Overwatch Reaper Artwork Novels & Stories

I giggled softly at my thoughts and watched him tilt his head. "Fuck, this shits great if I'm hearing stuff," he growled softly and I covered my mouth. Since I announced my claim he could hear me and probably see me now too, fuck I thought. I pulled out the reaper card with his name upon it and quietly stuffed it between his mattress then rose slowly and froze when he turned. I was caught, what a horrible reaper I was turning out to be. I watched mister sexy rub his eyes, smudging his eyeliner and look directly into my eyes.

I saw. Reaper's car was behind ours, and as we reached the club, he followed me into my office. "Boss!" he says. "I have a picture of London, and I want it printed out and placed everywhere on the internet and even physically. Two Hundred Thousand dollars will be given to anyone who brings London alive to me. My number should be added to it," I tell Reaper. The picture was an unaware pic I had taken of London recently, we were on the couch and she had a bowl of popcorn in between her legs. She looked so young and happy, her fair was drawn away from her face.

Ayira to become a reaper or not I scrunched my mouth and wiggled my cheeks against the hard surface under my face. I blinked my eyes and looked up and my mouth dropped open. I lifted my head and looked down at Grim. God he was beautiful. His black eyelashes were fanned across his high cheekbones. I squinted my eyes. Reapers don't sleep, I remembered. I looked down at his bare chest and swallowed seeing his ink work. Hot damn, he's covered with beautifully done tattoos. I used my index finger to trace one and hear the deep rumble of his laughter building up. I chuckled softly and looked up at his green eyes glowing brightly at me.

Something dangerous. Why do I care? I scolded myself. This isn’t my concern. Humans live. Humans die. It’s not for me to meddle in. “I can’t interfere in human affairs,” I whispered to the shadows. “I am a reaper. If I disrupt the balance, there will be consequences.” And yet… her face haunted me. Her eyes, though terrified, held something familiar. Something that unsettled the cold logic I’ve lived by for centuries. Will she die tonight?

That’s all I need. “You idiot,” I whisper. “You should’ve run.” Behind me, a low voice cuts through the noise. “You should have listened.” I turn and see Reaper. He’s already standing, one arm limp at his side, face twisted with hate. His eyes burn straight into mine. Arkan hunters step in behind him, weapons raised, their stance wide and ready. “Step away from him, traitor,” one of them says. I shift slightly, shielding Havok with my body. “He needs help. I’ll step away if you swear he’ll-”

Elara’s POV “It might be a bright idea for you to step out of the shadows,” I said calmly. A few seconds passed before a man materialized inside the room. His face was covered with a mask. He lifted his arm and showed me a tattoo etched into the back of his palm. “Reaper. I have come to take your life,” he growled. The Reapers. One of the greatest assassin guilds in the country. “Do you have any idea where you are? This is Caelthorn territory.”

My fingers brush cold polymer. The Glock. It must have flown out of Drakon’s holster during the roll. I grab it. It feels heavy, a solid weight in a world that has lost its gravity. I check the slide. It’s in battery. The back doors of the van are twisted, hanging open on bent hinges. Through the gap, I see a pair of combat boots stop. A shadow falls over the opening. A Reaper leans down. He peers into the wreckage. He’s wearing a skull mask, his rifle raised.

Soren - POV Rocher and I sat in the basement, eyes locked on the grainy footage playing on the screen. The man wore a Reaper crest ring, but there was no identifier—no name, no visible face. Something blocked the camera’s view, leaving only his hand in sight. Judging by the roughness of his skin, he was likely in his late twenties or early thirties. I exhaled sharply. No new information. Nothing. Even the dark web held no trace of the Reaper mafia, as if they never existed.

I doubt there would even be a mate for an Omega like me. “Coming, ma'am!” I cried out, fastening my faded wrapper around my waist. I swear it used to be blue, but now it was a dead shade of brown and would ruin an entire school of fish if by mistake it dropped into a river. The only other shorts I owned got ripped yesterday while scrubbing the walls of the dungeon. “Maya! You little good for nothing!” She yelled again and I met her before she reached the door, my breath caught. Sapphire stood before me with a mean scowl gracing her expression. My stomach sank. Sapphire was the scariest woman in the entirety of this packhouse, after Lady Elenore. That one was the devil's seed herself.

Serena sneered coldly, staring at the face she once loved so deeply. It had been love at first sight back then. But now, when she looked at him, her heart was calm—untouched, unshaken. The greatest sorrow is when the heart dies. The true opposite of love isn’t hate—it’s indifference. And that’s exactly what she felt for him now. No anger. No pain. Just silence. The Art of Revenge was never about rage—it was about letting go. She didn’t need to destroy them. Her joy was the masterpiece. And they would suffer, helplessly, watching her shine.