Black needles continued falling through the desert air, each projectile whistling before punching into stone, sand, or the distant golden barrier raised by Vella.
Repeated bursts illuminated the torn coat around Hajin and the blood drying beneath his chin.
Helen did not wait for the next wave to surround her.
She planted one foot on a rising dune and launched herself forward, spinning through the storm while black points missed her skin by inches.
Her rapier traced a silver circle that deflected three needles in succession before she folded backward beneath a fourth.
Its edge grazed her cheek and left a thin red line, but she never lifted a hand toward the blood.
'The puppet is still entirely too slow for this fight.'
Helen landed on one heel, slid beneath a descending cluster, and came up swinging before the parent worm could adjust its head.
Her blade opened a clean line across its jaw, spraying black blood over sand already cratered by the bombardment.
