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

The Nephilim army.

They’re like a black stain. From this height, I can see a trail of destruction behind them winding across the continent. They’re at least fifteen miles off, so the behemoths are the only two of the bunch I can make out individually. They look like two giant egg-shaped Weeble toys I had when I was little, bobbing back and forth with each enormous step.

Knowing where the Nephilim are heading, I turn east. The strip of blue water marks the horizon. This is the Southern Ocean, though it’s no longer in the South, so maybe the Equatorial Ocean is a better name. I spot a large clearing and what looks like a tiny man-made scar. The FOB. It looks miniscule compared to the incoming enemy force. But there are more shapes out in the water. A lot of them.

The base is roughly twenty miles off.

The Nephilim are just thirty-five miles from the base, I think. I look up to the sun and note its position in the sky. Still morning.

The Nephilim don’t grow tired, and the hunters and berserkers they command have been trained to endure long stretches without sleeping. They’ll march through the night.

“They’ll be there tomorrow,” I whisper to myself. We need to move.

I look down, preparing to descend when I spot an aberration sliding over the jungle canopy. Shadows. I trace the angle of the sun up and find the source of the shadows.

Warriors. Three of them.

My exit from the jungle has attracted attention. They haven’t spotted me, but they’re headed for the hole in the trees.

And my friends.

I cut the wind and drop through the sky. I angle my body downwards, urging myself to reach terminal velocity.

The Nephilim slip into the jungle and disappear, cloaked in shadow.

Terminal velocity isn’t going to be fast enough.

I summon the wind. Faster! FASTER!

Pressure builds in front of me and I push against it. A white bloom suddenly forms, and then it ruptures with a thunderous boom. Free from the sound barrier, I plummet downward. My violent acceleration has created a shockwave that tears a fresh hole in the canopy. I surge the final two hundred feet through the trees to the ground in a fraction of a second.

In that brief moment, I think I’m going to smear myself on the jungle floor, but then I remember the lesson learned from the strange voice, which I now think might have been Luca, though it sounded older or wiser. The voice taught me that connection between the continent and my body goes both ways, and in the same way I control the elements of this continent, I can control my body. There are all sorts of possibilities this opens up, the first of them being, I should be able to stick this landing like Mary Lou Retton.

The explosive force of my landing outdoes the sonic boom by at least twice. Which is to say, it’s loud. And it’s created a genuine two-foot deep, ten-foot wide crater around my body, which is uninjured by the dramatic arrival. I think I probably made far too much noise, but the effect on the three Nephilim is almost comical.

They turn around slowly, wings folded down, tails tucked between their legs and mouths slightly agape with expressions that say something like, “What the…?” and I’m pretty sure that’s a phrase never uttered by a Nephilim before, even if just in facial expression form.

Beyond them I see Em and Kainda on their feet. They look weary and wounded, but they have their weapons at the ready. Kat is helping Mira to her feet. But right now, none of them are moving either. They’re locked in place, staring at me.

I find Kainda’s eyes and grin, doing that silent human communication thing my mother and I perfected. I tell her I’m sorry with my eyebrows. She forgives me with a blink. Then I tell her, “Watch this,” with a grin, and I step out of the crater.





20



I find Whipsnap thirty feet away, partially concealed by leaf litter. I don’t really need the weapon now, but it’s kind of like a security blanket...with a razor-sharp spear head on one side and a heavy spiked mace on the other. I reach a hand toward the weapon. A gust of wind lifts it and flings it toward me. Luke Skywalker, eat your heart out.

“It’s him,” one of the warriors says. Given their black battle gear and square, knotted beards, I believe they are members of the Sumerian clan. I quickly look over their helmets and other distinguishing features.

“I’m not sure who you two are,” I say, pointing the spear tip at the two Nephilim closest to me. I redirect the spear toward the warrior behind them. He stands a few feet shorter and is likely the lowest in status. “But he’s definitely Ninhursag.”

The giants attempt to contain their laughter, but fail. I’ve just called the small one by the name of the Sumerian version of Mother Earth, which I’m pretty sure is actually a bulbous breeder like Gaia, who played a disgusting roll in my breaking. The small Nephilim tries to charge me, but the other two stop him.