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

I think of my parents. Of the night I was taken from them and dragged beneath the snow. I still feel the pain of losing them, my perfect memory repeating the events again and again, searching for a way things could have been different. But how could I have known that a race of half-human, half-demon monstrosities—the Nephilim—lived beneath the surface of Antarctica. How could I have known that these heroes of old, these men of renown, who used to pose as the polygamist gods of the ancient world, would know about my birth? How could I know about how their spirit entered me upon my birth or about how they wanted my body to house the soul of their leader Nephil, the first Nephilim, who is currently trapped in Tartarus in the depths of the earth?

I couldn’t.

It’s insane.

But it’s my life.

I have to live with it, and the awful things I did as Ull. I know it’s not all my fault. I was broken, beaten, starved and forced to do awful things to survive. In the end, my mind was not my own and the memories of my former life were masked by a haze of hatred and violence. I hunted. I killed. And I kidnapped Aimee Clark, the woman who welcomed me into the world at the moment of my birth. She is the wife of Merrill Clark, the man who named me, and the mother of Mirabelle Clark, their daughter—whose photo I carry with me at all times. Mira is my hope. I think of her every day and cling to her memory. Not only do I long to see her again—she brought out the best in me—but I wish to reunite her with her mother. I know the pain of losing a parent and my chest aches from the knowledge that I did that to her. I took Aimee. I brought her to the Nephilim. And I left her behind when I escaped.

After consuming the physical essence of Nephil—a partially congealed dollop of his blood—meant to strengthen my body so that it might contain the giant’s soul, I ran. Being born on Antarctica filled me with the “spirit” or magic of the Nephilim, but it also bonded me to the continent, to the earth, air and water. They are mine to control, though I do not understand how, and the effort often drains my body. But I was able to use this ability to conceal my flight, filling the underground with a snowstorm. I escaped from the Nephilim citadel of Asgard, named for the city of the Norse gods, in dramatic form, killing the real Ull, son of Thor, son of Odin, and the giant who I called ‘Master.’ I ran far and deep and eventually came across this subterranean oasis.

I once was just a boy. I became a hunter. And now I…am the hunted.

Although none of the hunters have discovered me yet, I can sense them out there. Searching. I am far too important to their cause—the destruction of the human race that cast them out so long ago. And the hunters will find me. Eventually. Until then, I’ll build my strength, test my abilities and come up with a plan.

And the plan so far? I have no idea. But I’m central to their plot and without me, they’re stuck. I know that’s not enough. I’ll eventually have to do more, not because I want to do more, but because I can. The honest truth is that I’m terrified. I’m afraid that I’ll be caught, that Ninnis will break me again, that I’ll become Ull once more. The idea of facing another Nephilim makes me sick to my stomach. While I have physically adapted to this harsh world, I am not cut out for it. I would like nothing more than to leave this place, find McMurdo Base and fly back to Maine and my parents. I could be home in a month. But no one else can fight the Nephilim. And then there’s Aimee, held prisoner somewhere. I can’t leave without her. And she won’t leave until the Nephilim are defeated. And that’s what scares me the most; knowing I’ll one day have to face my fears, most likely before I’m ready, and against my will. Someday I’ll have to face the darkness inside me, the ancient malevolence called Nephil that seeks to consume me. I’m almost certain I will lose.

My train of thought disturbs me, so I sit up and stretch. The cavern is bright, but not with morning light. It’s always bright, lit from the small glowing crystals that cover the walls and ceiling. In other caves, like the pit in which I was broken, the crystals are spread out and twinkle like stars in the darkness. Here they’re so tightly packed that the cave is lit like dusk on the surface.

The sounds of the feast have faded. The albino goat is no doubt consumed. The cresties will take another before the day is through. It’s a good thing the goats reproduce like rabbits and grow fast. Otherwise the cresties would have burned through the cavern’s main food source long ago. I don’t eat the goats. I tried once, but the cresties took exception and nearly killed me. If not for a sudden rainstorm—something these subterranean dinosaurs had never seen—Alice would have gotten me for sure.

I’m hungry and I search the perimeter for movement. The lake is one hundred yards to the left of my perch. It supplies me with fresh water and an abundance of fish, which has become my staple diet along with an assortment of mushrooms, leafy plants and the occasional oversized albino centipede. “All the nutrition a growing boy needs,” I say.