Reaper Sans Novels & Stories

Dax hit the ash, rolling violently at eighty miles an hour. "Dax!" I screamed, instinctively hitting my brakes. "Don't stop!" Dax's voice barked over the comms, breathless and full of static. He was already on his feet, sprinting through the ash. "Reaper! Grab my hand!" Reaper, his bike barely coasting at forty miles an hour, steered toward Dax. As he passed, Dax grabbed the heavy steel luggage rack on the back of Reaper's dying bike, vaulting himself onto the pillion seat.

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.

"The High Council has designated this territory a 'Resource Reclamation Zone.' All biological assets are to be processed. Resistance will result in immediate termination." ​"This is my home, not a resource," Rhea spat, her daggers ready. ​"Correction," the Reaper said, its arm shifting with a mechanical whir into a spinning saw-blade of silvered steel. "It is a laboratory that has overstayed its usefulness." ​The fight was unlike anything the Silver Bane had ever experienced. The Reaper didn't feel pain, and it didn't tire. When Marcus lunged, the machine simply swatted him aside with enough force to crack his ribs. Sela’s arrows bounced off the blackened iron as if they were toothpicks.

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

Reaper's the big black guy isn't he? Clara smiled. "You guessed it. Doesn't surprise you, does it? Reaper got brought over about eight years ago. He was in special forces in the army, but one of those sub-organizations that doesn't technically or legally exist. He's the best sniper that I've ever seen, and he's scary and dangerous. He's a real bonus to Shane, and he's the loyal sort. Get on his good side, and you've got a very lethal friend for life. Cross him --" "I think I get the idea," Shamira said.

He jumped and rubbed his arm quickly while driving. "Sorry, I'm not used to people asking me that. Reapers are already dead and are basically souls mimicking being solid is the easiest explanation. Any one with certain magic can cause our solid souls to dissipate and get caught in limbo in the void, unable to get to heaven or even hell for that matter," he told me with a shiver. I glanced over at him and sighed.

The silence in the mountain safe house was heavier than the snow piling against the windows. I stood frozen in the center of the living room, the destroyed tablet still smoking on the floor where Damien had crushed it. My hand rested protectively over the swell of my belly, where our daughter kicked as if sensing the storm brewing between her parents. “Project Reaper,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me.” Damien didn’t move at first. The Reaper, the man who had once kidnapped me, broken me, then rebuilt me into his queen, looked almost… broken. His grey eyes, usually so cold and calculating, held a rare shadow of guilt.

There was something in the presence of him that made everyone around him seem diminished, uneasy. I should have looked away. I knew that. But I couldn't. Something I couldn't name, a pull held me in place, my gaze fixed on him. Even from this distance, I could feel the cold, hard aura around him. Broad shoulders beneath a dark coat, the fabric stretched taut over his chest. The light traced the contours of his face—sharp, handsome. Godness, how could I use such words to describe The Reaper? Darius spread his arms wide. "Alpha Kael. Welcome. My pack is honored beyond—"

He stepped over it, wiping his gloved fingers on his thigh, leaving dark smears. Cannes' men swung their weapons toward the new threat, but Decker didn't flinch. He just tilted his head, the skull mask catching the dim light. “Pointing your guns at my friend is a crime in its own right. Pointing it at me is different. Surely, you can tell the others who did are dead?” Fuck, if I could cum right now, I would. “Nice timing, Reap.” Decker didn’t look at me. Instead, his mask stayed facing Cannes who seemed awestruck at first but after a few minutes, stretched his hand out as he slapped on a perfectly normal smile on his face. “You are a very hard man to find, Reaper King.”

Probably not. I’m hissing and spitting like only an actual threatened feline can. Then I notice my backside has been charred and there’s this small matter of a flame on the small tip past my ball tail. A hyperactive skeleton races to put the tremulous fire out. It runs screaming and dragging what looks like giant innards but turns out to be a fire hose. I’m struck by a jet of foul swamp water like a street demonstrator or an unwashed prisoner of war. More laughter from Septimus and his Helter-Skeltals. The sound the reaper makes is that of grinding tectonic plates transformed into a voice.