Reaping: The Start of an Ending: Reaper 1 Nick Cross

By Dark. R. Reaper

Upon accepting a deal from the Grim Reaper, 17-year old Nick Cross thought he could change reality, defy destiny, resurrect something in his life that went missing, but he never expected what the Grim Reaper was really offering, a chance to become the Grim Reaper himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483513782

Book preview

History...

Prologue

(What better way to start, than with the ending?)

There was a bright scarlet sky where red dusty clouds wavered in the air. Swaying back and forth from an old stone tower. A bell rang, leaving its angelic cries resounding through the ears of all the people within the city. Then, out of the midst of the bright sky, fell a dark red comet. Although the comet was barely visible against the sky, it harkened an echo that lasted throughout the ages. When the comet hit the ground, the sky exploded with beauty, until the dust eclipsed the sky.

When the dust cleared, the houses in the center of the city were gone or left in shambles. Even the plants were left torn or burned by the heat of the explosion.

Lying in the middle of the crater, Death stared up into the scorched sky. Strenuously, he took the skull mask from his face, revealing his gray English eyes and his red Irish hair. Leaning up, he saw the light blue liquid running from his chest. Seeing the liquid, he groaned and rested his head back on the burned dirt.

A drop of rain fell upon the Reaper’s cloak, then a drizzle, then a sprinkle, until the sky burst into a flurry of rain. The water washed through the reaper’s hair, until those overflowing flames reduced to nothing more than sedated dark brown ashes upon his head.

Even with the ringing of the gold bell resounding in his ears, he knew he could hear two men’s feet, coming to oppose him, followed by the sound of his friend’s feet, rushing across the water behind him. The grim reaper’s friend stopped when she saw his body lying there in the mud, then, his friend launched herself at his opposers. The reaper could feel his friend’s body fall to the ground, lifeless.

Only one of the men that opposed him was responsible for their destruction. He was a man with no sense of remorse or grievance. With each new lifeless body, his smile and twisted aura grew larger.

Like tears, blue liquid poured from the reaper’s eyes. Slender fingers grasped the reaper’s right hand, filling him with impossible warmth. He tugged and gripped on her hand tighter as though telling her, warning her one last time, not to go. Feeling his resistance, she pulled away, dropping a tear on his face as she released him, and their tears mixed together beneath the dusty twilight.

Her decision made, she ran at the demon with all her strength. The fight was both quick and resolute. A crunch echoed from her chest, and she fell to the ground, without even a whisper from her mouth.

As the two enemies, partners in murder, devastation, and revenge, marched towards the reaper. A smoking dark purple aura surrounded the reaper’s dark blue body. Just looking at the shadows the two made in the dust were enough to make his soul burn.

The man on the left wore a cape of singed hair around his shoulders, his eyes so distilled with darkness and suffering that even death had a hard time looking beyond their clouded presence. He grinned as he walked toward the reaper and the sword took notice. Hearing the finale to its master’s revenge approaching, the sword danced in his master’s palm.

Truly the man on the left was sadistic, but he was nothing compared to the demon approaching on the reaper’s right. Like the clothes he wore, the demon smelled of ash and burning brimstone. The scarf he carried around his neck was long, black, and shredded to the point of no repair. He didn’t carry a weapon with him, yet, he was the one who destroyed each of the reaper’s friends.

Suddenly the two stopped. The demon on the right raised his hand. Vareo Incantartum.

The Grim Reaper could instantly feel the energy flowing out of himself. It felt as though the demon was burning away his soul, his very existence, and absorbing the flames. The pain grew worse with each purple wisp the demon inhaled. Eventually, the pain was worse than dying, and, maybe, perhaps, worse than living.

Sensing his inner flame growing ever weaker, the Grim Reaper closed his eyes. He lost. The end was near. It was over.

A flash of blue light sparked through the darkness of his closed eyes, but then it was gone, and the light continued on like that for a while until the image in his mind was clear. After that, the light flickered much slower and became much more resolute. In the electric cloud, a woman in a slender black cloak appeared.

