The impact sent him rolling across the crater floor like a ragdoll.
The world spun. Dust, black blood, blue lights, all mixed in a whirlwind of colors and sounds. The crater walls revolved around him, the violet sky appearing and disappearing from his field of vision.
Dorian slammed into a rock and felt the air leave his lungs in a dry punch, felt his ribs protest, felt the pain bloom in his side like a poisonous flower.
"Omega," he gasped, struggling to his feet, his hands searching for purchase on the unstable ground. "Helion pulse. Now."
Sir, the Helion pulse at full charge in your current condition… Omega's voice was an urgent whisper, laden with something that sounded dangerously like fear.
"Now, Omega!"
The AI obeyed.
The sword emitted a sharp, rising whine that pierced the ears and made teeth vibrate in their sockets. The pitch climbed higher and higher until it became an almost unbearable scream, and then, when it seemed it could get no more intense, a pulse of blue energy expanded from Dorian in all directions.
It was like an explosion of light and heat, an artificial sun being born at the bottom of the crater. The shockwave swept everything in its path, reaching all the approaching Predators.
Dorian saw their silhouettes outlined against the blue, saw their bodies tense, convulse, and then fall, one after another, like dominoes in slow motion.
The Helion pulse. A last-resort weapon. Designed for situations where there is no other way out, when death is certain and the only thing left is to take as many enemies as possible. It was not a weapon to be used lightly.
Dorian remained on his knees, gasping, while the residual energy of the pulse tingled on his skin like a thousand electric needles. The pain was intense—every nerve in his body screamed, every cell seemed to be on fire—but he was alive. He was breathing. His heart was beating. That was what mattered.
Around him, the bodies of the Predators lay motionless. Seven, eight, nine. A true massacre. The crater smelled of ozone and burnt blood, of death and released energy.
"Sir," Omega's voice was barely a whisper, as if the AI were also exhausted. "Your physical condition…"
"I know," Dorian cut her off, struggling to his feet. His legs trembled, his arms felt heavy as lead, but little by little, centimeter by centimeter, he managed to straighten up. "But look… look what we accomplished."
He looked around at the fallen bodies, at the crater illuminated by the dying light of his sword, at the Sigma-12 ship in the center of it all. Seven Predators dead. Seven alien lives reaped in self-defense. And in the center, the ship that had brought the first explorers, the first to fall.
"I wasn't the first," he murmured, his voice hoarse from effort and emotion. "But maybe… maybe I'll be the one to finish what they started."
He brought a hand to his belt, fumbling for one of the vials he always carried. He found the one he needed: an energy drink with a fluorescent green liquid, designed to restore strength in extreme situations.
He brought it to his lips and drank, feeling the cold liquid go down his throat, feeling the energy begin to spread through his body.
It wasn't a miracle cure. The fatigue would still be there, the pain as well. But it would give him strength for what came next. And next, he was sure, would be worse.
The night continued, implacable, infinite. The violet sky remained dark, the lichens kept glowing, the wind kept blowing. The planet did not rest, and neither could Dorian.
The night hunt…
Had barely begun.
The crater resonated like a metal box full of animal echoes. Every impact, every roar, every breath multiplied against the rocky walls, creating a symphony of chaos that completely enveloped Dorian.
As new Predators descended the walls, their claws scratching the stone with that unmistakable sound of nails on slate, the air became charged with electricity and dust. Small static discharges jumped between the suspended particles, creating tiny arcs of light that illuminated the darkness for fractions of a second.
"Shit, doesn't this ever end or what?" Dorian complained as his mind processed the situation with the clarity that only combat could provide.
The pack of Predators he had faced before were just the decoy. The cannon fodder. The ones sent to challenge the enemy or weaken him so that afterward their troops… their legions would arrive to finish the job. The strategy was as old as war itself: send the weakest first, wear down the opponent, study their movements, and then, when fatigue begins to take effect, send the true warriors.
The order was clear, Dorian thought as his eyes scanned the crater walls. It doesn't matter if they kill you in the process, and if by chance you achieve a crushing or narrow victory, good for you. But that doesn't change that you are the one who will put it to the test. Oh, and one more thing: "good luck."
Dorian began to spin, full circles, while the hostile signatures moved rapidly on Omega's large-scale scanner. What saved Dorian was that the data, the messages Omega transmitted, the real-time images, did not interfere with his vision.
If they did, from the moment he set foot on this planet he would already be the appetizer. No, the morning meal of the first Predators. Sensory overload was a luxury he could not afford.
The shadows moved fast, too many to count with the naked eye. They were like inkblots sliding down the walls, constantly changing shape, blending into the cracks and rocky outcrops.
Omega kept the light focused only on the nearby trajectories, avoiding revealing too much of the terrain. It was a tactic they had developed together after years of combat: just enough information, the necessary amount, without saturating the senses.
"A swarm is approaching," Omega reported, her voice clear despite the chaos. "Coordinated predator pattern. Recommendation: constant movement. Do not stop under any circumstances."
Dorian did not answer. He adjusted his weight on his legs and let his breathing stabilize. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. The rhythm of life, the rhythm of battle.
"This is not a test, mister planet," Dorian protested, speaking to the air, to the place, to the planet itself that was playing with him. In a game, yes, fun. But too deadly. The margin between victory and death was so narrow it could barely be distinguished.
"But at least drop some loot, so I can use the game's tools," Dorian complained to the imaginary game master, about how stingy it was. In any self-respecting video game, after a battle like that there would be rewards. Upgrades. Something. But here there were only more enemies.
"You invite me to an unknown game, no…" he corrected himself, because those were not the right words. Not at all.
"It wasn't even an invitation," he said finally, as he went on guard, the energy sword tracing a perfect arc in the air, the blue light becoming more intense as it entered combat mode. "You just dragged me into the game without my consent."
The Predators kept descending, their silhouettes outlined against the violet sky like demons falling from hell.