Reaper HQ

  Henry sat at the table, mechanically chewing a portion of pasta with fresh sauce. His mask rested beside the plate, reflecting the cold overhead light.

  Henry looked down at his hands. The bandages Silvia had applied were clean, but he felt the "ghost" of his pinky fingers throbbing with every movement. He was a Reaper now—at least on the outside.

  The kitchen’s clinical silence was shattered by a crash from the inner courtyard, followed by the unmistakable sound of clashing metal and hysterical laughter.

  "YOU STOLE MY SPOT ON THE ROSTER, YOU URUGUAYAN RAT! I’M GONNA TURN YOU INTO FEED FOR THE 'SCARECROWS'! YOU WON’T ESCAPE IN THAT CORNFIELD!" Andrew’s shout echoed, muffled by the walls but fueled by a juvenile rage.

  Henry looked up just in time to see a scene of choreographed chaos through the massive glass window facing the courtyard. Andrew was brandishing his hunting machete, lunging at Zack.

  Zack retreated with fluid agility, shuffling his deck of cards with one hand while the other gripped his M4 rifle by the handle. He wore a broad smirk behind his pitch-black mask.

  "The cards don't lie, kid!" Zack exclaimed, dodging one of Andrew’s swings with a body roll that bordered on mockery. "The Ace of Spades came up for the patrol. Fate wants me out there, and fate thinks you should stay here cleaning up the blood Lil left on the floor!"

  Andrew roared in frustration and threw a sidekick that Zack blocked with the butt of his rifle. The fight didn't look like a life-or-death struggle, but rather a dangerously real sparring session between two bored predators.

  Elijah entered the kitchen with his usual calm. His mask was clipped near his waist, revealing messy black hair and a serene gaze that hid his lethality. He poured himself a glass of juice, completely ignoring the shouting and the sound of breaking glass outside.

  "They’re like dogs fighting over a bone," Elijah commented, sitting across from Henry. "Zack thinks luck justifies his selfishness, and Andrew... well, Andrew just wants to kill something that bleeds before sunset. It’s the vitality of our species. Learn to appreciate it."

  Elijah took a sip, watching Henry through the glass.

  "Finish up. Silas gave the order. You’re heading out with us today. Ian is already in the armored vehicle checking the targeting system. If I were you, I’d put that mask on now."

  "Luck" Against the Carnage

  The inner courtyard turned into a stage for biological horror. The moment Zack drew his knife, expecting Andrew’s reflex to make him flinch, the youngest Reaper did the opposite. He lunged into the steel.

  The sound of the blade piercing Andrew’s palm was muffled—a thud of flesh and resistance. Zack’s eyes widened behind his mask. Andrew didn’t scream; he let out a short, sickly laugh. With the knife still skewering his left hand, he gripped Zack’s wrist, using his own wound like a hook to lock his opponent in place.

  "My turn to deal the cards, Zack," Andrew hissed. With his left hand impaled, he delivered a brutal punch that snapped Zack’s neck to the side, raining down blows with blind fury, ignoring the blood spraying from his skewered palm.

  The violence only halted when the pneumatic door slid open. Silas stepped out into the courtyard. He didn't shout. He just stood there. The pressure of his presence was like a vacuum, sucking all the oxygen out of the air. Andrew and Zack froze instantly. Andrew let go of Zack’s hand and pulled the knife out of his own palm with his right hand, ignoring the pain.

  Henry watched everything from the table. He realized that their "immortality" wasn't just resilience; it was an absolute disconnection from human self-preservation. He stood up, wiped his mouth, and walked toward the door, stopping at a safe distance from Silas.

  "Silas," Henry called out. "Let the boys play. If you want efficiency today, I have a better target than white supremacist villages."

  Silas slowly turned his bandaged face toward Henry. Elijah, leaning against the kitchen’s glass door, tilted his head, intrigued.

  "Proceed," Silas said, his voice low and dangerous.

  "There’s a group called the Wraiths. Fifty soldiers who dress like the brush and think they own the forest. I used to do business with them back with the Heretics, but they’re treacherous. They’re mapping the region’s routes. They’re stationed in Portland, an hour from here. If you want to clean house, they’re the real stealth threat."

  "Let me go with Elijah and Ian. I know their tracks. I’ll come back with those 'bush soldiers' heads to decorate your courtyard."

  Silas remained silent for long seconds, processing the information. Elijah gave a lopsided grin, running his thumb over the blade on his wrist.

  "Invisible soldiers..." Elijah murmured. "That sounds like fun, Silas. Ian would love a sniper challenge against targets that use camouflage."

