The horde of berserkers, and several hunters with short range weapons, charge along the river banks, through the river and through the trees above. High above them, I note a few of the Nephilim warriors have descended and are circling the scene. To my knowledge, the Nephilim have eyesight similar to people, so I don’t think there is any risk of being identified. That is, until what happens next.
I complete the spin, and call the wind to me. Kainda, Mira and I are carried out and away from the cliff, angling down toward the jungle below as though hang-gliding. Despite our whipping hair, the passage down the two-hundred foot drop to the jungle is smooth, and we are quickly concealed once again.
We pause in the shadows to catch our breath. I look back, craning my head up toward the waterfall, and the unthinkable happens.
The berserkers, lost in frenzy or just uncaring, pour over the side of the cliff. Some are in the water and will land in the river. But others, the majority of them, crash to the ground below, broken by tree limbs or slapping wetly against the large flat stones lining the river. Like lemmings, they keep flowing over the side, dying one on top of the other.
Maybe it’s their last bit of free will? I wonder. They’ve lived in nightmares for so long, maybe now that they have the chance to end their lives, and suffering, they’re eager. Or maybe they really just have no minds left. Whatever the case, it sickens my stomach.
Kainda mutters a curse in Sumerian. I turn to her, but she’s not watching the river of death. Her gaze is turned higher, to the sky. I follow her eyes and see them. Three winged warriors circle toward the ground, no doubt attracted by the scent of blood and the sight of so many berserkers committing mass suicide.
I take hold of Mira’s arm, but before I can speak, she says, “You’re bleeding.”
I look down at the arm and see a one-inch slice. It’s not horrible, but it’s not going to heal without attention either. Still, there’s no time to worry about that now.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “Remember when I said things were going to get harder? That hasn’t really happened yet. But it’s going to. We need to run again. Faster this time. Can you do that?”
In response, she runs. Kainda and I follow, glancing at each other to communicate the same unspoken fear: they’re going to find us.
15
Mira is getting tired. She hasn’t slowed down yet, but I can see the signs. She’s not raising her arms as high with each step. Her breathing sounds shaky. And she’s leaning to one side. It’s slight, but I’m willing to bet she’s running through a cramp, which isn’t easy, even for a hunter. Our pace is not sustainable.
On the bright side, the Nephilim pursuing us from the skies above have yet to find us. The jungle canopy has done a good job at hiding us. They’ve also split up, widening the search, a fact I learned by sensing the air above. Nephilim warriors, with their thirty-foot tall bulk and giant flapping wings, displace a lot of air. Once I found them, tracking their movements became as easy as feeling someone blowing on the back of my neck.
On the not so bright side, the lone warrior still behind us is dropping down toward the jungle. I don’t think he’s spotted us, I just think he’s tired of trying to see through the endless curtain of green leaves. Either way, once he punches through the canopy, we’ll be far more exposed. With most of the direct sunlight blocked in this stretch of jungle, the floor is relatively free of growth. We can run faster, but the tree trunks are our only cover. We could head underground again, but I don’t feel any natural tunnel systems heading in the direction we need to go, and using my connection to the continent to create miles of subterranean passages will sap my energy to the point where I might need to be carried.
Unless we can channel our inner ninjas and disappear, this is probably going to end in conflict, which shouldn’t be too bad. I can handle a lone warrior. But the scent of his blood, as well as his disappearance into the jungle, might garner further attention. I might normally open up a pocket of earth to hide in, but I’m still feeling spent, and I really don’t want to exhaust my abilities, just in case they’re needed for something even more urgent later on.
“Behind this tree!” I shout, catching Mira and Kainda off guard. Kainda reacts quickly, diving behind the tree, which is eight foot in radius with rough bark, like its something out of the forest of Endor. Mira stumbles, but I catch her arm and yank her hard to the side.
She shouts in complaint, but I slap my hand over her mouth a second before the canopy a hundred feet behind us explodes. Leaves shake free. Branches shatter. And then, as the Nephilim lands hard, the ground shakes. He’s a big one.
