The Unmaker

Another week passed by in what felt like a blink of an eye. If Dahlia wasn't harvesting reeds from the oasis or helping Smith Jaleel out at the forge, she was getting dragged around the desert by Alice, using all manners of insect meat bait to try to lure Madamaron up to the surface.

But there was a chance, however slight, that Madamaron was an intelligent Lesser Great Mutant—and now that Alice had shown off her strength decimating its slave horde of fog-bask beetles, it knew better than to challenge her on her home territory.

So, eleven days passed.

And no giant insect attacked the Sharaji Oasis Town.

They were all at an impasse; having seen the water bug with their own eyes, the reed farmers knew now that there was real danger in the oasis, and as such, they were naturally more timid whenever they had to wade into the deeper ends for thicker reeds. The children and clothes washers stopped hanging around the waters as well, fearing the worst. Sparkling emerald in bright sunlight as it may be, the surface of the oasis was no longer the peaceful, tranquil heart of the town it once was—even those living near it went the extra distance to draw water from the wells instead, which had completely returned to normal two days after Alice decimated the water thieves at the bottom.

The ever-present threat of an attack by something physical and tangible—something like a giant insect—was like a dense fog that'd settled over the town, and while the townfolk’s normal lives were still mostly undisturbed… to Dahlia, it felt like everybody’s eyes were even more closed than usual.

If it was Alshifa, the council would’ve made all the Alshifa Bug-Hunting Instructors hunt the giant insects down the moment an infestation is spotted.

But then Dahlia shook her head, telling herself it wasn’t good to think this way; the Sharaji Oasis Town was fundamentally different from Alshifa. This was a town that’d never run from the surface world. The people here lived each and every day of their lives knowing the Swarm could be upon them at any time, and they’d made their peace with it. It wasn’t like Alshifa and the other undertowns where they actively made efforts to keep themselves safe and hidden. To the Sharaji townsfolk, death by giant insects was probably as common as death by old age, so it was only natural they wouldn’t feel an urgent need to press on every giant insect that killed one of their own—there’d be no end to their slaughter and being slaughtered otherwise.

The futility of it all was simple: even if every last townsfolk grabbed their saifs and marched out as one to hunt down all the giant insects in the desert, they’d lose. They wouldn’t win. The Swarm far outnumbered humanity in every corner of the continent, so why would they work themselves up over what was just a series of terrible, ‘natural’ deaths?

… In Alshifa, the entire town goes in mourning for a day whenever someone dies to a giant insect, she thought. But nobody even bats an eye here, huh? Because… it’s just that normal?

Eria didn’t hesitate. [It is normal everywhere on the surface. The world will not pause and roll over for just a single death. There is always work that must be done, mouths that must be fed, and ruins to be reconstructed before the next Swarm attack arrives—the undertowns were fortune in the sense they could afford to take an entire day off whenever someone dies.]

Even still.

It’s like those three who were murdered by Madamaron were just… forgotten.

[...]

It was noon. Midday. Lunch break. She’d been let off harvesting work earlier by Mushariff Idan because she already managed to fill up her daily four bucket quota, so her lunch break was actually a bit earlier than everyone else’s—while the townsfolk were still running around the streets, the alleys, pulling thicker tarps over their shops and stalls to block out the scorching sun, she alone was sitting with her legs dangling over the edge of a roof, watching the people under her while chewing on a fog-bask beetle sandwich Safi had made for her.

She was a little hot and sweaty sitting out in the open—on a superheated sandstone ceiling, no less—but over the past week, Safi had started stuffing more and more insect meat into her daily meals. She was never much of a heavy eater, so her stomach most definitely appreciated the slight increase in portion sizes every single day—and to that end, she’d deposited almost all of her extra points she gained the past week into increasing her strain limit. More stamina meant she could work longer, harder. Strain limit was also the general ‘health’ attribute, which meant her skin was less dry during especially midday hours, her head was less doozy during intense heat waves, and she didn’t get sunburnt as often. Hence, why she didn’t even need to throw her hood over her head as she sat on the roof, watching a group of children play Risha ball in the alley right next to her.

Alice had told her she wasn’t needed for today’s Madamaron investigations, and the forge was also closed in the afternoon because Smith Jaleel had private matters to attend to, so for the first time in a week, she had the entire rest of the day to herself.

Right now, she was looking for… a little girl.