  Silas looked at Andrew, who was still bleeding, and then back to Henry.

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  "You’re very eager to prove your loyalty, Henry. That could be bloodlust... or desperation." Silas took a step toward Henry, stopping only inches away. "Go. Take Elijah and Ian. But remember: if you come back empty-handed, or if I catch the scent of betrayal on the Cascade wind, I won’t send Lil. I’ll rip off what’s left of your fingers myself. One by one."

  Silas turned to Ian, who was already positioned at the top of the black armored vehicle's ramp.

  "Ian! Prep the long-range thermal sonar. We’re going ghost hunting."

  The Armored Vehicle in the Dark

  Hours later, Henry sat in the claustrophobic, high-tech interior of the Reapers' armored vehicle. The engine roared as it climbed the slopes toward Wraith territory. Ian was locked on the monitors, while Elijah sharpened his throwing knives, watching Henry the way a cat watches a new toy.

  Henry knew Major Ghost was his only hope, but he had just led two of the deadliest Reapers straight to the heart of their hideout.

  The black armored vehicle came to a halt at the edge of a transition zone, where the dense forest gave way to a muddy swamp shrouded in a thick, greenish mist. The vehicle's electric motor went silent, leaving only the sound of insects and the drip of moisture from the trees.

  Henry jumped out first. His tactical boots sank into the mud, but he moved with a coldness that would have startled Solomon himself. He wasn't there to save Major Ghost; he was there to bury his past and ensure Silas never had a reason to doubt him. If Major Ghost had to die so Henry could climb the ranks and eventually destroy the Reapers from within, then so be it.

  Elijah stepped down right behind him. Before putting on his wide, macabre-grinned mask, he knelt by a rotting log. With gloved fingers, he delicately picked up a small black beetle struggling on its back.

  Ian, adjusting the thermal scope on his military rifle, looked over with pragmatic disdain.

  "What’s your fascination with those beetles, Elijah?" Ian’s voice was dry, focused on scanning the perimeter.

  Elijah watched the insect for a few more seconds before letting it perch on his fingertip.

  "You know, Ian... when beetles are on their backs, struggling to get up, they never give up. They might die, but they’ll fight to the end to get back on their feet." Elijah gave a soft puff of air, and the beetle opened its wings, flying into the darkness of the woods. "That’s why I admire these insects. Their persistence is... poetic."

  Elijah donned his smiling skeleton mask.

  "Let’s move," Henry said, his voice distorted by his black-and-silver mask. "Stay sharp. They use blowguns with paralyzing venom. If one of them hits a vital spot, it’ll slow you down."

  Elijah let out a muffled laugh that sounded like a metallic hiss through the voice modulator.

  "Oh, I’m terrified! Shaking in my boots." He walked toward the open swamp with total carelessness. "Venom is useless against our kind. As useless as a bottle of cheap beer."

  In that same instant, a nearly imperceptible thwip cut through the air. A wooden dart, soaked in a natural neurotoxin concentrate, slammed perfectly into the side of Elijah’s neck.

  Elijah’s body jolted slightly from the impact. Ian and Henry froze, but Elijah simply reached for his neck with an irritating calm. He plucked the dart out, staring at the venom-drenched tip, and began to laugh. A laugh that started low and rose in pitch until it became a heavy, electronic snarl.

  "Alright then... So you think you own the forest? Think the brush is your shield? I’m going to show every one of you who the real monster is down here."

  Elijah vanished into the mist with superhuman speed, the blades on his wrists gleaming.

  The Invisible Massacre

  While Ian positioned himself on a high branch, acting as the eye of death from above, Henry pushed through the center of the swamp. He saw the first Wraith emerge from beneath a cluster of reeds, readying another blowgun.

  Henry didn't hesitate. He didn't call the man’s name. He simply lunged like a black arrow. The Wraith, seeing the mask with the silver cross, didn't recognize his former ally. To him, this was a demon.

  Henry seized the man by the throat and slammed him against a tree.

  In the distance, Major Ghost watched through his ceramic binoculars. He saw the black-and-silver figure massacring his men with a precision that not even elite soldiers possessed. He had no idea it was Henry. To the Major, the Reapers had sent a new breed of executioner.

  "GHOSTS!" Elijah’s shout echoed from within the fog, followed by the sound of tearing flesh and the agonizing scream of a Wraith being disemboweled by the Argentine’s wrist blades. Immediately after, the Reaper targeted four other Wraiths with his black Five-seveN pistol. Its power was devastating; even if the "bush-dressed Spaniards" wore vests, it wouldn't be enough to protect them from a round from that gun. In this world, that pistol was a "god-tier" weapon.

