"What the hell is this?" Dorian wondered, and his inner voice sounded small, lost in the immensity of that moment.
His eyes, his face, his entire being lost that aura of calm, of "everything is fine." It was replaced by something else. His pupils opened wide like saucers, dilating to their maximum as if wanting to absorb all the light, all the information, everything that could help him process what he was seeing.
Every nerve in his body froze.
Every muscle fiber refused to respond.
"No! No!" he screamed mentally, while trying to make his body work, to order them to move. "I have to move. I have to move now. Now!"
Every muscle refused to respond.
Every thought scattered like leaves in the wind.
Dorian began to spin.
Not visually, not physically, but mentally.
His consciousness spiraled, falling into a pit from which he could not escape.
He had felt many things in his life. Pain. Fear. Emotion. Excitement. Desperation.
He had felt the burn of lasers, the cold of space, the pressure of ocean depths on other worlds.
But this... this was new.
A sensation he had never felt before. One that had no name in any language he knew.
The place trembled with it.
It wasn't a physical tremor—though there was that too—but something more. A vibration in the air, in the rock, in his own bones.
A sonic blast was heading toward Dorian.
An invisible wave, but lethal.
Capable of disintegrating anything in its path. Dorian could see it, somehow, feel it in the air, in the way the dust particles began to vibrate, in the way the light distorted slightly around it.
"Shit, shit," he began to curse under his breath, the words escaping his lips like a desperate mantra. "Move already, dammit. Move! Move! Move now!"
And he couldn't move.
The wave approached.
Ten meters.
Eight.
Five.
Danger. Danger. Danger. Omega's voice cut through the chaos in his mind, clear as a bell in the midst of the storm. There was no panic in it, only data, only analysis, only the cold determination of an artificial intelligence designed to keep him alive. Sir, I am going to activate the electromagnetic pulses of the combat suit. Electrical discharge around your skin. Now!
Zzzzzzap.
A blue current ran through his body from head to toe, jumping between the plates of the exosuit like tiny miniature lightning bolts. It wasn't painful. It was stimulating. As if a thousand small needles of energy had pricked every nerve ending at the same time, awakening his muscles with the force of a lightning strike.
His muscles responded.
His thoughts returned.
His body moved.
He rolled to the side, quickly, without thinking, just letting instinct take over. He felt the wind of the sonic blast graze his entire body, felt the pressure on his skin, the heat of displaced energy, death passing within centimeters.
Fuuuuu.
The blast hit the walls behind him.
The rock disintegrated.
It didn't break, didn't crack: it disintegrated, turning into fine dust that filled the air like a gray mist. Debris. Destruction. A hole the size of a small ship appeared where there had once been a solid wall.
All of that happened in an instant after the roar.
But it was more lethal than the several hours Dorian had spent being used as a player on this planet since his arrival.
More lethal than all the Predators combined.
More lethal than anything he had faced before.
Sir, Omega's voice sounded in his mind, calm, professional, as if nothing had happened. Please, relax a little. This is only the beginning.
Badump. Badump.
His heart pounded against his chest as if wanting to escape, as if it too had felt that presence and wanted to flee from it.
"I owe you one, Omega," Dorian finally replied. His voice sounded hoarse, scratchy. Barely a whisper.
It is my duty to help you, sir. You owe me nothing.
"Seriously," Dorian swallowed, feeling the fear slowly dissipate, replaced by something more familiar: determination. The determination of a Helion, of a warrior, of someone who refuses to die. "I almost didn't make it this time. That damned beast is too catastrophic. Really."
He observed the Apex. The creature loomed before him, imposing, its six limbs moving with a grace that such a massive body should not possess. Its multiple eyes watched him with an intelligence it should not possess. With a hatred that seemed personal.
And it was, Dorian thought. After what he had done to it, after wounding its pride, after daring to challenge it on its own territory... it was personal.
"Well," Dorian adjusted his grip on the sword, feeling the familiar texture of the hilt under his fingers. "Let's prepare for combat. You're not going to let me go just like that. And neither am I."
He brought his hand to his belt, fumbling among the compartments. He found what he needed: another energy drink. This time it wasn't the standard green recovery liquid, but a different one. A reddish liquid, almost transparent, that seemed to glow with its own light in the darkness of the crater.
When he drank it, as it began to go down his throat—no, from the instant it touched his tongue, it began to burn. Not with flames and embers, it wasn't fire he felt, but it stung. An intense itch, almost painful, that spread through his mouth, down his esophagus, and settled in his stomach like a bomb about to explode.
This was the last liquid for energy recovery. The reserve, the emergency one, the one only used when there was no other option. Since this one was red, spicy, explosive, he had to take advantage of the time limit of its effect.
Although there was a problem: no one—well, young explorers didn't know how long the effect of these new medicines lasted. No one told them. It was part of the training, he supposed, learning to manage the unknown.
Dorian performed a maneuver with his sword. A wrist twist, fast and precise, ending with the blade pointing forward. A fluid movement, almost a caress, reminding his body what it had to do.
He went on guard.
"I can't let him attack me," he said after regaining his senses, after the medicine began to take effect and his muscles stopped trembling. "Going head-on is also risky, but a charge from him would be a thousand times worse. A thousand times more lethal. A thousand times deadlier."
Decided.
He launched himself at the Apex.
His feet struck the ground hard, his boots propelling him like mechanical springs. The distance shortened rapidly beneath his feet. Ten meters. Eight. Five. He could see every detail of the monster now: the plates of its carapace, the multiple eyes following him, the vibrating mandibles.
"Alright, let's do this, Dorian," he encouraged himself, while in motion, while the wind whistled around him. "You can do it. You'll make it. You can."
Halfway there, he pushed off the ground with all the force he could muster. His boots, the suit's servomotors, his own muscles, all working in unison to launch him upward like a projectile.
A leap.
An attack from above.
A descending cut.
That might work... or maybe not. But there was no time for doubts, no space for uncertainty. Only action.
His sword, charged with all his strength, all his determination, all the energy the red medicine had released in his body, traced a perfect arc over the Apex's back.
"AAAAHHHHH!"
The roar escaped his lips unplanned. It wasn't a rehearsed battle cry, but something more primitive. The contained emotion of someone who throws themselves into the void hoping to find solid ground.
CLANG!
The sound was like two very hard metals colliding. A deadly toll that resonated throughout the place, bouncing off the crater walls, multiplying, creating a symphony of destruction. The aerodynamic helmet activated without Dorian even thinking about it. It was by his will, an automatic defense measure of the suit to protect the wearer.
It closed over his head in milliseconds, covering his ears just in time to keep his eardrums from bursting from the vibration.
The blade sank into the monster's back.
But not enough.
Only a few centimeters.
Just enough to scratch the surface, to make a scrape on that carapace black as night.
"Tsk. Shit, I lacked strength," Dorian said, annoyed with himself, as his body began to fall back to the ground.
The Apex roared.
Not in pain—that scratch was nothing to it—but in fury. In pure, elemental, cosmic rage.
This was the second time an insect—according to the planet's most complete predator—had dared to touch it. Not once. But twice. Making it spill its precious, thick green blood on its own territory.
And Dorian knew it.
He knew he couldn't attack directly. He had already imagined he needed another strategy. This was simply seeking death. Inviting it to cross his doorstep. But sometimes, he thought as he fell, you had to do it. You had to test the enemy, learn its limits, know what it was capable of.
The monster leaped.
Upward.
Straight to the ceiling of the crater.