And she spotted her target switching in to play Risha ball for the girls’ team as she finished off the last bites of her sandwich.

It was evident the other children around the little girl were trying to pretend nothing was wrong, and that all was fine and well; it couldn’t be further from the truth. Dahlia had to clench her jaw when the boys’ team served the first ball over the note, and the little girl in the centre who moved to intercept immediately tripped on her bronze prosthetic leg, falling painfully on her face. The hard ball bounced off the back of her head and pushed her deeper into the ground. Immediately, the girls rushed in to help her up, all of them offering quiet words of consolation, but the girl pulled a smile onto her face and shook her head, nodding at the boys to serve the second ball. They obliged very reluctantly—and the girls’ team managed to return only a single ball before she tripped again, landing so hard on her rear this time she kicked up a small cloud of sand.

This time, the little girl didn’t bother letting her friends help her up. She grabbed onto a nearby crate, pulled herself onto her feet, and then trudged away with her head lowered.

None of her friends could follow, their faces dark and sullen.

…

Before the little girl could disappear deep into the alleys and return home—wherever that was—Dahlia slipped off the edge of the roof and landed in front of her, making her flinch.

There was silence for a moment.

Another moment.

Then the little girl rushed in for a hug, nearly tripping into her chest, face burying into her cloak as bony arms wrapped around her back; she couldn’t exactly whisper or talk to the girl the way they were holding each other, but the growing cold on her chest and the quiet, shuddering arms around her was more than enough for her to make up her mind.

Gently, Dahlia peeled the girl’s arms off and started leading her out of the alleys.

The little girl sniffled behind her the entire time, and she made sure to walk as slowly as possible towards Safi’s tavern at the edge of town.

[... As you are right now, it may be too difficult for you to attempt making Swarmsteel prosthetics,] Eria said worriedly, still trying to dissuade her. [External Swarmsteel that you wear and melds with your skin is one thing. Internal Swarmsteel like the ‘Hundred Devil Bones’ or ‘Hyperneuron Limbic Strands’ that meld with your insides require considerably more skill and practise to make. Not to mention, the user in question must possess a strain limit high enough to endure the meld. It will be like nothing like anything you have made thus far. If something goes awry–]

We’ve made preparations to remove it if something goes wrong, right? She thought, trying to placate Eria, though if she were honest with herself she’d also admit her own heart was beating twice as fast as usual. I… I have to try. It’s my fault. If I were stronger or I’d gotten to her earlier, she wouldn’t be like this.

[...]

You’ll help me and guide me throughout the process, right?

[... Of course.]

[I am your Archive.]

The two of them arrived at Safi’s tavern and walked right in. The establishment was as empty as ever, but that had always served Dahlia and Alice’s purpose well. Today, all the chairs were cleared off to the walls and a few rectangular tables had been pushed to the centre of the tavern, joined together to make a single long table fit for butchering giant beetles on—or to let a little girl lie on top of, a small velvet cushion placed on one end to make resting one’s head on it more comfortable and less… cold.

Safi’s tavern was always strangely cool compared to the rest of the town, even though there weren’t any windows or ventilation outside of the single front door.

[Best not to think about it,] Ayla whispered.

[Focus, Dahlia,] Aylee said. [Make a Swarmsteel prosthetic that functions, no matter how shoddy, and it will be a breakthrough like you’ve never had before.]

The little girl swallowed a gulp the moment she stepped into the tavern, but Safi, who was chopping something with his back turned behind the counter, immediately spoke up in Sharaji Tongue. It was a short and curt sentence, but by the time he finished, the little girl’s eyes lit up and she crawled onto the table voluntarily. Dahlia supposed the old man translated what she’d asked him to say perfectly : ‘I want to make you a new leg’. It wasn’t a promise or anything—she wasn’t confident she could pull a prosthetic off her first try, but all it took Safi was one look at her fidgeting last night during dinner, while Alice was rambling off about something unimportant, for him to offer her his tavern today.

He’d known exactly what she wanted to attempt.

Next to the long table the little girl was making herself snug on, there were three more tables spread around it, each lined to the edges with tons of spare parts: some normal steel bolts, bronze plates, and natural adhesives of all types, but mostly grooved chitin sheets she’d torn from the fog-bask beetles. A few other parts littered the corners of the table as well, but they were mostly vials of different beetle blood extracts she didn’t know how to use; she probably wouldn’t use them out of fear of something going wrong.

