Goth Reaper 소설 & 이야기

I had to find something I could do to make money that I could be discrete enough to accomplish without drawing the attention of the massive amount of people I managed to successfully piss off by means of killing the under-lord, Christian. That led to my current livelihood of being an assassin. I started out with nothing more than the knife that killed my mother, Christian’s belt and sheath, and my rags cut, sewed, and repurposed into a disguise to hide my hair and face. I was sloppy in the beginning, and it was a wonder I’d never been caught. As the years passed, I became the most efficient, deadly, mysterious, and untraceable assassin. I entered unseen, killed in silence, and vanished witho

The usual admiration salute. The Eloesan people on the other hand had witnessed the most fearful experience in their entire life. Which is understandable, because after all, the thing that stood behind me were a big dark miasma, but inside that hazing miasma of light absorbing miasma, was a death reaper, wearing a weathered black hoodie, underneath that seasoned hoodie, were pale skull, with the bluish green fire as eyes and as it opened it’s bonny mouth the dark miasma constantly falling out, and on each of it’s hand, my death reaper were holding one it’s left hand a rose soaked with dripping red bloods, and on the left was the sharpest ever metallic rapier. And the entire parts that were v

Their veins were brittle, and their internal organs were being consumed by a cold, lightless rot that mirrored the very scythes they carried. The ground suddenly groaned as a massive obsidian platform descended from the indigo cliffs. Standing at the center was a figure who looked like a dark mirror of my husband. He was taller than the other Reapers: his skin a translucent graphite black that pulsed with a sickly grey fire. This was Malakor: the Reaper King. He held a scythe of pure compressed void that hummed with a frequency so low it made my teeth ache.

he said, voice low, filled with something that sounded like sorrow—and rage. Light exploded around us and the tomb trembled as if the world itself recoiled and as darkness swallowed me, I heard it, his heartbeat, steady and ancient, thudding in perfect time with mine. That was the night the Reaper woke.

Seraphina asked him, her voice dripping with false sympathy as she looped her arm through his. She glanced at me, her smile sharpening, she was enjoying this. "Poor Aurora here is taking my place tomorrow. She's to be wed to that filthy Moon Reaper. Rumors are that he's as ugly as that painting we threw out yesterday." The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Moon Reaper—the ancient enemy, a family of ruthless hunters bred for one purpose: killing werewolves like us. Legends whispered of their silver blades, their empires built on the bones of our kind. They were monsters in human form, trained from birth to hate us, to destroy our souls under the full moon.

Let’s talk this out properly. Only for Mira to scream back, "Leave me alone! Unless I get the money today, I’m not moving!" "I’m right, aren’t I, everyone?! "And to those new joining the stream, check the links in the shop below! Don’t miss out!" That’s right. Mira had been livestreaming and selling products every day for the past week. Even if I didn’t pay her so-called emotional damages, she’d already made a fortune. When a reporter asked her to shut the stream down, she slapped the woman across the face. "Stay out of my business! My viewers deserve to see this live. I’m doing this for them!"

Dark, shadowy figures haunted my dreams, their laughter echoing as I walked down the aisle toward an abyss, not a man. As I reached the bottom step, my gaze was drawn to the garden outside. Through the massive glass windows, I saw him—The Reaper. He had just arrived yesterday, his presence unnerving as always. He stood in the garden, his posture relaxed yet predatory, like a wolf among sheep. Beside him was Victor, speaking animatedly as he handed over a briefcase. My heart stopped.

The cavern began to hum—a low, melodic thrum that vibrated through their bones and into the very marrow of the mountain. ​The forty-eighth hour arrived with a sky full of thunder. But it wasn't a storm; it was the combined roar of twenty heavy-lift Reapers. These were the "Goliath-Class"—massive, six-legged walkers designed for deep-crust excavation. They dropped from the clouds like blackened iron spiders, their landing struts shattering the salt-crust of the Barrens. ​From the lead Reaper, a voice boomed over long-range speakers. It wasn't Dr. Aris this time, but a cold, synthesized voice of the Syndicate High Command.

Then I grabbed the Ducati keys from the hall table so hard they cut into my palm. I headed toward the elevator with murder in my bloodstream and fire in my lungs. Richard had tried to kill her. Aaron had hidden her from me. But both of them had forgotten one critical thing. One fatal thing. I wasn’t a corporate prince. I wasn’t a politician. I wasn’t civilized. I was a Reaper. And Reapers did not let go of what belonged to them.

, my body feels too heavy *zzooommmm* Suddenly someone came out from behind, and it was carrying a Crescent Scythe as I see who it is, It is Grim Reaper! I bombarded him immediately of questions. “GRIM REAPER!!! why is my foot disappearing? it’s just 8 pm!!” “There is a huge chaos in the underworld and spirit world so I also do not know what is happening, all of us, GRIM REAPERS, are in the state of battle mode.”- Grim Reaper. unlike before he is more serious now