“It only needs to work on one,” he says, and then stands. He raises his sword high into the air. “Humans!” His voice is thunder itself, the voice of a Titan. “Attack!”
Cronus charges, heading for the Nephilim army, with twenty-four warriors and thousands of humans by his side. Now that, is leadership. In the wake of this furious charge, this final charge, I find myself alone on the ground, weak and unable to move.
I want to join the fight with every fiber of my being, but I’m worn out. I can barely stand.
Shofar, I think to no one in particular. I need the shofar...and a shot of adrenaline.
If there is a reply, I don’t hear it. Maybe Luca is unable? Maybe the strain finally got to us both? I try to stand, but a wave of dizziness keeps me down.
“Don’t move,” a woman says.
“Regain your strength,” says another.
I feel a hand on my back. Mira.
I look up and find Mira and Em kneeling by my sides and Kat and Kainda standing guard.
“I’m coming!” I hear another voice cry out.
I recognize it immediately. I should, I heard it for the first half of my life. “Luca,” I mumble. “No.”
I turn to find the small boy sprinting around the line of tanks, the shofar under his arm. Merrill and Aimee rush out behind him, clearly trying to subdue the boy and return him to safety, but they can’t catch him.
“Go back!” I shout to him. “Go b—”
Something in the air shifts, like a wave of pressure, returning my attention to the battle.
Our force, even strengthened by the gigantes and Titans, have been repelled. They’re retreating toward us, pursued by countless Nephilim still pouring through the bottleneck. Beyond the bottleneck, I see the second behemoth, closing in, to seal the gap or simply trample us. I reach out with my senses. It’s almost here. The timing is right, but I’m too weak to do anything but kill us all.
Luca, I think. Hurry!
35
Luca arrives just ahead of the retreating forces. “Here’s the shofar!” he says, gasping for air. He holds the ancient horn out to me, but it’s not what I’m interested in.
“The adrenaline,” I say. “Did you get the adrenaline?”
“I don’t know what adrenaline is,” he says, and I mentally slap myself in the head. Of course he doesn’t know what adrenaline is. He grew up here. I look up to Merrill and Aimee, but their hands are empty.
“What is it?” Em asks, seeing my despair.
I don’t reply. I can’t bear to tell her. But then I see Cronus among the retreating force. He’s fleeing backwards alongside the remaining eleven Titans, fighting as he backs away from the encroaching Nephilim force. He’s taking wounds and healing quickly, bleeding purple.
The Titans are Nephilim that have had the burdens of their past misdeeds lifted in Tartarus. But they are still Nephilim.
Cronus, I think, hoping Luca will still redirect my thoughts. He does, but I can see the strain on his face. Cronus, I need you!
The giant reacts to my words quickly, leaping over the retreating human force and arriving ahead of them. He kneels down beside me, sees the shofar and looks relieved. But his concern returns when he hears what I have to say.
“Your blood,” I say to the giant. “I need your blood.”
He flinches back. “It will kill you.”
“I can handle a drop,” I tell him.
“There are other ways,” he says. “We will—”
“There is no time!” I shout, and thrust a finger east, toward the ocean.
The Titan’s eyes widen. His face, lit by the sun, is suddenly cast in shadow. As the shadow casts the battlefield into darkness, all eyes turn up. Even the Nephilim stop and gaze.
A hundred-foot tall wave races toward shore, passing harmlessly beneath the Navy ships. But when the shoreline shallows, the wave grows taller still. It’s just moments from washing all of us away.
“Just a drop,” I shout.
Cronus quickly pricks his finger with a clean dagger, which is bigger than a human sword, and collects a single drop on its tip before the wound heals. He lowers the blade to my head. I grasp both sides with my hands, cutting the flesh. I lick the blood from the blade and am launched backwards, onto the ground where I thrash and writhe in agony. I can feel the power rushing through my body, so strong that I nearly burst.
The wounds on my hands suddenly heal.
The persistent ache in my body disappears.
A boundless energy, like rocket fuel, surges from my heart, out to my fingers and toes and back again like one of those old Popeye cartoons. My pain-filled scream stops abruptly. The air gathers around me and lifts me to my feet.
Gather close, I think to the retreating force and then notice the gigantes still locked in battle with the Nephilim. I urge them to move, to flee into the air, but they do not respond.
Cronus seems to hear the mental command and turns to me. “They came here to fight, and to die. They will not flee.”
I don’t like it, but I have no choice but to accept this as reality.
Fueled by the blood of a Titan, I reach out to my wave. It’s traveled several miles to get here, gathering speed and size along the way, but now that it’s here, I need it to not drown us all. I reach my hands out and feel the wave’s power. Its immensity nearly knocks me down, but I push against it with my body and mind, urging the water and air to obey my will.
The tidal wave crests.
The water rises and bends, curling over the base, over the temple, and then directly overhead. The wall of water flowing above us is lit by the sun, glowing in surreal blue, the light shimmering down around us like we’re inside a giant aquarium.
I turn with the wave, directing its course. My arms shake from the weight of it, pulled downward by gravity, but repulsed by my connection to the continent. And then, I allow gravity to do its thing. The water at the front of the wave falls, crashing down on the front line of Nephilim who can drown just like anyone else. The pounding water races forward, propelled by the girth of the wave still rising and descending like a solid blue rainbow.
Using all the strength granted to me by Cronus, I push the wave back through the valley. As the cliffs come together, the water deepens and races faster, exiting the bottleneck with explosive force, slamming into the second behemoth and taking hundreds of thousands of Nephilim warriors with it.
