The Last Hunter - Collected Edition (85 page)

32

The striking mechanism inside Mira’s handgun springs forward, connecting with a bullet. The gunpowder ignites, propelling the round out of the gun faster than the speed of the shot’s explosive report. Despite the differences in speed, it all seems to happen in the same fraction of a second, though the moment is dragged out as though moving through tree sap.

Pain stabs my ears as the gunshot reaches them. Then again and again.

Three rounds fired in quick succession.

An impact, like being punched hard, strikes my chest.

The world spins. I see blue sky. The wet, muddy earth of the trampled quad slaps against my back as I topple over.

Air rushes out of my lungs as something heavy pushes down on me.

For a moment, I’m dazed, but then my mind clears, the pain fades and I know without looking that I am not severely injured.

What happened?
I think, looking down.

The weight on top of me. It’s Xin!

“Xin!” I shout, “Are you—”

He lifts his head slowly and looks into my eyes.

She is a shifter
, he thinks.
Not your Mira
.

I look around him and see Mira with her hands raised. Several guards are taking the weapon from her hands. Several more think they are keeping Kainda and Em in place. Kat is the only thing holding them back. Merrill and Aimee look horrified, and honestly, so does the general.

I am sorry, Solomon
, Xin thinks. Though he’s not speaking audibly, he sounds different. Distant.
Mira is dead. Shifters
—

I know
, I think. Shifters kill the people they duplicate. They are an elusive tribe of Nephilim that I only recently encountered after returning from Tartarus. From what I understand, they have only recently returned to Antarctica as they spent most of their time among humanity, in disguise, causing strife, instigating fear and causing wars. They were, and perhaps still are, the trickster gods—Loki, Hermes, Asmodeus, Puck and the like—sons of the most notorious demon, Lucifer. The Devil himself. It is they, not the warriors, who are regarded as the most dangerous of Nephilim. They simply lack the numbers or desire to lead. They’re all about deception, and they excel at it.

You must kill her
, Xin thinks.
Avenge me
.

Avenge you
?

I am lost
, he thinks, pushing himself up a little.

I look down and see a golf ball sized hole in his chest. The bullet must have struck his back and exited through his chest, missing me entirely. Red blood drips from his chest to mine.

I will last a little while longer, but I will not survive. You must kill her before she realizes her assassination attempt has failed.

Xin... Brother...

Act now, Solomon! My death has always been inevitable. Show them why only you can lead!

His words and urgency fuel my brewing rage. I roll Xin onto his back as gently as I can. As I stand and face the doppelganger, Xin transmits a name into my thoughts.
Amaguq
. Countless encyclopedias worth of knowledge flits through my head. Amaguq. The Inuit trickster god. A massive wolf that killed hunters at night.

Not this hunter
, I think, then call out the name. “Amaguq!”

Mira’s eyes lock on mine, confirming that she is not, in fact, Mirabelle Whitney.

Whipsnap cracks to life in my hand, making those around me jump back. Some of the soldiers point their weapons at me. “Put them down,” I growl.

“Don’t kill her,” Merrill says, stepping in front of me. “She’s my only daughter.”

“Mirabella...” Sadness threatens to dull my anger, but I remind myself that the creature responsible for all of this is pretending to be Mira. “Your daughter is dead.”

Merrill just looks confused. Mira appears to be alive and well.

“Amaguq,” I say, repeating the name, confident that he’ll understand.

“The Inuit trickster god, but what—” Merrill has seen the Nephilim. He knows that strange and otherworldly things have happened here. He might not remember me, but he remembers his encounters with the Nephilim—the giants who posed as gods to the ancients. “No...”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But this is
not
your daughter. You might not remember me. Or trust me. But you know your daughter. She tried to kill me, and instead killed my brother.” Merrill glances down at Xin, who now has a crying Luca kneeling by his side. Neither are speaking, but I’m sure they are saying goodbye in a more private way. Luca is Xin’s brother as much as I am. “Look at her, Merrill. That is
not
your girl.”

Merrill glances back at Mira, sees the hate seething in her eyes. When he turns back to me, tears have begun filling his eyes. Without another word, he steps aside. The message is clear to everyone.

“Merrill!” Aimee says. He holds her back, whispering urgently into her ear.

