The Unmaker

“... Do you know what ‘fate’ is, Dahlia?” her father says idly, barely looking over his shoulder as he continues assembling his claws by the living room table. Little Dahlia rolls over on the sofa, burying her face deeper into the cushions.

“Can you eat it?”

Her father laughs, shaking his head. “No. Fate isn’t something you eat.”

“What’s that, then?”

“It’s the path that everyone is put on at birth. My mentor used to tell me everyone is controlled by the same fate, and all of us are just cogs turning in an invisible machine—that’s why if you fail at a test, it is only fate that made you fail. There’s no need to feel bad and get yourself down over something you couldn’t control.”

“But you don’t believe in that either, papa.”

“...

“... No, I don’t. I’m talented enough to succeed at everything I try, after all; damn if I let fate take that away from me.

“See, Dahlia, we’re not all just born with fate. We’re born with ‘destiny’ as well, and that means everybody has at least one thing they’re incredibly, incredibly good at. I’ve seen it, time and time again—all it takes is one miraculous destiny to turn everything everyone thinks is impossible right upside down.

“So who cares if you failed this one test?

“There’ll be another, on a completely different subject, and maybe you’ll get every question correct without even having to study.

“Find your destiny and resist your fate—that is the path to a life full of struggle, but full of satisfaction all the same.”

“...”

“...”

“... I want candy.”

“Okay. Let’s go get some before mama comes home.”

- Conversation from Sina Household past

The seconds that followed Raya’s leaving the sandbag covers came as a blur. His steps were heavy, his swordstaff was rattling as he walked, he had no intention of keeping himself hidden—the firefly in the centre of the Bazaar stopped throwing lightning when it finally noticed him dragging his blade along the ground.

The never-ending lightning storm in her ears died down. Boulders stopped falling from the ceiling, buildings stopped collapsing in the far distance. The silence didn’t fool her for a second; the firefly most certainly knew the rest of them were still alive, cowering in the shadows of Alshifa, but to it they were simple pests too weak and cowardly to confront it head-on. It wouldn’t falter no matter what they did, so why would it be in a rush to slaughter them like the bugs they were?

There was a much, much, much more interesting opponent heading its way.

[… How does he know to do that?]

Refusing to unclench her claws from the sandbags and unwilling to tear her eyes away from the firefly for even a single second, Dahlia didn’t dare look at Eria now.

How does he know to do… what?

[Look, and listen.]

She was looking. And so was everyone else, holding their breaths behind the sandbags. Days of accumulated dust and grains sparked bright orange as Raya dragged his swordstaff along the ground, making sharp, horrific, chitin-scratching screeches with his blade—the sounds drove deep into her, making her Swarmsteel itch and ebb over her arms. She paused in biting her tongue, realising only now why the firefly had really stopped tossing lightning bolts around.

[When an insect is searching for a mate, the most common methods include pheromone detection, courtship rituals, and specific sound recognition. Of course, some of the Odonata insects engage in mid-air encounters to find their mates, while some of the Lepidoptera insects engage in mass competitive displays called lek gatherings in search of prospective partners, but most insects tend to utilise the same foundation of methods in order to attract one another.]

[In the case of fireflies, they tend to flash in certain patterns at certain intervals to signal they are interested in an engagement—a dance, or an invitation to duel.]

[And in Raya’s case, the way he is dragging his blade along the ground, the sparks that are flying as a result…]

…

Raya circled around the Bazaar with fluid and heavy steps, his right hand dragging his swordstaff behind him, his left hand hanging limp by his side. There was a slight limp in his gait, a slight hunch to his back; he might be ten times as strong as Dahlia, still, but he was nowhere near rested enough to be picking a fight against a Mutant. He’d already been electrocuted once before, he’d had his spine smashed into the ground by Amula, he’d spent the entire past day slaughtering the rest of the Swarm in Alshifa—that feral amber glow in his eyes wasn’t meant to throw the firefly off-guard. He was that exhausted. He was that desperate.

And when he tilted his head to glare at it from a different angle, the firefly tilted its head back; a perfect mimicry, his opponent completely tunnel-visioned on his every move.

