The Last Hunter - Collected Edition

by Jeremy Robinson

  But it doesn’t.

  Instead, my body convulses. The pain in my chest flares with each electric jolt, before I’m slammed back on the ground.

  Through the shaking and pain, and the tears in my eyes, I see Em stand above me. She lifts a foot and places it on my chest, holding me down. “I’m sorry,” she says again, sounding as wounded as I feel.

  I want to tell her it’s okay; that I understand. She had to do it or I would have killed them all, been lost to the madness and eventually captured by Nephil who would use me against the whole planet. Killing me and preventing all that makes sense. The human race stands a far better chance of defeating the Nephilim if I am not under their control. The odds are still not good, but last time Nephil controlled my body, just for a few seconds, he managed to kill billions of people.

  She reaches down and takes the knife handle in her hand. I try to tell her to leave it, not because I want to die, but because I know it’s going to hurt. A lot. Take it out when I’m dead!

  She tugs.

  I feel the metal sliding out of my body. The sting is intense, and it’s followed by a wicked itch and a radiating pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

  That’s not true.

  I have felt this before...

  As the blade comes up into view, a slick of red blood slips down the polished blade toward the tip. But there is something wrong with the blood near the hilt. It’s tinged...purple.

  My eyes widen with the realization that Em just stabbed me in the heart with a knife laced with Nephilim blood. For a moment, it feels like a vile invasion, but then I remember the blood’s ability to heal the human body when used in low doses. I used Nephilim blood to save Kainda’s life not long ago. Sure, stabbing me in the heart was a bit extreme, but she knew it wouldn’t kill me. She just needed to stop me from killing the others, which it seems I was on a path to do.

  I clench my eyes against the pain wracking my body. It will end soon, I tell myself. You’ll be okay. You’ll live.

  But will the madness return?

  I try to get a sense of my mind. I feel like myself. I can remember everything. Literally, everything. I’m in control. I can’t even feel it at the fringe of my mind. The Nephilim blood destroyed the plague. Odd that the blood of something so vile could be the cure for a madness created by a Nephilim. In fact, I recognize the blade as Mira’s. It’s the knife she used to slash Ares’s knee. Ares was the source of the madness, and the cure for it. Part of me wishes he was still alive to hear this.

  “Solomon,” Em says. I can’t see her. My eyes are still shut, but her voice is above me.

  I’m about to reply when an intense energy blooms in my chest and spreads through my body.

  “Something is happening,” I say quickly. “Move back!”

  An intense pressure covers my body. Wind tugs at my hair. Then a sound like thunder explodes all around me.

  As quickly as it began, it stops.

  I’m not sure what just happened, but a steady wind is circling me, and I can no longer feel the ground. I open my eyes slowly, prepared to find myself airborne, but I’m not remotely ready for what I find.

  “Whoa!” I say, panicking and dropping a good fifty feet before catching myself and leveling out. I’m at least two miles above the ground. And I covered the distance in seconds. That boom, I think. I broke the sound barrier!

  I look down and see nothing but jungle, but there is a little black hole in the green canopy directly beneath me. That must be where I came from, but it looks like I kind of exploded out of the trees. I feel no pain on my body. At all. In fact, I’ve never felt better.

  I’m tempted to enjoy this moment, but then I remember my friends on the ground. Kainda, Mira and Kat were hurt, maybe badly. And Em just stabbed her brother in the chest and had him take off like a missile. That’s probably not easy to deal with. I’m about to head down, but a shift of movement pulls my eyes to the west.

  The Nephilim army.

  They’re like a black stain. From this height, I can see a trail of destruction behind them winding across the continent. They’re at least fifteen miles off, so the behemoths are the only two of the bunch I can make out individually. They look like two giant egg-shaped Weeble toys I had when I was little, bobbing back and forth with each enormous step.

  Knowing where the Nephilim are heading, I turn east. The strip of blue water marks the horizon. This is the Southern Ocean, though it’s no longer in the South, so maybe the Equatorial Ocean is a better name. I spot a large clearing and what looks like a tiny man-made scar. The FOB. It looks miniscule compared to the incoming enemy force. But there are more shapes out in the water. A lot of them.

