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

Then why aren’t they?

Hunters aren’t known for their teamwork or patience. Why would they wait for a single man to face me? It’s a fight they all must realize can’t be won. More than that, why are they not all arguing about who will face me. That every hunter thinks he or she is the best hunter is Underworld 101 stuff. They should all be vying for the chance of killing me, and proving that they are, in fact, stronger than the chosen vessel of Nephil and are the rightful recipient of that honor.

The fact that no one has launched an arrow in my direction shows uncommon restraint.

Why? I wonder again.

As the man reaches the outer fringe, I figure it out, and that split second of realization saves my life.

Merrill! Now!

“Hello, Solomon,” the man says, throwing back a cloak that hid his face from view.

The face of Ninnis glares at me with all the hatred and loathing the spirit of Nephil can project.

Black tendrils launch out at me like spears. The first strikes my shoulder, shooting a lancing pain through my body. In that single instant, I feel the darkness seep into my body, its barbs latching onto my very soul. I try to resist it, but it’s like trying to lift a behemoth.

Before the burden becomes too great, Merrill puts his lips to the mouth of that great horn and unleashes an ancient battle call that strikes fear into the hearts of Nephilim, not of physical pain, but because for a moment, they can feel the disparity of their own existence. As the first sound wave reaches me, the darkness is repulsed. But it tears out of me, yanking a scream of pain from my lungs.

Ninnis hisses and launches into the air. The sound hits him, causing black tendrils to explode in every direction. He shrieks and flails, lashing out and striking several of his own hunters.

But they’re not his hunters. Not anymore. All three thousand men and women fall to the ground, writhing in agony. But it’s not pain they’re feeling, it’s truth. Those who were kidnapped and broken, like me, Ninnis and Tobias, are remembering who they were for the first time. Others, who were born in the underworld are feeling the weight of their crimes like never before. A shift of color works its way back through the throng as blood red hair gives way to shades of black, brown, gray, blond and orange.

This happens to be one of the situations for which we have no plan in place. I would have never thought Nephil would risk himself like this, but that was the brilliance of the plan. Who would see it coming? None of us, that’s who. So as my reeling mind tries to center itself, I look up at the writhing form of Ninnis, a man who was broken, turned into a monster and is now the vessel of an evil force, and think, sorry—and then—fire!

When the first bullet flies, striking Ninnis’s leg, the demon-possessed man flinches and seems to snap out of his agonized state. The wound drips purple and heals quickly. With a hiss, he launches himself up and away, carried by frenzied tendrils. The gunfire chases him for a moment, but it’s clear no one will hit the man. Still, a tank gunner tracks Ninnis’s retreat toward the valley’s choke point and fires off a single shot.

The distant cliff explodes, showering Nephil with debris and knocking him sideways with the shockwave. He lurches to the side, but then disappears. The attack won’t injure him. He heals like a Nephilim now. But the lingering sting to his pride will make him think about exposing himself like this again.

With the danger momentarily waned, I turn my attention to the hunters. Those that remember previous lives will also remember their time as a hunter. They won’t be confused by what has happened, but they will certainly be conflicted by it. Some of these people have been living in darkness, literal and figurative for far longer than they lived in the outside world.

One by one, they stand. I nearly laugh when I see some helping others to their feet. But will they stay this way? Or will they choose to remain in darkness?

Then it happens. A single man runs away, his hair turning redder with each step.

Then another.

And another.

And then, no one else.

Let them go, I think. We have shed enough human blood for one day.

A footstep behind me catches my attention. I turn to find Kainda strutting up confidently. She steps up next to me and addresses the freed hunters. “I am Kainda, daughter of Ninnis, servant to Thor.”

The group reacts with a mixture of fear and tension.

“But I am now free,” she says, quieting the rising talk. “And my master is dead.”

Those still speaking, fall silent. They have been freed from the bondage of their hearts and minds, but the threat of physical bondage to their Nephilim masters still very much exists.