5 Onslaught (21 page)

34

I fly up,
keeping ahead of the monsters at my heels. I can focus on flying as it takes minimal
effort to control the small forces affecting me, but I won’t be able to fight
until the stinging poison is flushed from my body. Luckily, I am capable of
repelling it from my body, I just need time.

I
find it in the clouds.

A
curtain of white cloaks my body. Out of view, I angle my
ascent,
pick a random spot and stop, hovering in the upper troposphere. I can hear the
frantic wing flaps of the Nephilim searching for me, but visibility is zero.
They’ll have to run into me to find me.

With
the sound of the raging battle echoing below, I clear my mind and focus my
attention on my own body. I can feel my muscles, bones and blood. And I can
feel the toxin injected into my body. First, I isolate it, separating the
foreign fluid from my own, and then I force it back, through my veins, through
the meat of my muscles, and push it back to the wound through which it was
injected.

I
clench my teeth tightly. The poison fights me, clawing at my body, burning with
the fury of Odin himself. With a last push, the toxin seeps from the wound in
my side. I glance down and see the clear, water-like liquid drip down my side.
Using the wind, I scour the fluid from my body and dissipate it into the
atmosphere.

Cleansed
of the poison, I feel my strength return, but I’m drained. The hunter in me
gets angry.
Ignore your pain,
I
think.
You are immune to it.

Then
I remember who spoke those words to me. I was still young and recently freed
from the feeder pit, begging for scraps of food and obeying his commands like a
dog. Immunity to pain was one of the first lessons he taught me. I find it
disturbing that his advice could help me now, but I employ the lesson.

The
clouds thin as I descend. Then they fade and I am exposed.

The
warriors are on me immediately, but they’re expecting a wounded adversary, not
capable of defending himself. What they get is something else entirely.

I
swipe Whipsnap around, directing a blade of wind at the first two warriors to
reach me—the Egyptians, Anubis and Horus. Their ancient style helmets,
fashioned to look like the jackal and falcon, fly free, along with their heads.
Their bodies topple from the sky, limp and lifeless.

As
the others emerge from the clouds and soar toward me from every side, I rush
out to face the nearest—Odin. The ancient giant screams something at me,
presumably in Norse.

I
have no idea what he’s said, but I reply with a shout of my own. “I’m going to
send you to meet your son and grandson!”

The
insult here is that there is no afterlife for Nephilim and joining his slain
offspring is impossible, unless you count oblivion. He roars in response,
thrusting with his spear, trying for a repeat of the tactic that worked before.
But this time when he goes to sting me, the tail is missing, removed by the
very air around him. Directing the wind with my thoughts, I dismantle the angry
warrior and let his pieces fall from the sky, but the wind catches his massive
spear.

I
turn toward the shout of another god, rushing in. Odin’s spear flashes past me,
flying toward Tyr, no doubt out to avenge the Norse clan’s fallen leader.
Instead, the spear finds its mark at the center of Tyr’s head, striking the
protective metal band with such force that it cuts straight through.

Another
warrior falls from the sky.

Then two more.

Then four more.

Those
that remain realize that I cannot be taken and flee toward the ground and the
battle below. As I give chase, I see that the situation on the ground has
become dire. The force of cresties and hunters has been reduced by half. The
wall of warriors attacking them is thick and growing in number with every
passing moment. A flood of warriors are surging into the valley, no longer
hindered by missiles or shelling. And those that are on the front
lines,
fight at full strength. The shofar has been silenced.

As
I drop from the sky, Luca’s thoughts reach me again. I hadn’t realized I was
out of range. And it’s not just Luca’s thoughts. It’s
everyone.

“Out
of ammo,” I hear from an artillery gunner.

“Going
down!” a pilot thinks in fear.

“Under
attack!” a ship captain says, turning my attention to the sea, where several
flying warriors are assaulting the ships.

“Fall
back!” This one comes from a hunter at the front line, and I shout against it.
No!

Fight!
I urge.

Ground-Beta!

Thankfully,
the men and women below haven’t lost their senses and are still responding to
my orders. Gates to either side of the base open and soldiers from a dozen
different nations flood out, carrying an array of weapons—assault rifles,
machine guns, rocket propelled grenades, anti-tank missiles and flamethrowers.
And they come out shooting with whatever ammunition they have left.

