Reaper Sans Novels & Stories

"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.

The tendrils evaporated and I buried my face into my hands. "If you love Eoin you gotta fight for him," Rai said sincerely and I glanced up at eyes like my own and asked,"how?" He chuckled and sat his tall self next to me on the floor. "She's just a witch, not a reaper and can you tell me what reapers do?" I told them they collect and send souls onto the next life. He nodded and I watched him curiously as what he was saying blossomed in my mind. "I can reap her soul to destroy her?" He grinned slightly and nodded.

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—"

I ended the call and began my walk to the docks. When I got there, he was already with some of the men there. And a new face that I hadn’t seen before. “Kane. This is Mr Smith. Mr Smith, the one and only Reaper King,” Mr Smith looked like how most men in the business world looked. Short. Stocked up. Covered with so much jewelry and wiry eyes that gave the impression he’d sell me his mother without blinking. “Reaper. I’ve heard so much about you.” I put my hands in my pockets, my eyes staring at the crates behind him. “Are those the shipments?”

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.