Eleven days. One week since Madamaron last attacked.

There’d been no deaths since then.

Dahlia’s second week in the Sharaji Oasis Town began as usual with the ring of the morning bell; camels bleated outside, the elders threw the window flaps open, the shopkeepers and stallowners trudged out their sandstone houses to set up their wares by the bazaar, yawning and greeting each other with their hands interlocked in prayers. The quiet hubbub would soon grow into the familiar hustle and bustle, but Dahlia’s guest room was right above a store, which meant she didn’t really need the bell or the sounds of the bazaar to wake up—Grandma Ramaba, the town’s general amenities vendor, rapped the floor from underneath with a long broom, making her bed shake her awake.

Being curt with her appearance—only washing her short curly hair and dousing her face with cold water by the windowsill—she quickly threw on her mantle, vaulted out the window, and landed right in front of Grandma Ramaba’s open front door. Sand and soft winds blew into her face, so she pulled her scarf up to cover her mouth and nose as the old lady tossed out her breakfast: two simple butter bread loafs with some sort of insect flesh filling, sent to her every morning by Alice and Uncle Safi. She ravished and devoured only one loaf as she waved the old lady goodbye, turning to sprint to her first job in town.

[Unallocated Points: 76 → 83]

The early morning sun cast long shadows across the town. Merchants sitting on thick fluffy carpets marked their shops with bright colours to stand out in the bazaar. Still chewing, still struggling at times to eat under the small gap in her scarf, her run to her job took her down paths littered with all manner of stalls. She waved and prayed her good mornings to most everyone she passed by, and most everyone returned their greetings, or held out goods for her to buy and inspect; she eyed bronze bowls, wooden board games, and then she skidded to a halt when she spotted Weaver Arshad spreading out an array of new weed-woven rags on the floor before his humble stall—she stared at the rags for a good minute before reaching into her mantle for her coin pouch.

Weaver Arshad, the turbaned dark-skinned man, shook his head and raised three fingers when she plucked out two bronze Khan coins. She knelt to his level, pointed at the dahlia-patterned rag on the far left of his carpet, and held up two fingers. The man pursed his lips and didn’t relent, shaking his head vehemently. She then rose and pretended to be disinterested, turning away to leave; that got him to click his tongue and snap at her to come back, pinching the rag between his thumb, pinky, and ring finger. Two fingers raised, brows knitted in annoyance.

She beamed at him and tossed him two coins, clutching her new rag close to her chest as she kept on running.

Grandma Ramaba’s washing rag isn’t looking so good anymore, and I’m not good at sewing.

Maybe she’ll like this pattern for a new rag?

[She’ll definitely like it,] Ayla agreed.

[Maybe you should get two,] Aylee added. [But you don’t have the money to spare for two. How sad.]

Some of the townsfolk still gave her strange and wary looks as she ran past, but by now most had gotten used to her black arms and paid her little mind; they knew she wasn’t out of control. They knew she was helpful, as she ran into the large sandstone hut that was the oasis farmers’ storage house—the ‘Mushariff’ Idan, the overseer of all farmers who handled crop harvesting by the oasis, greeted her with a prayer, took her remaining loaf of bread, and then sent her back out with four buckets. The old hunchbacked man had approached her with a job offer after noticing her clean throughout the night on her fourth day here, and while it wasn’t a particularly difficult job, it was honest, rewarding work. More entertaining than menial cleaning, at least.

As she sprinted out towards the giant oasis in the centre of town, the other two dozen or so farmers were already wading knee deep in the water, their shoes neatly arranged on shore so as not to incur the wrath of Dhurana, the oasis spirit. Several of them were already sweating and returning water to the oasis, but everyone greeted her with tender smiles as she kicked off her shoes, flung the end of her mantle over her shoulders, and waded quickly into the water as well. The underwater reeds that grow in the shallow portions of the oasis were incredibly rich in nutrients, and the leaves themselves were tough enough to be used for weaving and sewing; their job was to pull the mature reeds and fill up their buckets as much as they could every single day, because Dhurana was a mystical spirit who could make reeds grow and mature endlessly within a week at most.

