Black blood gushed from the wound, evaporating on contact with the air, leaving a chemical stench that burned the eyes and throat. The vapor rose in small wisps that twisted in the night air like restless souls, carrying that sharp aroma that clung to the palate.
Dorian quickly stepped back, coughing, wiping the blood from his helmet with the back of his gauntlet before it could fully evaporate. The substance left a sticky residue that the suit's nanites immediately began to break down.
—We're finally done —he said, and his voice sounded tired even to his own ears. There was a hint of something more in those words, a mix of relief and disbelief at having survived that clash.
—Seriously, this damn thing was a real pain in the… —Dorian paused, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right word, one that would capture the essence of what he had faced without sounding too dramatic—. … the head.
He walked around the fallen body, still holding the sword, though the energy blade had reduced its intensity to a mere glow. His boots left shallow prints in the black earth as he studied the monster with that clinical gaze that only true warriors develop after hundreds of battles.
—Resilient body, four legs —he began, pointing out the Predator's features, gesturing with his free hand as if giving a lecture—. Dorsal spines, multiple mandibles. All designed for one thing: to kill as efficiently as possible.
He stopped in front of the creature's head, his green eyes meeting its already extinguished multiple eyes. For a moment, he could almost imagine they were still watching him, that there was still some consciousness in that heap of flesh and scale.
—No, no, no —he repeated, shaking his head, a gesture more for himself than for any audience—. The one who designed you… no —he corrected himself, emphasizing the correction—. The psychopath with a lack of brotherly love who designed you…
The aerodynamic helmet slid back with a hydraulic hiss, releasing his black hair with its orange highlights, which the night wind immediately caught, making it dance like flames in the darkness. He brought a hand to his forehead, letting his fingers press against his temples for a moment. He could feel his heartbeat there, still accelerated, still pumping residual adrenaline.
—The madman who created you —he continued, his voice resonating clearer now without the helmet's distortion— must have done it while experiencing side effects.
He paused dramatically. Unnecessary, yes. But now he could afford it, since for the moment there was no one trying to kill him. Only for the moment. The "for the moment" was important on a planet like this.
—He must have been taking those white substances some people on Helion Astra use —he said finally, scanning his surroundings with his gaze, his eyes adjusting to the darkness without the helmet's filters—. Because otherwise…
Another pause. Unnecessary again, but sometimes you have to indulge yourself a little. Dorian had learned long ago that small pleasures, like a dramatic pause after nearly dying, were what kept a warrior sane.
—I can't imagine a sane person inventing a creature with these characteristics. I mean, look at it —he said, gesturing broadly at the corpse—. Four independent mandibles. Why? To make sure that when it bites you, it doesn't just tear you apart, but does so from four different angles simultaneously? It's over‑designed. It's as if someone said, "let's create the perfect killer," and then kept adding things just because they sounded cool.
Sir, do you realize you're talking to yourself in the middle of nowhere? Omega's voice arrived like a sharp whisper in Dorian's mind, mixed with that tone of saintly patience the AI had perfected over the years. Could it be that you… you know… that?
Dorian frowned, his expression shifting from philosophical reflection to total confusion.
—No, no —he protested, waving a hand in the air as if he could dispel Omega's words with the gesture—. But since you're always with me, no matter where I go, how could I be using those things?
I mean, you're saying that if I weren't with you at all times… Omega mimicked Dorian, pausing dramatically just as unnecessarily as the ones he had just made. … you would have gone that route, right?
Dorian slapped his forehead with the palm of his right hand, the sound of the impact echoing in the night, as he shook his head vehemently. His hair flew in all directions with the movement.
—Omega, why are you misinterpreting everything I say? —Dorian demanded an answer, and his expression was amused, comical, something that shouldn't be possible given what he had just been through.
One foot in the grave, yet Dorian wasn't… how should he be after such a situation? Trembling? Panting? Needing a moment alone? No. He was arguing with his AI about whether he talked to himself or not, and that, somehow, was more therapeutic than anything else.
