She acted without thinking, tapping the muscle memory of her body, and managed to cut down several dozen. Her augmented senses allowed her to perceive time in a slowed down phase, but this wreaked havoc on her metabolism. She would need protein soon, massive amounts of it.

The luangwa, streaming forward in precise geometrical configurations which suggested a hive mentality, was a pattern form of chaotic static to unaugmented optical systems such as that of Brian’s, who was watching from relative safety in an sub-orbital base. “Cutting it close there, ’kotah,” Brian said.

“Shut up.” Dakota shot forward, her machete weaving incandescent arabesques that lingered in the vision amid falling limbs and pustules of the alien horde. The floor was slippery with their pungent purple blood.

Her arms burned with constellations of superficial wounds, but the poison had seeped in. The flesh blistered and bulged, degrading her mobility.

Here’s to hoping Brian produces an antidote, she thought, vivisecting a luangwa.