Survival Instinct Book Novels & Stories

They scattered unevenly, landing in corners, near feet, against the wall. That was it, no plates, no care, just scraps. Girls scrambled instantly. The room erupted into desperate movement, chains clanking, bodies pushing, hands reaching, hunger overpowered dignity. I rushed forward too, not because I was desperate for the taste, but because I had one thought, clear and unwavering: I must survive in order to kill the Alpha triplets. I needed to be alive. Alive meant strong. Strong meant capable. Capable meant revenge. My fingers closed around a piece of bread. It was hard and slightly crushed from hitting the ground, but it didn’t matter. I hadn’t even lifted it to my mouth when a shadow loom

And as she did, she was aware — with the same precise cataloguing that had kept her alive for five years — of the small warm ember of something that her survival instincts didn't have a ready category for, beginning quietly to establish itself somewhere in her chest. She told herself it was gratitude for the workshop and her aunt's journals. She was a very good liar. She just wasn't quite good enough.

The Elder swiveled to face Kaniji. The temperature dropped suddenly. Something was about to happen, and I was already scared as it was. I didn't need to see Kaniji get a psychic backhand. I interrupted whatever was about to happen. "I don't have a problem telling anything." I said angrily. "I was judged unfit because I had no memories. But I was told that I had no instincts, and that's a lie! I have a survival instinct! And that's what caused Johan to die and me to survive."

His expression was so deadly that she feared he would hit her and throw her like the table once he gets to her. Survival instinct. It was always there when a person feel danger. Madeline’s survival instinct got her looking around for an escape route and once she found one, the door of a room that was not far from them, she took action. Her body swerved around intending to run far away from him but before she could do that, he got to her and his hands clutched her arms before pushing her to the wall. Gasp! “Let go of me. What are you doing?”

This is not a story about love. This is a story about survival. I added one more line. This is a story about what remains when survival becomes strength. I sat with that for a moment, feeling the quiet satisfaction of something that was true and complete and entirely my own. Not pride exactly. Something quieter and more durable than pride. Then my phone buzzed. An unfamiliar number. The old instinct whispered caution, wait, don't - and I noticed it, acknowledged it, and answered anyway, because I was not ruled by old instincts anymore.

And I was left with my sister, guiding her through the chaos, forcing her to trust me even as my own fear clawed at my chest. A shadow surged toward us from the smoke. I ducked instinctively, grabbing a metal beam for support. The attacker’s arm swung past my head, narrowly missing me, and I felt the heat of the flames intensify as the structure around us groaned under the strain. I realized then that survival wasn’t just about avoiding attacks it was about reading the environment, predicting movements, and exploiting openings. Every second was a decision: a wrong one, and someone could die. The mysterious figure stepped closer, their eyes locked onto mine. “You always thought you were cleve

HELENA By the gods, what had that man led me into? His words echoed in my head. “If you survive the next stretch” he had said. “You will reach places where you stop needing help from strangers.” Did that mean I had to survive whatever was in that damned village? Just what in the gods name was in that village, what did I have to survive by accepting help from this stranger?

I said. "No,I did not," he said. I waited for more. I exhaled and let it go because the morning was cold and we were standing in a yard and apparently we were doing this. "What do you know?" he asked. "About what?" I said. "Fighting," he said. "Defending yourself. What do you know." I thought about it honestly. "Survival instinct," I said. "Twisting under weight. Protecting my throat,finding leverage when someone larger has me pinned. The things you learn when you need them"

Be ready… I spin around, my eyes widening at the man who is holding a large butcher’s knife, his eyes glinting. “I don’t think so,” I whisper, my eyes blazing as the very instinct that we are born with kicks in. The very instinct of our primal nature has remained dormant in me for far too long. The very instinct that Zade has pulled from the furthest depth of my mind and brought to the forefront. The instinct to kill or be killed. A low animalistic growl rumbles in my throat as I duck, his knife skimming past me. Instead, I flip my blade and swinging it with full force, slice through his neck as if it is nothing more than a warm block of butter.

By the time the first wolf easily broke the ranks I realized this would be a masacre. Much to my despair I'm surrounded by strangers who wouldn't hesitate to put their lives on top of mine. I scan my surroundings looking for anything useful but there's not a single tree or rock I could climb to be safe, it's as if the animals knew exactly what would happen. Though to think that they're capable of making a strategy goes against everything I know about animals, something tells me its not a coincidence they chose this spot either.