Reaper Of The Drifting Moon Novels & Stories

The shattered moon was no longer a celestial body; it was an archipelago of bone-white rock and radioactive cobalt drifting in a chaotic, low-gravity dance. As the thousand gliders of the Union approached the debris field, they looked like autumn leaves caught in a gale. There was no air here to catch their wings, so the "Silver-Eyed" children took over, using their connection to the planet’s magnetic wake to "tug" the bronze-wood shells toward the largest lunar fragments.

The air hung heavy with the scent of victory and the lingering tang of blood. The battlefield, once a scene of brutal carnage, now lay silent, the moon a crimson orb casting an eerie glow upon the ravaged landscape. The Blood Moon Pack, once a symbol of fear and tyranny under Mateo’s rule, was finally free. And at its heart stood Draven, his silver hair gleaming under the blood moon”s light, his eyes burning with an intensity that spoke of the battles waged and won.

I have so many unanswered questions about this mysterious assassin. I spent the next week preparing for the formal event while also gathering what I could about assassins that were known. None of the information told me anything. I got a few well-known female assassin names. The number one was Phantom Reaper, second was Blade of Bracken (named after this city, Bracken’s Rock), and third was simply Death. Not very original, that one. By evening, it’s time for me to attend this despicable gala to network and attempt to secure funding for my next research project. I dress sharply in a black tuxedo, my white dress shirt is crisp, and I wear a neatly knotted black tie. My hair is usually always a

Tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes. Her hair lashed her cheeks. The circle of light above shrank. The rim of the cathedral became a thin ring. The moon floated in the center, pale and useless. Her heart hammered. Beats staggered. Weaker. Her hands grabbed at nothing. There was only void. Why? Blood for the Moon. Power for the Pack. A stray girl for the altar. Knowing didn’t make it hurt less. The darkness below met her before she could think another word. Impact.

In the center of this spiral the one-winged reaper is flung about like a ragdoll. The black tornado leans forward without spilling Septimus. It streaks back to Soul City, along the River Akheron towards the Drain of the World, where the four-eyed master plotter now awaits. Spinstra’s literally licking her chops, armed with swords and daggers in all six of her hands. Behind her, Kharon stands smugly like a dueling second. Back in the human world, Rina’s crying over Chester’s lifeless body. {I love you,} Rina thinks to herself. Her tears plummet and produce tiny ripples in the spatter of Chester’s blood as raindrops would in mud, or on the slopes of an anthill where they would knock like artil

And I wanted only one thing - that this terrible path in the night would end faster, because I didn’t have the strength to see thin bare legs with small white fingers, a pointed profile, a lifeless face and small curls that fell off around a disfigured wax forehead . After some time, the gloomy pines parted, revealing to the travelers a steeply descending ravine, overgrown along the edge with dense shrubs. The trees were noisy. Torn clouds rushed across the sky, now hiding, then again exposing the flawed moon, and it seemed as if the frozen thicket, inhabited by trembling shadows, lived a terrible ghostly life. “Here,” Ichthor said at last, and turned to Tamir, who was firmly holding the mou

Hastily I put it on, but stay on my belly of worry that the boat will sink into the sea with my weight. Again I scream Ralph's name, but still there is no response. I feel the lifeboat drifting further away from the yacht, high waves tossing me up, only to crash me down again. "Moon Goddess, save me!" I pray repeatedly. After what seems to be an eternity, the sea calms down and I dare to roll onto my back. And when I look up at the sky, I see it all. Lupercalia! It is a full moon. Not the day of the festival, but the moon phase that reminds me of the pain in my life. Storm Forest, rejection, Jasper!...

Silas’s expression sharpened, his gaze locked on her. “The Moon Goddess doesn’t choose an heir through politics or bloodline alone. She marks them—a pattern like no other, etched into the skin, glowing only beneath the light of a full moon. It cannot be faked. It cannot be denied.” Celeste looked down at her hands, her voice trembling. “I carry those markings.”

He gulps the last of his water, crushes the empty bottle in his hand until it scrunches into a ball, then hurls the fisted plastic into the farthest depth of the forests beyond us at inhuman speed. The baritone in his voice drops a notch below. “We’ll end him.” I'm about to ask what the plan will be in detail, when my mind drifts to the date of the next full moon. Only a few days away now, the date coincides with… the night of the School's Winter Formal. Shane balls both his hands into fists, inhaling, then stares up at the reddening sky. “Dreadborn will fall on the next full moon. I'll make damn certain of it.”

Spiral waves of light and shadow drag me through planes of nothingness until I’m hurled into a basement in a home, drenched in smoke and crimson glow. And I see her. Oleen Ramleigh, draped in shadows, spirals of black and red crawling her skin like living things. Her face hollow, eyes empty. Around her, five ethereal women chant in unison, their robes the color of blood. A cauldron glows at their center, sparks leaping as knives stab into it over and over. “Oleen…” The name breaks from me in disbelief. She was older than I was. Distant, never quite known to me back when I used to live in Silvaton Ridge. But this, this creature doesn’t belong to the oracle she seemingly once was.