When I step toward Mira, who is being held by two soldiers, General Holloway blocks my path. “Son, I will not let you—”

When the air suddenly leaves his lungs, Holloway loses his voice and stumbles back. I didn’t make a move, but the soldiers surrounding us somehow know that I am to blame. Weapons turn in my direction. The only two soldiers not pointing weapons at me are the men holding Mira. Right now, they’re in the most danger. Again, without making a move other than to step closer to Mira, I command the wind. It drops down fast from above, directly over Mira’s head, sending the two soldiers sprawling away.

Half the men with guns turn their weapons on Mira now, believing her to be the source of the strange power that sent their comrades flying. It’s not accurate, but it’s a welcome shift in attention.

Mira hisses at them, and then at me.

The inhuman sound elicits a sad wail from Aimee. Merrill has no doubt told her the truth. The hiss confirmed it, but I know they’re about to get a much less subtle confirmation that this is not their daughter. I’ve seen the transformation from human form to Nephilim once before, when I killed the shifter known as Eshu. It is something I would like to forget, but it is also something I need to instigate now. If I kill it now, while it looks like Mira, I will appear to be the monster, but if it changes...if these men who have not yet seen the enemy, get a taste of what they are facing, and see how I handle it, they might very well recognize the need for my leadership.

“I killed your brother,” I taunt. “Eshu.”

Another hiss, a bit angrier than the last.

“He was weak,” I say. “Frail. He died pitifully. Begged for mercy.”

It doesn’t sound like much of an insult, but to a Nephilim, it is blasphemous.

Mira’s fingers stiffen into hooks. The beast inside wants to tear me apart. But first it must expose itself.

I point Whipsnap’s blade at its face. “You will beg, too.”

Mira turns her head skyward and screams, “Father! I will not bear these insults any longer!” She hooks her fingers into her open mouth.

And pulls.

A wet tearing sound makes me cringe. I know this is not Mira, but seeing her form tearing itself apart makes me feel ill.

The roar grows louder as Mira’s light brown skin tears in two. Two horns, each nearly a foot long, emerge from the forehead. Her body expands, as though pumped full of air from within, then the weak spots burst. Purple blood sprays in every direction, forming a circle around her body.

The mass of spectators who had not yet backed away, do so quickly now. As the monster grows, shedding its human skin and clothes, Em, Kainda and Adoni arrive at my side. All of them have their weapons ready.

“Same as last time,” Adoni says with his thick Australian accent. When I faced Eshu, I was not alone. It took the four of us to defeat him. But this fight is mine to face on my own.

“No,” I say. “I need to do this.”

“Sol,” Em says, “Eshu nearly—”

“I remember. But I need to do this for me.” I nod to the Clarks and then to all the soldiers watching. “For them. As their leader.”

“Be careful,” Em says.

“No,” Kainda grumbles. She looks me in the eyes and speaks with conviction. “Be
merciless
.”

An explosion of flesh pulls me back to the shifter. His ten-foot form is now fully exposed. Red skin and shiny scales cover his devil-like body. Double rows of sharp teeth gnash. The six fingers on each hand are hooked like talons, each sporting a sharp, one-inch long fingernail.

The soldiers, rightly terrified, open fire. Ten of them empty their magazines into the beast. Purple blood pours over the red body. Amaguq reels back, roaring in pain. But this is a Nephilim. The bullets piercing his skin and spilling his blood, delight him. Still, he is wounded and off balance.

I could end it. Right here. Right now. He wouldn’t be able to stop me.

But I don’t.

I wait.

They need to see. They need to understand. Hearing stories is one thing, seeing is believing.

“What the hell?” a man says behind me.

Wounds cover Amaguq’s body. The small dark holes oozing purple blood are easy to spot. But one by one, the wounds disappear.

“Get back!” I shout. “Everyone back!”

They listen. Even the general. And just like that, I’m in charge. At least for the moment.

Now all I need to do is survive this fight.

Amaguq rights himself, twists his neck from side to side, and roars at me.

I roar back. And charge.

33

Rage fuels my attack, and for a moment, I feel like Ull again. All of my cunning, intellect and yes, mercy, take a back seat. The problem with this is that Amaguq fights in the exact same way, but with one enormous advantage. He heals, fast. So it doesn’t really matter that I draw first blood, stabbing the bladed tip of Whipsnap into his shoulder and yanking it out, cutting muscle and flesh. The arm hangs limp for just a second, and as a result, I’ve left myself open for a counterattack.

The wind aids my leap away, responding to my instincts rather than any mental command. If it hadn’t, the fight would have been lost. Amaguq’s long fingernails would have eviscerated me, spilling my guts. Instead, the bone-like nails leave six horizontal scratches across my belly.

