Reaper's Rebellion

By R. Caine

Death, the void, the abyss...one man embodies it beyond anything ever witnessed in man's history. When he finds himself at war with the world, he waters the soil with his victims' blood. Gods, demons, Magi...all falter against his iron will...though some speculate that he's not a man at all...but something darker. All in pursuit of his woman's dreams. The mysterious dark woman of Itani. The scent of her enemy's charred flesh clings to her like a perfume. With a sinful presence that instills fear and lust in equal parts. Can the realm be saved? Will a hero present themself? Or will destruction prevail as war tears at the fabric of civilization itself?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Oct 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781665740920

R. Caine

Finally, to my fans: Your support means everything to me. Without you, my free time would be spent in a dreary haze of debauchery that might make Whitnere blush. Once upon a time, it was. So writing is good for my health, truly. Thank you for making that possible.

Book preview

Reaper’s Rebellion

R. CAINE

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Copyright © 2023 R. Caine.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Archway Publishing

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Interior Image Credit: Dede & R.Caine

ISBN: 978-1-6657-4093-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-4091-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-4092-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023905596

Archway Publishing rev. date: 09/05/2023

Contents

Notable People from the Reapers’ Rebellion

Prologue

01 Lawrence

02 Colden

03 Lawrence

04 Colden

05 Ryder

06 Lawrence

07 Colden

08 Lawrence

09 Colden

10 Whitnere

11 Lawrence

12 Vilkas

13 Lawrence

14 Lawrence

15 Colden

16 Lawrence

17 Colden

18 Gabriel

19 Lawrence

20 Colden

21 Ranger

22 Lawrence

23 Ryder

24 Lawrence

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Book 2 Prologue

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Notable People from the

Reapers’ Rebellion

Written by Leonardo, a witness and participant of the events that took place during history’s greatest rebellion. I have written these brief descriptions from firsthand knowledge and information that I’ve gathered since. The names are vaguely placed in the order in which you will encounter them ahead. Please forgive any errors, for even the great Leonardo is not without flaws.

… … … … … …

Reapers

Lawrence—the Lord Reaper and husband of Aurora. Scourge of the church and an unrivaled killer. The fiercest rebel commander the realm has ever known and a dear friend of mine.

Aurora—the dark woman of Itani. Wife of Lawrence and sorceress without equal. A woman as dangerous as she is beautiful and another dear friend, I’m proud to say.

Victor—Lawrence’s second-in-command and the most loyal man I’ve ever met. Skilled swordsman and veteran of countless battles.

Colden—the youngest member of the Reapers and greatest archer in living memory. The most well-read mercenary I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing and my greatest friend.

Johan—Lawrence’s younger brother and a famous tourney knight. The Umbrian Bear, a beast of a man with a beast of a sword.

Leonardo—a rebel so infamous that kingdoms tremble at the whisper of his name. Master painter, sculptor, builder, writer, scientist, and inventor. The most brilliant mind the realm has ever known and perhaps the sharpest dresser. I could go on for pages about this man’s many accomplishments, but I wouldn’t want someone to accuse me of bragging.

… … … … … …

Highlanders

Ryder—a war veteran trying to find his way in life after the battle has ended.

King Bramwell—the Griffin king and ruler of the Highlands and younger brother of the pope.

Prince Richard—the eldest, firstborn prince of the Griffin throne, killed by Lawrence in a duel on the beach of Devonshire after a siege of the town.

Prince Michael—oldest living son of the Griffin king and heir to the throne.

Prince Gabriel—youngest son of the Griffin king and second in line to the Griffin throne.

Princess Winter—daughter of King Bramwell and princess of the Griffin throne. One of the greatest beauties in the realm.

Talon—personal guard to King Bramwell and most accomplished warrior in the Highlands.

… … … … … …

New Umbrians

Skuldeval—one of Hakon’s disciples. Mythical ruler of Falkyr.