  The base is roughly twenty miles off.

  The Nephilim are just thirty-five miles from the base, I think. I look up to the sun and note its position in the sky. Still morning.

  The Nephilim don’t grow tired, and the hunters and berserkers they command have been trained to endure long stretches without sleeping. They’ll march through the night.

  “They’ll be there tomorrow,” I whisper to myself. We need to move.

  I look down, preparing to descend when I spot an aberration sliding over the jungle canopy. Shadows. I trace the angle of the sun up and find the source of the shadows.

  Warriors. Three of them.

  My exit from the jungle has attracted attention. They haven’t spotted me, but they’re headed for the hole in the trees.

  And my friends.

  I cut the wind and drop through the sky. I angle my body downwards, urging myself to reach terminal velocity.

  The Nephilim slip into the jungle and disappear, cloaked in shadow.

  Terminal velocity isn’t going to be fast enough.

  I summon the wind. Faster! FASTER!

  Pressure builds in front of me and I push against it. A white bloom suddenly forms, and then it ruptures with a thunderous boom. Free from the sound barrier, I plummet downward. My violent acceleration has created a shockwave that tears a fresh hole in the canopy. I surge the final two hundred feet through the trees to the ground in a fraction of a second.

  In that brief moment, I think I’m going to smear myself on the jungle floor, but then I remember the lesson learned from the strange voice, which I now think might have been Luca, though it sounded older or wiser. The voice taught me that connection between the continent and my body goes both ways, and in the same way I control the elements of this continent, I can control my body. There are all sorts of possibilities this opens up, the first of them being, I should be able to stick this landing like Mary Lou Retton.

  The explosive force of my landing outdoes the sonic boom by at least twice. Which is to say, it’s loud. And it’s created a genuine two-foot deep, ten-foot wide crater around my body, which is uninjured by the dramatic arrival. I think I probably made far too much noise, but the effect on the three Nephilim is almost comical.

  They turn around slowly, wings folded down, tails tucked between their legs and mouths slightly agape with expressions that say something like, “What the…?” and I’m pretty sure that’s a phrase never uttered by a Nephilim before, even if just in facial expression form.

  Beyond them I see Em and Kainda on their feet. They look weary and wounded, but they have their weapons at the ready. Kat is helping Mira to her feet. But right now, none of them are moving either. They’re locked in place, staring at me.

  I find Kainda’s eyes and grin, doing that silent human communication thing my mother and I perfected. I tell her I’m sorry with my eyebrows. She forgives me with a blink. Then I tell her, “Watch this,” with a grin, and I step out of the crater.

  20

  I find Whipsnap thirty feet away, partially concealed by leaf litter. I don’t really need the weapon now, but it’s kind of like a security blanket...with a razor-sharp spear head on one side and a heavy spiked mace on the other. I reach a hand toward the weapon. A gust of wind lifts it and flings it toward me. Luke Skywalker, eat your heart out.


  “It’s him,” one of the warriors says. Given their black battle gear and square, knotted beards, I believe they are members of the Sumerian clan. I quickly look over their helmets and other distinguishing features.

  “I’m not sure who you two are,” I say, pointing the spear tip at the two Nephilim closest to me. I redirect the spear toward the warrior behind them. He stands a few feet shorter and is likely the lowest in status. “But he’s definitely Ninhursag.”

  The giants attempt to contain their laughter, but fail. I’ve just called the small one by the name of the Sumerian version of Mother Earth, which I’m pretty sure is actually a bulbous breeder like Gaia, who played a disgusting roll in my breaking. The small Nephilim tries to charge me, but the other two stop him.

  “You must go,” says one of the larger warriors, “Ophion must be told.”

  The smaller warrior doesn’t look pleased at all, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to consent. Nephil has likely given explicit orders that he be told if my where-abouts were discovered. Sadly for them, I have other plans.