Of course, Alice had told her that it was mostly likely just the carcasses of a thousand giant insects buried deep beneath the oasis that were making the reeds grow at a downright magical rate—but Dahlia wasn’t about to tell the farmers that.

The morning hours passed. They spent their time knee-deep in refreshing water, backs hunched over, sunlight burning blisters onto their skin. The dark-skinned farmers were all already used to it, but Dahlia was still prone to getting hot and sticky and tired easily. While she had four hands to pluck reeds at twice the usual speed, it also meant she exhausted twice as fast; the rowdy Braif brothers laughed at her as she panted for breath, having filled up only two buckets of soggy reeds within three hours of work.

So she merely shot back at them a weak smile, deep breathing for four seconds, heavy exhaling for four seconds.

Eria. Level my toughness to four and put twenty-five points into strain limit.

[Understood.]

[Toughness: 3 → 4]

[StrainLimit: 1012 → 1037]

[Unallocated Points: 83 → 49]

Two more hours passed. Noon arrived, and so did the scorching midday sun that forced every farmer out of the oasis and running for shelter back in the storage house. Nobody worked after morning and before four in the afternoon—it was just too hot for any normal human to bear—so now it was the rest of the older farmers’ turn to laugh as the Braif brothers stuck their hands in their pockets, scowling, faces flushing red with heat and embarrassment. Dahlia was the only one still plucking reeds and filling her buckets, after all; she was four times as tough as the average man, and she was the only one who could work well into the noon without letting the heat break her spirit.

This much… is nothing.

Being too cold in Alshifa because firefly light is dimming is much worse.

[That much is nothing as well,] Raya grumbled, and the sound of shoulders popping rang in her eardrums. [Let me take over your body for a little while. I’ll get all the reeds plucked in–]

[Please just get outta here and let her do her thing,] Amula groaned, and then the sounds of squabbling came from behind her. [Just ignore this bitch, Dahlia. You’re doing fine. Show the Braif brothers how diligent our ‘Make-Whatever’ is.]

The farmers each had to fill up four buckets a day. Today, she finished filling hers up by one in the afternoon. Trudging back to the storage house with a bucket in each hand, Mushariff Idan laughed and patted her on the back, snapping at the resting Braif brothers to work as hard as she could. The two brothers dropped their trays of rice and rushed back out, and the rest of the farmers chuckled as they each took turns rubbing her head, thanking her for her diligence. Mushariff Idan offered her the same farmer’s lunch as everyone else had already finished—rice and beans and small rolling chunks of glazed meat—but she declined it as usual with a small shake of her head, holding up the second loaf of bread Grandma Ramaba had tossed her.

Mushariff Idan smiled and dipped his head as he sent her off to her second job with a small pouch of coins, her daily wage of twelve bronze coins. She double checked the amount only briefly as she ran while munching down on her larger loaf of bread mostly focused on squinting up at the sun to check the time.

She wasn’t late, was she?

[Unallocated Points: 49 → 65]

Passing through the bazaar, greeting most everyone she ran by, she eventually arrived at the one and only forge in the northeastern end of town. It was a rather small and modest sandstone building compared to the usual three-storey houses, but lots of people were already queuing up outside, crowded along the stairs and streets and even into the smaller alleys around the forge. She tucked her extra arms in and squeezed past them, apologising whenever she bumped into someone, and somehow managed to enter the sweltering hot building.

The rough sandstone walls were brightly illuminated by the orange glow of the furnace, there were no windows to let wind or sand blow in. An array of metalworking tools hung from the tall ceiling: hammers of various sizes, tongs, and flame pokers all bearing the marks of the trade with nicks and scorch marks. The wooden hatch in the corner leading down into the cellar was locked as always, foul-smelling as always. A burly young man handled one of the two anvils at the back of the forge, hammering a kettle into shape with his dark face glistening with sweat—and the moment he glanced up and saw her squeezing in, he immediately barked at her to stop staring at the hatch and get to work.

