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

Just in time, too. The first Nephilim warrior—a mammoth specimen wielding a mace that looks more like a spiked wrecking ball—leaps on top of behemoth’s loose body and then off again, shaking the ground with his girth. He bellows at us, trying to put the fear of his demon fathers in our souls. But we stand strong and wait.

Undeterred by our lack of fear, the giant charges. Through the symphony of explosions, both near and distant, the scream of jets and missiles, and the staccato pop of several thousand guns, I hear Aimee take a deep breath through the speaker system. It’s followed by a blast of the shofar that dwarfs Merrill’s practiced efforts. I feel its supernatural cleansing effect sweep through my body.

The wave of sound strikes the big Nephilim head on. He flails wildly, dropping the axe and sprawling to the ground with all the grace of a younger me. A lone cresty without a rider takes advantage, charging ahead and descending on the giant with all its primal fury. The giant, unable to defend himself, is quickly dispatched as the dinosaur snaps its jaws down over the warrior’s head, twists and pulls.

The line of cresties roar in response, as though cheering on their comrade.

But the dinosaur’s victory is short-lived. Five more Nephilim warriors arrive. Then ten. The cresty manages to escape their grasp, but only because Aimee’s shofar blast is still sounding.

Suddenly, the power of the shofar is reduced. The volume drops by twenty-five percent. I glance back and see one of the speakers, a giant arrow piercing its black case. A second arrow cuts through the sky, piercing a second speaker. There are a total of eight speakers lining the walls and towers. At this rate, they’ll all be destroyed within the minute. I look up and find the culprit. A winged warrior hovers high above, ignoring the helicopters, which are almost all destroyed or out of ammo. His aim is uncanny, even for a Nephilim. Given his wings, scorpion tail and blood red attire, he is one of the higher echelon warriors and likely known as a god. The bow and arrow helps identify him. Apollo, Greek god of archery. The giant nocks another arrow and lets it fly. Before it can strike a third speaker, I divert its course with a gust of wind. The arrows strikes one of the armored tanks and shatters.

I turn to Kainda and Em, pointing up at Apollo. “I need to stop him!”

“Go!” Kainda shouts. “We can handle this!” She leaps from Zok to Grumpy, claiming my prehistoric steed as her own. “Go!”

“Be careful,” I tell her.

I can see that my worry aggravates her, but then she softens and says, “You, too.”

I launch skyward, propelling myself past the sound barrier with a boom that drowns out the cacophony of explosions. Apollo lets another arrow fly, ignoring my approach. I snap it in two with a blade of air, protecting the third speaker yet again.

Whipsnap cuts through the air, projecting an invisible blade toward Apollo. My aim is true, but I’m struck in the side and the blade fades to a blunt wind just before reaching the archer-god.

My body plummets while my dazed mind regains its senses. When it does, I look up to find Apollo, but my view is blocked by outstretched wings. A warrior wielding a long spear drops toward me. He’s got one eye, which is odd for a Nephilim, but it reveals his identity: Odin, grandfather of Ull, who was my master until I killed him.

The spear surges toward my face, but I manage to duck to the side. But the attack was a ruse. The true attack comes from the right. I tense up, coiling my atoms to form an impregnable layer of skin, but I’m a moment too late. The tip of the weapon pierces my side and an all consuming fire billows through my body.

I scream in pain, still conscious, still in control, but in absolute agony. I don’t have to see the weapon to know what has happened. I’ve been stung by Odin’s scorpion tail.

Odin circles and comes back for another attack, but he’s not alone. Twenty winged warriors are with him and they are a veritable Who’s Who of the ancient world, identifiable by their weapons, headdresses and garments. The Greek gods: Zeus, Poseidon, Hephaestus and Hermes. The Norse: Tyr, Heimdall and Baldur. The Egyptian: Ra, Anubis, Horus and Osiris. There are several more, but the one that really stands out is the Sumerian god, Enlil, brother of the slain Enki and leader of the Nephilim warrior clan in Nephil’s absence.

This group is basically the Special Ops of the Nephilim. They are the oldest and most skilled of their kind. And each and every one of them has their killer eyes set on me.

I swing Whipsnap toward the group, intending to cut them from the sky, but the movement causes a flare of agony to explode from my stung side. The air-blade is never even formed.

I cannot win this fight. Not yet. So I flee. And as I do, another speaker is destroyed.

Then another.

The sound of the shofar dwindles by half. It will soon disappear. And when it does, our advantage will be lost, and maybe the human race along with it.





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