Canute—Skuldeval’s high priest.

Torver—one of Skuldeval’s priests. He is an older, portly fellow with a calming presence.

Hakon—mythical dark lord of the ancient world. The fiercest of the gods and worst enemy of the Alexandrian church.

Tyra—considered by many to be the mother of witchcraft. She is the mythical red woman and most powerful of the sorceresses.

Rune—Hakon’s smallest disciple and right-hand man.

Vilkas—Hakon’s high priest.

… … … … … …

Rangers

Rowley—a cowardly ranger looking forward to retirement.

Gaston—a young ranger that is hell-bent on glory.

… … … … … …

Demons

Vannevar—king of the demons and one of the most impressive beings I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Sonja—a pretty female demon with a cheerful demeanor.

Whitnere—the most vile and despicable creature I’ve ever had the misfortune of coming across. There are not enough pages for me to voice my complaints. If only we would have left him in his cave.

Prologue

Arwen was running. Darkness followed as he fled for his life. He dared a glance back over his shoulder, his breath fogging the frigid night air. They were gaining ground. Black clad phantoms riding monstrous horses. Cutting through the fog. Wielding wicked weapons. He looked into the eyes of their commander but found only blackness. A dark abyss that was sucking him in. Tearing at his soul. Clutching it with cold dead fingers.

Arwen looked back ahead of him and prayed for his feet to move faster. He could hear them drawing closer. Death was on its way. Oh God. Please! Please! Help me! He begged as he scampered for his life. He needed Lord Jael. He needed Alexander. His heart was pounding harder than ever before. Sweat pouring off him in frantic drops. Oh God! No! Not like this! I’m not ready yet!

He dared another look. Saw the giant pale horse as it drew closer. Blackened armor coated its muscular frame. Almost upon him. All his running had been a waste. His God had forsaken him. Tears streamed down his cheeks. The Lord Reaper’s black sword was rising behind him. No! Then it came down.

Ahhh! Arwen sat up. Jumped as he covered his head with his arms. He was trying desperately to defend himself. Arwen! Arwen? what’s the matter? He looked around in a sweat covered panic. Saw his wife beside him wearing a look of alarm. What? What? He feverishly scanned his surroundings. He was sitting in his bed. The covers were soaked with sweat. A baby was crying loudly in the background. His baby; Marian. Just a nightmare. It had all been a horrible dream. Arwen? He made the sign of the cross as he silently thanked his heavenly Father Jael. Then he gave his wife a hug. Arwen? Arwen you’re scaring me. I know dear. I know. I’m sorry. I’m alright. Just a bad dream. Even if it had felt like the real thing.

Fucking Reapers. Arwen hadn’t slept peacefully through a night in weeks. He couldn’t even escape them while he rested. Like a fucking curse that wouldn’t let up. He didn’t know how much more he could stand. We’re gonna be alright dear. We’re gonna be alright.

He got up to tend to his crying daughter. He lifted her as another little person entered the room. Papa? from his other daughter. She frowned at him with all the worry her five-year-old face could muster. What is it, baby? I couldn’t sleep! I was having this dream! This dream about a monster on a horse! He was chasing me! He opened his arms to invite a much-needed hug as his dread multiplied. He couldn’t show his fear.

His eldest daughter cried against him. It’s alright, honey. It’s just a dream. He looked at his wife as he spoke. The terror in her eyes said it all.

As he climbed into bed beside her holding their daughters between them his wife asked what they were gonna do? It’s just a dream, he assured her. Even though he knew the truth.

