Dorian adjusted his grip.
"Besides, there was no tutorial," Dorian continued, his voice dripping with a sarcasm only Omega could appreciate. "Well, there was, but…" —he made another unnecessary pause, because sometimes pauses were necessary even when they were unnecessary— "They didn't even tell me about the system mechanics or anything. Just an invisible message."
He stepped back several paces to gain distance and prepare better. His boots left deep marks in the soft ground.
"Just a nonexistent pep talk that said 'just survive, if you can,'" he finally murmured, and in his voice there was a mix of resignation and defiance.
"And the worst part of all this is that they put me on hard mode," he protested, raising his voice to the sky. "On ultra-mega-hard mode. With one life. If I lose it, it's forever. You are a psychopath. A psychopath. Seriously, you are."
Dorian kept complaining to the night sky of the unknown planet, but his eyes missed no detail of the Predators' movements. He could complain and fight at the same time. It was a talent.
"Well, I can't complain about that since…" —he made another dramatic pause, but this time there was a purpose. A twisted smile appeared on his lips, his white teeth showing in the darkness like a predatory flash.
"Right now, even before I was dragged into this trial, I was already playing on ultra-mega-hard mode," he said finally, and in those words there was pride, there was history, there was everything that had made him what he was.
Preparing for the battle for the crater, where he would have to impose his presence if he wanted to know what the hell happened here with the Sigma-12 crew.
"Oh, and I was forgetting," he murmured as he kept increasing the distance between himself and the attackers. "Unlike you, who left me with only one heart…"
His eyes, now full of killing intent, gleamed with their own light.
"In the mode I've been playing for as long as I can remember," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper laden with meaning. "Ever since I could go on my first expeditions, I always had half a heart."
He paused, letting the words hang in the air.
"For this simple reason, you, thinking you hated me, were actually loving me."
The first Predator landed ten meters away, arching its back like a feline preparing to pounce. Its solid body tensed, the scales glowing faintly in the light of the lichens.
"You really are almost too perfect," Dorian murmured, a barely audible sound, but Omega heard it.
Do you even have time to keep thinking about that, sir? Omega's voice was that of an older brother, watching his younger sibling, instead of focusing on the main task—the one that required maximum concentration—prefer to focus on something else. There was resignation in that tone, but also an affection no AI should be capable of feeling.
"There's time for everything, Omega," Dorian replied, and in his voice and tone was the cunning of the younger brother, the ability to always get his way. "For everything."
The ground cracked. The web-like fissures spread several meters in all directions, and a cloud of dust rose like a gray ghost.
The second Predator landed behind the first.
The same impact sound. Without a single deviation. As if they were programmed.
"This costs you points," Dorian said, rating the Predators with the same seriousness a critic would evaluate a work of art. "How can you all be the same and weigh the same? It's unacceptable. A lack of respect. Very big and serious."
The third Predator slid down the left wall like a liquid shadow, its body grazing the rocky structure in a way that seemed impossible. As if it could stick, or as if it didn't actually want to come down, but simply to flow.
There was no roar. There wasn't even a warning from them. Just a formation… a military coordination… impossible to believe. And as if the game master had pressed a button, the three attacked together.
"This is absurd. Very absurd," Dorian said as his body reacted before his mind finished forming the thought. "How can they coordinate like that? It's as if someone trained them."
But even as he said it, he knew that was impossible. Or was it? After all, there was an ancient Helion ship at the bottom of the crater. Who knew what else was on this planet?
"Anyway," he said, prioritizing the fight. "Let's focus on the battle."
The first leaped straight for his neck. Dorian saw the mandibles opening, the multiple teeth searching for the jugular.
The second lunged at his legs to immobilize him, its claws extended like graveyard blades.
The third tried to circle around behind to finish him off, its body moving with a fluidity that froze the blood.
"It's like they know how and when to attack," Dorian said, and on his face there was admiration instead of concern. Well, concern, yes, a little. But mostly admiration.
Dorian reacted before being surrounded. He twisted his torso, raised his forearm. A strike. A precise swing. One second late would be failure. One second early, also.
He traced a descending diagonal arc with his forearm and blocked the first's mandible, forcing its jaws to one side. The impact resonated like a blow against metal, a deep sound that vibrated in his bones. The forearm plate absorbed most of the impact, but the un-dampened parts were enough to make Dorian's entire arm tremble with unbearable pain.
He used the elbow of his other arm to deflect the second's charge. The same mass. The same thought. The beast grazed his side and scraped the ground with its claws, striking sparks when the biological edge met a stone.
In the same trajectory, the monster spun on itself with an agility that contradicted its size, preparing for another attack.
Dorian stepped back half a pace, just enough so that the third wouldn't reach him from behind. The claw whistled past centimeters from his back.
All in less than a second.
But because of the tension, because of all the mental calculations Dorian performed—calculating when to do and not do this and that—it felt like several thousand years. An eternity, perhaps.
One fraction slower, and he would only be the Predators' dinner.