Grim Reaper Holding Hourglass の小説・ストーリー

"Fine. You want to see who owns the space? I’ll show you." I grabbed the black gesso and a thick palette knife. I smeared a jagged, dark silhouette right down the center of the cap—the unmistakable, hooded curve of a Reaper’s scythe. It was messy, raw, and looked like it had been carved out of the night. Then, before the black could even dry, I snatched the tweezers from Jax’s hand. I began pressing the delicate, shimmering gold leaf directly over the top of the scythe, forming a sharp, intricate crown that sat atop the Reaper’s hood.

I froze and my grip on the case tightened until it groaned. The Reaper leaned in closer, his black eyes glinting. "And just yesterday morning... that same buyer placed an order for a second strike.”

"How did you know about that? The rulers hid it, and there's no way for it to end up in the underworld." "I am cursed, and I must find it and return that thing to both rulers for safekeeping." "Someone must have stolen it," says Cerberus, the dog. "Do not touch anything and only get what you need. Comeback here before this hourglass loses all its grains." The dog bit the necklace of horas, it is designed with an hourglass to remind of the time that a wandering soul can spend on the underworld.

That unique aura was definitely from a grim reaper! A bunch of tubes was attached to him. His blood was continuously flowing out from the transparent tube. The blood would then drop into an ancient cauldron with strange symbols. There was a violet fire under the cauldron. The gas from it was condensed into another tube and a purple liquid was formed into another bottle. Sir Reynold was shocked. The rumor was true....they have really kidnapped a grim reaper! And they were refining the blood of the grim reaper into an elixir!

the woman explained. I pondered her words and began to grasp the concept. It seemed akin to accidentally disrespecting a sacred place by spitting on it, then spitting again to negate the first act. "Wait," I said, chuckling as I began to see where this conversation was going. "Are you suggesting..." "Exactly, Luna. The original Rein krnasi used the Grimoire as the basis for their intimate ritual, and you must do the same," the woman said, leaving me momentarily speechless.

Unfortunately for me I had not been allowed to shift for a long time and my wolf had gone quiet on me. I was so weak, hungry and thirsty that I somehow managed to fall asleep. The cold bare floor was becoming my home. “El, wake up. Come on.” I thought I was dreaming as someone shook me vigorously. My chains had been taken off and I looked up rk see a kind looking face smiling down at me. Maya. The Beta’s daughter was standing in front of me holding her hand out to me. “Elora, come on. You can't stay down here.” she huffed crossly.

I scooted closer as our voices dropped to a low whisper. “Well.” She looked behind her to make sure Sam and Mrs. Cannon weren’t coming back, “This one guy said this morning, that the Delazar’s are creating trouble in Shadowcreek right now. They are tearing up the town looking for Hunter. He’s a big deal in their clan, Jay. He’s the leader of their reapers, the list holder. But I think he’s even more than that.”

“God, this guy is disgusting- oh, great. There's the BLT. All over the cushions...” The door of doom opened as I emptied the contents of my gut. The Grim Reaper sprang from the portal, a horrific phantasm with blood-red eyes. He was nothing but shadow and bone, cobbled of skeletal skin. He put the Watcher in a death-lock and jerked his head viciously. Samael drove his foot into Jakkon's crotch and wrenched backwards, splitting his abdomen in half. Noor's head fell to the ground.

Loralie whispered, “with the silver eyes and that whole ‘I’ve seen your death’ vibe? Silas Grimm. His family runs the reaper line. Literal emissaries of death. Half-reaper, half-shadow. No one knows his age. Death incarnate in a hoodie. Don't touch him unless you're into soul dismemberment.” Silas Grimm. He was... eerily mesmerizing. His skin shimmered faintly in the dim light—like smoke trapped under glass. Veins lit up in eerie blue pulses beneath his sleeves. His eyes were pale, almost white, but not lifeless. They glowed. Watching me like he’d already carved my expiration date into a tombstone. He didn’t blink. I shifted, spine tightening.

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.