As though the reaper existed in that world with her, she walked up to become more visible and large in the vagueness of his mind. When she reached a reasonable distance, she stopped, closed her eyes, and smiled that same smile that he’d come to know after all these years as feigned, and manipulative.

Part 1

Reaping the Light

(Awakening)

1

Resurrection

(Two deaths form one new life.)

May 01, 1991

*Riiiiiing,* the bell tolled and most of the students rose from their hard brown desks. The clattering of chairs awoke a ginger boy from his sleep.

Shaking his red head, Nick looked up at the clock above him. Yawning, he cracked his neck left and right.

Three o’ clock already? Nick said.

Nick picked up his black skull backpack from the white linoleum and swung it over his skinny shoulder on his way to the exit.

Nick Cross. Mrs. Crystal called with a voice that could halt a hawk in mid-dive. I’d like to speak to you.

The room burst into laughter. Nick scratched his Mohawk, sat down in one of the desks, and laid his head down on the cool wood. Oh boy, another one of her talks.

Lyson Sparson chuckled through his bright teeth passing by. Have fun with your girlfriend, Cross. He put his hands into his cacky pants, almost hiding his arms in absolution behind his long thick blonde hair.

Curling his pale white fist, Nick stood to his feet and approached the blonde devil. Why don’t you just stow it Sparson?

Lyson scoffed, widening his lips to a half smile. I would, but your mother still hasn’t delivered the package.

Nick’s gray eyes grew darker. He raised his fist up to Lyson’s chin. You think that’s funny. Do you? Cause I can show you funny.

Mrs. Crystal’s voice jumped up a few octaves as she screamed. Silence.

Seeing the fire above Nick’s eyes curving down into a V, Lyson started to smile. He met Nick’s gray eyes with his light blue. Have fun. He said and laughed himself out into the hallway.

With Lyson gone, Nick turned his attention to Mrs. Crystal’s demonizing glare. Despite her old age, which she hid with hair dye, make up, and movie star glasses that looked like they belonged in a 1940’s museum, her green eyes could rip him apart without a second glance. However, with a demoralizing sigh, she patted the lab desk in front of her. Sit.

Nick approached the desk grinding his teeth and growling like a mad dog. Nick looked into Mrs. Crystal’s eyes once more and sat down in the brown seat, folding his arms in his lap.

Rubbing her fake black hair and taking a breath, Mrs. Crystal relaxed her stare. Sleeping in class again, Mr. Cross?

Nick wondered how to answer Mrs. Crystal. There were a few choices, plead forgiveness, fake humility, pretend that he was someone else. He could always lie, but Mrs. Crystal could see right through that; it was almost as bad as telling the truth, pure incrimination. So, in the end, Nick decided on the quiet nod.

Nick, Mrs. Crystal softened her voice. Your constant day-dreaming is getting in the way of your schoolwork. You’ve already dropped in your grades this semester, and I’d hate to see them drop any further.

Swinging his head down to the floor, Nick hid his freckles within the depths of his red hair. Nick couldn’t contest with Mrs. Crystal, because he knew it was true, his grades were slipping and he knew it.

Mrs. Crystal looked at Nick with her downturned eyes and she took a deep breath. What do you plan to do with your life, Nick? Do you want to end up on some ship, like your father, delivering packages from coast to coast?

Nick’s slim white fingers curled as the word, ‘father,’ escaped from her mouth. He felt the need to choke her so that it never happened again. What do you know about my father? He questioned to himself. No, he said, sarcasm dripping from his lips. I plan on working for the Sparson’s Shipping Company like everyone else in this blasted town.

Mrs. Crystal’s graying eyebrows drooped. Nick, you can’t really mean that.

However, Nick did mean it, and the hot-blooded Irishman in himself wouldn’t allow Mrs. Crystal’s rudeness towards his father to go empty-handed. It’s better than having your life taken away from you in cardboard boxes, or teacher’s licenses. He grabbed his backpack off the white linoleum floor and marched out the class, slamming the door behind himself.

Mrs. Crystal’s mouth widened to an o as she fell back into her gray chair. Nick.

Then, a smile crept from the window, cold as a freezer, but deadly as twelve-hour frostbite.

