Soldier: 76 Reaper Novels & Stories

With a flick of his wrist, his sword sliced through the air, carving a deep gash in the earth. As he was about to act, he caught the whiff of something familiar and yelled, "If you're here, show yourself!" The jungle foliage rustled as over a dozen figures leaped out, each dropping to one knee. "Duke of War Green Dragon's Team, at your service. I, Death Reaper and the squad, greet you, sir." Alexander scanned the group and inquired, "Where is Green Dragon?" "We've been out of touch since yesterday," Death Reaper reported, aware that his superior was in a tight spot.

He was silhouetted against the gray light from outside, a dark, hulking shape of pure violence. He held an assault rifle in one hand, but he didn't look like a soldier. He looked like a reaper. "Get away from her," a voice growled from the smoke. It was a voice that made the shadows tremble. Julian.

He didn’t say the name with love, that’s for sure. “I am.” Hunter nodded hesitantly. “How is Collin a reaper? What are reapers exactly?” Callie asked. “Reapers are kind of like special agents. Trained to deal with combat and other things. Reapers are normally sent out in groups to bring in the people on the list.” “They abduct people?” Callie’s eyebrow shifted up. “Kind of.” He nodded. “What do they do to the people they capture?” I asked hesitantly. “I don’t know.” Hunter replied, “Reapers are required to work on orders, no questions asked.”

He has a solid jawline, clean-shaven face, thinner cheeks with just the right amount of plumpness, dimples that would take any normal woman’s breath away, beautiful bright brown eyes with flecks of gold, a tall leanly-muscled build, and short dark brown hair that is always neatly combed to one side, but tufts at the top in a cute way. I give him a polite nod that contradicts the rude way that I shove past him to step inside. I wordlessly pass him the name and photo of my target that came with the job posting, fixing him with an intense emerald-green gaze. He already knows the drill and I’m not one for pleasantries or small talk. He gives a low chuckle at my straight-to-business attitude, “al

Miguel was cleaning his caliber 45 in his hut at their camp. That’s where he would live with the other soldiers. He felt like the gun is already a part of him. It was with him like forever. It was his partner way before he was still starting in the army up until now that he became an officer designated in this province. At the age of 28, he’s already successful with what he has achieved in the army. But he admits that it was not an easy road going to where he is now.

He grabbed a second submachine gun from the wall rack and checked the chamber with a metallic clack that sounded like a death knell. ​"They’re in the lower tunnels," he growled, his eyes fixed on the security monitors. The screens showed thermal signatures—ghostly white figures emerging from the black water of the grotto. They were moving with military precision, draped in sleek rebreather gear and carrying compact, high-caliber weapons. "The Reapers. The Council’s personal cleanup crew. They don't take prisoners, Leona. They erase mistakes." ​"And we're the biggest mistake they ever made," I said, my voice surprisingly steady as I tightened the grip on the sidearm he’d given me. The adrenal

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.

“You stole her breath. Now, I take yours.” In a flash, the Reaper closed the distance. One cold hand touched Clark’s chest. Clark gasped. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. His body jerked once—twice—and then fell to the floor, lifeless. Silence. The Reaper turned to me. Blood rushed in my ears, too loud to hear whatever he said—if he said anything at all. My body gave in to the darkness. And I collapsed. Cullen’s POV The man’s body dropped like a stone. Soul ripped. Breath silenced.

"Can you trace financial transactions? Figure out where Reaper's getting his funding?" "I can try. But it'll take time. And if he's using shell companies, offshore accounts—" "Do it anyway. We need something." Sarah nodded and pulled out her laptop. For the next hour, we pieced together what we knew. Reaper had access to military-grade weapons. Professional mercenaries. High-level explosives. That took money. Lots of it. "The Nevada MC," Marcus said suddenly. "They've been trying to move into our territory for years. What if Reaper made a deal with them?"

He didn’t just dominate the battlefield; he owned it. And Viper hated how much that turned her on. By the time they cleared the garage, Viper’s breath was ragged, sweat trickling down her spine. The Hardpoint pulsed blue secured. Reaper leaned against the wall, his chest rising and falling beneath his armor. He removed his helmet, revealing sharp cheekbones and a smirk that made her stomach tighten. "Not bad," he said, stepping closer. "For a rookie." Viper scoffed. "Rookie? I’ve been dropping bodies since before you learned to reload."