The sting should have sobered me up, but I’m still drunk with fury. This monster, this abomination, killed Mira—the girl who filled me with hope all those years in the underworld. For the longest time, the Polaroid photo I carried of her was all that kept me sane. And then she was here, returned to her mother. She even managed to kill Enki before falling unconscious into the lake where she was saved by Gloop.

Gloop
.

If Mira was captured by Amaguq, it would have happened while Gloop and the seal pod were transporting her out to sea. I come to the conclusion that Gloop is also dead.
How many friends and allies is that now? Six?

A roar builds from deep inside me and I lunge at Amaguq. I strike out several times with the blade tip, thrusting, swinging and spinning. The ceaseless flurry forces the shifter back, but he is in no danger. He stands ten feet tall. To kill him I must remove his head, which means I either need to get airborne or bring him to his knees. I’d prefer the latter—I don’t just want to kill him, I want to humiliate him—so I press the attack.

Purple blood flies as I hack away. Bones break as the mace, powered by the flexible staff, crushes Amaguq’s forearms again and again. But the beast never slows. Never tires. And has even begun to laugh.

“Pitiful thing,” he taunts. “If you mean to impress your flock, I believe you are failing.”

I glance to the side and see a terrified line of faces. They’re not just afraid of Amaguq’s horrible visage, they’re afraid I can’t win because no matter how much I hack away, he keeps on fighting. Worse, he’s making a show of how much he enjoys the pain.

Pointing this out was Amaguq’s first real mistake, because it returns some sanity to my mind. I’m not just fighting to avenge Mira, and Xin, I’m fighting to show these people that the Nephilim can be defeated. I had hoped to do it without using my powers, to reveal a man can kill the beast, but that’s not what they need.

They need inspiration.

I twist Whipsnap around, pointing the tip at Amaguq’s chest. We square off, circling each other.

“Any last words?” I ask.

He squints at me, perhaps confused by the confidence leaking into my voice.

“I will kill you,” he says.

“I am the vessel of Nephil,” I reply.

He sneers, understanding the message. He cannot kill me. The Nephilim need me alive.

“I am a son of
Lucifer
,” he growls back. “I do not answer to Ophion, or to any warrior.”

“You will answer to me,” I say, and make sure it’s loud enough for everyone to hear. I let a grin show.

A gust of wind strikes his back like a charging bull. He falls forward. The impact arches his back and flings his arms out to the sides. I don’t even have to move. The blade tip of Whipsnap stabs through his chest, tearing through breastplate, flesh and heart, if he has one. With a crunchy slurp, the blade emerges from his back, covered in purple gore.

I will need to clean Whipsnap’s staff where the blood runs over it before I can touch it again, but it doesn’t matter now. The fight is over, though Amaguq doesn’t quite realize it yet.

He laughs loudly, straightening himself. I see his fingers hook and the shimmer of his red, scaly skin as his biceps flex. He’s going to try grabbing me. If he succeeds, I’ll die quickly. But I don’t intend on giving him the chance. Without moving a muscle, I send a gust of wind in the opposite direction, slamming him away from me.

There’s a hard tug on my arms as the blade pulls free from his already healing body. But the wound is grave and he’s not so quick to recover. He sits up, clutching his chest. Purple blood flows from the wound, and from his mouth. For anyone else, it would have been a mortal wound. For Amaguq, it’s a speed bump, which is all I wanted.

He laughs again and I hear a moan of fright from some of the spectators.

Purple blood covers his double rows of sharpened teeth. It’s a sick grin. And I take pleasure in wiping it from his face.

“You should have got the wings,” I say.

The look on his face says,
huh?
but then understanding fills his eyes.

Amaguq is scooped from the earth by an invisible force. It happens so quickly, so violently, that many of his bones break. He’s launched skyward like a rocket, his scream fading into the distance. Inside of ten seconds, he’s just a speck.

That’s when I let him go.

The scream returns, growing louder as the ten foot, devil-like giant reaches terminal velocity.

As I watch him fall, I hear gasps, excited talking and even a few claps. But this won’t be the end of it, and I don’t intend it to be. Not quite yet.

The impact is horrible, disgusting in every way imaginable. The sound is a wet, dull thump combined with a crack loud enough to be a fireworks explosion. The impact shakes the ground. One of his arms flies free, separated at the shoulder joint. Fluids, purple and white, flow from the body. The head cracks open and for the first time, I get a glimpse of a Nephilim brain—it’s as black as I imagine their hearts to be.