Nick walked home, passing by the Sparson’s mansion on the way. Nick glanced up at the mansion as he drove a stick across the metal gate. Drums and cymbals echoed from the mansion. Lyson was playing with his drum kit again.

Lyson had been a constant source of torture for Nick since middle school. However, Nick knew Lyson far longer than that, and it wasn’t just as mere acquaintances. As indiscernible and indiscriminate as it may be, Nick and Lyson, were, at a time, friends. Perhaps, for an instant, they could’ve even been considered ‘best’ friends, but now, looking back upon those dreadful days of friendship and rivalry, Nick could only feel echoes of pain, and, to an extent, regret.

Nick circled his storm-filled eyes and flung his head upwards in repulsion to the house’s negative energy, until, he saw something above him. As though trying to shake a horrible memory from his mind, he did a double take, but it was true. The ravens perched upon the metal spikes were gazing down at Nick as he walked by.

Nick scoffed by throwing all the air from his nose and continued down the long gray sidewalk through the arched weeping willows that guided his path.

Nick came to the third white house with the brown roof on the street and walked inside.

Searching for a presence, his eyes glanced around the empty brown living room, but no one was there. The picture of his family in the corner fooled his mind for a second. He approached it and grabbed the silver picture frame in his hands.

In the picture, his family was still at the beach, an actual family. A portly man with a slashed silver eye was holding his redheaded green-eyed wife in his arms, waiting to kiss her with the fuzzy black mustache that lined his upper lip. Their children were sitting beneath them, Nick and his sister, happy as could be, playing in the yellow sand. It’s too bad that it couldn’t last.

Nick tapped his thumb on his family’s images, holding it for a while on his younger sister’s bright beautiful face, how he wished he could see her again. Placing the picture frame back on the brown table, Nick walked up the stairs to his room.

Nick’s room was all white and brown except for the black bed, a picture of a female lifeguard, in a rather attractive red swimsuit, and a couple of racing posters, natural for a boy his age in 1990’s Gillingham.

Nick jumped in his bed. He stared up at the ceiling. He fell into a peaceful sleep, wallowing in the emptiness of his world, the sleep, of course, being the peaceful part.

The next time Nick looked at the clock, it was nearly midnight. Sitting cross-legged and arms folded, he stared at the white wall in front of his bed. Neither of his parents had made it home yet, which meant that his mom was working late at the Sparson Post and his dad was out at sea on another delivery mission from Darren.

Nick cracked the slender muscles in his back and yawned. Why does my life have to be so— A chill suddenly crept into the room, the same kind that appears when a freezer opens too quickly, but a thousand, no, a million times colder.

Boring? A voice finished.

The words made Nick jump. He turned around, searching for their owner, to no avail. Hello? Is someone there? Thinking that he’d imagined it, he shook his head and sat back down on the bed, until the woman’s voice spoke again.

It all depends on what you mean by someone, heh, heh, heh, the voice giggled in the background. I’m not a, ‘person,’ if that’s what you mean.

Nick’s heart started beating louder against his chest. *Thump,* *thump,* *thump,* he could hear the blood rushing down the back of his ears. A ghost? Nick thought. He relaxed his head and his heartbeat quelled. No, there’s no such thing as ghosts. He smiled. He could almost laugh at his own stupidity. It was probably just some kid playing a trick on him, or maybe it was parents, home early from work. If you’re not a person, then who are you?

The voice chuckled some more in the background. It was coming from nowhere, but, everywhere, at the exact same time. Nick, Nick, Nick. The voice took a breath. I’m something beyond form, beyond space, beyond size, beyond time. The last word quaked like thunder in a quiet forest.

Nick covered his ears as the last word, ‘time,’ rang through his head like a million bells. Time, time. Time. Time. He scratched his head, fighting the tune out of his skull with his fingers.

When the echo stopped, Nick pushed his head up and looked around for anything different, but nothing had changed, except that the voice was gone, or, at least, he thought it was gone. There was only one way to check. He raised his voice, ears still ringing in pain. Who are you?

The voice was tranquil. Someone you’ve known for a long time, and someone you’ve yet to meet, someone here to help you, Nick.

