The Last Hunter: Ascent by Jeremy Robinson

Author:Jeremy Robinson [Robinson, Jeremy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Thriller, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780984042333
Publisher: Breakneck Media
Published: 2011-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

21

The smell of blood hits me so strongly that I realize I’ve been so enraptured with watching my progress on the map that I missed the first hints of it on the breeze. Or perhaps I was just upwind of it? Doesn’t matter. Because I’m surrounded by the stench now.

I stop in my tracks and slowly pocket the maptrack—that’s what I’ve decided to call it. Not exactly creative, but it has a ring. With the device put away, I focus on my surroundings. The scent of blood is everywhere, which is probably because there are bodies everywhere. Hundreds of men lay scattered over the jungle floor, some crushed, some skewered on tree limbs and some in pieces. The savagery of the attacks reveals the enemy they faced to be Nephilim. The number of weapons I see laying about, along with thousands of scattered shell casings, means that these men were the source of what I mistook for fireworks. The amount of bullets zinging through the air must have been copious. Not even the cresties could stand against such power. But the Nephilim…they wouldn’t have any trouble. In fact, they would likely take pleasure in the pain.

The uniforms on the dead men match Zhou’s, so I know they’re Chinese. This must be where he was thrown from. I stand in silence for several minutes, just listening. I don’t hear anything except a faint rustling in the leaves. The Nephilim that did this have left. And every other living thing in the jungle is avoiding the area. Normally, the smell of death would attract scavengers like turkuins, but there’s another scent in the air keeping them at bay.

Nephilim blood.

A lot of it.

With Whipsnap in my hand, I walk into the field of dead. I try to keep my eyes off the slain men. Most of them are young, not much older than me. And their deaths were gruesome, to say the least. Dark spots of earth, damp with blood, act as a maze. I wind my way through the field of dead until I see it.

A Nephilim body.

I work my way toward the body and discover a purple pool of blood where the thing’s head should be. I search the area and find bits of Nephilim flesh clinging to tree trunks. My eyes widen with the realization that some kind of explosive took the monster’s head clean off. Yet another way to kill them: if you can’t reach the weak spot or drown them, blow their head to bits, weak spot and all.

That it took nearly two hundred men to kill one Nephilim isn’t very encouraging, though. And it was probably a lucky shot. But maybe, if men can be taught how to kill the Nephilim, they—we—might have a chance. Now if only I can find someone that isn’t dead or trying to kill me. That would be a good start.

I try to identify the Nephilim, but it’s hard without a head, and the armor made from feeder leather reveals nothing. What I do know is that it wasn’t alone.

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