The Unmaker

“... Dahlia. Bring me that little knife over to me. The scalpel.”

Little Dahlia waddles over to her father’s satchel and rummages around, brows scrunching. “There’s no knife! Can’t find!”

Her father turns to glance at her, looking a bit irritated. “It’s there. I know it is. Check the side pocket where the bars of bloodstone are. It should be right there–”

“Oh! Found it!”

She’d never seen nor heard of a ‘scalpel’ before, but she’d seen her father use the little knife for his surgeries many, many times before. As she runs back over to hand him the scalpel—nearly slipping on the floor as she did—the man with the bleeding leg groans on the bed. While her father hands him a second small glass of alcohol, little Dahlia stands on her toes to stare straight into the man’s eyes.

“Will he be okay, papa?”

“He’ll be fine,” her father mumbles, cleaning the scalpel with a wet towel. “It’s just a small vessel puncture. I just need to cut here to remove the wooden shrapnel, and then the most difficult part will already be done.”

“But why not use a bigger knife?”

“What?”

Little Dahlia points at the scalpel in his hand. “Small knife! If you use a big knife, then you can cut faster and fix him faster, right?”

The man on the bed chuckles and chokes on his alcohol. Her father scolds him to lie still before turning to sigh at little Dahlia, holding his scalpel up at her.

“Dahlia. When it comes to dismantling something, do you know what is the most important skill to have?”

“Speed!”

“No.”

“Strength!”

“No.”

“... Smarts?”

Her father chuckles and rubs her head. “It is to focus not on the instrument, but on the ‘instinct’ you have developed through years and decades of effort and training. When you’ve cut as many men open as I have, you’ll start seeing that instinct manifesting in the form of a thin, steel thread—and when you see that thread, it won’t matter what instrument you have in your hands.”

He pauses for a moment.

“Follow the steel thread,” he says, “and there will be nothing you can’t dismantle.”

Little Dahlia blinks.

And then she tilts her head.

“... Hah?”

“You and me both. Your papa’s a cryptic as ever.” The man laughs again, and her father snatches his glass of alcohol away from him.

“Just be quiet, both of you,” her father mutters. “Now watch, Dahlia. This is what following the steel thread looks like.”

- Conversation from Akkar Household past

Sunlight glinted off the giant beetle’s obsidian-hued chitin. More slender than fat, its massive thorax plates overlapped one another, each of its folded legs ending in gigantic hooks. Sharp and long antennae protruded low on its forehead, and even curled up they were easily over twice the length of its body—and the worst part was, its body wasn’t ‘small’ by any means.

Sitting right there in the centre of the bridge with its elytra vibrating softly, the beetle had to be at least ten metres long, five metres tall, so its antennae could easily shoot forward and spear all of them through the crates if it knew they were there. Whether it could fight with its antennae or not, Dahlia couldn’t deny its attack range was far, far higher than that of the cave cricket; picking a fight even with six people jumping on it wasn’t going to be simple at all.

“... Well, then,” Issam said, as he ducked back under cover to grimace at all of them. “Anyone have any idea on dislodging that thing from the bridge?”

The twins poked their head over for a split second before ducking back under as well.

“We can just try to sprint past it,” Ayla said. “We can go under the bridge and swing our way across,” Aylee followed up. Jerie immediately whacked their heads with his wooden flute and shook his head. There was no need for a discussion; the twins’ proposal was too dangerous, and the beetle had to be slain no matter what.

The six of them were fifth-year bug-slayers, and simply leaving it there on the bridge was not an option.

“You all reckon I can split its head open with a good, well-placed chop?” Issam murmured, glancing at Amula and Jerie as he did. “It don’t look like any beetle I recognise, but it’s not the usual fat and bulky type we see in our textbooks. Maybe there’s a chance I can–”

“Pine-sawyer beetle,” Dahlia mumbled, and all eyes went onto her. She clenched her stomach and forced herself to at least finish the rest of her sentence. “It’s… not particularly fast. Not particularly good at flying. But its mandibles and claws can easily chew through hard wood because that is what they eat. So. It’s got good attack power… and… um, while its armour is pretty strong…”

She trailed off, wondering how to end her explanation.

“... Issam can probably cut its head open if he can cut right through the middle of its head,” she finished, sucking in a deep breath. “It has to be perfect. Immaculate. It doesn’t have the toughest chitin of all the beetle species, but it’s still pretty… tough. You need to cut between its chitin plates.”

Issam nodded. “Got it. Go straight for the head and kill it in one good blow. Anything else I need to know?”