  “No one is going anywhere,” I say.

  The smaller warrior unfurls his wings and leaps for the sky. With two quick slashes, from a distance of fifty feet, I clip his wings. The giant shouts more with surprise than pain as he plummets to the ground and lands in an unbecoming heap behind the two other warriors. The toothy smiles, remaining from my joke at their comrade’s expense, transform into sneers. They spin toward me, drawing weapons.

  The first wields an axe large enough to chop through any of the giant trees surrounding us with a single blow. It would make short work of me. The second nocks an arrow the size of Whipsnap and draws it back in a massive bow. As the first Nephilim closes the distance and brings his axe down toward me, the second looses his arrow.

  They’re making this easy.

  A quick wind redirects the arrow into the back of the axe-wielder’s neck, slipping between the massive vertebrae. I’m not sure if it will kill him, but it drops him to the ground. The giant lands to my left and slides for a few feet.

  As the smaller warrior struggles to his feet, his wings slowly regenerating, the bowman fires again and again, sending three arrows at me before the first is close to its target. But not one of them reaches me. They’re dust in the air.

  The bow dissolves in his hands, leaving him dumbfounded.

  While making the Nephilim army’s weapons all turn to dust would be fantastic, I doubt I will be able to perform this feat on a grand scale. Reducing a weapon to its various elements takes some serious concentration. But it definitely leaves an impression. Despite being far from defenseless, the warrior staggers back, perhaps realizing that this is a fight he cannot win. I turn my eyes to the metal band covering his head. I hit it with a wind, confirming that it’s held in place by spikes driven into the monster’s head. I focus on it, trying to melt or disintegrate it, but the metal resists. It’s either not made from Antarctic elements or it has some kind of supernatural protection.

  It doesn’t really change my current strategy. I just wanted to know, because it will affect those fighting alongside me.

  Before the giant can recover, I swipe Whipsnap from left to right, using it to direct the course of my wind-blade. A line of purple blood oozes from his neck. The giant staggers and falls to his knees. But he doesn’t die. His head, which was completely severed, didn’t fall away and has begun to heal. I swipe Whipsnap from right to left, this time striking with more force and a wider blade. The head comes free and falls away. Dead. For sure.

  I turn to the smallest of the three. His wings are nearly regrown and when he notices my attention, he tries to fly away again. But the wings are insufficient to carry him up and away.

  Seeing the giant beast struggle actually makes me pity him.

  For a moment.

  Then I remember what they are, what they did to me, and Kainda, and Em, and Luca, and the billions of people now dead because of their evil, twisted machinations. Without any further flair or desire to show off, I remove his head and his presence from this world forever.

  A wet slurp turns me around. The warrior with the axe is kneeling and pulling the arrow out of his throat. Once it’s out, the wound heals quickly and he’s back on his feet. With just one Nephilim left, I decide to implement the last part of my attack plan, which is the part that might get me killed. But a little R&D is sometimes necessary, especially before the beginning of a battle that might determine the fate of the human race.

  The plan is this: no elemental powers. No wind blades. No chucking rocks, or dropping trees, or tossing the giant around like a ragdoll. This fight will be man to man-demon. That’s not entirely true. I am going to use my abilities, but in a very different way. If I can really control my body, the way I control the elements of Antarktos, I should be able to pull this off. If not, well, I’m not above cheating.

  I let the warrior pick up his axe. He’s grunting and angry, eyeing me carefully. This one’s not going to be big on the pre-fight banter, which is fine by me. This isn’t a Spider-Man comic book. But, I do perform the classic challenge to fight barehanded by tossing Whipsnap to the ground and raising my clenched fists. Sure, the giant hasn’t ever seen a movie in which such a scenario plays out, but I’m pretty sure he understands.

  He glances from me to his fallen brethren. He was too busy choking on the business end of an arrow to see how they died, but it’s enough to convince him that throwing away his axe would be folly. He lets out a battle cry, punctuating it with a spray of spittle, and leaps toward me. His wings beat the air once, lifting him up, but also propelling him forward. For his size, he’s quick. But not quite quick enough.

