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

“I have always been stronger than Ophion,” Cronus says with a grin that reveals his sharp teeth. “But his strength is of no consequence. It is the connection that is important. He has made himself the capstone.”


The capstone is the central stone in an arch. With the stone in place, the arch can withstand intense pressure. But if you remove the capstone, the arch and everything supported by it, will crumble to the ground.

“How do we remove the capstone?” I ask.

“Return it to the earth from whence it came,” he says.

“You know I hate the cryptic—” I start to complain, but then I figure it out. Tartarus. Nephil, the first Nephilim, has a spirit, unlike most Nephilim. He can live outside his body. Not forever, but he could easily take the body of one of his warriors, or even another human if Ninnis is killed. It’s what he plans to do to me. So we must return him to Tartarus, which is in some ways a fate worse than non-existence. Unable to turn from his evil ways, Tartarus will be a prison of unending torture, and without Nephilim on the outside to set him free, he will never leave it again.

“But how?” I ask, and then once again find the answer, this time pressed up against me, clutched in the arms of Luca.

The shofar.

Now we just need to get close enough to use it.

“Solomon!” Nephil shouts again. “Come! Let us talk.”

Problem solved.





36



Enlil and Zeus break rank from their giant army, standing to either side of Nephil. Enlil is dressed in red leathers, but the armor over his chest is fringed with black, the preferred color of the Sumerian clan. He has a long red rectangular beard held in place by beaded twine. His red hair is parted down the middle, braided and held back by a ribbon I suspect is made from feeder skin. Long earrings dangle from his ears. All classic Sumerian styles. He carries a large sickle sword in each six-fingered hand. Zeus, also wearing mostly red, reveals his Greco-Roman flair with a golden fringe that is basically bedazzled with glowing crystals from the underworld. While his hair is the same blood-red as Enlil’s, it is flowing and strangely clean looking for a Nephilim. Where Enlil exudes military precision, Zeus carries himself like a nobleman. Even his beard is trimmed. He carries a sword with a jagged blade. A thunderbolt, I realize.

I step toward the trio and find Em, Kainda, Mira and Kat walking with me. While Nephil’s delegation has only three members, I don’t think they’ll consider the four women a threat. Not only are they human, but the Nephilim are thousands of years old and without a doubt, sexist. But all three look unhappy when Cronus follows us. After all, Cronus is responsible for trapping the Nephilim in Tartarus the first time and keeping Nephil contained there for so long. Though they might not like it, the three god-demons are too proud to complain. They would look weak in front of their subjects.

Luca, I think.

What are you going to do? the little me replies.

Put the shofar behind your back, I tell him. Slowly. Hide it from view. But be ready.

For what?

I’m not sure yet.

Done, he thinks.

“You have fought bravely,” Nephil says to me when I stop twenty feet away. “You have inflicted casualties worthy of your hunter heritage, despite your...” He touches his hair, but he’s talking about mine. “...condition. Ninnis would be proud.”

He’s trying to goad me into action. Draw me closer. If he does that, he could take me while his army charged. If they attacked now, I could still escape. He must know this. So he has to trap me, or convince me to surrender. But two can play this game. He needs me alive, which is basically a get out of jail free card.

I turn to Zeus. “Do you call it Thunderbolt? The sword?”

He smiles a toothy grin and says with a powerful voice, “It is a name that—”

Krakoom! A lightning bolt snaps from the sky, striking the ancient god-man. Smoldering, he falls to his knees, and then to his face.

The Nephilim horde erupts with laughter. They approve of this kind of grandstanding.

Nephil, on the other hand, looks at me the way a crocodile does a dangling hunk of meat. He longs for this power of mine. It would make him unstoppable. A true god among men.

Zeus recovers from the lightning blast and pushes himself up with a groan that becomes a roar. He lifts his jagged sword from the ground and prepares to throw himself at me. But before the giant can lunge, a black tendril blocks his path.

“You would not make it ten feet,” Nephil says. It’s not a threat from Nephil, but a warning. He eyes me, and then Cronus. Zeus isn’t a match for either of us.

Zeus sneers, but stands and retakes his place by Nephil’s side.

Nephil moves a little closer, propelled by the dark tendrils. He stops when Cronus tenses, ready to attack. “If we are done with the theater, Ull, I would like to make you an offer.”

I wait in silence.

“Your life,” he says, and then he spreads his arms out toward my army. “For theirs.”