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

“Go with her,” I say to Em, motioning to Kat as she descends deeper into the underworld.

With Em and Kat in the lead, we fall into a slow, but steady pace, traveling for what I calculate is three surface hours. We merge with one of the larger tunnels that lead directly to the massive chamber containing the gates of Tartarus and the decomposing remains of Behemoth. From there we will have to find our way deeper, but it will not be easy, not if the giant albino centipedes still hunt these grounds. My fears are put to rest just a minute later when we come upon the corpse of a thirty-foot centipede. Its head has been crushed.

Just beyond the centi-corpse, we find a second, and a third.

“What happened to them?” Em asks.

“Hades,” I say, realizing the truth when I count the tenth dead centipede. “When he left, he said he would, ‘prepare the way.’ I think this is what he was talking about.”

Ten more minutes and twenty-three more dead centipedes later, the cavern opens up. We’re there. Em approaches the tunnel exit slowly. There is no sign of trouble, but we’ve been trained to never enter an exposed space without first searching for danger.

Em’s search lasts about half a second. She ducks down and back. Her eyes are wide. Her skin goes so pale that even her freckles fade.

Kat pushes past her and takes a look. When she turns back, she’s equal parts confused and afraid.

Kainda puts me down and moves to take a look, which frustrates me because I’m supposed to be the leader of our little ragtag rebellion, and I’m going to be the last to see whatever it is that has them all so spooked. Kainda looks for just a moment, then turns back to me. Unlike the others, she seems unfazed by what she’s seen, but her clenched jaw reveals she’s hiding her fear. She waves for me to join them. I stand, testing my legs without her help, and find myself mostly recovered. My muscles twitch as I walk, but I can walk. The question is can I run? Because I suspect that might be necessary soon.

I squat down and crouch-walk to the edge of the tunnel exit. Directly ahead is nothing but endless space. The chamber is massive, miles in every direction. If not for the enormous piles of bones—human, Nephilim and other—scattered around the space, its scale would be lost.

After a deep breath and a silent promise that I will control my fear, I peer around the corner and look toward the gates of Tartarus. The black doors are at least a mile off, and the flaccid corpse of Behemoth, now mostly a skeleton, lies nearby. But the source of everyone’s fear is much closer.

A towering stone spire stretches from the floor to the ceiling hundreds of feet above. Several natural columns like this one help support the naturally formed chamber’s ceiling. But only this one has Hades bound to it by massive chains. He’s covered in drying purple blood, though there are no wounds evident on his fast-healing body. He’s being tortured.

His torturer hovers in the air, held aloft by black tendrils.

Ninnis.

He’s alive.

His head tilts to the side slightly. He laughs. The sound is sickening. Inhuman. Like a hundred different voices trapped in a single body.

This is not Ninnis.

“Welcome, Solomon,” Ninnis says, his voice deep and booming, like a Nephilim’s.

I step out of hiding. He knows I’m here.

“Nephil,” I say in greeting. “Or do you prefer Ophion?”

He waves his hand dismissively, turning to face me. “Whichever you prefer.” Ninnis’s eyes are solid black. The black tendrils extend out of his body, but don’t physically alter it. There are no wounds. This is the spirit of Nephil in its raw form, contained within Ninnis’s body, but able to extend its reach outside of it.

Despite my rising fear, I analyze the situation. Nephil is here, alone. That hasn’t worked out so well for Ninnis in the past, which he must know. So why is he here? To talk? That doesn’t fit.

Unless he’s not alone.

I turn back to the others, looking into the darkness of the tunnel behind them. I pull the air toward me and sniff as it flows past me. One hundred feet. Two hundred. Three hundred. There! Just a football field away, hidden behind a bend is the gang of hunters and the two clones that pinned us in the High River tunnel and killed Steven Wright.

We’re trapped.

Again.





18



“Stay close,” I whisper to the others. “We’re not alone.”

Kainda, Em and Kat leave the shelter of the tunnel and join me in the wide open space. We head for the center of the chamber, keeping a steady distance from Nephil, while getting as far from the tunnel as possible. We’re severely outnumbered, but there is plenty of room to run if need be. Plus, out here in the open, I can use my abilities in a much bigger way. Trouble is, I’m still feeling a little tired, a fact that Nephil quickly picks up on.