The Last Hunter - Collected Edition (68 page)

5

“Who are you, little one, to speak to me so boldly?” the giant asks.

He doesn’t recognize me, I realize. Which makes sense since we’ve never met and it’s not like there are wanted posters with my face hanging around the underworld. He might recognize Whipsnap, based on its description, but it’s still wrapped around my waist. But perhaps the most convincing misdirection is my all blond hair.

Hunters have blood red hair like their Nephilim masters. I don’t fully understand how it happens, but it’s an outward representation of the Nephilim corruption. As that corruption fades, so does the coloration. Em has a patch of brown hair that covers her bangs and a portion of the side of her head. Kainda has a black streak on the top of her head, but she combs it in with the red, masking it in a tight braid.

But my hair is nearly white blond. There is no trace of Nephilim corruption. Such a thing is unheard of for a hunter, even a freed one. If anything, he’ll take me for a teacher.

The giant licks his lips.

Or maybe just a snack.

Movement to my side brings my attention back to the others. All four look ready to charge out. “No,” I say to them. “I need to do this on my own. I need to know I still can.”

The first and only time I killed a Nephilim warrior was when I used the wind to fling a giant arrow into his unprotected forehead. I haven’t repeated the task since. In fact, I pretty much dread this. While I can face down Ninnis, vessel of Nephil and the man who broke me, I find fighting something so big, so inherently evil, unnerving.

It’s a fear I need to conquer.

Whispers reach me as I stride down the hall toward the giant. The voices grow louder with each cell I pass. I can’t understand them, but I hear the tone. Some are disbelieving. Some think I’m crazy. And others are simply lost.

A few words of English reach me. “Now the monster will kill them both.”

I look for the speaker, but only find a sea of grimy, frightened faces. These men are soldiers, but their spirits have been broken. They don’t believe their new enemy can be killed.

I determine to give them hope. Which means I can’t use my powers. I need to do this as a man, so that they know it is possible.

I stop fifty feet from the giant, who is just watching me with a sick toothy grin. “Let him go,” I say, speaking with authority.

Pan cocks his head to the side, no doubt pondering my bravado. Then he says, “I will free him.”

The prisoners’ voices rise up in wonder about the boy who commands giants. And for a moment, I share their astonishment.

Then the warrior squints. A smirk slips onto his face.

“No!” I shout. But it’s too late. Pan yanks his staff to the side, drawing the hooked blade through the man’s neck, and severing his head. I turn away from the sight. While I have no trouble watching Kainda bash in the head of a gatherer, the sight of a dying human being revolts me to the core.

Panic returns to the prison population as they realize that this monster thinks nothing of me or my commands. In the battle of wills, I’m losing. It’s time for a different kind of battle.

I sprint toward the warrior. The slap of my bare feet on the hard stone floor silences the men. They must think I’m insane. The sound catches Pan’s attention, too, and he turns to greet me. His face reflects surprise, but it’s more like delight than fear. He’s underestimating me.

Good
.

But he’s no fool. Rather than let me reach him, he swings low with his staff, no doubt intending to separate my torso from my limbs. But it’s exactly what I was hoping he would do.

I leap up over the blade as it whooshes beneath me. The momentum of his swing spins the giant around, but not before I plant my feet on the giant’s arm and leap again, aiming for his head. As I rise through the air, I tug Whipsnap from my belt. It springs open in my hand and I quickly drive the razor sharp spear tip into Pan’s chest and pull myself higher still. With this final surge upwards, I bend Whipsnap back and prepare to knock away Pan’s goat helmet and the golden ring beneath, both of which protect his weak spot.

I never get the chance.

I mistook the giant’s spin as off balance motion fueled by his missed strike, but it was actually an attack.

From its wings.

The black, bat like wing strikes me hard, pounding me into the stone wall, twenty feet off the floor. My head spins from the impact, but then I’m falling. The ground rushes up to greet me. It’s a fall that could kill me. But it doesn’t.

The wind catches me, and rights me, depositing me gently on the floor.

The prisoners have seen this. Their voices rise in surprise. Somewhere, someone says, “Did you see that?”

So much for not using my powers. Perhaps showing these men that someone more powerful than a Nephilim is on their side would be just as helpful?

Before I can decide, Pan turns on me.

“Ull,” he says, recognizing me for who I am. His wings flare wide, blocking out a thirty-foot swath of the hallway. A twitching scorpion tail lowers into view. It’s ten feet long and tipped with a sickle-like stinger. When I first came to this place, the warriors had no tails or wings. But they’ve been modified genetically since, given the wings of a Gigantes and the stinger of a Titan, both of whom I met during my time in Tartarus. The modifications not only make them more formidable, but also grant them easy access to the outside world. The giants would normally have to cross the seas in ships, something they are likely not fond of doing since one of the few ways they can be killed is by drowning.