Grumpy as always.

Handling the second anvil and taking on forging requests wasn’t her job, of course. Smith Jaleel didn’t trust her enough to let her anywhere near his metalworking tools just yet. Alice had told her a little bit about the oasis town: Mushariff Idan was an old friend of the old forgemaster who passed away a few years back, and Jaleel was the apprentice who had to inherit the forge, but since nobody in town had hands hard enough to handle working in the forge, Jaleel had never had anyone to help handle the menial chores around him. Mushariff Idan recommended her as an apprentice a few days back after seeing her black chitin hands, so every day, for five hours before dusk, her second job was very simple—she did everything but making things with her hands.

When Jaleel barked at her to step on the bellows and feed the furnace, she jumped and bounced as fast as she could. When Jaleel snapped his fingers and gestured wildly at no metalworking tool in particular, she took one glance at whatever he was making for the townsfolk and fetched him the tool he needed. When glowing-hot metal needed cooling and there wasn’t enough water in the buckets, she raced out to draw more water and splashed the people waiting in line who were looking like they were about to overheat. Despite all the shouting and sparks flying and physically demanding work… dusk eventually arrived. The line gradually thinned, the last requests for the day were taken. The ringing of hammer on metal stopped vibrating in her ears, and when she finished brushing all the scrap metal on the floor into trays for recycling, sighing a huge breath of relief–

She was picked up by her collar and thrown out of the forge quite promptly with a pouch of coins in her hands.

… It’s still early, though?

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

As she whirled and opened her mouth, Jaleel waved her off by the door and scratched the back of his head sheepishly, turning around so he could finish a few more orders before closing up for the night.

She still couldn’t understand the Sharaji town, but she heard two words.

‘Rashia ball’.

…

Though his back was turned, she dipped her head in gratitude and tucked her pay into her mantle, making a break for the southern end of town. The sun was already well on its way down, and the townsfolk were all getting ready to retire for the day, closing up shops and stalls as the communal kitchens started lighting up bright orange one by one. While breakfast and lunch were usually served by each individual household, everyone shared dinner together, and the communal kitchens were where the townsfolk mingled; seven at night was when everyone usually filed into the nearest kitchen, their stomachs at the mercy of whichever household was responsible for handling that specific kitchen that night. It was an unusual tradition, but not one Dahlia didn’t like—she’d just never eaten with anyone apart from Alice in Uncle Safi’s tavern at the edge of the town.

But it was still only six in the afternoon, and she had a little bit of time to kill before dinner.

The hour of twilight before dinner was served was the Sharaji’s children domain. Little groups of them were let off slightly early from work and were washing off in the oasis, racing each other on the roofs, or crowding the alleys looking for their friends to play with. Among the Oasis Town’s nightlife, pure and childlike games of entertainment weren’t lacking. By foot, it only took her ten minutes circling around the oasis before she reached the tiny alley where she’d played her first and only game in town—and everyone, including Alice, was already waiting for her to arrive.

Dahlia hadn’t beaten Alice once in ‘Risha ball’, the name of the game where two teams competed to smash a small reed-woven ball across a net using only their wrists, but whenever she had time to spare after finishing her menial chores for the day and night, it was mostly a one versus one game between her and the Hasharana. The kids knew better than to stand in the way of the two four-armed monstrosities; that didn’t mean they weren’t allowed to watch, though, and Dahlia felt she’d gotten a lot of fans since she started playing against Alice. There were only about a dozen kids on her first night of playing. Now she counted at least fifty heads, all scattered and sitting across the roofs surrounding the alley.

Most likely, it was precisely because she still hadn’t claimed even a single point from Alice—just like them—that she was an underdog to root for.

And so she was the Sharaji children’s chosen representative, worthy of cheering and rallying behind.

