Overwatch Reaper Artwork Novels & Stories

Torres shouted from behind cover, “Boss—they’re pushing us back—” “I see them.” Reaper’s men were closing in — tightening the circle, forcing us into the last defensible corner of the hallway. And then— The smoke parted. Reaper stepped through it. Calm. Unhurried. Untouched. His men fanned out behind him, forming a wall of black armor and rifles. Reaper looked at me. Then at Maya. Then at Demetri, bleeding out on the floor. He smiled. “Armando,” he said softly, “you’re out of time.”

And right in the middle of it all—he waited. Jax. They called him Reaper—because death followed him like a shadow, a silent, inevitable companion. The kind of man who could kill with a glance and leave no trace but silence and a cold void where a life once was. The instant his eyes, obsidian chips of ice, sliced through the noise and landed on me, the world shrank to that frozen moment. My breath caught, a jagged shard in my throat. I knew—without a doubt—that I was standing in the eye of a storm, and I was the fragile thing about to be torn apart.

Reaper My knuckles crashed with bone. The man beneath me gagged, choking on a mouthful of his own blood. I didn't give him a second to breathe. I grabbed him by the collar of his soaked leather jacket, dragging his dead weight up just enough to slam my right fist into his jaw a second time. His head snapped back. Rain slicked my hair to my forehead, dripping down the leather of the Midnight Reapers cut. The patch I loved with my heart. I was wearing it again for the last seven days.

I kick her in the chest the lob her head off with my blade. Reaper shifts back into his cat hellhound hybrid as he takes on anyone that dares to come at me from the right. Blaze has rejoined the melee and taken up the spot to my left between me and Bonez.

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

What was wrong with me? "You know what, I hate you!" I let out and snapped. The cloud chair moved toward me and sat upon it. While the cloud chair was moving back to its original position, I made a glance of the Reaper's room. It was painted with a plain beige tone, frames of flowers—daisies and magnolias to be exact hanging on the wall, and a vast, colorful canvas on the side room. It was the complete opposite of the dull appearance of the lair outside. "I know what you're thinking…" said the Reaper.

I looked at him, my heart cracked at the quiet devastation in his eyes. “What do we have to lose?” It was a painting of a forest glade, soft light filtering through green leaves and a young girl laughing beneath a tree. Something about it felt too deliberate, it was the only part of the house that was covered in dust. Caelum reached up and lifted it off the wall, behind it was a small steel safe, its surface dull and cold. A keypad blinked faintly under the layer of dust. It looked out of place with the traditional look of the house.

"Think carefully. It's not worth ruining your image over this little bit of money." The sight of his twitching mouth made my stomach churn. "And how exactly will this ruin me?" He rubbed his hands together, then showed me a photo on his phone. "You go here, don't you?" Damn Sydney and her peculiar way of setting me up. She had actually told them about our college. "And?" Seeing the shift in my expression, they showed me another photo. "Look at yourself." In the photo, my face was flushed. One look at it, and it was hard not to let one's imagination run wild. "What do you think would happen if we posted this on your college forum?"

"What do you think?" Arlo slides the laptop toward me, and I lean in. Dark gold bleeds across the card's surface. A hooded Grim Reaper, scythe in hand, face deliberately hidden, anchors the center. Clean. Dangerous. Expensive-looking without trying too hard. He rotates the 3D preview a full three-sixty, and the gold seems to breathe, fracturing into liquid light with every angle. I slap my palm on the desk. "That one."

Reaper Swithin said, blowing his nose and taking in the air. "AAHHHHH! This Moroi blood!" Reaper Swithun Johnson is the guardian of Strigoi Grave Risen Coven. He has ginger hair and blue eyes and always wears a black dress coat with silver buttons. He is tall and lean, with a sharp jawline and a piercing gaze that can make even the bravest of souls tremble. Reaper Swithun is known for his unwavering loyalty to the coven and his fierce protection of its members. After Ace, Reaper is second in command in the coven.