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as he took a step backwards。 He fumbled for the stout wood…and…stone club that dangled from his rawhide belt。 But there was no time to fight； only to die。 The final imprinting on Jawa's senses were sharp teeth and gnashing jaws； hot drool and red blood。
Seconds later； Funan stumbled into the same shaded clearing…in time to see Jawa hauled helplessly into the vines above。 A scarlet rain sprinkled the ground； and warm drops splashed Funan。 The chief hunter； his fist still choking the neck of his spear； searched the branches above for any sign of Jawa。
But the man was gone。
Spear raised； Funan scanned his surroundings。 He stood in a cove of ancient； thick…boled trees； the largest covered with shiny black bark。 Struggling for calm； Funan halted his anxious wheezing to listen for his enemy's approach。 Only then did Funan hear a wet； ripping sound from behind。 He spun； his spear thrusting forward。
With mounting horror； Funan watched the dark； oily bark begin to move； peeling itself away from the trunk。 With a fleshy； popping sound the shapeless mass sprouted limbs。 Then an oblong head emerged； the appendage covered with glistening； near…translucent skin。 A bony； segmented tail unwound itself from a heavy branch； and with a wet thump； the writhing obscenity dropped to the ground。
The creature； chattering like some terrible giant insect； rose to its full； immense height and shambled toward the cowering hunter。 Gnashing jaws parted to extend a long； veined mandible tipped with yet another snapping； drooling orifice。
Weapon forgotten； Funan attempted to flee。 In his panic； he stumbled over the entangling vines。 Twisting his ankle； Funan struck the ground hard； spear flying from his numbed fist。 Then the mightiest hunter of his tribe curled up into a cowering ball and waited for death to claim him。 This； he knew； was his punishment for encroaching on the sacred ground around the Temple of the Gods。
Hot spittle splashed his cheek and burned his skin。 Chattering jaws snapped at his throat； and a deadly shadow； black as death itself； loomed over him； ready to strike； when an astounding thing happened。
Another abomination emerged from the jungle。
Funan first saw the creature as a blur…for the world seemed to shimmer with its passing。 Wherever the apparition stalked； the jungle melted and reformed itself。 In a blinding flash of movement； the translucent figure shot across the clearing and struck the black monster at Funan's throat； penetrating its segmented armored shell with a bone…crushing stab and tossing it away。
The black monster's exoskeleton clattered as it hit the ground； and Funan saw that the armored plates at the creature's throat had indeed been pierced and shattered。 Fountains of green； acidic blood spurted from the black monster's wound； spraying leaves and branches and vines。 Every place the venomous fluid touched began to smoke and burn。 The molten hot drops struck Funan； too； and he rolled on the ground and cried out with raw agony。
The phantom paused to hover over the fallen hunter； and as Funan pulled his hands away from his face and looked up； the ghostly blur formed into a solid thing…a nightmare that appeared part man； part reptile； part demonic beast。 The phantom stood on two legs as thick as logs。 Its torso was scaled； its wide face covered by a metal mask。 Barbarous eyes burned from behind that mask…eyes Funan desperately tried to avoid。
Then the phantom stepped past the human； moving with giant strides toward the black monster still writhing on the ground。 Funan watched as the phantom raised its enormous arms。 Then； with a sharp and sudden click； a trio of silver blades burst out of the band around the creature's wrist。 Sunlight glinted off razor…sharp tips。 The phantom grunted in satisfaction and looked down at Funan once again。
Funan covered his eyes and prayed to all the ancestors of his people。 He begged for mercy from a dozen tribal deities； great and small。 And to Funan's eternal surprise； one of those gods answered his pleas。
Shaking its head in pity； as if the fallen human was not worth the time or effort to kill； the Predator turned once again to face its real prey。
The chattering black monster； its ragged neck wound still spewing poisonous green bile； put its back against a tree。 Tail whipping； claws extended； the monster prepared for its final battle。
Legs braced； the Predator tossed its head and let loose with a savage howl that shook the jungle。 Then it charged。
Funan heard flesh rip and chitinous armor crack。 Then came the wet sound of green phosphorescent blood and acidic poisonous venom as both splattered the clearing。
Branches shook and trees quaked in the wake of the terrible life…and…death struggle。 While the jungle smoked and burned around him； Funan watched in helpless fascination as two primeval creatures； whose unearthly origins were beyond his prehension； fought savagely to the death。
CHAPTER 1
Bouvetoya Whaling Station； Antarctica； 1904
The Emma sailed for the shores of Bouvetoya Island at the start of the 1904 whaling season with a full plement of sailors； harpooners； boats and oil processing equipment…enough to slaughter whales and extract their oil for a full year on the Antarctic ice before returning to Norway the following year。
Emma's newest skipper and part…owner Sven Ny…berg intended to make his first and last voyage as a whaler a profitable one。 Sven's brother； Bjorn； had been the Emma's captain for nineteen seasons； but Bjorn had died of a fever during last year's return voyage； which had pelled his brother to assume mand on this； the final mercial venture of the Nyberg Brothers Oil pany of Oslo。 Upon his return to Norway； Sven fully intended to sell his family's business to the highest bidder。
The dawn of this new century was bringing an end to traditional whaling。 Magnate Christian Christensen had opened a modern processing facility in Grytviken that would eventually edge out smaller Antarctic whaling concerns like the Nyberg brothers…men who'd followed methods practiced by Norwegians since the days of the Vikings。 Like seal hunting； an activity that had made many a family fortune back in the 1870s； whaling was being an unprofitable enterprise。 Declining herds and rising petition from British and Scottish whalers…and recently even the Japanese… along with giant conglomerates like the Christensen corporation were gradually ending the era of the self…sufficient； independent whaler。
Still； Sven Nyberg would try to make the Nyberg Brothers a viable oil pany for a little while longer。 It was the only way to ensure a profitable sale of his family's interests。 To that end Sven had offered Oslo's most experienced whale hunter； Karl Johanssen； a position as first mate； with a five…percent share of the expedition's profits。 If successful； the Emma's journey to the South Pole would make Karl a very wealthy man。
The offer could not have e at a better time for Karl Johanssen。 A whaler since he'd been twelve years old； Johanssen had weathered twenty…seven seasons on the ice and survived them with all of his limbs； fingers and toes intact…no mean feat where temperatures could reach 50 degrees below zero。 From