Mccree X Reaper Novels & Stories

Cora “So you’re saying that you two have been working to take down the Chosen before the Reaping?” Elliot smiles like it’s his birthday and he just got the thing he wanted most. Thomas makes his way over to me and takes my hand in his. “Well, it is the three of us, “Rebecca states with a light in her eyes that shows that she is in this for the long haul. “Should I go over the areas that we have been working on Thomas?”

She says, wasting no time sitting in the chair opposite me. I couldn't deny I found the Reaper's true name to be intriguing. He's a Maddox? I knew Maddox was a very popular name, but still. The connection was uncanny. Though I knew he couldn't be related to the Maddox's, I knew, as Scarlett was killed before she had a chance to have kids, and Blade never seemed interested in them. But not only that, but this Hunter Maddox was from Colombia. I didn't know anyone from there. So there wasn't any possible way they could be connected. Rather it was just a random coincidence.

The bone man followed my lead, exploring the world through my eyes. He looked at the lines on my hands, the swell of my breasts and legs. The sinews and tendons fascinated him. We walked barefoot together. He tasted the air with my lips. I've missed my heart, you know. His bones rattled, aching for life. The black shroud wrapped round us, and he formed himself from the wind. Will you dance with me? said the Reaper. “What are you?” I asked. Your companion. He looked at my hands, now his. They were bare bones. Maiden, you will never be rid of me.

I moved to his left, dropping to one knee and tracking the second pair of Reapers. ​I didn't think about the humanity of the men in the black gear. I thought about the ledger. I thought about the cage. I thought about Julian Vane’s smug, entitled face. I squeezed the trigger, the recoil vibrating through my shoulder as the first Reaper went down, his rifle clattering against the marble floor. ​"Move! To the Enlightenment Gallery!" Malakai shouted, grabbing my hand as we sprinted through the crossfire.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He snapped his fingers. His men surged forward. And the hallway became a battlefield. The hallway erupted. Reaper’s men surged forward in a coordinated wave — not chaotic, not sloppy, but precise, trained, lethal. They moved like a single organism, rifles raised, boots pounding against the floor in perfect rhythm. I didn’t wait. I didn’t think. I launched myself into them. The first man swung his rifle toward Maya. I grabbed the barrel, twisted hard, and slammed the stock into his jaw. Bone cracked. He dropped.

The reapers extended its finger apart with its plam facing the floor. In less than a minut, several jagged pillars ruby quarts sported infront of us. “Red, what are you doing?,” Daryl asked Adrian. “That wasn’t me,” “Up here Baldy,” The reaper smiled. “And that’s not all,” The android took his other hand, surging it with xenon energy similar to Daryl, and slashed a crescent shape wave destroying part of the pillars. “That reaper has our power,” Rick said. “Bingo Primal,”

A goon lunged, his blade flashing, but I caught his wrist, snapping it, his scream cut short as I drove my knife into his gut, twisting until he stilled. “Burn it,” I growled, my voice low, my men torching crates of cocaine, flames licking the walls. One of Salazar’s lieutenants, a wiry bastard named Rico, begged on his knees, his hands raised. “Please, Reaper, I didn’t—” I shot him between the eyes, blood pooling, my boots stepping over his corpse. My men flinched, their glances uneasy, but I didn’t care. This was me now—cold, merciless, the devil they’d forgotten.

The hybrid's arms fall to the ground with the shackles. "Nice try fucker!" I swing my blade a second time decapitating him. Reaper has shifted into his mortal form. He hands me one of the two semi automatic handguns he is holding. We take off running and shooting anything that isn't a dragon, hellhound or king of hell. I scream as I watch Gunner's huge dragon body hit the ground. The earth shakes under our feet. When I finally get to him; what's left of Bael's horde is trying to retreat.

No names on this job, only call signs. We have Reaper, Ghost, Shade, Viper and me, Blade. They were the best the clan ever trained, monsters I’d bled beside before I ever wore a professor’s jacket. Each one carried the feather scar somewhere on their body, each one owed Old Might their soul. But tonight they answered to me. Reaper, he's tall, shaved head, and his voice sounded like gravel. He was the first to speak. “Package count?”