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The Reluctant Reaper
By: Golden_Essence OngoingFantasy
18
Chapters: 10
views: 88
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Darius Thorne, Hell's most efficient soul collector, faces an existential crisis when a glitch in his Reaper System forces him to experience the lives of those he reaps. As he struggles with unwanted empathy, Darius uncovers a conspiracy threatening the cosmic balance between life and death. Caught between duty and conscience, Darius must navigate Hell's bureaucracy, confront his dark past, and make impossible choices that will reshape the afterlife itself. In a world where death is just another corporate job, one reluctant Reaper might be the key to salvation—or damnation.
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The Reluctant Reaper Fragments of Fate
The Shatterscape was an ever-changing labyrinth, a kaleidoscope of broken worlds and fractured destinies. In the wake of their triumph over the whispering darkness, the Guardians had thrown themselves into the task of navigating this chaotic realm with renewed vigor, their purpose and unity stronger than ever.But even as they worked to stitch together the fragments of shattered realities, to forge new paths and connections where once there had been only discord and isolation, they couldn't shake the feeling that their journey was taking them towards something... significant. It was a sense of anticipation, of destiny converging, that grew with every step they took, every portal they traversed."There's a pattern here," Marcus murmured, his data-streams whirling with a frenetic energy as he analyzed the shifting tides of the Shatterscape. "The fragments we've been encountering, the worlds we've been navigating... they're not random. There's a flow to them, a logic that's guiding our p
The Reluctant Reaper Final Mission
The air was dry and heavy with the taste of dust. Darius could feel it on his tongue, gritty and unpleasant, as he stood in the open field, a duffel bag on one shoulder. The wind whistled past, carrying with it a single tumbleweed that danced across his path, a lonely traveler in the barren landscape.He sighed, the sound muffled by the black fabric of his combat gear. From head to toe, he was a shadow against the pale earth - black jacket, black pants, black boots. Even his face was half-hidden beneath a dark cap, shielding his features from the scorching sun.For a moment, his mind drifted to the mask he'd left behind. The skull design had been Tasha's idea, a gift he couldn't refuse. You don't reject a gift, his mother had always told him. It was rude. A faint smile tugged at his lips at the memory of Tasha, her face a bright spot in his mind's eye. Sweet Tasha.But the smile faded as quickly as it had come, chased away by the stinging heat and the grit in his eyes. He blinked, squ
The Reluctant Reaper Life before Death.
In the depths of Hell, time loses its meaning. Years, decades, centuries—they all blend together in an endless cycle of torment and despair. For Darius Thorne, the passage of time was marked not by the ticking of a clock, but by the screams of the damned. He had fallen far since his days as a mortal soldier, a man driven by duty and honor. The choices he made, the lives he took—they had led him here, to this realm of eternal punishment. But even in Hell, there was a hierarchy, a system of power and control. Darius had started as just another lost soul, subjected to the same torments he had inflicted on others in life. But there was something different about him, a resilience that caught the attention of his demonic overseers. They saw in him a potential, a capacity for cruelty that could be honed, shaped into a weapon. And so began his training, a twisted apprenticeship in the art of inflicting pain. Darius learned quickly, his natural aptitude for violence finding new purpose in th
The Reluctant Reaper System Overdrive
The entity's fist left a crater where Darius had been standing a split second ago. He materialized at the other end of the park, his non-existent heart racing. This thing was fast. Too fast. [QUICK STEP SUCCESSFUL] [DAMAGE AVOIDED: 100%] [ANALYZING OPPONENT'S ATTACK PATTERN...] Darius scanned the area, looking for Constantine. He was still on that bench, tossing breadcrumbs to pigeons that were frozen mid-flight. Oblivious to the cosmic smackdown happening around him. Lucky bastard. The Altered turned to face Darius, its form rippling like heat haze. It had itself positioned right before Constantine. With everything so far, this thing was just doing too much. Psychopomps could be weird like this, mostly due to the soul's will to continue living. Those were the kind Reapers were always prepared for (Priority Targets), those were the kind that resulted in a battle. Not this kind of battle. Darius was barely surviving. "Look," Darius said, twirling his scythe. "I don't know what you
The Reluctant Reaper When Death Meets Its Match
