Grim Reaper Hourglass Novels & Stories

The scent of disinfectant fought with the smell of rotting lilies. "The Thirteenth Hour," Dante whispered, his voice a jagged rasp. He looked at the digital clock on the wall—13:00—the numbers bleeding into the air like fresh ink. "It’s not a reset, Ivy. It’s a collapse. The layers are bleeding into each other."

He's practically the devil,' I said to myself, knowing that I was trapped there forever. 'Goddess, what kind of life is this that you've planned for me?' I pleaded with her. The skies outside started to darken and thunder rumbled in the distance. It wasn't coincidental, it was symbolic. "How ironic. Thunder, lighting and heavy rainfall rolls right about when the Night Reaper loses his temper and attacks one of his own men. He has never and will never know what it means to be human. Cassian Grant is nothing else but the Night Reaper. A ruthless and murderous Alpha who lost his humanity ages ago."

Her head whipped to me, silver orbs glassy, a faraway expression on her face. "Something's wrong," she murmured in a tone I never heard her use before. It sent a chill down my spine, "A reaper has been sent. He will arrive tomorrow night." With those words, her body went limp, skin becoming as pale as a polar bear as she collapsed back into bed.

Yvere drained more mana and held her stomach in this time. Death stood up with a curious look on his face. "What exactly does my mana taste like? You're not the first vampire to drain me, but I feel like I get a different answer every time." Yvere started healing the rest of Death's body. "There's a rite of passage among vampires called "Husking". When a vampire reaches the age of twenty we're given a vial of husk blood to drink." Yvere held in another burp. "Husk blood is considered to be the most disgusting blood there is, at least as far as we can tell."

Our youngest, little Dante — named after the inferno we had walked through — toddled between us, oblivious to the stakes but sensing the tension. This was the night the compulsion was supposed to activate. The night The Eclipse had promised our children would turn on us and walk willingly into their shadow empire. We had come to end it where it began. Damien stood at my side, the Reaper in full armor — black tactical gear, guns holstered, knives ready. His hand never left the small of my back, possessive even now. “If they come, we finish this,” he said, voice low and lethal. “No mercy.”

Jo could see a faint red light glowing from inside the space, as if Holland was announcing her presence with her signature color. Jo grabbed the two remaining silver nitrate grenades she had in her utility belt and pulled the pins on each with her teeth before she lobbed them both into the room. If there were other Vampires in the room, they might be taken out by Christian’s invention, but she knew that Holland was too powerful for something like that to hurt her.

The aura melted into the flames, and the bloodstone and token were instantly melted. A moment later, above the flames, a golden and transparent hourglass appeared, and blue starlights appeared in the hourglass. Just then, an old voice boomed loudly, "The sacrifice this time received 120 grams of the Dragon God's Grace. You can choose to exchange for the following items." Below the hourglass, a screen made out of light appeared immediately, and the images and names of more than a dozen items appeared on it. "Marrow Cleansing Pill. Costs 90 grams of grace points. Capable of cleansing a mortal's body of impurities and helping them become a cultivator."

We had come this far, and the path ahead was clear, even if the details were obscured in mystery. Without hesitation, we stepped through the barrier and approached the old woman. She handed us the hourglass, its sands shimmering like stardust. "The Hourglass of Eternity. It can navigate the stream of time, taking you to the very beginning. Use it wisely." As the hourglass touched our hands, a rush of memories flooded our minds. Scenes from our past, both individually and together, replayed like a montage. The hourglass was connecting us to the moments that had shaped our journey, perhaps showing us the way forward.

Her sleep was dreamless until she entered the wolf's hour, inviting her deepest fears back into her mind—the hour between night and dawn when most people die, sleep is the most profound, and nightmares are the most real. Minnow was back in the playground, lying on the wet slimy nature floor. A man was moving his heavy body on top of her suffocating her with his weight. The stranger grunted and moaned in her ear, leaving the side of her face warm and damp from his laboured breaths in the cold night air. Her sex burned like a sharp glowing iron mercilessly and endlessly pierced it. Her core stretched and ripped apart from the ruthless thrust from the man's firm hips.