The Last Hunter: Collected Edition (Antarktos Saga #1-5)

“Little Ull,” Enki says with a chuckle. “You have not changed.”


I look up at the giant, at the gold band around his forehead that hides the Nephilim’s weak spot. I could knock the crown from his head and impale him with Whipsnap before he even knew what was happening. I blink the thought from my mind. Either my proximity to the gates, or maybe all these Nephilim, are triggering my dark imagination, a problem that has not plagued me since the personalities of Ull and Nephil were locked away inside my mind. “I am stronger,” I say.

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Enki said. “There is a resolve in your eyes that was not there before.”

I nod. “I am ready.”

Enki sweeps his huge hand out toward the circle. “Take your place at the center. The ceremony will be a rebirth for you, violent and painful. But it will also be brief.”

I head into the circle, feeling sick to my stomach as I step past the outer ring of symbols. I stop in the center and turn around.

“When we next speak, you will be Nephil, Lord of the Nephilim and commander of all that you see!” Enki opens his arms out to either side. I think that if I curled up in a ball my whole body could fit inside his bicep. “The army of Nephil will rise again.”

I scan the thousands of hunters and Nephilim standing around me. The heroes of old. The men of renown. I can’t imagine a modern army that could stand against such a force. How the ancient humans forced the Nephilim underground, I have no idea. But there is no time for such pondering. I search the sea of hunters to my right, looking for a familiar face. Finding none, I turn to the left, putting on a phony smile as I do. I see Luca there. Kainda is by his side. Preeg and Pyke maintain their vigil behind them. But I don’t see what I’m—

There! In the shadows of the far wall behind Preeg and Pyke. A subtle shift in the darkness. Emilie is there. Waiting to strike. One girl against an army.

But there is another I’m searching for. My only real hope of escaping this situation with my life and my soul intact. I don’t see him with my eyes so I reach out to him with my mind.

Xin, I think. Can you hear me?

Are you near, brother?

I need you, Xin.

Xin!

My silence has stretched on too long. It has become awkward. They are waiting for a response from me.

So I give them one.

I turn my head to the ceiling and let out a howl. It’s only a moment before the others join in. Thousands of human and Nephilim heads turn toward the ceiling and roar. The ground shakes beneath my feet. When Behemoth—who is also a Nephilim—joins in, bits and pieces of the ceiling shake loose and fall.

When the mass howl completes, I feel more afraid than ever. When Ull was a part of me, the howl filled me with energy and confidence. Now, I feel drained by it. But I stand my ground in the circle, and wait for what comes next.

Six Nephilim step forward. I recognize each one of them from history books and carvings all around the underworld. Enki. His brother, Enlil. The sons of Nephil. Odin. Osiris. Zeus. The last is a new face to me, but I think he’s Marduk, king of the early Mesopotamian gods. These are the ancient kings of this world, who once ruled over humanity. They radiate power and sinister intentions. They stand around the circle, chanting in Sumerian.

Enki stretches out his arms. The others follow suit. Their finger tips touch, forming a circle of Nephilim flesh around me. He speaks in Sumerian and Thor steps out of the crowd wielding his hammer and carrying a large satchel. He stops behind Enki and removes a nail so large that it looks more like a thick sword. He places the nail against the back of Enki’s six fingered hand. And with a single solid whack from Mj?llnir, sends the nail through.

Enki twitches from the impact, but shows no pain. Instead, his face reflects delight. His smile grows wider still when Thor puts a giant nail through his other hand and then moves on to Enlil. One by one, Thor slams the nails through the hands of the ancient kings. With the nails still in their flesh, the wounds cannot heal and their dark purple blood drains onto the floor. The carved out ring fills with the blood of the six warriors. It rolls from the outer circle and into the array of symbols.

My eyes widen as I see the rivers of blood snake across the floor. I follow the path forward and realize that it will soon fill the circle around me and drain into the slightly depressed area in which I stand. I will soon be standing in a pool of their blood, which when diluted can heal a human, but at full strength can kill. I’m either meant to die in their blood and be reborn with the spirit of Nephil, or it’s meant to heal me from the severe injury caused by the bonding. Neither option is appealing.

As I watch the blood slither toward me, I nearly miss the whisper in my ear.

Solomon.

Not in my ear. In my head.

Solomon.

Xin?

Yes.

Can you help me?

You reached out to me, he says. How?

I don’t know.

Then answer this, why did you call me ‘brother’?





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