The
remaining warriors descending ahead of me must sense me closing in. They break
hard for the back of the valley and I think they want me to follow. Ignoring
the trap, I drop straight down, aiming for my original target.

As
I flash past, I doubt Apollo even feels his own death. One moment, he was
targeting a cresty, the next he was cleaved in two.

I
return to the battlefield, landing in front of Gumpy. I push at the Nephilim
with the strongest wind I can muster and launch fifty of them flying back. I
turn and look over my shoulder. Kainda is still atop Grumpy. She has a bleeding
gash on her forehead, but she’s suffered far worse. Em is still here too, but
she’s on foot.

I
look for Zok and find the dinosaur twenty feet away, slumped over on her side.
The massive chest no longer rising or falling.
Another casualty.

Modern
soldiers swell our ranks, using their long range weapons to stumble the approaching
warriors. Mira and Kat arrive with them, both carrying the XM-29 assault
rifles.

“Any bright ideas?”
Kat asks.

“Working
on one now,” I say, only half present.

“Make
it snappy, kid.”

I
ignore her, reaching out to the elements around me, setting something in motion
that nearly drains me to the core. I fall to my knees and clench my eyes shut.
It’s like lifting an elephant. Then it’s done. The thing is set in motion and
takes on a life of its own. No longer fully exerting myself, I recover some.

“Just
a few minutes,” I say weakly.

“Here
they come!” someone shouts. I look up to see an endless horde of warriors
charging toward us. Sun glints off their massive weapons and bathes them in a
holy glow that feels blasphemous.

“Can
you do anything?” Mira says, placing a hand on my back.

I
try to stand, but find my legs unwilling. “Not yet,” I say.

“Behind
us!” someone else shouts. “They’re coming from both sides!”

How is that possible?
I wonder as I turn around to look.
There were a few warriors at sea, but not enough to instill the level of fear I
hear in the man’s voice. Then I see them. Twenty-five of the giants, each
carrying another, for fifty
total
. The force pounding
down on us from the front is far vaster, but these fifty, attacking our rear,
will crumble our defenses.

But
there is something off about these Nephilim. They look...too big. Taking my
spyglass from its pouch, I look at the approaching force.

I
gasp, sounding like Em.
Hold your fire,
I think to what remains of the human resistance.
The force approaching from the east is friendly!

Just
as the thought reaches my army, they arrive.

The
winged giants release their cargo, dropping twenty-five Nephilim dressed in
white. The thirty-foot warriors, gilded with golden armbands, belts and
protective head gear, are striking, almost glowing. The ground before me
rumbles as the largest of the group lands nearby. He turns his head to me,
looking me in the eyes.

Cronus!

The
Titans have left the refuge of Tartarus, risking oblivion to save the human
race. And they’re not alone. There are twenty-five gigantes, the two-headed
monsters who stands at least sixty feet tall and delight in killing Nephilim
the way Nephilim delight in pain. The gigantes descend into the Nephilim horde,
swinging thirty-foot swords in both hands.

A
large gigantes settles to the ground gently, just fifty feet away, slowing
himself with his massive wings. Gigantes are one of the most repulsive
creatures I’ve experienced in the underworld. Their skin wraps around their
bundles of muscles and their organs individually, so you can see gaps between
sinews and dangling, skin-wrapped guts. Their two heads are concave on top,
like their brains were scooped out. Their teeth chatter loudly, manically, and
air hisses through the gaps in their cheeks. Their solid black eyes are
unnerving and their three-fingered hands and feet have thick black talons. They
are hideous, and I’ve never been
more glad
to see one.

The
big one turns its two heads toward me, each speaking one word at a time.
“Little one, get up and fight.”

I
sense that it recognizes me. This is the gigantes I faced in Tartarus, the one
that pulverized me and took pleasure in it. My stomach twists, but then I shout
at the thing. “We’ve been fighting. It’s your turn now!”

The
gigantes snarls at me, but then lunges forward, casting down a strong wind as
it leaps several hundred feet and lands among a mass of startled Nephilim,
cutting them down.

Cronus
shouts back to me. “Solomon! Where is the shofar?”

“In
the temple,” I shout back.

“We
must have it!” he says. “It is the key to everything!”

“It
won’t work,” I argue. “There are too many of them!”

“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 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 the 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 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,
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.