Badass Grim Reaper Novels & Stories

Heather stood up and moved closer to me in an attempt to pacify me. “Do not tell me to calm down, Heather. What a joke! Don’t they know who I am? I am Zeeb, the Reaper! Don’t they know I rule? I will drag them all to hell.” My eyes turned sharply to the useless guard. “Get the heck out of here before I send you to the Moon Goddess above.”

“What the hell happened?” “I’ll explain later. Right now, I need you to listen.” “Are you hurt?” “I’m fine.” It was a lie. But it didn’t matter. Grim knew me well enough to recognize when I didn’t want to answer something. “You can’t expect me to sit here while Reaper has both of you.” “I do.” “What?” “Do nothing.” His voice hardened. “Cain, that’s not happening.” “Grim.” “No. You don’t get to call me from wherever the hell you are and tell me to sit on my hands while that bastard has you and Ava.”

“Every member of our pack dedicated their souls to Fenrir. None of us care about going to Heaven, and we sure as buggery don’t want to go to Hell.” “I’m calling for backup.” The male reaper reached into his cloak. Raising my gun, I shot a needle into his sternum. Golden light flashed from his chest, and he disappeared. “What did you do to my boss?” The young reaper backed toward the door. I pointed the gun at her. “Are you going to give us any trouble?” She shook her head. “Shrink your scythe and put it back into your pocket,” Griff said. The young reaper did as he asked.

He’s confident, skilled in his craft and wicked with war scythe. Zane uses a war scythe to harvest the souls to bring back to Death. It’s where the whole concept of the grim reaper's image comes from in the human world. It’s because they took the idea from Zane’s coven. Of course, at the time, they didn’t know. They thought it was all made-up shit in stories. Zane’s war scythe is a badass. The top part of the blade has jimppings as the blade curves toward where it meets the staff; it has black bone-like fragments sticking from it. On the bottom of the staff, there is a badass-looking skull.

This second life belongs to someone else. This second life doesn't allow me to spoil it and do anything I want. This second life has a purpose, a meaning and a desire to be much better than the first. But all this undead stuff was making me lose sight of my sanity. I could understand how crazy all of this would have sounded if I had told Katherine everything there was to tell. First off, there was the Death Reaper, who didn't look like the monster illustrated in pictures and movies. He actually seemed friendly and, as Krista called him, a "gorgeous dude", considering that he might be the servant of Hades, the Greek god of the underworld.

"You're going to kneel in front of this camera and apologize. You're going to tell everyone that you bought Ron off, that you set me up. That the debt wasn't mine!" "And then you're going to call the partnership, and you're going to tell them I'm running the project." "In your dreams!" His face twisted into a grin, and he raised the remote in his hand. "All I have to do is press this. Your mother's grave, her remains — gone." He moved his thumb toward the trigger. "Don't! I'll do it!" I forced the words out through my teeth. He raised his phone immediately and started recording. I took a breath. "Lucas didn't gamble. I bribed people to frame him."

“Something isn’t adding up. Why is he as angry as me? I wondered in my head, walking away. Strolling towards me was Mr. Gream Reaper, the air suddenly becaming heavy. Rumors had it that he was once an Alpha that massacred a village, and now works in the school to stay hidden. He marched down the hallway, every step a deliberate, rhythmic statement of authority. He was wearing a wide-brimmed fedora hat with a sharp, crisp cease, casting a deep shadow over his eyes. Intense cold radiated from him, demanding obedience, my body trembled, a beam of sweat appearing on my forehead. Then I saw it, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. My eyes widened, a flicker of realization crossing my face. Th

Naturally, as a money-hungry degenerate, I applied to join all nine. You'd think the pure, innocent moderators of the "Lawful Good" and "True Neutral" boards would reject a join request from a user literally named [Grim Reaper]. But people are stupid and morbidly curious. They hit 'Accept' just to see what kind of unhinged garbage I was going to post. What I did was immediately change my bio to: [OPEN FOR COMMISSIONS. ALL SERVICES PROVIDED.] Unsurprisingly, my profile views skyrocket. An S Combat Tier Reaper offering every service? Unprecedented.

But before he could complete his sentence, his eyes widened in horror. Dabria had stabbed his dark soul with the dagger of Eve. Dabria pulled the dagger out and stepped away from him. Dark flames engulfed Adrian's dark soul. His horrified screams shook the Karts pack lands. "You forgot again that I am not just a vampire. I am a reaper vampire hybrid. And as a reaper, I can kill you with whatever weapon I possess." Dabria finally answered the question Adrian asked her right before his soul was completely burnt.

Sitting on a leather sofa was a man who was shirtless, his massive chest and stomach covered in hard, rippling muscle and dark, intricate tattoos. My stomach did a somersault. It was Horace. The Ice Reaper. The Captain of the Ravagers Wolves and Harold’s most hated rival. He was undeniably beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, like a storm that could swallow you whole. He thought I was the stripper he had ordered. "Step closer," he commanded.