion. Her body trembled with the pleasure of being claimed, of bearing the mark of the strongest.
His hands tightened on her hips, holding her steady as he increased his tempo. Faster. Harder. More intense. The sensation was overwhelming—the pressure building inside her, the friction of his shaft sliding in and out, the sheer dominance of his possession.
She could feel herself approaching the edge, her body teetering on the precipice of release. Every nerve ending blazed with pleasure. Every cell screamed for more.
With one final, powerful thrust, he pushed them both over the edge.
His release came with an intensity that seemed to shake the earth beneath them. He spilled himself deep within her, his entire body convulsing with the pleasure of absolute satisfaction. His cock pulsed inside her as he emptied himself, claiming her on the most fundamental level.
She cried out as his completion triggered her own, her body convulsing around him, her walls gripping him tightly as wave after wave of pleasure washed through her. She felt him filling her completely, marking her as his, the heat of his release spreading through her core.
For a moment, they existed in that space between climax and consciousness—connected at the most fundamental level, bound by an act that would echo across the next 300,000 years of human evolution. She could feel him still inside her, pulsing, completing the act of claiming.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it ended.
Acheron withdrew from her, his body already cooling from the fever of passion. He showed no afterglow, no continued contact, no recognition of her as anything but conquered territory. She collapsed onto the grass, her body bearing the marks of his ferocity—red marks where his grip had held her, the physical evidence of his dominance.
She watched him disappear into the darkening landscape like a predator satisfied with the hunt.
The night was cold. She remained where she lay for hours, her mind unable to fully process what had occurred. There was pain—marked across her body in marks that would darken into visible bruises. There was discomfort, and the lingering ache of an encounter with something far more powerful than her frame was designed to accommodate.
But underneath it all was something else.
Recognition.
Biological satisfaction.
The knowledge—written not in language but in the ancient chemistry of her cells—that she had mated with the strongest. That her offspring, if they came, would carry his power forward. That her acceptance of his dominance was the price evolution demanded for the greatest genetic advantage.
Her hand moved to her lower belly, and she felt the subtle warmth there—the biological certainty that she carried within her the seed of something that would forever change her people. The child she carried would be unlike anything her tribe had ever produced. It would be the bridge between baseline humanity and something transcendent.
She was the vessel of evolution itself.
She would bear his child. That offspring would carry his genetic legacy forward into the future—genes that were no longer entirely human, but something that had evolved beyond the boundaries of baseline humanity. Her descendants would inherit his strength, his speed, his durability. They would become legends in her tribe, stories whispered around dying fires about the offspring of the golden-eyed god.
In this moment, lying beneath the African stars, she understood what few creatures in history would ever comprehend. She had been the instrument of transformation. She had been chosen—not through romance or courtship, but through the inexorable laws of biology itself—to carry forward something that would reshape the world.
She closed her eyes and smiled, despite her pain. She carried within her the future.