Nick? Nick twisted around to face his bed, searching for where the voice was coming from. How do you know my name?

The voice laughed. I know a lot of things about you, Nick, how you hate Lyson, even though he used to be your friend, how your sister was handed over to the adoption agency, I even know about how you think your life is miserable, useless, utterly unimportant.

Nick shuddered as he continued searching the room. I’ve never told anyone that. Nick thought. How’d she?

The voice continued. I actually, probably know more about you, than you do.

Nick felt something tap the wall next to his door. He spun around to see what it was, but all that was there was a small black violin case.

That isn’t where I left it. Nick thought.

Like, how much you really love the violin. The voice said.

Nick walked over to it. He removed the white violin from its case and plucked the highest string, *ting.* He put it back as he realized that it wasn’t just any violin. It was his. Nick was the only one that knew the secret pitch he kept his violin at at all times, or, at least he thought he was the only one. He hadn’t tuned it the last time he put it in the closet. Why was it tuned now?

Nick closed the case and set it back in the closet, where it belonged.

You used to be pretty good in the school’s orchestra, as I remember. Pity they shut it down. The voice said.

Nick’s shoulders tightened, blood rushing through his veins as though he’d taken twenty shots of adrenaline. Who are you? Where are you? How do you know me? How do you know that? He said with all of the breath in his lungs.

The voice became calm again. Very close, but very far away.

Why won’t you show yourself to me? Nick’s fist loosened.

Just as Nick was ready to make a call to the mental hospital, a black spiral appeared in the corner of the room. A bright light emerged from within, eclipsing half the room.

Nick threw his head back and forth on his mattress, holding the bridge of his nose. He sat up from his bed and flung open his eyes. A dream? He moved his head back to the corner, where the spiral was.

Someone in a shady cloak glared down at Nick from the corner.

Nick’s heart was racing again, no, not just racing, sky rocketing off into space. His hands were shaking. His eyes widened into a pool of gray. His mouth ran dry. The hooded figure started to approach him, robe flowing along the ground in a cloud of shadow, and Nick pulled away. Although he wanted to scream, the words wouldn’t come.

A crescent smile materialized from the darkness of the cloak as bright and beautiful as it was dark and mysterious. The figure had a feminine voice. Nice, most people would’ve thrown themselves through the window by now, the crazies. I’m so proud, not of them, of course, but of you.

Wh—who—who are you? Nick said, shivering.

She chuckled, this time with a more Human laugh. I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten to introduce myself. She reached out her bony hand as though she wanted to shake his hand. The Humans call me the Grim Reaper. Nick screeched like a tiny schoolgirl. She moved her outstretched hand over her face and an evaporating sound filled the inside of her cloak. It probably comes from the English grim as in sad or sultry and the also English reaper as in harvester, or, collector. She took off her hood to reveal these blue eyes, torrents of fire? No, more like frozen ice, chilling to the bone, like, her, skin? But to the Souls, I’m simply, Angelina Asmalia, Lady of the Undrworld.

Somehow, seeing Angelina this way loosened Nick’s lips. Bu—but, that’s exactly what you are, isn’t it, a woe harvester.

Angelina pointed a finger at Nick. Hey that’s not fair. Her dark blue lips stretched from cheek to cheek. They’ve called me many names over the years, not all so as unflattering as the, grim, reaper, she said, mocking the words grim reaper with the slowness of her tongue, like Hades, Death, Shinigami— She shook her head. Anyways, I’m getting sidetracked. I’m just here to give you an offer that I’m, sure, you won’t refuse.

What kind of offer? Does it have something to do with trading my soul over to you? Nick paused in fear as Angelina tried to move closer. Because if it is, then your answer is no.

Angelina’s lips puckered as though Nick had dealt a blow, but it lasted only for a second. Her smile returned to her face as her eyes squared. It’s nothing like that, I assure you, I’ve never done anything like that before. Come on, it’ll be a resurrection for the both of us. You’ll be a powerful_______ Angelina’s words fazed through Nick, as though she’d said nothing, pure nothing, but her mouth still moved.

Nick leaned back and raised an eyebrow. A what?