Hey how are you this morning, Arwen? Those nails finished? Tom asked as he approached. Arwen had just finished his order. It was a pleasant spring morning. The warmth enveloped Arwen like a soft kiss. The type of morning that could give a man hope. Even one who hadn’t slept right all week. But as he looked out towards the east, he saw dark rain clouds in the distance. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Yeah, I got em for you, Tom. How are you? The anxiety of the villagers was thick enough to cut with a knife. Arwen wasn’t the only one. He could see it in the frown on Tom’s face. Dark circles sat beneath his friend’s eyes. Yet they wouldn’t speak of it. It was an unwritten rule to carry on as if death wasn’t coming. I’m doing alright, Arwen. Glad that winters ended. It’s gonna be a great harvest this year, Arwen. I’ve got a feeling. Tom nodded along with himself in a convincing fashion. Whether he was trying to convince Arwen or himself; Arwen would never know. He just nodded along with his friend’s hopes. He wouldn’t be the one to spoil the mood. Say Arwen, you look tired. Has your baby been keeping you up late? Oh yeah, Tom. Marian can cry with the best of them. Don’t reckon I’ll be sleeping much this year. Tom nodded with a slight smile, I hardly slept a wink with Reggie. I mean I missed Tommy’s first years but, well Jenny swore he cried like a demon. Arwen frowned at Tom. Tom frowned back as he looked into Arwen’s eyes. Sorry, Arwen. You’re right. Not very thoughtful during times such as these. Arwen nodded, hoping to speak no further of it. But then Tom got this weary look in his bloodshot eyes. His tone changed as he broke the unspoken rule. Say Arwen, I gotta tell you, I ain’t been sleeping so well lately either. Don’t, Arwen urged. Tom licked his lips nervously, I’ve been having these dreams. These awful nightmares... please, Tom! his old friend stopped with his mouth open. Then looked down and shook his head. I’m sorry, Arwen. You know what they say though right? What it means? They’re just stories, Tom. Meant to scare us. Tom raised his gaze and looked into Arwen’s eyes, aye. But my cousin Earl lived in Wilton Grove. He told me about these dreams he was having when I visited last month. These terrible nightmares. He was dead not a week later. We were lucky. A few days sooner and we would’ve been there. It’s a coincidence, Tom. Father Archibald said all this is nonsense. You did hear what them Reapers did to Wilton Grove didn’t you, Arwen? He made the sign of the cross after speaking such evil. Using a harsh whisper so that they couldn’t be overheard.

The Reapers weren’t something people spoke of in the open. Weren’t supposed to be spoken of at all. Arwen cringed at their mention as he looked around. Father Archibald whipped a man in the village square just for speaking the dark woman’s name last week. Claimed he was consorting with evil forces. As if they spoke too loud the Lord Reaper might hear them and come calling.

Yeah, I heard about that Tom. Dark business that. The Dark Woman had captured the priest from Wilton Grove and sacrificed him to her dark Deity. Burnt him alive in the village square while his flock watched. Then burnt the rest of them to amuse herself. By the time they were finished children’s corpses hung from tree branches like ornaments. I heard from a trader who passed through there after they left. He said that screams still echoed out after sun set. A horrible wailing sound of people burning. I ain’t letting them take my family, Arwen! Arwen pictured his own family and noticed his hand quivering.

You want one of these? He held up one of his iron crosses. A good change of subject. Tom thought about it for a moment as he stared. I’ve had Archibald bless them, Arwen added. The old priest charged him five coppers to say a few words, the greedy old bastard. At least he’d blessed a full hundred. You really think they’re gonna help? They can’t hurt, Arwen told him. He’d never prayed so much in his life. What we really need Arwen is to be ready. We need a militia... The Knights of the Golden Cross are here, Tom. We’re safe. What if they’re not enough? I mean you’ve heard what these heathens are capable of... We’re fine, Tom. Between the knights and their men, we’ve got a couple dozen guards. Ain’t no rebels crazy enough to face them for the scraps we got here. But keep your militia ready just in case. he patted Tom’s thick forearm; muscles he’d earned in war. What if they come for the knights? You know better than anyone what those suits of armor are worth. There’s probably forty swords amongst them. What rebel warlord wouldn’t want that? Ah, I think you’re paranoid Tom. Too much trouble for some used armor.