Once she was done walking around the tables and checking on each of the individual parts, she turned and mimed closing her eyes to the little girl. In turn, the little girl did exactly as she asked, fingers clutching onto the edges of the table—she swallowed a gulp herself and wondered if maybe she should at least tell the little girl’s mother first.

But this was going to be safe.

It will be safe.

And if anything went wrong, she’d just abort the project immediately.

… Eria.

[Yes?]

Could you count down from…

…

… No.

Nevermind.

Ignore me.

She shook her head and perished the arrogant thought; there was no way she’d be able to finish this within half an hour, let alone a single minute.

She’d take this slow and steady.

I’m going to need your help measuring the dimensions of her remaining leg, she thought, peering down at the little girl’s current prosthetic leg below the knee. It was made of simple wood, and a bit more complicated than a peg leg: one bronze ball joint allowed for slight movement of the oval slab that was the foot, and leather straps kept the top of the prosthetic joined to her bandaged stump above the knee. The whole thing was flimsy at best; any amount of running or jumping and it’d probably shake right off. At the very least, the one I make needs to be the same length and height as her normal leg. The thickness isn’t important, since its toughness is more dependent on the material I use… right?

Eria crawled over her shoulder and stared down at the girl’s normal leg, silent for a moment. [Correct. Swarmsteel prosthetic legs must not put the user at an imbalanced height. Ideally, the Swarmsteel should also be able to grow alongside the user like an organic limb, but… for now, simply making one that cannot be shaken off will be good enough of an upgrade.]

Then give me the length. I’ll work on the bones of the leg first.

[Understood.]

As Eria vanished from her shoulder and duplicated itself fifty times over to form the exact length of the little girl’s leg on the table—an ability it’d never used before—Dahlia went over to the bronze plate table to pick out the thinnest and lightest plate she could find. The skeleton and ‘bone’ of the prosthetic didn’t need to be sturdy; the outer shell and ‘skin’ of the prosthetic would compensate. With all four hands, she manually bent and rolled up the plates into a tube, using her razor sharp claws to slice off any excess metal in the process. She made sure to carve holes in the sides of the tube here and there as well, and only once she lined it up against the fifty Erias to check its length—confirming it was just right—did she let it go to work on the ‘Swarm’ part of Swarmsteel.

She went over to the beetle chitin table and picked out the sturdiest, heaviest sheets.

[... I suppose what you are making is not an ‘internal Swarmsteel’,] Eria muttered as she started bending the beetle chitin sheets by hand once again, sweating and straining her muscles in the process; the chitin was a lot harder than the bronze plates, and for a few seconds she contemplated depositing a few points into increasing her strength. [Internal Swarmsteel, as its name suggests, is almost completely hidden beneath the surface of the body. The ‘Hundred Devil Bones’ are S-rank Swarmsteel that completely replace the bones in a human body with fire beetle parts, granting the user the strength of a hundred giant fire beetles. ‘Hyperneuron Limbic Strands’ are also S-rank Swarmsteel that completely replace the nerves in a human limb with grounded long-legged fly eyes woven into strands, granting the user the reflexes of twenty long-legged flies. You can see neither of those from the outside, so since you are making a prosthetic that can clearly be seen, I suppose you are not making internal Swarmsteel.]

And that’s why this isn’t a completely futile effort, she thought, gritting her teeth as she accidentally used too much and snapped a chitin sheet in half. She was trying to mould a dozen of them into the shell of the leg that’d go around the bone, so she could spare no effort getting at least the shape looking right. Not a single part of this prosthetic will stab inside her flesh. I’ll make a sheath around the top of the leg that’ll meld with the skin around her stump, and… that’ll be better than what she has now, right?

[Certainly,] Eria said, [but without opening her stump and connecting her nerves with the prosthetic, the final prosthetic will simply be a sturdier, tougher leg. It will not be able to transmit sensation to her. Any increase to her strength will not transfer over to the prosthetic, either, which might pose a rather difficult problem.

She paused for a moment, half-mulling on Eria’s words, half-trying to focus on carving off excess chitin to make sure each sheet would ‘click in’ perfectly with one another.

A difficult problem?