You’ll see if you accept my offer. Angelina said.

What if I don’t? Nick crossed his arms.

Angelina’s brow furrowed. Then I’ll feed on your soul.

Nick slid towards Angelina on the bed. What? He started to raise his voice, but you just said.

Angelina’s voice grew raspy and low, I will feed on your soul.

Nick looked into Angelina’s blue eyes. He knew stories of what happened to people who trusted the Grim Reaper, but, those eyes, somehow, he couldn’t help but believe Angelina. Besides, if Angelina wanted Nick’s soul, she could’ve taken it already. Nick thought about his options for a second and took a last breath. I accept.

Then, the two smiled and shook hands, grabbing each other by the bony fingers.

2

Breaking the Barrier

(Bridging the gap between life and death.)

May 02, 1991

Widening her mouth into a smile, Angelina gripped Nick’s hand tighter. With a flick of Angelina’s wrist, she tossed Nick back onto the bed. Good. Now it’s time to undergo the process. Tell me, are you ready to die?

Before Nick could answer, Angelina jumped on top of him. Nick’s eyes widened. Grabbing a hold of Nick’s skinny neck to the point of suffocation, Angelina pushed him deeper into the mattress. As Nick looked at Angelina, Nick could see that Angelina wasn’t trying hard to pin him down, in fact, Angelina was smiling a giant grin across her whole face. Angelina moved her hand across Nick’s smooth rib cage, until Angelina was right over Nick’s solar plexus.

Suddenly, Nick felt something inside of his body. Whatever it was inside his body, it was odd, as though it didn’t belong there, and it was, moving. Managing a glance down at his chest, Nick could see Angelina’s hand stirring around the inside of his chest. Within the vicinity of Angelina’s hand, Nick’s skin wavered like a pool of water. Covering Nick’s mouth before he could scream, Angelina continued to wander around the inside of him, hands like liquid cyanide.

When Angelina found what she was looking for, a spark ran through her light brown eyes, making them even brighter than before. Without warning, Angelina grasped something in the upper left corner of Nick’s chest and pulled it out. All of a sudden, Nick couldn’t hear the blood pounding in his head anymore. Angelina, with hesitation, removed her hand from Nick’s face.

Looking up through Angelina’s shadow, Nick could see his own heart beating on the reaper’s hand. The world started to turn black and white as Nick experienced his own personal earthquake. A chill started at his fingers and spread everywhere else until his body was frozen. His eyes dilated. His mouth ran dry. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t breathe.

Angelina removed a white stick from the inside of her cloak, extended it to about seven ft. in her hand and stabbed it into the wound in Nick’s chest. Angelina kissed him on the left side of his cheek. This is the last time you’ll see me. Goodbye, Nicholas Cross.

The world around Nick swirled with multi-colored lights. Nick felt Angelina kiss his ear. Then, everything went black, black as midnight.

Angelina’s lips opened into a toothy smile. Enjoy your reaping.

Nick grabbed at his chest as the darkness around him lifted. He felt around. No hole, but his fingers were blue, along with the rest of his body. His heartbeat was, there, but it didn’t feel like it had a beat, not like a normal heartbeat anyway. It was more of a flow, like water circulating through a river, no start and no end, just a continuous cycle. It’s probably just my imagination. He thought.

The room looked just like Nick’s, but when he looked around, he could see that there were major differences. The walls were vacant of posters, the doors weren’t in the same places, not to mention, there wasn’t the usual sound of air running through the vents above his head. It was somewhat strange, to him, not hearing the white noise.

Nick looked at the two doors in front of him and decided to go through the one on the left, which led him down a narrow stairway. The hard metallic stairs beneath his feet gave off a cold chill. The mirror-like ceiling bounced around red, green, and purple lights. What happened last night? Nick thought, continuing down the steps. Maybe it’s the lighting or something.

At the end of the stairs was a large living room. There were three couches sitting in front of an unlit fireplace, one red, one black, and one white, each one with a bone sticking out of the back.