“... Play to eleven points?” Alice asked, smirking as she translated to the boys sitting on her side of the court. The girls on Dahlia’s side were all sweaty, wrists swollen, panting for breath—evidently they’d already tried challenging the Hasharana in teams to no avail. She thought it was only natural, though.

Only a monster could beat another monster.

Nodding resolutely, she accepted the cheers from the girls as she stepped onto her side of the court, taking off her mantle and coin pouches and everything that could weigh her down. It was just last night after she returned from the games that Granda Ramaba had given her the lightest of tunics and shorts for her to move around easily—and it was hot around here as well—so her blood was already pumping too fast for her to feel any embarrassment about showing more skin than usual. The murmurs and giggles and quiet chatter were all background noise; when Alice slid off the roof and landed on the other side of the court, the only thing she had in her eyes was the small Risha ball in the Hasharana’s hands.

Just one point.

If I can get one point, then I’ll be satisf–

Alice served the ball with no comment, a jumping smash that was neither easy to see nor easy to react to. She didn’t even have time to fan her arms out before the ball slammed into the ground, kicking up a wave of sand that splashed into the girls’ faces—one point for Alice and the boys.

… She always serves the first ball with overwhelming power.

[It is an attempt to defeat you in your head,] Eria agreed. [Her next few serves should be easier to receive now that she believes she has the overwhelming advantage. Take your time and time your attacks.]

[Just breathe in and focus,] Issam added helpfully.

[Thweet!] Jerie added unhelpfully

All easier said than done, she thought. But when she does the jump and serves like that–

Second serve. A gust of wind. Dahlia reacted and caught the slow-soaring ball with her first wrist, juggled it to her second, then feinted a return with her third wrist—only to ‘miss’ with her swing, returning it underhanded with her fourth wrist instead.

The girls clapped and cheered and jumped to their feet, knees quivering in excitement. They’d just seen delicate and impossible control from someone who’d whacked her face with her own arms eight days ago, and now she was properly juggling a ball the size of her head; she had only her two jobs during the day to thank for letting her practice handling multiple items with her four arms.

[Fast. Good control. Your balance control is fourteen percent higher than yesterday,] Eria said. [But now you need to add a bit of strength to your returns, or else–]

A whoosh. Cheers abruptly cut short by a blast of wind. Alice leaped forward and smashed the ball back over the moment it crossed the net, and Dahlia couldn’t help but sneeze in the face of the cloud of sand. Her heart was racing faster now, adrenaline rushing through her veins. It wasn’t a perfect return and she knew it, but that was the first time she’d successfully managed a feint without hitting herself; maybe she could start adding in a bit more strength now.

… Don’t break the ball, don’t break the ball, don’t break the ball!

[Don’t imagine you’re gripping a sword with both hands,] Issam said, whispering into her ear. [Imagine… one hand. Like you’re just swinging a stick you picked up in the garden. If you swing too hard, the stick will fly out of your hands, right?]

[Control is key,] Amula agreed.

[But also put some strength into it,] Raya mumbled. [If you can’t, just let me take over your body. I’ll be sure to–]

Eria! Level my strength and perceptivity to five!

[Strength: 4 → 5]

[Perceptivity: 4 → 5]

[Unallocated Points: 65 → 33]

Alice served the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth balls in quick succession, and Dahlia lost each point without ever even hitting the balls—she tried to return smash the moment each ball was served with all of her strength, all of her speed, all of her toughness and all of her control, but having too much power was an issue she’d never had to deal with in Alshifa. The girls winced and the boys jeered every time she jumped into a wall, jumping into the net, or jumped face first into the ball in an attempt to smash it the same way Alice could so… but she wasn’t about to give up now.

The seventh ball was when she felt her extra arms ‘clicking’ with the rest of her body, and for the first time in eight days, she return smashed the ball without breaking it, sending it thundering back across the net—only for Alice to return it effortlessly, bouncing it right over the net to let it thud against the sand.

Alice fixed her with a twisted smile, and she sent a quivering one back, her lips thinning into a line.