After a few moments Tom nodded, alright then Arwen. I’m sure you’re right. And give me three of them there crosses. Can’t hurt. You’re right about that too. That’ll be an extra two coppers. Tom handed him the coins, Man I tell you Arwen, I thought when I got home my war had ended, but lately I feel like it’s just the beginning. Like my worse days are still ahead of me. Is it just me, Arwen? Am I really that paranoid? Thunder roared in the distance as Arwen looked his friend in the eyes, No, Tom. I’m afraid not. I can feel it too. Tom nodded slowly, well I’ll tell you what Arwen, this ain’t Wilton Grove. Them fuckers come around here, and we’ll send them fucking pagans to hell ourselves! Arwen studied Tom’s face in his heated tone. Noticed the vein protruding from his neck. Arwen had always figured the big soldier as someone you’d want on your side if things got tough. Yeah, Tom. But I hope it don’t come to that, he agreed with a pat on Tom’s shoulder. Well Jael bless you, Arwen. I’ll see you at Ironsides tonight. You too, Tom. See you then.

Ironsides was the best tavern in Glampshire. After a hard day’s work Arwen liked to stop in there and drink some ale before going home to his family. He found the place packed this night. Frightened villagers all huddled up together for comfort. Most carrying the haggard look of men without sleep. The stress of the times lead people to seek solace in a mug. Arwen felt the same. His stomach was shaking like a bunch of angry worms as he entered. He accidentally bumped into a man who shoved him backwards. Watch where the fuck you’re walking! One of the knight’s men. A squire or warrior beneath him. All the knights had retainers. Often times they felt themselves knightly. But the man had a sword at his hip and a dark look in his eye, so Arwen apologized before moving on. It took a third ale before his nerves calmed.

Tom was telling old war stories to some other veterans. From his time fought in the Centuries War. Smashed them Pyreneesian dogs we did! We bloody smashed em! Tom exclaimed, smashing his hand into the table. This brought about a chorus of laughter and applause. Even Arwen smacked the table and hooted. But as he did, he looked across the tavern to three knights wearing white with golden crosses over their chests. One of them was glaring. Arwen cleared his throat before speaking, uh you might wanna keep it down about the Pyreneesians, Tom. I heard that Sir Byron is Pyreneesian. Tom and the rest of the table looked in their direction. Aye, Tom said. The Sword of Saint Martin, Harold said, would someone explain to me how the Sword of Saint Martin wound up in Glampshire? It is hard to believe, Tom agreed, I heard he slew a dozen in the Centuries War. Won a tournament too, Harold added, would have won the one on King Bramwell’s name day if not for Talon. They said he bested Prince Gabriel. Gabriel’s the youngest though. Michael would have beaten him, Tom said. Richard is the best of the princes, Joseph said. Another war veteran with a nasty scar through one of his eyes. He didn’t say much but when he did everyone listened. You seen them fight, Joe? Tom asked. Joseph nodded slowly. I did. Four years ago, in Sherborne. Prince Richard beat Prince Michael in the quarter finals. But he lost to Talon next. Then Talon fought the Bear of Umbria in the finals. Oh, I heard about that fight! Went on for nearly an hour didn’t it? Joseph nodded, Aye. But when the dust cleared it was Talon standing victorious. I saw him fight in Alexandria, Tom told them, I remember thinking to myself that no man could beat him. Bloody flawless technique! And quick when he needs to be. Ain’t no one better than Talon. Well now, let’s not forget about Tavo the Terrible. Or the Hand of God. I’ll give you the Pope’s bastard, Tom agreed, they say Tavo’s a monster. But the Viper of Vernice? He’s not a tournament fighter. No, but they say he’s as deadly as a serpent in combat. I’ll tell you who’s the most lethal killer I ever saw, Joseph told them all, it was the son of commander Aden in the Battle of Trenton. When his father fell, well, he just...I think we all would have died that day if not for him. He killed so many so quickly. It was unreal. He literally broke their morale by himself. He and his companion. They beat the Pyreneesians back and saved all our lives. The whole table went quiet. Everyone knew who Joseph was speaking of. There wasn’t one amongst them who was gonna say his name. Arwen heard that if you mention the devil’s name he just might come calling.

