Infamous Reapers Novels & Stories

The bodies of the two attackers did not feel like ordinary flesh but more akin to puppets. "Who are you people?" Chase roared, his voice filled with fury. The black-clad man coughed blood, a grim smile on his lips. "Who are we? Haha... We're reapers. Everything on you... is ours now!" As he spoke, the man slammed a hand over the wound on his chest. A thumb-sized green talisman materialized, emitting a sharp, piercing hum.

The spell of real estate fell on the walker, fettered her arms and legs, squeezed her throat, making it difficult to growl. It was very easy to cut off her head - to grab her braids, and wave a knife a couple of times. And again, Tamir did not have to cut his hand in order to carry out the rite of repose - blood poured from a bitten forearm, at least draw handfuls. Donatos, entering the cold cell smelling of blood and sweat in the morning, kicked the decapitated corpse and said to the student: - I’ll wash my face and go to the whipping post - you’ll get it for not distinguishing a simple dead man from a reborn one. After that, you will go to Rusta, you will say - I asked to heal my hand.

He added, laughing freely. Lin clenched her jaws, trying to shake off the doubts that their adversary was planting in her mind. She knew he was playing mind games, but the truth he spoke kept striking a chord in her. “That is none of your damn business! We will figure it out when that time comes!” Hunter thundered the words at the guy. “And f*ck you for killing my friends in the Dark Valley!” “Your friends were weak, just like the two of you,” The Reaper replied, walking in their direction slowly but purposefully. “Surrender, I’m giving you two one last chance. Surrender right now and I will lead you right out of this quest easily.” He smirked.

Tomás nearly paid with his life, as well as Sienna. "No me importa tu razonamiento. Me llaman el segador porque soy el que dicta los juicios. Desafortunadamente para ti, tu futuro se ve sombrío." I don't care about your reasoning. I'm called the Reaper because I am the one that passes out judgments. Unfortunately for you, your future looks Grimm. I say as I aim another shot at him.

We couldn't rest. There was no time. The moment we got Subject 13 stable and out of that nightmare chamber, Kieran sealed every exit behind us. My hands still shook from the fight with Alpha Zero. Tyra's voice crackled through the bass speakers. "They're coming." Kieran's face went dark. "How many?" A pause that lasted too long. "Not many. But it doesn't matter. These aren't scouts, Kaia. They're Reapers." The word hit me like ice water.

I am Rey Reed Smith, the last of the reaper's hunters and the wielder of the soul nectar. Taking another deep breath, I quickened my pace as the noise of those stupid crowds grew more intense. It was the same sound I'd grown accustomed to; it meant one of their most vicious and important players was about to slay his victims. My plan is simple. I will just brag into the arena ground, slaughter their players, rescue my team, kill the bastard, Ryan, and find my way out. I knew that with my newfound power, I was invisible to any weapons they were welding and that none of their players, not even Ryan, were a match for my abilities now.

a rogue faction of the original tribe who had rejected the resonance ten thousand years ago to embrace the vacuum of the deep reach. The Reapers were a terrifying inversion of the Silver Crest evolution. Their skin was a dull, matte black that seemed to suck the light out of the binary suns, and their eyes were pits of absolute white, devoid of the gold ring of the healer or the silver flash of the king. They didn't carry staves of light; they carried "Abyssal Scythes," jagged weapons of void-steel that hummed with a frequency designed to drain the resonance from any living thing. "The harvest is here," the lead Reaper hissed, his voice a discordant harmony that vibrated painfully in our mar

His face was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. “You… you must be mistaken,” he whispered, his voice low, almost cold. I raised a brow at him. “Do I look like I’m mistaken? My father is never wrong either.” My eyes met his, fierce and unwavering. Damon exhaled slowly, the anger and worry in his chest visible in the way his shoulders stiffened. “Avery, the blood reapers…They are ruthless,” he said finally, voice low, almost a growl. “Cold-blooded. They don’t care who gets hurt… or how much chaos they cause. Some of the rogues my uncle sent to the pack to get me distracted… they were from the Blood Reapers. They used… some kind of elixir to strengthen themselves. Makes them a

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.

Sitting on a leather sofa was a man who was shirtless, his massive chest and stomach covered in hard, rippling muscle and dark, intricate tattoos. My stomach did a somersault. It was Horace. The Ice Reaper. The Captain of the Ravagers Wolves and Harold’s most hated rival. He was undeniably beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, like a storm that could swallow you whole. He thought I was the stripper he had ordered. "Step closer," he commanded.