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

“Leave?” Nephil says, sounding honestly confused. “You want to kill me. You want to kill this body. I can feel your radiating hatred for us both.”


“I don’t hate Ninnis,” I say, and it’s true. I have forgiven the man, despite his despicable actions, on more than one occasion. “He is not the man you made him.”

“All men are evil,” Nephil says. “We just remove the shackles that bind it. Like we did with you. Like Ninnis did with you. It’s still there, you know. I can taste it. How many people have you killed?”

I’m nearly within striking distance now, slowly closing the distance. “I have not killed a human being,” I say. “And I will not.”

He chuckles. “You have killed billions.”

“That was you.”

“You allowed it, Solomon. You could have repelled me at any time. You had the strength before I changed the world, just as you did afterward, but you waited. Why? Because you wanted it. You wanted all those people to die.”

He’s trying to make me upset. And it’s not working. I have been freed of my guilt. His tactic can’t work. He must see it, so why is he—

He’s keeping me talking.

The shofar’s hiding place is behind him!

I glance around him quickly and see a tendril snaking out toward the alcove. It’s almost there!

I propel myself forward, swinging the flaming sword in an arc, not so much to strike Nephil, but to force him into action. He lunges to the side, pulling himself just out of reach. I circle the monster, keeping track of its ten black tentacles. Three cling to the ceiling, the rest flail about like agitated snakes. But one still reaches for the alcove. That’s where I focus my attack.

I feign a charge at Nephil. He drops back and leaves the single limb exposed. A gust of wind carries me sideways, and I swing without looking. I feel nothing as the blade slices through the air, but Nephil suddenly lets loose a scream that is unlike anything I’ve ever heard before—one part human shriek, one part...something else. The scream of a demon.

It’s so charged with energy that I think Nephil has never truly experienced pain before. He once had a Nephilim body, a warrior like the others, but pain is a delight to them. And it wasn’t Ninnis’s body that I cut, so the pain he’s feeling isn’t human pain.

I look to the side and see the severed two-foot length of tendril turn to dust, scattered by the wind holding me aloft.

I didn’t just remove a limb. I cut away part of his spirit.

I could kill him. It would be easy.

Though it would likely mean killing Ninnis, too. As the temptation grows, I realize that Nephil is right. There is still darkness in me. I might have been freed from the Nephilim corruption, but I am still human, capable of making mistakes and doing evil. But I can also turn away from it. Killing Ninnis, and Nephil, in this pure place goes against everything I’m fighting for.

But I have no problem causing the beast pain.

When I set my angry eyes back on Nephil, I see fear in his eyes. It lasts just a moment. But it was enough to swell my confidence.

With the sword held high, I charge, hacking at the air, aiming for his limbs. Each swing comes closer than the previous, but he is on the defensive now, acutely aware that this weapon poses a very real threat.

Our dance shifts across the ceiling, but never moves far from the shofar. He’s not giving up. Is the shofar really that powerful?

I swing hard at a tendril, but it pulls away just in time. The missed blow twists me in the air. Before I can right myself, a second tendril lances out like a spear. The black needle-sharp tip pierces my chest, punching through muscle and striking the bone of my ribs. A gust of wind carries me back before it can go any farther.

I wince in pain, but don’t shout. I won’t give Nephil the satisfaction. I glance at the wound. A killing shot, directly over my heart. If I’d been just a little closer...

This sword might be capable of destroying Nephil’s spirit, but he is, and always has been, capable of killing my body. We are both at risk. Nephil shifts away from me. The tendril he used to strike my chest coils back. He extends Ninnis’s tongue and swipes the tendril across it. A streak of red is left behind. My blood. He closes his mouth and revels in the taste. A smile emerges. “I will miss the taste of human blood when you are all gone. Perhaps I will keep some of your friends alive that I might drink of them.”

He charges, fueled with bloodlust. Burning with anger, I surge forward to meet him.





24



We meet like two middle school kids having a fight on the playground, flailing and striking without much thought. I’d never taken part in such a fight, but I’d witnessed a few. The outstretched striking fists, the heads leaned back in fear, the utter chaos and senselessness. The fights were violent, but rarely ended with severe injuries given the relative inexperience of the combatants.

This is not the case with Nephil and me.

Black dust sprays away as I sever the tips of his limbs.