In a black bookcase in the left corner, there was a bunch of old books. He didn’t know the language they were written in but that was okay, he didn’t read anyway. He was one of those people that preferred to look at the pictures. However, when he saw the brown picture frame above the bookcase, his muscles twitched. In the portrait, there was a brown-haired girl, holding a long white scythe in her bony hands. That smile, the picture was of Angelina, but what was it doing here, where was, here.

A low cough came from the doorway. Nick turned to face it, but there didn’t appear to be anyone there. As he started to turn his head back to the picture frame, he heard another cough, from below. He looked down.

Nick almost screamed at the sight of him. In the middle of the doorway, there was a three ft. man in a black suit, that Nick wasn’t entirely sure was a man. The man’s skin was red, his ears were pointed, horns stuck out of the back of his head, and he had these huge, darting black eyes, like the man was a grotesque mini image of a demon.

The man stood there with an evil smile on his face. Welcome to the Undrworld Mr. Cross. He bowed, revealing his bald head.

Nick almost wanted to touch the man, just to make sure he was real, but he was afraid of cutting himself on the man’s scaly skin. Although, Nick did just have a meeting with the Grim Reaper, who was he to question reality? Undrworld? Isn’t it pronounced, Underworld?

The smile on the man’s face tilted towards the side of the man’s face until it slowly returned to the middle. No, and I wouldn’t go around pronouncing it that way if I were you, sets an image.

Nick’s eyes perked up. What kind of an image?

The smile on the man’s face grew wider. The kind that could get a man killed, or worse. Now, follow me if you will. We have a lot to see and more to do. He walked off into the other room.

Wait. Nick hesitated. He didn’t know if following the demon would answer anything, but it was his only shot, so he chased after him. Shouldn’t we at least get acquainted, first?

Nick followed the demon into the next room, where vines hung from the walls and ceiling, dead vines, brown and withered, but nonetheless, vines. There was a low light coming from the ceiling as though someone wanted to show them off. Necross touched one of the vines next to the doorframe and it crumpled to pieces. Undrworld indeed. Nick thought.

The demon reached out his hand in front of Nick’s stomach. Kre Salvastator the Fifth.

Nick grabbed Kre’s hand. Ni— Kre shook Nick’s hand with unimaginable strength, almost toppling him to the floor, but somehow there was a feeling that he was holding back. Nick Cross.

Kre let go, leaving red marks across Nick’s hand. This is called the Room of Creation. Don’t worry. We barely ever go in here.

Creation, I see. Nick paused as he took another look at the dead vines around the room. What kind of creations?

That all comes one step at a time, Mr. Cross. Kre opened the hatch on the floor that led to another stairway. Follow me.

With only yellow light bulbs on the right wall to guide his path, Nick followed Kre through the dark stairway. The stairway continued to descend, descend, and descend, further down into the abyss.

There was a crunch as Kre turned. So tell me, Mr. Cross, how’s that name coming along?

Name, what do you mean? Necross felt the blue liquid in his veins skip a rotation.

Oh, Angelina didn’t tell you? All Raveonite’s change their name to something that fits the job. For you it should be easy. Kre said.

Great. Nick rolled his eyes. But, what’s a Raveonite?

Kre chortled through the two vertical slits above his ever-smiling mouth. He stopped when he saw the frozen expression on Nick’s face. Oh, I thought you were joking. He continued walking. That girl really didn’t teach you much of anything did she? Raveonites are what Humans call Grim Reapers.

The word set off a chain of events in Nick’s mind, Angelina’s hand, the offer, the dead vines, I’m going to be the new Grim Reaper?

I suppose you are. Kre stopped and turned around, staring Nick straight in the face somehow, even within the midst of the darkness. So, what’ll it be, Nick Cross?

Nick looked down at the ground. The perfect name for a Grim Reaper? He thought. As he lifted his head from the ground, an evil smile appeared on his face and a spark ran through his steel eyes.

Kre stumbled back. Why the creepy smile? It’s just a name.

Nick held himself back from laughing. How about Necross? It’s dark, mysterious, a perfect name for the Grim Reaper.

Kre raised one of the ridges on his face that Necross believed to be eyebrows, closed his eyes, and continued down the stone steps. Very well, He said with an almost pained tone in his voice.

When they reached the end of the