“I still don’t think we should fight it,” Aylee said, backed by her twin sister nodding furiously. “I mean, we don’t have to kill it now. If you think swinging under the bridge is dangerous and reckless for you, then the two of us can do it. We can sneak past, get Amula and Jerie their Swarmsteel, and then we can kill it together on our way out. Right now, only half of us can fight at our full strength–”

“Don’t you feel it, Aylee?”

Aylee followed Issam’s gaze towards the school, on the other end of the bridge.

“Feel… what?” she asked.

“There’s something strong inside the school,” he said, almost casually, as his eyes lingered on one of the dark second floor windows. Dahlia squinted at it, but couldn’t see anything herself. “If the two of you go in alone, you won’t come back out to us. Just as well, if we all sneak past that beetle without killing it, it’ll prove troublesome when we enter the school while Amula and Jerie don’t have their Swarmsteel on them… but Dahlia’s here with us, you know?” Then he turned and glanced at Dahlia, smiling softly. “If we kill that beetle now, she can turn some of its parts into Swarmsteel that’ll make all of us just a little bit stronger. Then we can deal with whatever’s inside the school together.”

Everyone went quiet at Issam’s lengthy prediction, because they all knew, very distinctly, the nickname everyone called him by in school.

‘Gut-feeling’ Issam, the second strongest student in the history of the Alshifa Bug-Slaying School.

Whenever it came to identifying danger, and whenever it came to figuring out whether a fight could be won or not—everyone always betted on him.

…

Dahlia swallowed a hard gulp. She wasn’t about to challenge his intuition, but that last part about her being able to turn the beetle’s parts into useful Swarmsteel was a little dubious.

[Issam speaks a smidgen of truth,] Eria whispered. [Whether there truly is an unwanted presence inside the school, it would be best if everyone is equipped with at least one or two defensive Swarmsteel. That beetle can provide you with the raw materials. You should kill it–]

“We’ll kill it, then,” Amula said, cracking her knuckles and stretching her legs as she squinted out at the beetle. “Can’t say me and Jerie can fight all too well without our Swarmsteel, but we can dance around a little, no problem. All you need is one good cut, ya? Sure ye won’t miss it when we find ye an opportunity to jump in?”

Issam stood up with a groan, unsheathing his sword and unfolding his mantis scythes as he did. “Shut up. If there’s an opportunity, I will take it. I just need the four of you to show me its attack patterns first.”

“The twins can do that,” Amula said. “Ayla. Aylee. Go play around with it.”

“Got it, boss!”

The twins gave Issam a mocking salute before vanishing, tendrils of smoke whirling at their feets, and by the time Dahlia blinked and realised they were gone–

The two golden-haired sisters leapt in a cross over the beetle’s head and cackled, waking the dormant giant from its slumber.

“Here! Swing at me!”

“No, not at her! Go for me!”

It took the giant beetle a moment to realise two annoying little bugs were jumping around its head, but when it finally did it moved, without hesitation—Ayla was soaring right over its right elytra while Aylee was balancing one-legged on the railings to its left, and both its antennae shot at their throats with deadly precision. Its antennae were twenty metres long, after all; serpent-like, they could flick and whip around like two extra legs protruding from its head. Cold slithered through Dahlia’s gut as she rose from her cover, trying to call out the beetle’s unusual attack pattern to the twins…

…

But she didn’t have to do that.

The beetle’s antennae shot straight and true. They knew where their targets were. How far they had to extend. How hard they had to pierce. But just as the twins were about to find themselves impaled, they fanned their mantles backwards with synchronised laughs, and out came a flood of withered leaves—and the antennae pierced nothing but leaves.

Dahlia could faintly see the twins darting around—across the railings, over and under the beetle from every conceivable direction—but it was hard to tell where exactly they were. Their mantles were nigh-perfect camouflages in the swirl of withered leaves.

[Those are angle moth mantles,] Eria murmured. [Swarmsteel made from the parts of one of the more elusive and hard-to-spot moths in the world. By themselves, the mantles aren’t particularly useful or effective in environments without autumn leaves, but with the amount of leaves they already had stashed and now scattered around… they are not amateurs who cannot draw out the true potential of their chosen Swarmsteel.]

[They are quite a capable duo.]

… They’re not known as ‘Phantom Twins’ Ayla and Aylee for no reason, after all.

Though lacking in attack power and chitin-piercing capabilities, the twins were a nightmare for the giant beetle to catch. They jumped and dashed and darted around, aiming kicks at joints and blurring away to avoid a counter swipe, before jumping back in to kick at another weakened joint—and the seniors rushed forward with Issam as well to back the two of them up.