Well, let's stop talking about that, and let me give you the report —Omega whispered, ending the previous conversation and opening a new one with that efficiency only an artificial intelligence could have—. Predator eliminated. Internal structure unknown. I recommend biological data extraction for later analysis.
—I almost forgot about that detail —Dorian replied, his fingers searching one of the many compartments on his tactical belt. He found what he was looking for: a small silver metal cylinder, barely the size and length of his index finger.
It was a laser tool, one of many he carried on every mission. Designed specifically for extracting samples from rare and beautifully terrifying creatures like the one lying at his feet. He activated it with a side button, and a thin beam of red light emerged from the tip, so fine it was barely visible in the darkness.
Dorian crouched in front of the corpse, his knees bending with the smoothness of someone who had done this movement thousands of times. The posture was almost reverential, as if paying homage to a fallen enemy.
The creature was impressive even in death. Its scales, now dull and lifeless, covered a body that must have weighed half a ton. Dorian calculated quickly: at least five hundred kilos of muscle, bone, and natural armor. Its claws, still dangerous even now, remained sharp as surgical blades; one of them weakly reflected the light of the lichens, creating small threatening glints.
He took a small vial from his belt, made of unbreakable transparent material, and placed it on the ground beside him. Then, with precise movements, he used the laser to cut a fragment of the exoskeleton near the base of the neck, where the scales seemed denser, more developed.
The material gave way without any resistance, cut by the beam like butter under a hot knife. The sample fell into the container with a metallic clink that sounded strangely musical in the canyon's silence.
—Sample extraction… successfully completed —Dorian said as he raised the vial—still crouching—and observed the sample inside. The small piece of exoskeleton floated in the container, its edges still smoking from the laser cut. He turned the vial, studying it from all angles, before tucking it back into his belt with the same care others would use for precious jewels.
—Good, done.
He stood up, feeling his knees protest slightly from the effort. The battle had been intense, and although the suit absorbed most of the physical impact, muscle fatigue was something no exosuit could completely eliminate.
This wasn't the first time he had collected samples from strange creatures. He had an entire compartment on his ship dedicated to specimens from half a dozen worlds. Each vial, each sample, represented a battle, a story, a lesson learned.
But it was the first time for a monster like this. Well, he thought, there's always a new type. The universe is big, and it never seems to tire of inventing absurdly shaped creatures that only think about killing.
He took a deep breath. Finally.
As if the battle had ended just now, not minutes ago. As if only now, after storing the sample, after making sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he could afford to feel that it was truly over.
—So, I passed this round, didn't I? —Dorian looked up at the sky, speaking directly to the planet, to the night, to any entity that might be listening. His voice wasn't a shout, but a casual conversation, as if talking to a friend—. That means I can go to the next level.
And as if in confirmation, a night breeze blew through the canyon. It wasn't just any wind; it was a warm, almost caressing wind, contrasting with the cold night air. It brushed his hair, dried the sweat from his forehead, and continued on, carrying away the smell of evaporated blood. As if the planet were saying: "Yes, continue. There's more."
Dorian smiled. A genuine smile, not the tense grimace of combat, but something closer to the excitement of a child who has just discovered the game isn't over. He put the vial back in his belt, checked that everything was in place—sword, samples, supplies—and continued forward.
The canyon gradually opened as he advanced, the walls becoming less steep, the ground more even. Soon he reached a wider area where giant stones formed natural columns, like the ruins of an ancient cathedral built by forgotten gods. The formations rose toward the sky, some up to thirty meters tall, creating a labyrinth of shadows and echoes that distorted the sounds of the night.
Dorian walked among them with the caution of someone who knows that any shadow can hide a danger. His steps were silent, his senses alert, his eyes scanning every crevice. The wind whistled between the columns, creating ghostly melodies that changed with every step.
In the center of that stony valley, Dorian found something he did not expect.