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

“Then I’m not the only one?” I ask.

“Listening to the darkness or not is a decision every human being must make every day of their lives. Most, like you, resist. But some accept the darkness. Some become slaves to it. To the Nephilim. And while you might see acts of violence in your mind’s eye, even the darkest heart sometimes sees beauty, or imagines an embrace or love.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask. “It doesn’t make any sense. You say that I was given a gift that makes me uniquely suited to defeat the Nephilim, yet I’m here, in Tartarus, forever. What good am I? You saw what happened. Nephil took control. He used that power—my power—and nearly wiped out the planet. Billions died. Billions!”

Cronus’s head turns to the floor.

“This war with the Nephilim has brought humanity to the brink once before.”

I’m about to argue when I remember something he said earlier. “The flood.” I don’t question that it happened. A global flood is recorded in nearly all of the planet’s myths, histories and religious texts. What doesn’t make sense is what good a flood would be against the Nephilim. Unless… “Nephilim can drown?”

He nods.

“That’s great,” I say. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I caused the deaths of billions.”

“Nephil did that,” he says, growing impatient. “Not you. You will never defeat him if you are already beaten in your mind.”

“Don’t you understand?” I shout. “I can’t beat him. I’m stuck here. With you. Forever.”

“Have you considered that, to defeat Nephil, you first had to enter Tartarus?”

I meet his eyes. What’s he getting at? “I’m stuck here.”

“Maybe you needed to speak to me first?”

He’s ignoring me. Great.

“Maybe you needed to come here, to a place where your two halves could be reconciled?”

That’s a pretty good point actually, but it still doesn’t change the fact that I’m stuck. In Tartarus. With no way out.

“Or maybe you needed to learn about a weapon that can shake the very foundations of any Nephilim citadel?”

This catches me off guard. “A weapon?”

“And maybe, if you stopped to think about something other than your own personal struggles for just a moment, you would realize that you are, in fact, no more a prisoner here, than I.”

I just stare at him.

Cronus grins. Despite his sharp rows of teeth, it lacks none of the malevolence seen in Nephilim smiles. “For the worthy, all that separates this world from the other is a door. And you, Solomon, were deemed worthy at birth. All you need do, is push.”





9



The gates of Tartarus are a half mile off, but stand high above me. Cronus carried me here on his shoulders, saying nothing as he walked. He didn’t say anything more about Tartarus, the Gigantes or this supposed weapon. He simply walked. I’m not sure if it’s the aberration of time, or Cronus’s long legs, but we seem to cover the distance quickly.

Cronus stops at the top of a rise. He looks around, takes a deep breath and lets it out, the way I used to after rain on a warm spring day. Despite Cronus ignoring all of my questions since the journey began, I ask, “What are you smelling? The air is dry and cold.”

He turns his head toward me. His mouth, which could bite me in two, is just a few feet away. “You still carry your burden.”

“What?”

“I can sense its weight. It blinds you.”

I remember what he said earlier. Tartarus is only a place of torture for those unwilling to change. Unwilling to give up their burden. Like the Slough of Despond. It’s the weight that pulls you under, not the swamp. “But I did those things. I’m responsible. Even more so, now that I’m fully Ull and fully Solomon. I can’t attribute the awful things I did to another personality.”

“Claiming responsibility is not the same as accepting forgiveness. Or redemption. Everyone makes mistakes, Solomon. Everyone must be forgiven at one time or another. Some lie. Some murder.”

I slip in, “Some destroy the planet.”

“That was not you.” He picks me up off his shoulder and places me on the ground. “I have seen your ability to forgive, little one. I saw what you did for Ninnis. And for Kainda. But your ability to forgive is worthless if you cannot turn it upon yourself. If you do not, the darkness you seek to defeat will eat you from the inside.”

“Someone has to offer me forgiveness for those things,” I argue. “How am I supposed to ask the billions—” He raises an eyebrow. “Right. That wasn’t me. Still, how can I earn something like forgiveness?”

Cronus crouches down, but his eyes are still far above me. “Forgiveness cannot be earned. It can only be granted and received. I sense you need to hear the words.” He puts an arm-sized finger under my chin and lifts my head to face him. “Solomon, for your crimes against your fellow men, for the darkness of your heart and for the evil thoughts of your mind, you are forgiven.”