I can do it.

[You can do it!] Ayla cheered.

[You’ll get at least one point, I think,] Aylee said, not so optimistically.

The eighth, ninth, and tenth balls were back and forth rallies. Long ones. They probed each other with fancy ball juggles, showing off to the wooing and wowing crowd, before attacking with straights and crosses that were not nearly as sharp as their smashes. Dahlia had an easy time receiving those slower shots, now—she didn’t have nearly the amount of control eight days ago to even think of receiving them—but she lost those points just as brutally as Alice dragged her around the court, sprinting after the ball at all times. She was tired after a long day of work, and Alice didn’t look like she’d done anything but play the entire past week.

It was only because of this ball game that Dahlia realised how lacking she was as someone implanted with an Altered Swarmsteel System. There were too many attributes she still had to level up, too many aspects of herself to improve.

… But this ends today.

Watch me.

The eleventh ball. The final point. Alice served hard and fast, smirking as though she wanted Dahlia to crumble right from the get-go—and Dahlia pounced at the net with her claws brandished, teeth bared like she was going to tear the net into shreds.

That got a flinch out of the Hasharana, and really, a moment of distraction was all she needed.

Eria!

[Strength: 5 → 6]

[StrainLimit: 1037 → 1045]

[Unallocated Points: 33 → 0]

Every drop of strength she could squeeze out of her muscles, the tension, the speed, the dexterity—her body shuddered as she smashed the ball with a low growl, sending it straight down in front of the net where Alice wasn’t at.

And the ball landed.

[... Nice job,] Issam said, and his voice was so close to her ears yet so far away at the same time; it tickled her brain and made her giggle with delight. [That’s your first point out of… well, I wasn’t keeping count of the total points you’ve lost, but hey! You got it–]

The crowd erupted into a storm of cheers, boys and girls alike, as they jumped down from the roofs to squish her into a ball of tight hugs. She yelped and struggled to breathe; there were so many kids talking and laughing and shouting over each other that she could scarcely hear the dinner bell ringing in the distance, so when their parents started howling their names and calling for them to get ready for dinner, she was more grateful than anything.

She may not be able to bask in her gaining a single point against Alice, and the game technically wasn’t even over yet—it was now one point to ten—but this was good enough. As the children freaked out and scattered and raced off to appease their parents, only one little girl stayed behind, clutching onto Dahlia’s black wrist with both hands as she looked between the two four-armed girls.

Dahlia frowned, looking over at Alice pointedly, and the Hasharana blurred across the net to kneel in front of the little girl with a strained smile.

… Is she irritated that she lost a point to me?

But I thought she gave that one to me for free?

[It certainly looked and felt like it,] Eria agreed. [But even a Hasharana is prone to making small errors here and there.]

She wasn’t quite buying the explanation, but that wasn’t important right now; only now did she recognise the little girl holding onto her as one of the two she’d teamed up with in her first ever game eight days ago.

“... So?” Alice asked, a mischievous lilt to her voice. “Was it fun watching us fight each other?”

The little girl bobbed her head vigorously, dark eyes shining bright and true. Alice laughed and winked up at Dahlia, a barely noticeable pass.

“Then, how about helping us have a little fun, too?” Alice said, smiling even more playfully now. “Can you distract the guards while we sneak into the deceased lady’s house? Promise we’re not gonna mess anything up—we just wanna look around for a bit, that’s all! We’re curious to know more about the Oasis Town!”

Dahlia snapped her face down to scowl at Alice, but the little girl nodded happily again before beginning to skip away—so the Hasharana rose to her feet and gave Dahlia one last wink, as though to say ‘I wasn’t playing all along’.

For her part, Dahlia didn’t know how much of the past week was just Alice indulging in the playfulness of a child, and how much was actual work being done to investigate more about Madamaron.

…

But perhaps it didn’t matter.

Dahlia felt she, too, had played around for long enough.

She followed Alice out of the alley, away from the net, and raced after the little girl who was going to be their guide.