The fight was immediate. One second I was sizing up this cosmic aberration, the next I was diving to the side, barely escaping a punch that would have turned me into Reaper paste. The shockwave alone sent me flying, the air rippling with a thunderous bang.My body slammed into a tree, splintering bark and branches. My body, a projectile, kept moving at breakneck speed, destroying everything in its path. My jacket flapped wildly in the air as I strained to regain control. With a thought, my scythe materialized in my hand, its form shifting in an instant. The blade morphed into a hook, the handle losing its rigidity to become a flexible rope.I swung the hook mid-air, aiming for the ground. It tore into the park's manicured lawn, carving deep fissures in the earth as I pulled hard, trying to break my descent. I landed with as much grace as I could muster, gripping the rope tightly, but I couldn't keep the grim expression off my face.I'd faced some tough customers in my time as a Reaper
The Reluctant Reaper A Day in the Life of Death
The transition between Hell and the mortal realm always felt like diving into a pool of ice water after basking in a sauna. One moment, Darius was surrounded by the familiar heat and sulfurous air of home; the next, a chill October wind was biting at his face. He materialized in a dark alley, the scent of rotting garbage and stale urine replacing Hell's brimstone. Ah, New York City. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Darius adjusted his tie and smoothed down his jacket. His Reaper's suit was a unique masterpiece of infernal tailoring, a blend of style and function that would make even the most fastidious demon weep with envy (Not that they cared). The fabric, darker than a black hole's event horizon, seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. To mortal eyes, it would appear as an impeccably cut suit, the kind worn by high-powered executives or government agents. But it was so much more. The suit was alive in its own way, an extension of Darius's will and purpose. It c
The Reluctant Reaper Helltown After Hours
The soul-powered clock on the wall of DoSA clicked over to 18:66. Quitting time. Darius logged out of his terminal, the screen fading to a dull red glow that matched the perpetual twilight outside. Another day in paradise. He stepped out of DoSA building into the teeming streets of Helltown. The air was thick with the scent of brimstone and despair, with just a hint of car exhaust. Yeah, they had cars in Hell. Mostly muscle cars and gas-guzzling SUVs. The emissions standards down here were a joke. Helltown was a study in contradictions. Towering spires of obsidian and bone reached into the smoke-filled sky, while at street level, neon signs advertised everything from "Soul Food" diners to "Eternal Damnation Insurance." A group of imps scurried past, briefcases in hand, probably heading to Helltown's financial district to cook some books. As Darius made his way down Perdition Avenue, he couldn't help but notice the looks he was getting. A pair of succubi whispered to each other as he
The Reluctant Reaper The Special Assignment
The elevator to Hell's executive level moved with the grinding reluctance of a constipated demon after a soul-food buffet. As Darius ascended, leaving behind the familiar chaos of the DoSA, the air grew thicker, heavier with power and secrets. The doors slid open with a mournful ding, revealing a corridor that seemed to stretch into infinity. The walls were a deep, pulsing red, like the inside of a heart—if hearts were made of polished obsidian and bad intentions. Doors lined the hallway, each bearing a nameplate in script that writhed and changed if you looked at it too long. Darius stepped out, his footsteps muffled by a carpet that felt disturbingly... alive. A pair of imps scurried past, their arms laden with scrolls. They gave him a wide berth, eyes darting nervously. Even here, it seemed, his reputation preceded him. As he approached Lilith's office, a towering demon in an impeccably tailored suit emerged from a nearby door. Darius recognized him as Azrael, Deputy Director of
The Reluctant Reaper Welcome to the Department
Hell smelled like paper. That's what they don't tell you topside. Sure, there was the usual brimstone and despair hanging in the air, but mostly it was paper. Forms in triplicate, soul receipts, interdepartmental memos—the bureaucracy of damnation ran on an endless stream of paperwork. Darius Thorne stood in the lobby of the Department of Soul Acquisition, or DoSA as they called it, watching the chaos unfold. New day, same old Hell. Literally. A harried-looking demon rushed past, his arms full of scrolls that trailed behind him like party streamers. "Coming through!" he shouted, narrowly avoiding a collision with a group of junior reapers. The reapers scattered, their black robes fluttering. One of them, a nervous-looking kid who couldn't have been dead more than a decade, dropped his scythe. It clattered to the floor, drawing annoyed looks from the more seasoned staff. Darius sighed. Newbies. "Thorne!" a voice barked. He turned to see Malakai, his supervisor, stomping towards him.