The beetle couldn’t possibly hope to catch the twins, so it settled for stabbing its antennae at the unarmed duo instead. Amula and Jerie weren’t defenceless, though. The older boy whacked one of its antennae away with his wooden flute while the older girl redirected another with a downwards kick; an opportunity for Issam to step in. Before the beetle could yank its antennae out of the bridge, Issam stepped in calmly to sever one of them, mantis scythes screeching as they sharpened his blade for that one strike—a clean, successful cut.

One antennae down.

The giant beetle screeched and lumbered a few metres back, backing into the railings, but the twins were already there kicking its hindlegs to weaken its retreat. The beetle screeched again. Its entire body tilted upwards as though it were losing its balance, presenting its abdomen for all to see, and Dahlia’s heart hammered in her chest as she found herself biting her nails anxiously.

They’re strong.

And even without their Swarmsteel, Amula and Jerie are holding their own.

One of her nails cracked as she bit down on it a bit too hard.

That’s… that’s what bug-slayers are supposed to be like.

So why am I…

…

… But something was off.

The hunt was going a bit too well.

Hadn’t Eria told her, back in the sewers, that at the end of the day they weren’t hunting lowly rabble insects?

And the instant she saw Issam rushing impatiently forward to swing his sword up through the underside of its head–

The beetle contracted its muscles and closed the gap between its chitin plates, just barely managing to trap Issam’s sword under its head.

Nobody expected it.

The beetle whipped its head to the side with a deafening screech and snapped Issam’s blade in half, before twirling its whole body around like it was swinging an axe. The hindlegs that the twins had weakened must be numb, because it had no issues using them like blades to cleave through the railings, shattering four of the ten supporting pillars. Its legs would’ve decapitated Issam had Amula and Jerie not pushed all of them down at the last second, but still, a heavy gust of wind blew away the swirl of withered leaves—and suddenly, the twins stood out in stark contrast to the rest of the cavern’s stony walls.

Dahlia could see them looking stunned mid-jump over its elytra.

The beetle could see them, too.

“Ayla! Aylee!” Amula shouted. “Twist and dodge–”

The twins kicked off each other and narrowly dodged the antenna that stabbed at them, but then they were plummeting, falling over the edge just to grab onto the railings at the last second. Shoulder bones went popping out of their sockets. The twins cried out in pain, and the beetle chittered, slamming its head down into the bridge as though trying to make the entire construct crumble.

The tables were turned in an instant. Jerie was dragging the wounded Issam back while Amula had already managed to crawl back onto her feet, but they were all wounded. Wooden shrapnel had flown all over and some found their way into Amula’s arms, into Jerie’s legs, one particularly large shard jutting out of Issam’s right shoulder. It wouldn’t be easy for him to swing his half-broken sword again.

With a bellow that almost sounded like a cackle, the beetle reared its head back and screeched—taunting, laughing, jeering at them for thinking they could overpower it through the tiny seams between its chitin plates.

[... Dahlia! This is not a good situation! Retreat and re-engage after you get your allies to safety–]

“Dahlia! Get Issam and Jerie outta here!” Amula shouted, as she squared her shoulders and held up two shaky fists, standing in the beetle’s way.

“Yeah! Just… just leave us for now! We’re okay!” Ayla shouted, a faint voice from afar as the sisters groaned, trying to pull themselves over the railings. “Don’t… worry about us! This much… isn’t much!”

Jerie, too, was staring back at her with pleading in his eyes, as though beckoning her to at least drag Issam down the slope and back into the textile street where they can hide under a roof—but the downed swordsman himself, Issam, was gritting his teeth and glaring at her with eyes that said otherwise.

Dahlia looked between him and everyone else, her breaths coming out quickly, anxiety electrifying her muscles. Panic threatened to engulf her. Indecision spread throughout all her limbs, stopping her from making a single move.

I’ve gotta do something.

I’ve gotta help.

But what can I… possibly…

…

Issam was still glaring at her, his knuckles white around the hilt of his broken blade, and it was the glint of steel on the jagged tip that made something click in her head.

Don’t think about it like it’s a giant bug.

Think about it like it's… a pocket watch.

A trinket.

She slipped out the rusted chisel she’d been hiding under her left sleeve. The world seemed to still. The temperature seemed to plummet as she faded out all sounds in her mind, and everything fell silent.

… I can’t kill a giant bug.