Loud sniffing fills the air. Then a booming voice. “I can smell you, humans. Reveal yourselves and your suffering will be short. Exquisite, but short.” That last bit is followed by a laugh.
Kainda leans in close, cupping a hand around my ear. “I know his voice,” she says. “Ares.”
Ares! Great. Of all the Nephilim that had to chase us into the jungle it had to be Ares, the Greek god of war. He’s not only known for being ruthless and bloodthirsty, but he’s also a very skilled fighter. I’m going to have to make this as unfair a fight as possible.
More sniffing. A branch cracks. He’s getting closer.
Running isn’t a choice now.
“You smell weak,” Ares says, sniffing deeply. “Untainted.” He laughs again, like he’s just heard a great joke. “You will taste delightful.”
Kainda tenses, and I sense she’s about to charge the giant. I take her hand and squeeze, mouthing the word, “Wait,” to her.
Ares’s own personal brand of Nephilim stink, which I note includes the scent of human blood, reaches us. He’s not far now, maybe twenty feet from the far side of the tree. Does he know we’re here?
No, I decide. I can hear him shuffling around, looking in all directions. He smells us for sure, but can’t pinpoint our location. To make it harder on him, I shift the natural breeze some, pulling our scents upwind. He grunts with the wind shift, no doubt thinking we’ve begun to move. When he does, I slide to the side and slowly peek around the tree.
Ares is massive. Perhaps one of the largest Nephilim I’ve seen, both in height and in muscle tone. He’s dressed simply, wearing only a tunic, but its blood red coloration, which matches his ponytailed hair, reveals he is one of the commanders in charge of ten thousand troops. Killing him will help disrupt the Nephilim ranks, though not drastically.
His body is facing me, but he’s got his head craned to the side and his nose raised. Despite the simple garb, he is intimidating. He carries a thirty foot long spear in his left hand and a shield in his right. I have never seen a Nephilim use a shield before. They generally prefer to absorb blows with their regenerating bodies. The pain suits them. But perhaps war is different, especially when the enemy—modern humans—have things like anti-tank missiles. Then I see the gleaming, razor-sharp edge of the shield, and I realize it’s not just a defensive weapon. But the most dramatic statement is his red crested helmet. At first I think that the hair is either his own, or from a feeder, but then I see it move, as though on its own, and I realize the brazen god of war has decorated his helm with behemoth hair.
I’m so entranced by the thirty foot tall warrior dressed like a Spartan Hoplite, that I forget to pull back when his head swivels forward again. But Kainda is still thinking and pulls me behind the tree.
“Ares is no ordinary warrior,” she whispers in my ear. “He is not to be trifled with.”
A metallic zing rings out from the other side of the tree. A loud clang and a snap follows. I duck instinctively, but nothing happens for a moment. When I look forward, I see Ares’s shield embedded in a tree directly across from us...which means...
I look up at the tree giving us shelter. The line of bark has burst outward.
He threw the shield through—a tree! A sixteen foot wide tree! It hasn’t fallen yet because the branches high above are thickly mingled with those of other trees. It will likely stay almost upright for
a long time to come, or until the behemoths make their way through.
The exploded bark is just a few feet above us. Had he aimed a little lower, we’d all be dead. Thing is, I don’t think he wants to kill us. I think he wants to toy with us first.
Which isn’t going to happen. I step out from behind the tree. He sees me, but I don’t give him time to react or even recognize me. A compressed column of wind strikes his side and lifts him off the ground. The giant’s body slams into a large tree trunk, folding around it backwards. Several loud cracks issue from his spine.
The wind lets up.
His body falls.
And then, he heals. Each vertebrae that cracked pops back into place, one by one. And with each pop, the Nephilim warrior moans in ecstasy, relishing the pain. I really hate that these guys enjoy pain so much. Kind of takes away any pleasure I might get out of beating them up. Then again, his attitude will change when he realizes he’s going to die. For the soulless Nephilim, death means nonexistence. A permanent end. It’s the one thing they fear.
