I climbed a stack of three crates and peeked over the edge. They were already halfway across the arena. No one stayed in the northern base. They meant to crush us with sheer numbers.

THUD!

A perfect shot struck the left-most dockhand. He had just leapt over a clump of tall sea-grass—an opening Thomas had been waiting for.

“Watch out! My coins are on you!” someone bellowed.

“Good-for-nothing whelps—dodge the stones!” a high-pitched woman shrieked, her voice cutting through the din.

I ducked behind the crates as stones whistled over my head.

They couldn’t lock my position as long as I kept moving. I would act as the decoy—when they stopped to aim at me, Thomas would strike.

The open square in the middle was the easiest place to pick them off.

I dove for the dunes on the right, scooping common gravel as I went. I wasn't wasting our few bleedstones on a distraction, and besides—a real stone makes them flinch a lot harder.

“Thomas!” I shouted.

Three stones snapped from my sling in rapid succession the moment I dropped to one knee. Accuracy didn’t matter—only distraction.

Angry shouts erupted from the dockhands in the middle. They leapt and twisted away from the incoming stones. Two of the men on the left spotted me. They stopped and fired back.

But I had already slipped behind the dunes.

“Got it!” Thomas’s voice rolled from the left side of the base.

The sharp cracks of his sling followed—then the crowd erupted with cheers and jeers.

“ONE DIED!” a man bellowed.

My heart thumped as I scrambled along the dunes and slipped back into our base. Two—maybe one more prank on them, and they’d reach us. No time to catch my breath.

I darted through the narrow aisles and climbed onto a pillar of crates just as a roar erupted from the crowd.

“Allen, they split!” Thomas warned from above. “One—two—one!”

My grip tightened on the sling. Proud as they were, they weren’t stupid. Now it would be harder to disrupt them as a group.

I craned my neck.

One dockhand veered toward the shallow water on the left. Another cut east toward the dunes and beach grass. Two remained in the middle, charging straight at us.

“Aim for the one at the water, Thomas!” I shouted, slinging regular stones toward the man.

Water splashed as he ran along the shallows. He must have heard my voice—he slowed, suddenly wary.

“Aye, gotcha!” Thomas’s reply rang across the arena.

But he didn’t attack my target.

Instead, his sling cracked toward the two dockhands charging up the middle.

“Despicable!” one of them shouted.

“I’ll get you, little liars!” another hissed.

Crimson blossomed across a tunic as Thomas’s stone struck when they least expected it.

“Blockheads! They fooled you!” the crowd jeered as the Dockmaster Team fell onto the back foot.

Sweat soaked my tunic as I switched position again, peering out from beside a barrel.

Two clean. Two bleeding.

Six strikes to go.

“The middle one, Thomas!” I shouted. “They’re clumsier!”

Snickers rippled through the crowd.

The dockhands answered with war cries as they marched forward, fuelled by anger and frustration.

Almost at the base.

THUD!

A stone slammed into the barrel I hid behind, jolting me sideways. I lurched, sliding toward the dunes as another stone struck my chest mid-fall.

Sharp pain. Red powder bloomed across my tunic.

The metallic taste of fear flooded my mouth. My breath came in ragged gasps.

I’d been hit. Sheer luck or perfect timing—I’d never know.

The coarse sand stung my hands and knees as I scrambled along the dunes. Even under the thunder of the crowd, I could hear their footsteps closing in.

A collective shout of “Finally!” rang out.

Cracks of leather erupted.

“ONE MORE DOWN!” a deafening roar boomed across the beach.

I pumped my fists, baring a grin.

Good job, Thomas.

Through the crowd noise, I caught sight of the two eliminated dockhands trudging toward the rope boundary—shoulders slumped, red powder streaked across their tunics. One kicked the sand in frustration. The other just stared at the ground.

One of the dockhands—the one who'd charged straight up the middle—finally reached our base. He slammed his fist against a crate, chest heaving as he gasped for air.

I inhaled slowly—time for the next phase.

I put my fingers to my mouth and mimicked the chirps of the chatter-wings—our lousy practices from the past had become our secret language.

From somewhere above, Thomas replied with cheerful chirps.

We melted into the shadows.

Traps, ambushes, deception.

Let’s see how they handle this.