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

I fly up, keeping ahead of the monsters at my heels. I can focus on flying as it takes minimal effort to control the small forces affecting me, but I won’t be able to fight until the stinging poison is flushed from my body. Luckily, I am capable of repelling it from my body, I just need time.

I find it in the clouds.

A curtain of white cloaks my body. Out of view, I angle my ascent, pick a random spot and stop, hovering in the upper troposphere. I can hear the frantic wing flaps of the Nephilim searching for me, but visibility is zero. They’ll have to run into me to find me.

With the sound of the raging battle echoing below, I clear my mind and focus my attention on my own body. I can feel my muscles, bones and blood. And I can feel the toxin injected into my body. First, I isolate it, separating the foreign fluid from my own, and then I force it back, through my veins, through the meat of my muscles, and push it back to the wound through which it was injected.

I clench my teeth tightly. The poison fights me, clawing at my body, burning with the fury of Odin himself. With a last push, the toxin seeps from the wound in my side. I glance down and see the clear, water-like liquid drip down my side. Using the wind, I scour the fluid from my body and dissipate it into the atmosphere.

Cleansed of the poison, I feel my strength return, but I’m drained. The hunter in me gets angry. Ignore your pain, I think. You are immune to it.

Then I remember who spoke those words to me. I was still young and recently freed from the feeder pit, begging for scraps of food and obeying his commands like a dog. Immunity to pain was one of the first lessons he taught me. I find it disturbing that his advice could help me now, but I employ the lesson.

The clouds thin as I descend. Then they fade and I am exposed.

The warriors are on me immediately, but they’re expecting a wounded adversary, not capable of defending himself. What they get is something else entirely.

I swipe Whipsnap around, directing a blade of wind at the first two warriors to reach me—the Egyptians, Anubis and Horus. Their ancient style helmets, fashioned to look like the jackal and falcon, fly free, along with their heads. Their bodies topple from the sky, limp and lifeless.

As the others emerge from the clouds and soar toward me from every side, I rush out to face the nearest—Odin. The ancient giant screams something at me, presumably in Norse.

I have no idea what he’s said, but I reply with a shout of my own. “I’m going to send you to meet your son and grandson!”

The insult here is that there is no afterlife for Nephilim and joining his slain offspring is impossible, unless you count oblivion. He roars in response, thrusting with his spear, trying for a repeat of the tactic that worked before. But this time when he goes to sting me, the tail is missing, removed by the very air around him. Directing the wind with my thoughts, I dismantle the angry warrior and let his pieces fall from the sky, but the wind catches his massive spear.

I turn toward the shout of another god, rushing in. Odin’s spear flashes past me, flying toward Tyr, no doubt out to avenge the Norse clan’s fallen leader. Instead, the spear finds its mark at the center of Tyr’s head, striking the protective metal band with such force that it cuts straight through.

Another warrior falls from the sky.

Then two more.

Then four more.

Those that remain realize that I cannot be taken and flee toward the ground and the battle below. As I give chase, I see that the situation on the ground has become dire. The force of cresties and hunters has been reduced by half. The wall of warriors attacking them is thick and growing in number with every passing moment. A flood of warriors are surging into the valley, no longer hindered by missiles or shelling. And those that are on the front lines, fight at full strength. The shofar has been silenced.

As I drop from the sky, Luca’s thoughts reach me again. I hadn’t realized I was out of range. And it’s not just Luca’s thoughts. It’s everyone.

“Out of ammo,” I hear from an artillery gunner.

“Going down!” a pilot thinks in fear.

“Under attack!” a ship captain says, turning my attention to the sea, where several flying warriors are assaulting the ships.

“Fall back!” This one comes from a hunter at the front line, and I shout against it. No!

Fight! I urge.

Ground-Beta!

Thankfully, the men and women below haven’t lost their senses and are still responding to my orders. Gates to either side of the base open and soldiers from a dozen different nations flood out, carrying an array of weapons—assault rifles, machine guns, rocket propelled grenades, anti-tank missiles and flamethrowers. And they come out shooting with whatever ammunition they have left.

The remaining warriors descending ahead of me must sense me closing in. They break hard for the back of the valley and I think they want me to follow. Ignoring the trap, I drop straight down, aiming for my original target.