Kainda rushes in, fueled by bloodlust. But Ares has mostly recovered and never let go of his spear, even while his spine was shattered. He sees her coming and growls, “Betrayer!”
Ares thrusts the spear at Kainda, but she rolls around the sharp tip like a football running back and continues her charge. Ares’s massive wings give one big flap and he’s carried up onto his feet, bringing his head out of Kainda’s range, but I think that’s what she expected him to do because she’s already diving forward, bringing the her hammer hard against his kneecap. I see the bone swivel to the side, making the leg momentarily useless.
Ares shouts in pain, but he’s got a big grin on his face. Pleasure, pain or both, he drops to his knees, while the bone repositions itself.
While he’s down there, I direct a gust of wind toward his head. The helmet is knocked free and cast aside, revealing the golden ring protecting the weak spot at the center of his forehead.
The giant’s laugh becomes sinister. “The prodigal son.” He knows who I am now.
“I’m not sure you fully understand the message of that story,” I say, walking toward the giant. Mira lingers behind, staying by the tree, which is a good choice.
Ares spits purple blood. The wad lands near my feet. I stop. No need to put myself at risk for the sake of bravado. “You should have stayed in Tartarus.”
He frowns at this. I’ve actually managed to strike a nerve. “We all have to live with our choices,” he says, then he glances at my arm. “How are you feeling, Ull?”
I glance down at the arm. The wound looks the same. I ignore the question, and focus on the earth around Ares’s legs, willing it to rise up and lock him down. But he’s quick and leaps back into the air before I can catch him. For a moment, I think he’s going to flee and get help, which would be a serious problem, but this is a Nephilim warrior. He’s proud, like a hunter. He won’t ask for help, he’ll—
“Solomon, watch out!” Kainda shouts.
The tip of Ares’s spear resolves in my vision. I drop down and feel the blade pass over my head. A blond tuft of cut hair tickles my back as it falls. The spear slams into the tree, just feet away from Mira who had already leapt to the side.
But how did I not see the spear coming?
How was I not aware he was going to attack?
He couldn’t have been moving too fast. Both Kainda and Mira reacted before I did. It’s me, I think. My perceptions are slow.
To punctuate the realization, Ares swoops down, lands in front of me and backhands me. I slide across the jungle floor, cushioned by leaf litter and mud. Had I struck a tree, like Ares did, I’d be dead. Of course, I’m now in so much pain that death might have been a mercy.
I fight against the pain and get to my feet, happy to find everything working and no bones broken. As Ares stalks toward me, Kainda throws her hammer at his head, but the weapon just clangs against the metal ring and falls to the ground. The ring should have come free.
Ares laughs, and my anger surges. I leap into the air, carrying myself up with the wind and tug Whipsnap from my belt. I arc up above the warrior and as I drop down, a focused burst of air strikes the metal ring from below. The plan was to remove the ring and plunge the spear tip into Ares’s head, but the ring does not come off. Instead, it simply moves a little. But in that motion, I catch a glimpse of what’s happening.
The metal rings worn by Nephilim warriors typically rest on the head, like a metal headband. It’s goofy looking, like the headbands worn by some basketball players, but it protects them. That is, unless you knock it off, which isn’t too hard to do if you know what you’re doing. But this metal band is held in place by four spikes that have been driven into Ares’s head. It’s not coming off.
A second gust of wind carries me up and over the warrior. As I pass by, his scorpion tail, which was concealed by a long red cape, lashes out and nearly strikes my chest. But I don’t see it until it’s already retracting for another strike. I survived by dumb luck alone.
What is wrong with me?
I land beside Kainda and stumble.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
“The crown is nailed to his head,” I say. “I can’t get it off.”
“Then you’ll have to remove it,” she says.
“I just said—”
“Not the crown,” she says. “His head.”
My eyes widen. How am I going to do that? Whipsnap’s blade isn’t nearly long enough to do the job. Sure, if Ares laid down and patiently waited, I might be able to hack through his neck, but he’s going to heal just as fast as I can swing.
