The needles were still falling, the desert air thick with black projectiles that whistled as they streaked toward the ground, but Helen did not wait for the next wave to land.
She planted her foot on a rising dune and launched herself forward, her body spinning through the storm like it was choreographed while needles rained around her, each one missing by inches.
Her rapier traced a circle around her, deflecting three in rapid succession, and she twisted mid-air to avoid a fourth that grazed past her cheek, leaving a thin line of red that she did not even bother to wipe.
She landed, slid under a cluster of descending spikes, and came up swinging, her blade catching the worm across the jaw in a clean arc that sent black blood splattering across the sand. The force of the blow snapped its head to the side, and she followed up by driving her heel into the same spot, the impact pushing her backward and out of range before it could react.
