Free The Last Hunter - Ascent (Book 3 of the Antarktos Saga) by Jeremy Robinson

world as foreign as Tartarus. Nothing here matches what I remember or what I expect.
    A sharp clatter vibrates from the centipede as its mandibles twitch. This is new to me, too. What is it doing?
    My answer comes from Behemoth’s body. At first, it’s just a few spots of raised flesh, then a hundred. Then a thousand. One by one, centipedes emerge from Behemoth’s mass. So many tear out of the stomach area that the flesh falls away in a giant sheet, revealing a squirming mass of living insides.
    Centipedes.Some reaching twenty feet in length. They’ve been eating Behemoth from the inside out, and from the looks of it, have finished off pretty much everything worth eating. Not only are they big. Not only do they number in the thousands.
    But they’re also hungry.
    The staple food of the underground has become an apex predator. And based on the chatter emerging from the swarm, they’re also communicating. Coordinating.
    I’m so dead.
    For a moment, I think about retreating, back into Tartarus. But then I’d really be trapped there. No, I can’t go back. I need to push forward.
    I need to get the hell out of here.
    So I run.
    And after my first few steps, I realize I might not be a fast enough runner. The mass of centipedes falls toward me like a living avalanche. If they catch me, they’ll tear me to pieces and devour me in a matter of seconds. My legs begin to cramp, as I will them to move faster. If my abilities had returned, I could fling myself out of reach with a gust of wind, but every time I reach out for that connection to the continent, I slow. So I ignore what I could have done in the past and focus on what is possible now.
    The sound of thousands of sharp legs taps on the stone floor to my right. I glance over and see the outer edge of the living wave about to collide into my side. I dive forward, just out of reach and roll back to my feet. A smaller centipede specimen is flung from the mass and collides with my back. I nearly fall over, but manage to stay on my feet. I keep moving, even as the three-foot long creature stabs its mandibles into my forearm. I try to shake it off, but its segmented body coils around my arm and constricts. It’s not trying to kill me , I realize. It’s trying to slow me down .
    “Fine,” I say to the centipede, “you’re coming with me.”
    As I veer off to the left, heading for one of the side tunnels, I realize it’s a mistake. The tunnels surrounding the cavern are either tight squeezes or riddled with obstacles that will slow me down. Every single one of them leads uphill. And most connect with a maze of other tunnels through which the centipedes could speed ahead and lay in wait. The point is, I can’t outrun them in the side tunnels. So I push forward, hoping they’ll tire, but I doubt that’s going to happen.
    I glance back.
    A mistake.
    The writhing wave of centipedes is just ten feet back. The one attached to my arm senses the end approaching and squeezes harder. I shout in pain, but then hear a roar over my own voice. It’s deep and constant—not from a living thing.
    As the moisture in the air grows so thick that it starts collecting on my skin, I know what lies ahead.
    A river.
    And the centipedes can’t swim.
    As I round a bend in the giant cavern, the river comes into view. It emerges from one side of the cave, races across the nearly two-mile distance and exits out the other end. It’s thirty feet across and filled with raging white rapids. I don’t stop to think when I reach the water’s edge. I simply jump.
    As my feet leave the ground and the wet wind above the river strikes my side, I will it to carry me across to safety. I feel the wind kick up around me…
    And then I drop like a stone into the wash of white.
    The water is freezing cold. The centipede on my arm reacts immediately, trying to unwrap itself from my arm. But I hold on tight. I’m going to need it if I escape the river.
    As I’m swept away, I look back and see that a few of the