Black Reapers Novels & Stories

Felt like it too. I turned back toward the garage. Reapers were waiting. Liam was lurking. And Boris—he was already caged. All that was left was deciding how hard we wanted to hit back. The Reapers rolled in like a storm that had finally found its eye. Bikes lined up clean, engines cut, and the van eased in behind them. Ripper stepped out first—his cut worn, his face carved with months of searching. He didn’t look around. He looked straight at me.

He pulled me into a kiss that was desperate and raw, a claim that defied the island, the Board, and my own broken mind. ​But as his lips met mine, a new sound echoed from the jungle. ​The sound of a thousand metallic wings. ​"The Board’s drones," Julian rasped, pulling back. "They didn't send soldiers this time. They sent the Reapers." ​Across the sky, a swarm of black, mechanical insects blotted out the sun, descending toward the beach like a cloud of death. ​"Run?" I asked, summoning the Scythe once more. ​"No," Julian said, his silver veins glowing with a final, suicidal light. "We fight."

"Multiple shooters, East and West!" I pressed myself flat against the floor, my pulse racing. The comms exploded with chatter—Vladislav's men calling out positions, but it was chaos. I peeked from around the building and my stomach dropped. A dozen men, maybe more, were crawling out of a black van like a fucking beetle infestation and piling unto the church grounds, all in black, faces hidden behind masks. They moved like professionals, weapons raised, fanning out to cover the entrances. Another shot rang out and a yell of pain echoed through the comms.

No one is ever going to rescue us, and their constant begging only eggs on the Pearl Reapers. The lashes fall harder, the shrieks grow louder, and pearls fall like rain into the water around us. “That’s it, harder!” The head Reaper praises his men. “Give them more!” We give nicknames to all the Reapers. We know little about them, other than that they belong to the Bloodstone pack. We’ve never seen them in their wolf forms, so we name them based on their human appearances. We call the head reaper Cyclops – christened thus for the jagged scar running through his left eye socket; his sight solely dependent on his right eye. Unfortunately his aim is no less precise for the disability.

Fuck you, Ryan," I muttered. With resentment running in my capillaries, I dipped at him. However, he stopped my attack with his palm, held my fist then twisted my hand. Before I could make another move, he hit me on the chest with his leg, sending me a few meters backwards. Coughing out blood, I rose to my feet. I scrutinized him again but he is no longer on the spot. Surrounding us now are the reaper's soldiers, their bodies emitting black smoke. The black hood that is covering their face makes them look scary, copulating with how they are gritting their teeth together like a wolf. They had equine's soles instead of normal human limbs, long scarves like hijab, and a metal gauntlet in each h

The truck engine idles, a deep, mechanical growl that vibrates in the pavement beneath my boots. I press myself into the brick recess of the corner building, holding my breath. My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird. The Reaper who stepped out of the garbage truck—a giant with a shaved head and a beard braided with metal rings—holsters his radio. "Load him up," he commands. Two more men jump out from the back of the truck. They wear black tactical gear, no cuts. Mercenaries? Or just Reapers dressed for war?

She wore white and impressed people with an evil aura. The way they stood together, they looked just like the guardians to the gates of hell. That wasn’t too far from the truth. Known as Black Reaper and White Reaper respectively, they were considered extremely savage characters in the northern martial arts community with a penchant for killing powerful fighters for fun. Their body count amounted to at least a few dozen fighters. That was why they were given the name Black Reaper and White Reaper. They were true maniacs with no consistent pattern to their thoughts. Ten year ago, their actions finally incurred the wrath of the entire northern martial arts community. Many of the families and c

"They cut the hardline." Kael sat beside me. He was vibrating with tension. He had ripped off his tie. His knuckles were white as he gripped the door handle. "How many men?" Kael asked. His voice was a low rumble that shook the seat. "Dorian has a team of four," I said. "But my father would not send thugs. He would send the Reapers." "Reapers?" "Private military contractors," I explained. "Genetically enhanced. Pain resistant. They are the ones who burned our house down five years ago."

Her eyes gleamed. “They’re Verek's direct lapdogs. Killers. They’ve slaughtered more people than most ordinary dare to count… Alphas included.” She leaned back slightly in her seat, completely at ease. “They’re rogues.” A sharp wave of gasps rippled through the crowd. Eyes darted toward George and the twins, disbelief written plainly across their faces. But Verya wasn’t done. “Not just rogues,” she added lightly. The air seemed to tighten. “They are the Four Reapers.”

They feed on human souls and flesh. Serra never saw one but they said the monster has scarlet glowing eyes, long and sharp razor-like talons, long black slithered body with black smoke coming out. The Reapers cannot be killed or even wounded by any weapons forged on earth. They are dimensional creatures and only those who draw power from other dimension can kill them, the Inkurs. The image of the monster gives shiver to her skins. She will never wish to meet one.