The slowly rising cheer around me cuts off quickly when Amaguq moves.

He’s broken, but not yet dead.

“It’s alive!” someone shouts. It’s the voice of a young man, perhaps someone who has never seen battle before and is now faced with this. Amaguq’s body begins to reform, though very slowly. There isn’t a part of him that doesn’t need to heal. I’m not even sure he can think right now.

I could kill him. Take off his head right now and be done with it. But I have one more demonstration, and for Amaguq, it will be far worse than having his body reduced to sludge.

“He
is
alive,” I shout to the men and women surrounding us. “You have probably heard that your enemy, these Nephilim, are monstrous and impossible to kill. But now you have seen it for yourself. You have seen what your bullets can do against them.”

It’s not the most inspirational speech, I know, but it’s the truth and it is the only thing that will prepare these soldiers for what is coming.

“They delight in pain. They revel in death. After they have killed you, they will consume your flesh. And when they are done with you here, they will move out into the world like a plague, bringing terror and death to all of humanity.”

I turn slowly, looking as many of the soldiers in the eyes as I can. I find Em in the crowd. She looks unsure. I give her a wink that says, “I know what I’m doing,” and she’s put at ease, though just a little bit.

Are you still with me, brother
?

I am here, Solomon
,
but time is short
, Xin responds.
Your method is intriguing
.

Can you connect me with Kat
? I ask.

It is done.

“All of this will come to pass,” I say aloud. “Unless you follow me.”

A wet gurgle of a laugh fills the air. Amaguq is recovering. I glance over my shoulder. He’s on one knee, struggling to stay upright, but healing faster now.

Kat walks toward me, responding to my request. Amaguq cannot see her, but our audience can. She slowly unwraps the bundle in her arms, which garners confused comments from the crowd.

“Turn,” Amaguq demands. “Face me at your end!”

Kat stops in front of me. I drop Whipsnap to the ground and take her delivery in my hands.

“Bold move, kid,” she whispers. “I like it.” She glances over my shoulder. “By the way, I think he’s going to kill you now.”

I feel the rumble of Amaguq’s footstep behind me. He’s just ten feet away. Two more steps and he’ll be close enough to kill me.

I let him take one more step before turning around.

The look in his eyes when he looks down at what I’m holding is priceless. The abject fear and horror that cuts into his face is so pure that every man and woman watching will recognize the expression.

The unkillable monster is terrified.

I put the Jericho shofar to my lips, and I blow. Hard.

The sound that comes out is both deep and high pitched—not exactly pleasant on the ears, but Amaguq reacts to it like he’s just been doused with acid. He falls to the ground flailing, thrashing and spitting. He screams in agony—real agony. All of the pleasure is gone from his voice, replaced by unadulterated pain. And torture.

The soldiers watching don’t know what’s happening, but I do. Amaguq’s heart is softening, perhaps breaking, as he is made to understand the darkness of his kind. The weight of all the evil, corruption and death that he has spawned over the past few thousand years is landing square on his shoulders. An impossible weight to bear.

When I end the horn blast, the words that come from his mouth bring a smile to my face.

“Please stop!” the monster wails. “Please! I’m sorry!” His words descend into a blubbering mess of desperate pleading and sorrow. I hand the shofar back to Kat, who carefully wraps it again. Turning back to Amaguq, I crouch and pick up Whipsnap.

Amaguq sees the weapon in my hand, and then begs me, “Kill me, please! I don’t want to live anymore.”

I step closer. “You will cease to exist.”

“Please, kill me!”

Even I am surprised by the shofar’s effect. I expected something less, maybe a painful distraction. But not in my wildest dreams did I think the Nephilim would drop to the ground, bow their heads and beg for death. The effect will wear off, I know, but the result is far more powerful than I expected, which is also a testament to Nephil’s power. The horn hurt him, but it did not do this.

I grip Whipsnap well below the poisonous purple blood coating the bladed end. I step closer, intending to grant the beast’s request.

Wait
.

It’s Xin.

Why
? I ask.

Place your hand upon his head. In his weakened state, we will have full access to his mind
.

Quickly understanding the benefit of this, I stand above the bowed form of Amaguq and place my hand on his forehead. I feel the force of Xin’s will move through my body and into Amaguq’s mind, then I’m tugged along for the ride, entering the consciousness of a Nephilim.