Well you sure know how to spoil a mood, Harold said looking down. Joseph smiled sadly and nodded, sorry, lads. Just had to tell it true. I do believe it’s time to call it a night though. I’m hoping to get a little sleep tonight. Maybe without that evil fucker chasing me through my dreams. Joseph downed his ale and stood up from the table. Everyone said their farewells. When he was gone Harold spoke, you guys don’t think he really meant that did you? What? Tom asked him. Well, that you know who is worse than Talon? I mean that can’t be right. Right? Arwen looked to Tom. He’d never saw any of these men fight himself. He’d never even been out of Glampshire. I told you what I thought Harold. Talon’s the best fighter alive. Ain’t no ghost story gonna make me believe otherwise. Arwen always enjoyed the banter over who was best. Being a blacksmith, he even dreamt of forging weapons for one of these incredible fighters. But he turned his attention to the comment Joseph made about sleeping. Are you all having the dreams? The nightmares? He looked each man in their eyes. Tom looked down, telling him all he needed to know. When Arwen looked into Harold’s eyes he was on the verge of tears. How is it possible? How are we all having the same nightmare? Harold asked desperately. Arwen’s stomach dropped. He had no answer. But Tom reached out and gripped Harold’s arm, it’s all trickery, Harry. Just some evil that witch is doing. A ritual or spell or something evil. They’re trying to frighten us. Trying to break our will. But we’re not gonna give up, are we? Harold shook his head as a tear streamed down his cheek. To Arwen it looked like Harold had already given up. Hey, at least we’ve got the knights here. Ain’t no rebels gonna attack knights of our lord. Tom looked over at Arwen, if they do they’re gonna learn the hard way that Glampshire isn’t welcoming.

The next day Arwen stood in church listening to Father Archibald tell the story of Alexander’s resurrection. Alexander challenged the Dark Lord to single combat. For he knew that Hakon was evil and said that evil couldn’t be allowed to flourish. Alexander was a brave man that feared nothing because our Holy Lord Jael was with him. But the Dark Lord defeated him. Cheated with the evil sorcery of Tyra. Hakon nailed him to a cross so that all could see what he’d done to the mighty Alexander. Then tore Alexander’s heart out of his chest and ate it. A nervous shudder went through those in attendance. Speaking of the Dark Lord was enough to set anyone’s nerves on edge. Especially things being what they were. Arwen and many others did the sign of the cross, just in case.

The pagans will tell you that’s the end of the story. But we know different, don’t we? The priest asked the congregation. Yes, the crowd responded in ritual form. Every year on this day they gathered in the church and Father Archibald told this story. It was Holy Sunday. The sacred day that Alexander rose from the dead to conquer the false gods.

Alexander got off that cross, after three days, and slew the Dark Lord, Archibald assured the congregation with a fierce belief. How’d he do that without a heart? someone in the crowd asked. A boy of ten that didn’t know any better. The priest glared in his direction, somebody beat that insolent brat, he growled. Arwen heard a smack, followed by a child’s sobs. Poor kid. Arwen had always wondered that same thing. But he knew better than to question Father Archibald. He’d learned long ago that priests didn’t appreciate any disputes to their stories.

He found himself staring at the knights on each side of the altar. They wore white with a golden cross on their chest. The Pope’s personal soldiers. They didn’t answer to anyone but him. A year ago, they wouldn’t of been there. Village churches didn’t usually keep armed guards, but the Reaper Rebellion had changed everything. No church in the Highlands seemed safe.