  As his feet touch down and he swings hard with the axe, I sidestep. I don’t have to use any special abilities to dodge the blow. Any hunter worth his while could have. It was an obvious attack meant to bring us in close, because once a human being is within arm’s reach of a Nephilim, the fight is pretty much over. Avoiding the axe is just the first part of my plan. The second part comes next.

  Before the giant can heft the oversized blade from the earth, I turn toward it, draw my fist back and punch. As my fist covers the few feet to the axe, I focus on my arm, bunching the molecules more densely, pulling in atoms from the surrounding air and powering my knuckles with the kinetic energy that fills the very earth of Antarktos.

  My fist connects with the six-inch thick base of the metal blade where it intersects with the handle.

  There’s a loud clang, like when a blacksmith hammers a blade.

  A throb of pain moves up my arm like a shockwave.

  And the axe...

  It launches from the warrior’s grip as though shot from a catapult. It sails away into the jungle, lost in the trees until it strikes something solid with a distant bong.

  The warrior is disciplined and wastes no time wondering what just happened. He raises his fists into the air, laces his fingers together and then brings the joined fists down like a mace. The effect of the strike would normally be like a human punching a rotten banana.

  I lift my hands up, repeating my focus from the punch and intensifying it, filling my body with all the power I can muster, if only for a moment. The warrior’s boulder-like hands land in mine.

  And stop.

  I feel the force of the strike vibrate through my body and out into the ground beneath my feet...which is technically part of me. The impact presses my bare feet into the earth, and I feel the connection to this continent, and all its vast power, like never before.

  The warrior is far bigger than my human body, but what he doesn’t know, and what I’ve just realized, is he’s fighting a force more ancient than the Nephilim and larger than the United States.

  Actually, I think he’s starting to figure it out. He separates his hands and looks down at me. Seems even Nephilim can sometimes have the ability to speak with facial expressions, because this big guy has “how?” written all over his face.

  A blur of m
ovement streaks out to my right.

  The confused face was a ruse!

  No time to move.

  Focus!

  Whack! The scorpion tail strikes my side. A single sting would have caused me intense pain, and eventually death. Instead, it strikes my ribs, and shatters.

  Now the giant is truly stunned. And before he can recover, I leap up, propelled by wind, covering the thirty feet to his head. I grab hold of the metal ring protecting him. Standing on his shoulder, to the side of his face, I pull. He roars in pain and spins his head, trying to bite me with his double rows of sharp teeth, but I’m gone before his jaws close. And I’ve taken the ring with me.

  Purple blood flows from four deep wounds on the sides of his head where the spikes held the crown in place. As the skull and skin knit back together, I wander over to Whipsnap, pick it up and take aim. One good throw and this is all over.

  But before I can kill the warrior, something huge roars and pounds out of the jungle shadows. I see a flash of green. And teeth. And then, blood.

  21

  I flinch back, surprised by the violent new entry into the fray, but then I recognize the green-bodied, maroon-striped dinosaur as Grumpy. He’s got his powerful jaws locked over the warrior’s head and is thrashing him back and forth. To make matters worse for the Nephilim, Zok, has just stomped out from behind a tree and taken hold of one of the warrior’s legs.

  The giant doesn’t stand a chance against these two, the largest and most powerful of the cresties, now loyal to me. They must have tracked our scents through the jungle since we left them by the river. I’ve heard of dogs crossing countries to find their masters, but I’ve never heard of a dinosaur doing that. Of course, they’ve probably never had the opportunity before.

  As the gnawing, tearing and crunching becomes sickening, I turn away. Nephilim blood has no effect on the dinosaurs. They’re natural enemies—opposing giants of the underworld, and the cresties relish the chance to feast on the purple flesh. I suspect they might get some sort of kick from the blood, like an energy boost or euphoria, which would explain their hankering for Nephilim, but if they experience any adverse symptoms from eating the supernatural meat, it can’t be more substantial than gas, which for a dinosaur, is always bad.