Grime Reapers Novels & Stories

I ate and listened to him. "Within the Death Ministry, only Grim can enter. There are only two types of grim that are the Council and the Reapers. The Grim Council are the ones who bring death notes from superiors to be sent to Grim Reapers like me, where we have to fetch the soul of the person written there. When we do not get them at the right time and place, they can escape and just add to the missing souls. In 40 days we should reap them otherwise they will be like the lost soul you saw yesterday. Dark and evil. " I nodded as a sign that I understood him.

NYX’s POV “Salvador suuuucks!” Narin and I had barely stepped into the Rebel’s hideout when we were welcomed by the loud screech of a male banshee- or rather, a farshee- who was obviously fed up with Salvador Academy. I jumped, my hands covering my ears to block out his ear-splitting scream which shook the entire basement. The dude was lucky we were in an underground bunker. If he had pulled this off outside, the Westwood forest would have easily carried his cries to the ears of the guardians. That would lead him into some serious trouble.

"Bring her in." My eyes went wide as two men wheeled in my critically ill mother. "Ariel! What the hell are you doing?" I struggled to claw my way up, but the guards pinned me back down with brutal force. "I told you. An eye for an eye." She pointed toward the industrial meat grinder sitting at the far end of the hallway. "No!" I thrashed like a madman, trying to break free, but the two guards slammed me hard against the ground. My face was pressed against the ice-cold tiles. I watched in absolute horror as they began pushing the hospital bed toward the machine.

"They’re coordinated. The Russians have provided satellite overwatch. They know exactly where we are." We burst into the hallway. The air was thick with the smell of cordite and blood. I saw the first of the Reapers—men who had been twisted by a raw, unstable version of the Rose. Their skin was grey, their eyes weeping a dark, viscous fluid. They didn't feel pain. They didn't feel fear. They only knew the hunger for the Catalyst.

Jackie's phone slid out of his hand and fell to the ground with a thud. He stared at the kissing scene on the screen, then at the guests' faces. The erstwhile partners who raised a toast earlier took a step back. The whispers in the corner were the first to break the silence, and whispers turned into roars. "He crossed the Olivieros? Is he mad?" "A 750-million-dollar investment? Yeah, right. It's going to kill him." "He's deep in debt, and his partners are pulling out. His company's going bankrupt. He's done for."

Massive, horizontal gears the size of cities turned slowly above us, their teeth gnashing together with a rhythmic *thrum-clack* that felt like a heartbeat. Green steam billowed from floor-vents, smelling of copper and ancient, sunless earth. And everywhere I looked, there were the Reapers. Not the terrifying monsters we had fought before, but **Shells**. Hundreds of thousands of translucent, glass-like bodies hanging from hooks on a conveyor belt, waiting for the Architect-King to strike the anvil and breathe life—or code—into them.

The full moon cast its glory down upon the night, sprinkling the clearing in the forest with shafts of silver. The air was brisk and reeked of pine. Amidst her pack, Sophia's heart raced with anticipation. They were training, honing their mind and body for such a phase when the moon watched over them, and she was set to impress them. Then, in one swift moment, she was off, racing across the forest floor, and her black hair streaming out behind her like some sort of shadow. She leaped and bounded, her feet barely touching the ground. The other young werewolves cheered as the echoes went through the trees.

My lips attempted to form another self-accomplished, shit-eating grin, but the muscles in my face refused to comply, and I was stuck somewhere between a constipated smile and a cry for help. Vladislav and Anatoly were still above the podium—or so I thought. I could barely see anything from behind the curtain of blood dancing across my eyes. God, I was so exhausted. But still, I had a chance of destroying Malcom Reece now. I had fulfilled my end of the bargain, and now Vladislav Moroz must fulfill his. The sharp clang of metal snapped me from my thoughts, the loud echo ricocheting through the bloodstained arena. The cage door flew open, and in came fury personified—with a mask.

Everyone halted and frantically looked around, searching for the source of the noise. The Reapers came out of nowhere, but were instantly everywhere, filling all the previously-empty spaces, grabbing shoulders, tugging mortals along. Doors were thrust open and filthy mortals pulled out, often barely dressed or not dressed at all. One man was dragged by his ankles, screaming and clawing the mud, making it bunch up beneath his nails. Most of the Reapers were on foot, but some rode on the backs of horses with white bone bodies. These steeds weren’t precisely skeletons—it was as though their muscles were made of bone. Their eyeless skull heads were engorged, sprouting devilish horns.