Wilton Grove was their sixth. If only the knights had reached them in time. The Pope’s holy decree sent Knights of the Golden Cross to every church in the Highlands. A little late for some but luckily the evil hadn’t reached Glampshire yet. Arwen counted eight Knights in total. All of them heavily armed and armored. He marveled at the craftsmanship of their armor. What he wouldn’t give to craft a suit of armor like that. They were said to be the finest warriors in the realm. The rest of their men were spread out around the walls of the church. All of them armed. Arwen knew they were supposed to make everyone feel safe but something about them surrounding everyone was unsettling. His eyes fell to the sharp end of the bolt in a warrior’s crossbow.

And after Alexander vanquished evil from the realm, he founded Alexandria. The greatest city in the Highlands. Then he traveled Ashrang bringing the good news of the dark Lord’s death to everyone. Founding Pyrenees and Itani. All bent the knee to God’s chosen warrior and the land knew peace for the first time. The priest looked out at his flock. It’s up to all of us to carry on his legacy. We must be a shining light against the darkness. Ushers will be coming around to collect donations. Give what you can spare. In fact, give more. The church needs all of you to do your part in these troubled times.

Arwen reached in his purse. He had six coppers and two silver griffins. He’d need the griffins to feed his family for the month. He’d labored countless hours at the forge for them. The six coppers were profit from the crosses. He decided to give three coppers. He’d keep half for himself. Six of the knights were making their way through the crowd collecting the coins. Arwen frowned. That was new.

Two of them stopped in front of him. Their white and gold surcoats were worn over full plate armor. Longswords hung at their waist. From a distance they looked formidable, but up close they were downright intimidating. Donations? The one holding the bag asked him. The other stared at him through the visor of his helm with dead eyes. Arwen dropped the three coppers into the bag. That’s it? The one staring asked. Arwen flinched at the question. Yeah, that’s all I have to give. The knight took a step closer, you’re telling me that’s all the coin you have? That purse is empty? He pointed to Arwen’s purse. I, I need what’s left to feed my family. Arwen gestured to his wife and children as his heart pounded. Didn’t you hear the priest? We need more. Harsh times and all. Arwen glanced at his wife. He seen the fear in her eyes. Whether from the knights or a month without food, he wasn’t sure. The knight gripped the sword at his hip. I won’t ask again. Arwen believed him.

He reached in his purse and pulled out his final coins. He held out one of the silver griffins he’d worked so hard for. The knight took it and dropped it in the bag. And the rest, he said. Arwen was aghast. You’re taking everything? This is robbery! You’re supposed to be protecting us! The knight reached out and took the coins with a sneer beneath his visor. You think that protection comes for free? You think I don’t have to pay my men? He pointed at some armed men along the walls. Arwen had never thought about that. But he didn’t ask for their protection. How are we supposed to eat? Arwen asked. God will provide.

Arwen watched dumbfounded as they moved onto the next man. Like he’d just been bent over a table and reamed like a cheap whore. They didn’t even have the decency to spit on it, nor had they paid when they were finished. Just shoved their cocks up his ass and smacked him in the back of his head. Then left him penniless and soiled in his own shame. All in front of his family.

The next man they approached was his friend Tom. The big farmer who’d fought with the Highland army against the Pyreneesians. He’d only recently come home. I’m not giving you everything. The Pope can shove his orders up his ass! He told the Holy Knights. Arwen was disgusted with himself for just handing his coins over. His fist clenched at his sides. What a coward! He should have taken a stand! He considered grabbing the bag and pulling it away from the knight.

The knight without the bag smashed Tom in the face with a gauntleted fist. The big man stumbled, and the knight hit him again. Blood squirted out across his family. His wife was screaming. Kids were crying. But Tom kept his feet and stared at the knight defiantly. One of his eyes was already swelling. Then the other one set his bag of coins down and drew a heavy wooden club from his belt. You wanna fuck around, huh?