[All Swarmsteel, at the very least, grant one or two attribute levels, remember?] Eria said. [If your prosthetic melds with her successfully and she gains three levels in strength, then the entire rest of her body will be three times stronger. If the Maker’s prosthetic cannot handle that extra increase in strength, it will simply shatter. Even worse, it would not shatter, and that prosthetic limb would simply be a weaker limb compared to the user’s other limbs. Can you imagine running at top with one leg lagging behind the other three times in terms of strength and speed? The imbalance would kill the user in battle.]

But… how do you account for that increase in strength? The more she heard about the difficulties of making Swarmsteel prosthetics, the more she didn’t want to hear about it; she felt she had to anyway. When we first met, you told me… that the amount of attribute levels gained from melding with a Swarmsteel depends on both the user aptitude and the quality of the Swarmsteel. Even if I can control the Swarmsteel, I can’t control the user’s aptitude with it, right?

[The Great Makers certainly can,] Eria said pointedly. [The Pioneers of the Rampaging Hinterland Front can, and the Hasharana’s Makers certainly can. They take into account the user’s physiology, the material they are working with, calculate beforehand the exact amount of attribute levels the user will gain after melding with their prosthetic, and then make their prosthetic ‘adaptable’—that is, using a certain Lesser Great Mutant’s part that makes it so the user’s attribute levels are shared with the prosthetic evenly. If the user gains five levels in strength, the prosthetic gains that strength as well. If the user becomes twice as tough, the prosthetic also becomes twice as tough.]

…

[Without that Lesser Great Mutant’s parts—which you can only obtain from the Pioneers or the Hasharana’s Makers themselves, since they are the only ones with access to its carcass—you cannot make ‘adaptable’ Swarmsteel that can also increase in attribute levels alongside the user,] Eria continued. [That is why I advised you not to try. Making Swarmsteel at their level is not a one-person job—they have entire teams of mathematicians, engineers, and artisans with relevant construction-based mutations just to create one adaptable Swarmsteel for one specific person. Alone, there is only so much you can calculate and keep in mind as you work to–]

[Tch. Shut up and just let her try,] Raya grumbled, making her jolt as she finished moulding all the beetle chitin into separate shells.

[If she never tries, how will she ever learn what works and doesn't work?] Issam said, softer this time. Her hands were frozen above the little girl's long table; all she had to do was wrap the shells around the bronze tube in such a way they wouldn't easily fall off, but she couldn't bring herself to even try. [Ignore her, Dahlia. Give it a go. If you can make a Swarmsteel prosthetic that's at least more responsive than what she has right now, it'll be worth it.]

[Issam’s right,] Amula whispered, a distant voice wrapping around her ears. [She doesn't need to be able to feel anything with your prosthetic. It doesn't need to have any special abilities, either. My bombardier beetle boots were comfortable to walk around in, and that's reason enough for me to want to wear it everywhere I go. That's–]

[–hey, bitch, I said the exact same thing Issam said too–]

[–the type of Swarmsteel the ‘Make-Whatever’ makes,] Amula finished, [It's not like the girl's gonna fight with her prosthetic. It doesn't have to give incredible attribute levels. Right now, she just needs a leg sturdy enough for her to play Risha ball with, so focus—make the Swarmsteel that's right for her.]

…

For the second time today, she shook her head to herself and steeled her eyes.

Deep breathes, four seconds.

Heavy exhales, four seconds.

She started ‘clicking’ the chitin shells around the bronze tube, using the holes she carved in it earlier as anchor points. At the same time, with her remaining two hands, she started moulding two more chitin sheets into the ankle ball joint and the slab foot, connecting them together and then onto the bottom of the tube, using the natural sap adhesives Safi had prepared for her as the glue. She made sure not to lather too much sap on lest both the foot and the ball joint wouldn't be able to bend or rotate, but that part was easy enough. The hard part was still the shell, and making it so the shells at the top of the leg were extended past the tube like a giant hollow sheathe; that'd be where the little girl's bandaged slump would slip right in.

Despite the words of disparagement, Eria did everything in its power to guide her through the process. She was advised where to shave off excess chitin, where to apply less adhesive sap, and where she should carve a few holes into the shell to account for heat expansion in the desert. It must've taken her an entire hour, or maybe even two—but she eventually had the complete prosthetic leg assembled, and it was easily the most complicated thing she'd ever made.