Sun strikes us again as the last of the wave passes overhead, slams to the valley floor and flows into the distant, now-flattened, jungle beyond the bottleneck. Then, the water is gone and the battlefield has been scoured clean. Humans, the Nephilim, the gigantes—even the behemoth corpse—are all gone. It’s like a battle had never been fought here.
Weakened again, I stagger and I’m caught by Kainda. She helps me stand upright and catches my eye. She says nothing, but it’s clear she approves.
As does the rest of my surviving army. Cheers rise up all around.
It’s a perfect moment. My dear ones are all here, and living. The battlefield is cleared. The sun warms us like a blessing from some higher power.
And then all of that goodness, every last ounce of it, is erased.
First by the circling shadows above. Then by the army once again filling the gap of the bottleneck.
The wave delivered a serious blow to the Nephilim numbers, but they are an army of nearly a million.
And now we are an army of a few thousand—wounded, tired and beaten.
The approaching Nephilim are no longer charging. They’re marching, confidently. Despite my improvised weapon of mass destruction, the battle—the war—is theirs. Their numbers are too great.
To my army’s credit, the mix of hunters, soldiers, cresties and Titans stand their ground and wait. I step out ahead of them and walk to the center of the group, followed by Kainda, Em, Mira and Kat, who are in turn followed by Luca, still holding the shofar, Merrill and Aimee. I couldn’t be more proud of all of them. Cronus brings up the rear of our
small group, carrying more strength than all of us, and strangely, an unwavering confidence.
“How can you be so confident?” I say to the Titan.
“We are not yet beaten,” he says.
“It’s more than that,” I say. “You know something.”
“Adoel sends his greetings,” the Titan says.
Adoel? The angel? “Is he here?”
“He cannot leave Edinnu,” Cronus says. “You know this...but I visited before coming here.”
“Then what?” I ask. “Is it the Tree of Life? Do you have its fruit?”
He chuckles, actually chuckles, despite our circumstances.
“We...said goodbye,” the Titan says.
“Goodbye?” I ask, growing worried—more worried.
“My end will mark a new beginning,” Cronus says. “Those were the last words spoken to me by Adoel. The words that helped save me in Tartarus. And it is those words that will soon come to fruition.”
I’m about to press him for more. I’m not a fan of vague answers and he knows it. Before I can speak, he says, “It has been an honor serving with you.”
And then, a voice, from the Nephilim.
“Solomon!” The voice is small. Human. And old.
Ninnis.
But not Ninnis. This is Nephil—the dark god Ophion—speaking to me.
The marching horde stops a hundred feet away. I can feel the tension of the small army behind me, just waiting for the order to charge and fight to the death.
Winged warriors land at the front of the Nephilim, lining the front of their massive force with ancient, blood-red clad gods. Enlil is among them, burning with anger at having been turned away by me. Enlil, and Zeus beside him, fold their wings down. From between them, a lone man wanders out.
Ninnis’s body still looks old, but the beard has been shaved, along with his hair, and he stands more upright than I remember. His eyes, once dark, are now yellow and more Nephilim than human. As he walks, tendrils of black snake out from his body, lifting him into the air.
As Luca clings to my side in fright, Cronus kneels and whispers. “He is more powerful than ever.”
Not helping, I think.
The giant continues. “He has bonded himself to the very essence of his brethren, drawing strength from their life force.”
“I don’t see anything,” I say.
“You can’t see it,” he says impatiently. “But I can feel it, tugging at me, trying to claim me as one of his own.”
“Will he?” I ask.
“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.”
“You would spare them?” I ask, not believing it for a second. “You would spare the human race?”
“The human race? No,” he says. “But what little remains of your army will be spared. Your comrades. Your friends. And I dare say—” He glances at the four women standing to my sides. “—your loved ones.”
“You’ll make them hunters?” I ask.
“Naturally.”
“And use them to hunt and kill humans around the world.”
He shrugs. “A likely scenario. But they will live until the natural end of their days.”
Given the fact that we’ve managed to save or kill the vast majority of Nephil’s hunters, I think his offer is genuine. Until the global human genocide is complete, the Nephilim will need hunters to go where they can’t.
I look to Kainda and Em, finding uncompromising glares. I find the same from Kat and Mira.
The choice is obvious, but not.
You must trust me, I think to them all.
I see Kainda glance toward me, fighting not to show a reaction. But Nephil notices her.
“Ahh, dear daughter,” Nephil says.
“I am not your daughter.” Kainda’s voice is actually more intimidating than Nephil’s.
“He loved you, you know,” Nephil says. “Your father.”
Kainda tenses.
“He hid it well. From everyone. Even you. Sometimes himself.” Nephil lowers himself closer to the ground, making himself an easy target. “Have you ever wondered what your life—”
“Enough!” I say. He knows that eventually, Kainda will attack, and if she does, I will be drawn in with her. But it’s not necessary. I’m going to go willingly.
I step forward. When Kainda walks with me, I turn to her and say, “You must stay. Let me do this.”
“Solomon,” she says, her voice uncommonly fearful. Her fear is understandable. Not only am I her husband, she is also keenly aware of what my sacrifice means. She will live, but as a hunter, broken again in servitude to the Nephilim. She would rather die.
“Trust me,” I say, and then, “I love you.”
“Forever,” she says.
“Forever.” She lets go of my hand and I walk five paces closer to Nephil. “Let them live and you can take me.”
He stares at me, no doubt believing I would fight to the last man.
“You would sacrifice yourself for this lot?” Nephil says, sounding doubtful.
“Are you trying to change my mind?” I ask, “because I could be on the other side of the continent in less than an hour and we can do this all over again in a few months.”
He slides closer to me, within striking distance for sure. He stares into my eyes for a moment, perhaps looking for betrayal. Instead, he finds something unexpected.
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