Arwen watched as the two knights beat the war veteran within an inch of his life. Battering his body. His wife Jennie rushed to his side begging them to stop. One of them punched her in the stomach. She gasped and fell to the ground beside her husband. Then the knight reached down and took Tom’s purse. Who’s next? he asked as he made his way to the next man. There was blood smudged across his club. Jennie’s sobs could be heard throughout the church. Arwen looked towards the altar and saw Father Archibald. The priest did nothing. He’d quite possibly ordered it.

Arwen looked at his friend curled up on the ground. He thought how grateful he was that he just handed over his coins. Even if he was a coward. Arwen touched the cross pendant at his chest and said a prayer. If there was a God, this wasn’t what he had in mind. It couldn’t have been. He wondered what Alexander would have thought.

He pulled his wife and kids close and hugged them. What are we gonna do Arwen? His wife asked him. I don’t know honey. I don’t know.

BANG!

Blinking and coughing. The sound of alarm. Sheer panic. Men crying out in pain. Suddenly Arwen was on the ground. Smoke filled his lungs. His ears rang. He looked around, worried for his loved ones. They crawled over to him, and he held them protectively. What had just happened? There was a huge hole in the church’s stone wall, sunlight pouring through. The men who’d been standing along it were in bloody pieces. A figure was beginning to emerge from the gloom.

He saw a large figure wearing all black. His hood was up, and his face was a skull. Arwen clutched his cross and began to pray. This had to be another nightmare! Please God let him wake up!

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One of the knight’s squires went at the skull creature. Drew his sword and swung. But the being just slapped the sword aside and then a black blade was sticking out from the squire’s back. With a push the squire stumbled into some others and collapsed. Another man allied with the knights was standing nearby. He aimed his crossbow and fired. The bolt bounced from the black being’s armor. Then it lunged at him. The man had no time to escape. One hack left him down and choking on his own blood.

The figure pointed at the altar with its’ bloody blade as more emerged behind him. They poured into the church. All with skull faces. Reapers! Father Archibald screamed as he pointed at them. The knights began forming a protective barrier around him with their swords drawn. Kill them! Kill the heathens! The priest screamed and two of his knights made their way through the crowd. Their henchmen were closer though. About a dozen of them charged at the Reapers.

Arwen could do nothing but watch the massacre. Each of the hardened men went at the Reapers and each of them fell. They didn’t have the excellent armor of the knights they served. The first Reaper who’d come through the wall moved like some vicious demon of death. He hacked another down. Slashed the knee of another man before stomping on his head. Another thrust a spear at him and lost half his head for it. Another bolt bounced off that black armor. Then the Reaper smashed the man into the wall and opened his guts. In mere moments the knight’s men were lying in pieces at the Reaper’s feet.

The two knights reached the Reaper just as he slew the last of their companions. He raised his sword. It was black and a silver skull was gleaming at it’s handle. Resentment. That was the name of that sword. It had to be. Arwen had heard the stories. It was said to be forged in Hell. That was the Lord Reaper himself!

He stepped into the aisle and faced the Holy Knights. A looming darkness against the light. Blood was dripping from his skull. The two knights went at him, swords flying. The clash of metal echoed throughout the church. He deflected their blows as he stepped back, one then the other, too fast for Arwen to follow. Neither knight could touch him. Then another Reaper with a black greatsword came up from behind to assist. He swung his sword into the back of one knight’s head. There was a loud clank as the knight stumbled and fell forward on his face. The Lord Reaper deflected another blow, then brought his sword down in a black blur. Hacked the other knight’s hand off at the wrist just beneath the steel armor. As the holy soldier looked to his bloody stump the black blade punched through the eye slit of his visor. He crumbled to the ground, body spasming as he fell. The Lord Reaper stepped on the Knight’s head with his boot and jerked his sword out. Then pointed the bloody blade at the priest. Blood dripped from its tip.

The rest of the Reapers were in the church now. Arwen counted six.