It didn't exactly look like a ‘normal’ human leg; it was far too thin, some of the shells were too jagged and crude, and both the ball ankle joint and the slab feet were misshapen, but it looked tough. And it looked like it'd stand.

Now, it was time to put it on.

Wiping sweat from her brows, she carefully unbuckled the straps of the little girl's prosthetic, tugging it off the bandaged slump. If she were really confident in her skills, she'd tear the straps off and use them on her own prosthetic as well, but that was just dumb. She'd rather not destroy something Smith Jaleel made in a single busy afternoon as well.

If she could speak the Sharaji tongue, she supposed she'd also tell the little girl to stop gripping the edges of the table and relax, but…

…

… She settled for patting the little girl's head instead.

Then, she nudged the sheath of the prosthetic up, gently wiggling the extended plates around to make sure they wrapped snugly around the girl's stump.

To her delight, when it was fitted on as tight as possible, the prosthetic was exactly as long as the other leg. There'd be no imbalance of height. She walked around the table to look at the other sides as well, checking to see if the extended plates were fully in contact with the girl’s skin—and they were. When insect parts came in prolonged contact with human skin, the melding process would eventually begin. It shouldn't take long for the girl to start showing some sort of physical reaction to her new prosthetic.

So she waited a minute.

Then another minute.

Then another minute–

[It's a bust,] Issam said. [Her strain limit is too low. Cut it off now or she’ll die from overload in thirty seconds.]

… What? How do you–

Maybe it was just another one of Issam’s gut intuitions, but whatever it was, he wasn’t wrong—both Dahlia and Eria jumped as the girl seemed to wake with a start, a choked cry dying in her throat, her body trembling so hard the entire table shook underneath her. It was only because her fingers were locked in death grips around the edges that she hadn’t flung herself off, but the veins in her thigh that was connected to the prosthetic were glowing red, travelling quickly up her body; Dahlia didn’t need to be a doctor to know that couldn’t possibly be good.

Eria!

[Cut sheathe plates two, four, and six right under the stump!]

She did as she was told and immediately slashed down, her claws cleaving right through the three plates with ease. The prosthetic disconnected in an instant, and light drained from the little girl’s glowing veins so fast she couldn’t help but worry there’d be lingering side effects, but at the very least, the girl wasn’t convulsing and tensing every muscle in her body anymore—and Dahlia swiped her failure of a prosthetic leg off the table, rushing forward to wrap the girl in a tight hug as she reattached the original prosthetic.

"... Kari," the girl whispered.

And guilt gnawed at her chest as she listened to the little girl sob into her chest, perhaps realising, at long last, that if she couldn’t make her a functioning prosthetic leg, there’d be no one else in the town who could even come close to her attempt.

[... Maybe if she ate insect flesh, she’d increase her strain limit,] Ayla suggested.

[She can’t increase her strain limit manually, idiot,] Aylee mumbled back. [She doesn’t have a system. If she eats insect flesh, she’ll just mutate into a half-insect. Sure, that’s technically ‘growing stronger’, but I doubt that’s what she wants.]

[Then she’ll live as a cripple for the rest of her life,] Raya said curtly. [Either she eats insect flesh or she never plays Risha ball ever again. It’s her choice. Just tell Safi to whip up something delicious for her, for god’s sake–]

Someone tapped on her shoulder from behind, and she whirled mid-hug to see old Safi standing there with a plate of amber-coloured round candies.

She hadn’t seen or heard him walking around her.

“... 'Kari' means 'home', and I learned how to make candy,” he said plainly, setting the plate on the table next to the little girl before strolling back over to his kitchen, waving back at her. “It’s just sugar and fruit extract. No insect flesh of any kind. Give some to her on your way back to her mom—I hear she’s the village chief’s daughter, so she lives in the southernmost edge of town. It’s the house with four wind chimes dangling outside the front door.”

With that, he trudged over the counter and back into the kitchen, ever the elusive man.

He always knew exactly what to say in any situation to an eerie degree, though—so on that front, she supposed he and Alice were quite alike.

[... You should bring her back to her mother for proper rest on a bed,] Eria suggested quietly. [We can make another attempt at a prosthetic once you have more experience and knowledge in making more complicated Swarmsteel.]

…

For her part, she only nodded slightly as she continued holding the sobbing little girl in her arms.

She didn’t want to stay here and look at her failed Swarmsteel, either.