… But it’s a photuris firefly. She gritted her teeth and paid attention to the way the firefly’s chest heaved up and down, the way its chitin cracked and bent whenever it moved a tiny inch; she had to observe everything it was voluntarily showing her. They’re firefly killers. The photuris females can imitate the flashes of other firefly species’ females, and when some unsuspecting male gets close enough thinking he found a mate, they’d slaughter and devour him without a second thought.

How do we know it doesn’t think Raya is just an unsuspecting male in its eyes?

What if it’s just waiting for him to charge in?

[... You were the one who said it two nights ago.]

The firefly’s antennae twitched, and it happened almost instantaneously, one of its arms whipping out as it flung a lightning bolt forward–

[You called him the godsent talent.]

But Raya smacked the bolt with the end of his swordstaff, letting the lightning run itself into the ground, before closing the distance with a quick half-step. The upwards slash was faster than instantaneous—one of the firefly’s antennae fluttered into the sky, and it dashed back with a gust of wind as Raya’s swordstaff descended for a second slash, shattering the ground with a hefty boom.

His stance solidified. He shed his shawl and coat as he swung his swordstaff horizontally, slicing through the second bolt of lightning flying his way. It split, forking out and maiming the buildings behind him, tearing down huge chunks of stone as he closed the distance again; this time the firefly lost its second antennae, and this time it refused to hold anything back.

Swordstaff clashed against four lightning-swirled arms, human bones and insect chitin flashing sharp white for the briefest of moments—low growls escaped from both of their throats as they each took a step back, limping in circles around each other.

Then the battle was on.

The firefly came at him swinging, screeching, claws lunging for his head, and he responded in kind with a flurry of slashes—matching four arms with a single blade. Raya was reacting just barely in time to every attack, but his slashes were anything but whimsy; it targeted his vitals while he targeted its extremities, the vulnerabilities, everything he could reach before having his weapon batted away. Only one of them could afford getting cut here and there. He knew to make the most out of the few hits he could land, always keeping close in range without letting off the pressure. ‘Never-ending fireworks’ was the phrase Dahlia would use to describe their clash.

Fast!

Earth shattered like glass as the firefly began slashing with lightning charging its claws, and the street around them exploded upwards, every tile breaking under the force. Raya dashed circles around the firefly, catching embers with his blade before slinging it into the firefly’s back, thighs, and calves; only, the firefly had allowed him to do so. Maybe it’d let Issam cut its abdomen off earlier as well just to prove a point. The Swarmsteel she’d been so proud of bounced off its chitin like it was made of cloth, and five lightning claws ripped across Raya’s chest as he tried backing off, tearing his tunic to reveal the charred flesh he’d gotten from it just days earlier. Amula shot to her feet and screamed at him to leave, but the twins yanked her down and Issam clamped a hand over her mouth, hissing at her to be quiet.

Because while Raya stumbled a few steps back, as though he was about to lose his balance—he used the imbalance to tip himself back, and then forward with a downwards cleave that almost split the lunging firefly’s head in half.

On his face was the most feral and savage smile Dahlia had seen yet.

[... He is not even wearing any of your bullet ant Swarmsteel. In terms of toughness, speed, and perceptivity, he should not be able to react to anything any of the younger students cannot react to.]

[Even still–]

I know.

Her eyes watered, and it burned all the same as her claws dug deeper into the sandbags.

He’s not… he’s not trying to kill it.

Eria was quiet, and so was everyone else as they watched Raya dance circles around the firefly. Even an amateur at fighting like Dahlia could tell his blows were real, bled in with all his effort, but without true ‘killing intent’; the diagonal cuts to its shoulders were meant to probe its chitin’s weaknesses; the attempted leg sweeps were meant to test its balance; the swordstaff she was confident could split entire carriages apart was being used as nothing more as a needle to draw pinpricks of blood, and that was because he knew he couldn’t win. His body wouldn’t let him. Lightning crackled and travelled down the firefly’s arms like cascading rivers, every blow he had to block sending jolts rippling through his bones and tearing his muscles apart—a whirlwind of electrically-charged shrapnel kicking up a storm around their flashing forms.

But, on occasion, Raya would find one second out of five minutes to glare back at her.

His amber eyes were still brimming with cold fury.

… I’m watching.