A couple had crossbows and were firing bolts at the Golden Knights around Father Archibald. The holy knight’s armor seemed to hold, more or less. Deflecting the bolts as it was meant to. Then a Reaper stepped out from the others with a huge, black longbow. It was taller than him and curved on each side. He drew back the string and loosed an arrow at the huddled knights. The arrow smashed against a steel breastplate and knocked the knight right off his feet. He cried out like he’d broken a rib. The other knights looked to each other in a panic.

Then she walked in. A beautiful woman dressed in black stepped through the rubble and into the church. All the candles died instantly. A chill crept down Arwen’s spine. He noticed the five-pointed star above her huge breasts. An evil symbol. He crossed himself again. The Dark woman had come to Glampshire.

The six Reapers walked through the cowering crowd and fanned out around the altar. Die pagan! a young man shouted as he stood up suddenly. He tried to stab the Lord Reaper from behind. But a savage elbow came back and busted the man’s face first. Then the Reaper turned and shoved his sword through the man’s guts. A terrible gasping sound followed that made Arwen sick. No! A woman screamed. If you try to fight me, you’ll pay with your life, the Reaper told them all. His sword was still stuck through the man’s abdomen. Hardly even a man yet. Jordan. He was sixteen. Arwen saw Jordan’s mother get up and rush towards him. Screaming as she reached them. The dark woman’s knife dug deep into her back just as she got there. Your son will be an offering now, Isabel. Her voice was sweet and terrifyingly evil. How she knew Isabel’s name was beyond Arwen. She drew the blade from Isabel’s back and the woman moaned. Momma! Jordan cried, blood dripping down his chin. As will you, the dark woman said, just before she drug the blade across Isabel’s throat. Blood sprayed over her boy as she collapsed. Jordan was screaming. The Reaper punched him then and Jordan went still, hanging slack in the Reaper’s grip. Jaw hanging at an unnatural angle.

The Reaper reached up and gripped Jordan by his hair with one hand, then drew his sword out with the other. With a quick slash he cut Jordan’s head clear off. The boy’s body fell, pouring out blood on his mother’s corpse. Try anything and you’re dead, the Reaper told them bluntly. Then tossed Jordan’s head into the crowd to drive his point home. It landed nearby with a squishy thud. Arwen heard a crying sound and realized it was his daughter. Quiet down, honey! He whispered forcefully, then hugged her against him. His wife was looking at him with horror written plainly across her face.

The remaining five knights were standing around Father Archibald. One was on the ground, wounded from the arrow. Throw down your weapons, the Lord Reaper commanded. His voice had a strange resonance through his mask. He sounded like an agent of death. You throw yours down, heathen. The priest yelled from behind the knights. The Lord Reaper nodded to his archer and the heathen drew his massive bow back again. He released it and another knight fell. Face me yourself! Sir Byron dared the Lord Reaper. He was the leader of the Golden Knights. As you wish, commander. the Lord Reaper gestured to his men, and they moved to each side of him.

Everyone watched as Officer Byron stepped down the stairs to face the heathen. One was dressed all in white. The other all black. Byron was several inches shorter, but he was an accomplished warrior. He’d led successful missions into Umbria. He’d fought in a rebellion in Itani. He’d done well in tournaments. His deeds had been the talk of the town all week.

Then Arwen looked at the Lord Reaper. He didn’t move, he just stared at the knight. Gaping black holes in the sockets of his mask. He wore black plate armor that made Arwen cock his head. The way it was reflecting light. Like some metal he’d never seen before. He wore a black cloak over his shoulders with his cowl pulled up. Arwen could see the flame shaped crosspiece of his sword. That same dark metal. The sword forged in Hell.

Byron attacked first; a side cut that the Reaper easily deflected. Then again and again. Metal clashed as the swords rang together. The Reaper was like a phantom that Byron couldn’t seem to strike. For as large as he was, he was incredibly agile. Arwen noticed the dark woman watching with huge green eyes. The tales of her beauty hadn’t been exaggerated. If anything, they