The tail snaps out, catching me off guard. I am still the vessel of Nephil. The underworld is full of hunters seeking me out. Nephil needs me. Alive.

A gust of wind, generated by instinct, carries me up and away. When I land, a few cheers and whoops emerge from the prison cells. Pan glares at the prisoners, silencing them.

“You can’t kill me,” I say. It’s not meant as a boast, but as a reminder.

“Ahh, little one,” he says. “You forget that I have the power to take your life and give it back.”

He’s right. If he’s quick enough, he could shove that giant stinger through my heart and bring me back with just a drop of his blood. I need to be careful.

No
, I think,
I need to put on a show
. If I’m going to use my abilities to bolster these men, I’m
really
going to use my abilities.

“And you forget who you are speaking to,” I say.

“I have yet to be impressed. The stories about you are—”

I flick my hand up like I’ve just given him an imaginary slap in the face. A gust of wind, compressed into a tight area smashes the horned helmet from his head. His mouth clamps shut. He has no idea how much he has underestimated me.

His tail strikes out, but falls short of my position.

“That doesn’t belong to you,” I say. I raise my hand like I’m scooping up a handful of sand. The stone floor rumbles in response. A spire rises from the stone floor, splitting and wrapping around the scorpion tail. I make a tight fist and the stone crushes down, severing the tail from his body like a very dull guillotine.

Pan roars, not in pain—Nephilim delight in pain—but in anger. I am humiliating him. The sound of his voice might attract unwanted attention, so I use the wind to push air into his lungs, rather than out, and silence his voice.

More stone rises, this time wrapping around his hoofed feet. He can’t move. But he is still dangerous.

The giant uses his long reach, and sends his hooked staff sweeping in my direction. I leap the strike with ease, but this time I spin in the air and swing down with the bladed end of Whipsnap. The strike severs tendons in the warrior’s arm. Even as the blade emerges from the giant’s flesh, the wound is already healing, but that momentary cut of tendon is enough to loosen his grip. The crook falls to the floor. I kick it out of reach.

Silenced and disarmed, all Pan can do is glare at me.

I look around at the prisoners watching this. They’re shocked. Some are afraid. I’ve impressed them enough. Now they need something else. “Who here can speak English?” I ask.

A smattering of hands rise from various cells.

“Translate this for the others,” I say, then add, “You came to my continent to fight and kill each other.”

I hear several people speaking in foreign languages. When they’re done, I continue.

“But now you have a common enemy. These giants are the Nephilim, heroes of old, men of renown, the ancient false gods who ruled over our ancestors. Stories of their dominion are told in the cuneiform tablets of Sumer, the Book of Enoch and the Bible’s Old Testament. Evidence of their dominion can be found in every part of the world. But they were defeated. By humanity.”
With a little help
, I think, but I keep that tidbit to myself since I don’t yet fully understand it.

Eyes widen around me at the translation continues.

“And we will defeat them again.”

After another quick translation, someone asks, “How?”

“Together,” I say, then turn back to find my four friends standing in the hallway. “Wright. Em.” I wave them to me.

Wright is the consummate soldier. They’ll recognize him as one of their own. Em is a freckled, five foot four girl. They’ll see her as less than a soldier, despite the fact that not one of them could stand against her.

As they join me, I feel a wave of nausea sweep through my body. Using my powers in unnatural ways, like creating manacles of stone or keeping a constant wind to silence a giant, tire me quickly. We need to do this quickly.

“Killing them is easy,” I say. “If you know how.”

I turn to Wright. “Take off the ring.”

Wright aims and squeezes off two three-round bursts. The first three bullets loosen the ring around the forehead. The second three send it flying. The baseball-sized pulsing flesh of the Nephilim’s weak spot is revealed.

Pan’s eyes widen.

With fear.

Nephilim aren’t afraid of much. Pain is an aphrodisiac. Suffering is a way of life. But death? For their soulless kind, it is the end. They simply cease to exist. While they would never admit it, there is nothing a Nephilim fears more than death, and as Em raises a single knife up in the air, that’s exactly what Pan is now facing.

Em understands the point I’m trying to make. She turns around, holding the knife up for all to see. It’s a simple five inch blade. There were boxes of knives just like it in the armory. When she’s sure that everyone has had a good look, she turns to Pan.

The giant struggles against his bonds. My will contains him, but not for long.

Em snaps her arm forward, releasing the blade. It spins, end over end, and in a flash, covers the distance between her hand and Pan’s forehead. The blade buries itself up to the hilt in the soft spot.

Like a marionette with its strings cut, the giant collapses to the floor.

Dead.

I quickly release my control of the wind and allow the stone floor to revert to its previous state. All trace of my involvement has been erased. Anyone who finds the scene later on might assume the prisoners got loose and got the better of Pan.

As cheers erupt around me, I fall to one knee, exhausted from the effort. Not wanting the soldiers watching me to see my moment of weakness, I close my eyes and bow my head, as though in prayer.