She bit so hard on her lips she drew blood, but his unbreakable spirit was diffused across those watching his blade fly—nobody watching him believed he would ‘lose’, and everyone was watching, cheering, roaring for his victory.

We.

Are.

Watching.

The firefly bellowed, like a cacophony of voices each screeching individually, none in sync; it’d seen everything Raya had to offer and grew tired of him. A high-pitched series of whirs came from inside its chest as it skipped a single metre back, clenching all four of its fists, and before she could even see the little slits on its waist beginning to glow—Raya stabbed his swordstaff into the ground. The townsfolk covered their ears and curled into balls. The twins shoved Amula and Jerie down, and Issam practically yanked her hair out as she was made to fall behind the sandbags completely; just a second longer and she would’ve been done for.

It punched the ground and released its omni-directional lightning explosion again.

The sounds of annihilation. The groans of the cavern. If she could place her ear down on the ground she’d feel the vibration of the town, the screams of the lightning bolts, and the unholy cracks that rang out wherever the bolts landed… and while she caught a glimpse of the firefly shuddering through a gap in the sandbags, both its eyes were coated in sapphire hues bright enough to rival the sun–

There was no sound.

There was no scream of effort.

As the standing, burning corpse he was, Raya gripped the blunt end of his swordstaff with only three of his remaining fingers and swung.

The blade was impossibly slow, the attack was undoubtedly feeble—but it landed nonetheless, severing its lower left arm and cutting halfway through its torso.

Her eyes widened.

It… didn’t try to block?

Why?

Is it…

…

… But halfway through its torso was as far as the godsent talent could go.

Right before his swordstaff could reach where the firefly’s heart should be, he lost all strength in his arm and fell backwards, every last inch of his body reduced to ashes from having swung through the explosive lightning.

Raya was dead.

And he’d bought her exactly five minutes.

As the firefly heaved for breath and stumbled back, completely regenerating its missing appendages, her eyes bored holes into the little horizontal slits on its waist. After all, they weren’t just glowing for the sake of looking intimidating. Before it showed its true colours, it’d kept its arms crossed just to keep the glowing slits hidden, but when it first used that explosive lightning attack to decimate everything around it in a fifty metre radius, she’d already thought it strange it didn’t immediately start chucking more lightning bolts at them to finish the job. There was a delay; a whole minute, give or take, before its chitin could harden and it could start moving swiftly again. Just as well, while it had twelve glowing slits before using its first explosive attack, it only had four remaining now—the other eight were completely dark like they’d been drained out of blood.

It could regenerate missing appendages, but only after using its explosive attack.

It could use its explosive attack one more time, and only one more time.

Her lips trembled as she spoke, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“... We… we need to bait it into doing that attack again,” she whispered, to Issam and the others around her, turning ever so slowly to lock eyes with all of them. “When it does that… that massive attack with lightning flying everywhere… its chitin softens and it electrifies its own muscles in the process, meaning… it can’t move to defend itself.

“It only has four glowing slits left on its waist, which also means… it’s going to run out of lightning soon.

“It’s fighting a battle of attrition just as much as we are.

“So our strategy… is… we have to–”

“Make it believe it can kill all of us in its final explosive attack, when only one of us six needs to be safe and standing once that attack is over,” Issam finished.

“...”

And it was an unsaid command.

It didn’t need to be said out loud.

Whatever grievances they had in life, whatever mourning they’d yet to finish, whatever pains they were suffering and whatever wounds they had to heal—all of them cowards behind the sandbags, students and townsfolk and children and elders alike, who’d cheered and roared for Raya to carry their weight for them—all of them picked up arms, whether they were broken Swarmsteel shortswords the younger students had died with or random planks of wood torn from the walls, and crawled like worms until they were back onto their feet.

Proud and strong undertowners they were, not… bugs to be crushed underfoot by another bug.

Raya had staked his life for the slimmest chance of opening a path to victory, and now it was their turn to walk that path.

… Eria.

[I am here.]

What are our chances of victory against the firefly?

[One percent.]

An instantaneous reply, zero hesitation.

She climbed over the sandbag all the same, tightening her claw gauntlets over her bleeding hands.

[… And still I am glad to have served you these past three days, Dahlia Sina.]

[Now bare your claws, and give the firefly hell—my children of Alshifa.]