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

And apparently, that is against the rules.

The horn blast is deep and resonates through the land so powerfully that pebbles dance along the ground. The rumbling, monotone horn drones on for five seconds, shaking my body, and then stops. I can’t be certain, but I suspect the horn is an alarm. That it sounds just moments after I’ve found a way to resist the power of this place is a little too coincidental for my taste.

The tower, I think. Whatever controls Tartarus must be there. This is a jail, after all. Someone must be in charge. Without any kind of debate or internal argument, the decision is made, and I set out at a run in the direction I last saw the tower. The ease with which I make up my mind brings a smile to my face. Split personalities are no fun.

The journey goes swiftly. The landscape is barren and inhospitable, but also easy to navigate. The footing is firm and free of any real obstacles. The only hindrances are the valleys, which twist and turn in unpredictable directions. After having to backtrack several miles, I’ve begun avoiding them altogether. At first, I stayed in the low lands as much as possible. After all, an alarm only sounds when there is a force that will respond to it. But I haven’t seen another living thing in hours. Or days. Who knows? I no longer let the timelessness of Tartarus bother me.

I stop at the bottom of a stone hill. Its surface is covered with loose slabs of stone. I would normally skirt the edge of this rise, but it’s tall and will provide me with an excellent view. The flat rocks slip under my feet and clatter loudly down the grade. Halfway up, I start to question the wisdom of my ascent. I’m being far too noisy. But at this point, going down will make as much noise as finishing my climb. So I push onward.

Near the top, I crouch down low (as though I haven’t already alerted anything nearby to my presence) and peer at the surrounding landscape. The endless stony expanse greets me anew. The orange sky is unchanged. I watch the turbulent clouds for a moment, wondering if it ever rains here, and if that rain is actually the acid-water held in the lake. That…would be horrible.

I see the tower clearly without the use of my telescope. I’m more than half way there. I trace the landscape back toward me, mapping the route I’ll take, when my eyes land on a strange aberration. It’s a cart. A wooden cart, like something a horse might pull, but oversized. It’s empty except for what looks like patches of green mold and dark purple stains.

Dried blood.

Nephilim blood.

Before I can ponder my new discovery, I hear the gentle tink, tink, tink, of a stone bouncing down the hill behind me. Without a single thought, I leap over the top of the hill, dropping fifteen feet over the grade. I no longer have the ability to slow my descent with a gust of wind, but I have all of the knowledge and instincts of a hunter, and the skills to match. I land with a roll on the loose stone, which explodes away from my body and rattles down the hillside. As I come upright, I tug Whipsnap from my belt and stand my ground.

I watch the top of the hill, waiting. But nothing happens.

Perhaps the falling stone was a fluke caused by my presence on the hill. It’s possible, but I definitely felt something behind me. And the cart stained with Nephilim blood… Someone brought it here.

“Show yourself!” I shout, and then smile. I can’t help myself. My boldness and confidence feels right, but it’s also new.

The ground shakes. Loose stones rattle and slide away. A plume of stone dust and debris billows from the top of the hill as a second impact resounds.

Why am I always picking fights with giants? And how did it sneak up behind me without making a sound?

The third impact brings a three-fingered hand over the top of the hill. The digits are at least three feet long, coated in mottled, gray skin and tipped with sharp, hooked fingernails.

Not a Nephilim. They have six fingers.