  Henry spotted Major Ghost on an elevated platform, camouflaged by his ghillie suit. He scaled the tree with a parkour-like agility that the Reapers had yet to see in its full capacity. He landed on the platform behind Major Ghost. The Major spun around, drawing his bone knife, but Henry was faster. He disarmed the veteran with a spinning kick and pinned him against the wood.

  "The silence is over, Major," Henry said, using the heavy voice modulator.

  Major Ghost stared into the black lenses of Henry’s mask, unaware he was looking at the man he had once helped.

  "You... cannot... conquer the earth..." the Major wheezed, struggling.

  Henry looked down at the swamp floor, where Ian and Elijah were turning the fifty hunters into a pile of plant matter and blood. He knew that if he didn’t kill the Major right then, Ian would do it with a sniper shot, or Elijah would torture him for hours.

  Henry unsheathed the tactical knife from his holster. The silver glint on his mask was the last thing Major Ghost saw before Henry drove the blade into his chest with a coldness even he didn't know he possessed.

  The Monster’s Awakening

  In the center of a muddy clearing, the mist cleared for a split second to reveal Elijah at a disadvantage. Five Wraiths, moving with the coordination of a pack, had him surrounded. Two of them hurled heavy chains, snagging the Argentine’s arms and slamming him violently to the ground.

  "We caught the thing!" one of them shouted while they kicked Elijah’s ribs. The sound of the impacts against his tactical suit echoed like hammer blows.

  Two Wraiths pulled the chains taut, keeping Elijah on his knees with his arms stretched wide. The leader of that small unit stood before him, huffing with hatred, and delivered a brutal punch that made Elijah’s skeleton mask rattle.

  "You can't kill what you can't see!" the Wraith snarled, winding up for another blow.

  Elijah slowly lifted his head. His black lenses gleamed beneath his hood. Through the voice modulator, his response didn't sound like a man’s, but like that of an ancient, mechanical entity:

  "YOU CANNOT KILL WHAT CANNOT BE KILLED!"

  With an explosive movement, the blade of his hidden bident sprang from his left sleeve. Elijah delivered a headbutt, shattering the septum of the Wraith holding the left chain. In the same instant, a dry rifle crack echoed from the canopy: Ian took out the Wraith on the right with a clean headshot.

  Free from his restraints, Elijah spun on his axis like a whirlwind of steel. The bident pierced chests and throats with obscene ease. He wasn't just killing; he was shredding. When the last Wraith tried to flee, Elijah caught him and impaled him against a root, leaving the body hanging as blood soaked his gloves.

  The Weight of Sacrifice

  Minutes later, silence returned—heavy and fetid. Henry walked among the bodies, collecting the plant-fiber masks and bone ornaments. He placed each one inside a canvas bag, his movements slow and laden with a guilt he struggled to hide.

  Ian climbed down from the tree, cleaning the barrel of his rifle. He watched Henry for a moment.

  "I thought you’d take the Major’s head," Ian commented, his voice icy. "Silas likes visual proof."

  "I’m not that brutal," Henry replied, without looking back. "The masks are enough. Fifty men don’t just vanish without a trace."

  The Devil’s Trust

  Reaper HQ

  The return to HQ was marked by exhausting fatigue. Henry stepped into the grand hall, where the pristine white light seemed to judge the dried blood on his black boots. Silas stood near the window, watching the night, his skull mask hanging from his belt.

  Henry tossed the canvas bag at the leader’s feet. The sound of the fifty masks clashing was muffled by the expensive carpet.

  "Where is his head?" Silas asked, without turning around.

  "The head wasn't necessary," Henry said, his voice sounding exhausted but firm. "The masks are enough. Fifty men dead. The stealth threat is over. If you doubt it, ask Elijah or Ian. They saw the cleanup."

  Silas turned slowly. He looked at Ian, who gave a short, imperceptible nod, confirming Henry’s lethality in the field. The leader of the Reapers walked over to Henry and, in a rare gesture of recognition, gave a slight tilt of his head.

  "You’ve proven your utility once again."

  Henry didn't answer. He walked to the futuristic white sofa and collapsed into it. As he closed his eyes, the image of Major Ghost being pierced by his blade burned in his mind.

  "I’m sorry, Major..." Henry thought, feeling the throb of the fingers he no longer had. "It was the only way to save my family. I need the trust of these immortal bastards. And now... I have it."

  The 12th Reaper was officially baptized in blood.

  End of Chapter