But I can dismantle a trinket, right?

Eria had been talking up a storm just a moment ago, but now it felt as though even her personal assistant was feeling the same thing she was feeling, smelling the same thing she was smelling, seeing the same thing she was seeing—and that was, without a shadow of a doubt, the faint trail of steel dust running from the tip of her chisel to the underside of the beetle’s head.

It wasn’t a hallucination.

It wasn’t a mirage born of fear, or a delusion born of desperation.

Even from afar, she could see the steel thread clear as day, and though her hands were still trembling and her heartbeat was thundering in her chest…

She took one step forward and turned the dial on her pocket watch, counting down from sixty seconds in her head.

Tick, tock.

The beetle’s remaining antenna flew past Amula with a sharp whistle, a black blur of a spear, but she’d seen it attack like this before. The steel thread told her to twirl her chisel in a circle next to her head—so she did, squeezing her eyes shut, and its antenna deflected off her bracer. Bounced off. A sharp pang of pain still shot into her arm, but she traced the seams in its spiralling chitin plates with her chisel, severing its remaining antenna.

Her eyes twitched as she started sprinting full speed ahead.

She could see it in front of her.

Tick, tock.

The beetle let out a pained screech as it backed away. Legs came at her swinging, and there was nothing practised or elegant about them. They were attacks she’d already seen used against twins, against Amula and Jerie, and she’d seen Issam bat them away with the flat ends of his sword.

The steel thread told her to do the same.

When the steel thread showed she had to curl down, she bent her body along with it and dodged the first leg. She sidestepped the second and the third leg when the steel thread told her chisel to go wide, blade pointed slightly down, and she barely had to use any force; the beetle’s sweeping movements made it cut its own legs open as they swung along the tip of her chisel.

Tick, tock.

Its hindlegs were already weakened. The twins ensured they were, so the beetle had trouble backpedalling as she closed the distance, nearing its head. The fourth leg finally came out stabbing, but Issam had already smacked it away once before, so it was a shaky attack riddled with the fear of pain. She simply followed the steel thread and jerked her head hard left, dodging it with only a small cut grazing her cheek.

As the beetle backed into the sturdy metal front gate and failed to backpedal any further, it attempted screeching and flapping its elytra to summon a violent burst of wind, but all of a sudden—Amula and Jerie jumped back into the fray. They leapt off the half-broken railings, off the metal gate, and then slammed their heels down on its elytra to keep its wings from moving.

She was too focused on the steel thread to look up, but she swore she saw Amula mouthing something at her.

‘... Go.’

She gritted her teeth and pressed on.

The final burst. The final stretch. Gathering every bit of courage she had in her tiny body, she pushed herself forward—her legs carrying her under the beetle’s head in the span of two seconds, and the beetle knew she was going to try to attack. She saw the desperation in its obsidian eyes, its unwillingness to give up without a fight, so it slammed its head down like a hammer striking an anvil, aiming to crush her before she could go ahead with whatever she was planning.

But she’d seen that head slam attack as well, so she took a step back right before she entered its crushing range, dodging it by the breadth of a hair.

Tick, tock.

It felt like time was running slower just for her. A second felt like an eternity. The beetle’s head was still lodged in the ground, its fully armoured forehead presented before her like a table she could set a plate upon—but the steel thread was drawing a line along the tiniest seams in its chitin plates, and her chisel was no longer trembling.

She wasn’t breathing.

Dismantle it.

Swift as a serpent striking its prey, she slashed along the steel thread, targeting the seams on its forehead. Membranes split underneath her blade, tendons breaking with a series of quiet snaps. Her mind didn’t know what exactly she was doing, but her hands knew what to do, so she let them take control. Let her instincts take control. The days she’d spent accompanying her dad out on his surgeries, the nights she’d spent with her mom learning how to dismantle any trinket with her bare hands—it may have been a while since she had a good talk with either one of them, but she remembered every last one of those fruitful days, every last one of those joyful nights.

So when her pocket watch sounded the ding that marked the passing of one whole minute, she ripped the beetle’s chitin plates right off its forehead.

She didn’t have to say anything.

Right on cue, Issam leapt over her head—his mantis scythes sharpening his half-broken blade with a loud, deafening screech.

[... You really have strong allies,] Eria remarked.

And Dahlia closed her eyes as Issam’s blade plunged through the beetle’s forehead, impaling the giant bug straight into the bridge.

She was… beyond tired.

Exhausted.

Her eyes felt like bleeding following the steel thread, and she wanted to fall asleep.

… You already said that once.