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

No, I think back, stepping forward.

The mythological creatures stomp and shout, shaking weapons, feathers and limp snakes. They’re angry and agitated, but I think there is some fear in there.

The buzzing in my head grows stronger and it happens again. My mind and body disconnect. I fall to my knees, but then a surge of power from somewhere within me repels the giant. The centaur-gatherer rears up, clutching its head and letting out a shrill scream.

I have no idea what is happening to him when he digs down into my mind, but I can’t complain. I’d be a mythical-creature readymade meal without it. Whatever it is. And while the centaur has managed to keep me from using my powers, my body is still under my control.

I step forward again, looking up at the centaur. It’s absolutely massive. Its knee caps—my intended targets—are twice the size of a basketball. I’m going to have to hack at it like a manic lumberjack to do any real damage. I glance back to the jungle. Where are you Kainda?

Mine! Mine! “Mine!”

The last “mine,” is shouted. The voice is high-pitched, almost fragile sounding, but the anger in it is powerful, like a child throwing a tantrum when a toy is about to be taken away. But the shout is coupled by a sudden and jarring psychic attack that drops me back to the ground and makes me shout out in pain.

I can feel the strange force inside me, fighting back, pushing hard, but the centaur retains its grip on my mind. My body twitches and I fall onto my back, looking up at the sky. The earth shakes beneath me as the centaur clomps toward me. Then it looms above me, looking down with those black, almond-shaped eyes. Its thin lips are pulled back in a sneer that reveals two lines of rotting, cracked, horse-like teeth. Its eyebrows are deeply furrowed, punctuating the hate radiating from its body—and its thoughts.

It lifts a single hooved foot above my head. All it has to do is stomp, and I’ll be dead. The great Solomon Ull Vincent, the last hunter, vessel of Nephil, slayer of Nephilim, destroyer of a good portion of the planet and promised leader of the human race is about to be killed by a centaur-gatherer with the disposition of a five year old.

Honestly, it’s embarrassing. But I’m currently unable to do anything about it.

The force inside me rallies, delaying the centaur’s attack, keeping its hoof locked in place. What is going on? I think. Is there a mind outside mine that’s fighting the creature?

Luca, is that you? I think, but I get no reply. Before he died, Xin, one of several clones of me, bestowed the gift of telepathic communication on Luca, also a clone, and a perfect replication of me at age six. But while Xin was part gatherer, Luca is all human, and I doubt the child, as strong as he is, could put up much of a mental fight against a creature with thousands of years of practice.

There is no reply to my silent question. Instead, the battle is brought to a very sudden and violent conclusion.

There is a grunt off to my side. I recognize the voice.

Kainda.

But before this can fully register, her hammer flies into view above me, striking the centaur in the side of his hairless, plump head. The weight of the weapon crushes bone and implodes the cranium.

At the very moment the skull is ruined, my body and powers return to me. I roll back onto my feet and the wind carries me away from the now falling centaur. There is a deep, resonating boom as the giant body topples over, its legs jutting straight out, almost comically, frozen by its surprise death.

I turn and face the remaining mythological creatures, who appear enraged and confused.

Kainda wanders onto the battlefield almost casually. She looks at me. “Sometimes timing is more powerful than body count.”

I must have a big, fat, “Huh?” written all over my face, because she smiles and explains. “Kat taught me that. Thought it made sense.”

She stops by the centaur’s head, reaches down and tugs at the hammer. It comes free with a slurp, dripping purple blood. She turns and faces the horde of creatures. They stare at her for just a moment.

I suddenly feel like I’m watching a herd of wildebeest staring down a lion, each creature growing more tense with each passing second until one of them cracks, lets out a yelp and then bolts. Suddenly, it’s chaos. The creatures shout and shriek, tearing away in random directions, making themselves even more pitiful and shaming their names.

While the creatures flee, I run to Mira and kneel down beside her limp form. She’s still breathing. I feel for a pulse. It’s strong. “Mira,” I say. “Wake up.” I tap her face with my hand. “Mira.”