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

Titans…


“Our fathers sought to corrupt us, to turn us against mankind, whom they detested. But we resisted them. Our human mothers, who had all passed away by that time, had taught us to care for, and protect mankind. But there was one… The eldest of us, the first born, who desired power more than anything else. He was seduced by our fathers, and quickly corrupted.”

“Nephil,” I say. The story is beginning to make sense.

“Nephil. Lord of the Nephilim, his followers. That is the name you know him by,” the giant says. “I know him as Ophion.”

I know the name. All of this is in my mind somewhere. I reach for the knowledge, seeking out the familiar words. Nyx. Ophion. Titans. Tartarus!

The information arrives in a flash. “You’re a Titan,” I say. “You were the Greek gods before being overthrown by Zeus and the Olympians, who are also Nephilim. When the Titans were defeated, they—you—were imprisoned in Tartarus!”

Before he can confirm or deny this information, I continue, “Ophion. He was an evil Titan. The serpent. He ruled over the Earth long before the Olympians. But he was overthrown by Cronus, whose time on Earth is referred to as the Golden Age.”

“Some of what you say is true. There was a war between the Titans and the younger generations of Ophion’s followers now known as the Nephilim, but the Titans were not confined here. It is the Nephilim who escaped. Tartarus is a prison only for those whose hearts are dark. For the uncorrupted, it is an oasis. When the Titans realized that our time among men was causing more harm than good, we requested sanctuary. We were given Tartarus.”

“Given by whom?” I ask.

“By the only one able to give such a thing.” It is a horribly vague answer, but the story continues without elaboration. “When the Nephilim felt the weight of what they had become, and refused to change, Tartarus became unbearable. They fled. Fearing for mankind, the Titans fought to imprison the Nephilim, but most of them escaped.”

“But not Ophion,” I say.

“Ophion escaped Tartarus. But I gave chase and slew my brother before he could begin dominion over humanity.”

“You defeated Ophion,” I say. “You—you’re Cronus!”

The giant actually grins and dips his head in a bow.

“It pleases me that my name is still known among men.”

I don’t tell him that very few people would actually recognize the name, let alone remember the history of it. He’s generally not given more than a few sentences in history books or encyclopedias, often as a footnote to the more popular Greek gods.

“And what about the giant with two heads?” I ask

“Eurymedon, king of the Gigantes,” he says. “My friend. The Gigantes, like the Titans and the Nephilim, have unnatural parentage. But they are not conceived; they are created—designed—from our blood. You would call them experiments.”

“Like science?” I ask, a little surprised.

“Science is the word humanity uses for the supernatural once it understands the processes involved. Some would call the creation of the Gigantes science. Others would call it magic. It’s just a matter of perspective.”

“That’s why he looks different?”

The nod is nearly imperceptible.

“How many Gigantes are here?”

“An army,” he says. I want to ask more, but Cronus continues his story. “With Ophion’s spirit freed from his body, he returned to Tartarus, occasionally causing unrest among the other Nephilim still confined to Tartarus.”

“Do they ever try to leave?” I ask.

“From the inside, the gates no longer open to the unworthy,” he says.

“But from the outside,” I add, “anyone can open the gates.”

He nods. “The Nephilim outside Tartarus fear this place. To return would mean staying for eternity. But someone did open the gates.” The emphasis he puts on the word “someone” is angry, and directed toward me. “And Ophion left.” The giant shakes his head, confused by the notion. “Ophion returned to the world as a spirit, which cannot last for our kind. I did not wish this fate on my brother, but it was the fate he chose.”

My limbs suddenly feel heavy and I nearly vomit.

He doesn’t know.

“What don’t I know?” His voice is loud now. Barely contained anger. He might not be Nephilim, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get angry, and as the two-headed giant proved, violence isn’t exactly forbidden here.