A wave of dizziness swirls through my body. I grunt and stagger.
“Damnit, Solomon,” Kainda growls and then leaves my side. When I look up, I see her charging out to meet Ares, who is headed toward us. She dodges two blows and manages a strike against his shin, but he merely kicks her away. I reach out with the wind, catching her before she strikes a tree. Nausea tears through my body as I lower Kainda to the ground.
When she’s safe, I fall to my knees and vomit. Hard.
“Feeling ill?” Ares says, stomping closer.
I know he doesn’t want to kill me. Nephil will want me alive. I am his vessel, after all. But that’s a fate worse than death.
“Shut. Up!” I scream, my voice more of a roar. I’m filled with a rage so intense that I wonder if my Ull personality has once again taken over.
Ares chuckles. “Feeling...angry?”
I grind my teeth, seething with raw hatred. Just as I’m about to leap up and launch myself at Ares, I see the wound on my arm again. It’s pink around the edges. Hot. Raw. The arrow wasn’t poisoned...it was laced with blood.
Infected blood.
I’m becoming a berserker.
16
No time, I think. Ares is about to knock me silly and I don’t think it matters to Nephil whether or not I’m a berserker. He might actually enjoy the rage added to his own. I have to end this threat, fast, and then worry about what’s happening to my body. Right now, my rage is certainly growing, but I’m still me. Still in control.
The trees behind me whoosh as the wind rushes toward the back of my head. It rushes past, bending the trees all around, and strikes Ares head on. The giant stands his ground. He can’t move forward, but he’s also still standing, which was not part of the plan.
Instead of a tightly compressed surge of air, I summoned a broad, sweeping wind, like a tornado. Knowing the swaying trees might attract attention, I stop the attack.
Ares steps toward me. “Give into the madness. The change will be less painful and a part of your mind will remain, for a time.”
All I can do is look at the ground. Stabs of burning pain move up my arm, spreading out into my chest.
Ares kneels in front of me, places an index finger on my chest and flicks it out. I sprawl backwards, unable to stop even this simple, humiliating assault. I see layers of green shifting high in the canopy, some glowin
g almost yellow under the direct gaze of the sun.
“In minutes, the rage will consume you,” Ares says. “Then darkness. And when you awake, you will be one of my creations.”
I let out a groan at the realization that Ares is not only the berserker commander, but also the source of the plague that turns men into mindless monsters beyond redemption.
I’ve amused him again. “I expected more from you, Ull. But I see now that the growing legend of the boy hunter is...exaggerated. You are weak. A pitiful thing.” He laughs. “You are without hope.”
As I look up my nose at the giant leaning over me, I see a flash of blond hair covered by blue. Ares rears up, shouting in pain-fueled joy. When he stands, I see a slash across his knee. Then it’s gone. I turn my head, following the blur of motion.
Mira.
No...
She’s not fast enough.
Ares reaches out for her. If he catches her, all he’d need to do is squeeze. She has faced Nephilim in the past. She even killed Enki. But she has no grenades, and I don’t think Ares will bother having a conversation with someone he doesn’t need to keep alive.
No!
His fingers are just inches from her back.
“No!” I scream, thrusting my hands out, generating a burst of wind as though it came from my body itself. There’s an explosion of purple on Ares’s chest, then a circle of light.
I stare up at it for a moment, unsure of what I’m seeing.
Then the image resolves.
Trees.
I’m seeing trees in Ares’s chest?
Not in his chest, through his chest! I punched a hole straight through him, using just the wind.
Fueled by rising anger, fear for Mira’s safety and the fact that I’ve just formed an invisible force into a horrible weapon, I stand to shaky legs.
Ares stumbles back. Despite enjoying pain, he must be experiencing so much of it right now that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s like a kid with a cake to himself who knows, at some level, too much of it is bad for him. He puts his fingers on the wound and looks down. It’s already closing, healing the meat and bones that had been torn away, but he’s still afforded a clear view of the forest behind him.
5 Onslaught Page 9