The Reaper's Vengeance A Sister's Wrath Unleashed

I was once the White Reaper, harvesting souls for five hundred years, until I'd earned enough merit to trade it all for one mortal life.

But I was reborn as a baby girl, left beside a dumpster the moment I drew my first breath.

My brother found me when he was seven. He raised me on goat's milk, scraping together everything he had to give me a life worth living.

Years later, he rescued a famous heiress from human traffickers.

She pledged herself to him in gratitude, and he married into the Morton family, rising to a life of unimaginable privilege.

Their wedding was the most extravagant the city had ever seen.

I drained my glass of celebration wine and set off to wander the world.

Two nights ago, walking a mountain road after dark, I found a tattered soul curled inside a crack in the rock, weeping.

It had no limbs. Only half a face remained, and where the eyes should have been there were only two raw, bloody hollows.

I crouched down and began mending the soul, piecing it together from the throat bone up through the jaw, but the face that took shape sent ice down my spine.

It looked exactly like my brother, Sylvester Delgado.

I recoiled so hard my back slammed against the rock wall.

Moonlight fell across the half-formed remnant. Its mouth opened soundlessly, the black pit of its throat gaping toward me.

If this was my brother, then who was the man living the golden life as the Morton family's son-in-law back in Ashford City?

I stood frozen, my Soulfetch Chain clanging against the ground at my feet.

The remnant soul before me had no limbs. Both arms and both legs had been ground away while he was still alive, the stumps a mangled pulp of flesh and sinew and splintered bone, as though someone had fed them through a millstone again and again and again.

The lower half of the face was more or less intact. But that face.

Why was it identical to my brother Sylvester's?

White Reaper, it's getting late. We need to move.

Brutus Thornton hefted his Soulfetch Lasso and called out behind me.

He's right, my lady. That's just some stray ghost from who knows where. Don't bother with it.

Solomon Hansen chimed in.

Their voices dragged me back. A dull, bitter ache spread through my chest.

I had worked the depths of the Netherworld for five hundred years. The horrors I'd witnessed numbered in the millions.

What kind of hatred could do this to a person?

Grief welled up from somewhere deep inside me, and I couldn't stop the soft, shaken breath that escaped my lips.

I forced down the nameless panic clawing at me, told myself over and over not to spiral.

Everyone knew. Sylvester Delgado was the Morton family's prized son-in-law. He'd nearly died saving Nellie Morton, and she had defied every whisper and sideways glance to marry him. That wedding had been the talk of every elite circle in the city.

He was living in splendor, basking in glory. The most fortunate man alive.

How could I look at half a face and decide it was my brother?

I missed him too much. That was all. I was seeing things.

I drew a long breath and smoothed the ripple of dread back down where it didn't belong.

Still, to cross paths was its own kind of fate. I would finish mending this broken soul and send it on to be reborn. That was enough.

I steadied myself, gathered spectral energy at my fingertips, and reached slowly toward the remnant's lumbar spine.

The instant I touched that bone, every muscle in my body locked. My fingers shook so violently the gathered energy scattered into nothing.

This soul had one more vertebra than any human should.

My brother had been obsessed with fighting since he was a boy. At fourteen, he took a blow that nearly killed him. His lumbar spine was shattered beyond repair, and the doctors said there was nothing left to save.

I knelt before the Hall of the Dead for three days and three nights, cracking my forehead against the stone until it bled, begging, until at last I was granted a sliver of Celestial Bone to fuse into his spine.

That extra vertebra was something I had placed there with my own hands.

No one in this world knew about it except the two of us.

I forced myself to stay calm, made myself look at the half-ruined soul again with clear eyes.

The mangled stumps still seeped dark, ghostly blood. The torso was covered in marks of every depth, lash welts layered over crushing wounds, the soul itself torn so badly it was barely holding together.

Whatever had been done to him before death had been beyond endurance. Even now, the soul was still trembling with the memory of that pain.

No

The word scraped out of me, so hoarse it didn't sound like my own voice.

A memory tore through my mind: Sylvester, still half a boy, finding me next to a dumpster on the outskirts of the city, barely alive. He'd gathered me into his arms, eyes red, begging me over and over to hold on, to please keep living.

My tears fell onto the tattered soul.

Just days ago, I'd been at his wedding to Nellie Morton. A grand affair.

My brother in a tailored suit, holding Nellie's hand, smiling as he told me to stay in Ashford City a few more days and enjoy myself.

The whole city had been singing his praises. The Morton family's brilliant son-in-law, his future bright, his marriage to the heiress a picture of devotion and prosperity. A life made.

But this half-shattered soul before me

How could it be my brother?

I drew a long breath, crouched down, and formed a seal with my fingertips.

The White Reaper's Spirit Communion Rite could draw out a dead soul's deepest attachment from life.

The soul fragment had no tongue, couldn't speak, but the images came anyway, flooding into my mind like shards of a broken mirror, piece after piece.

I saw my brother.

He'd been an ordinary boy from the suburbs, scraping by with odd jobs and street fights. He pulled Nellie Morton from the hands of human traffickers, battered and barely conscious, and broke his own leg doing it.

The day Nellie was brought home to the Morton estate, Sylvester was afraid I'd be lonely. He drove through the night to get back to me.

He sat on the edge of my bed, clumsy fingers fumbling through my hair as he tried to braid it

Rose, I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here with you.

It was Nellie's letters, one after another, year after year of waiting, that finally moved his heart.

I knew the ambition he kept buried. I couldn't bear to watch him waste it on odd jobs.

And I was even more afraid he'd spend his life alone, so I told him again and again to go, to build something, to stop worrying about me.

Those years, everything had seemed to fall into place. With the Morton family's resources behind him, he'd risen fast, built a real career.

He called me often, sent me gifts. Every word carried the easy warmth of a man who was settled and happy.

I wandered the mortal world and kept up with my duties in the Netherworld.

Knowing he was doing well was enough for me.

But now

I stared at the half-destroyed soul in front of me, and the pain in my chest was a blade turning.

I thought of when we were small. How he cooked for me, taught me to defend myself, stayed by my side until I fell asleep.

Someone that good how could he end up like this?

The soul fragment's throat bones were shattered. The sound that came from what was left of his throat was a wet, rattling rasp, like a broken bellows trying to weep.

My hands shook as I reached out, threading dark energy through my fingertips, mending the throat bones fragment by fragment.

Bone needles passed through splintered cartilage. I fitted each broken piece back into place, one by one. When I reached the last piece, my whole body went rigid.

Dead center of the throat, a hole punched clean through.

That spot. That shape

A roar of white noise filled my skull, and everything else went silent.

That winter, Sylvester and I had been out delivering food when a half-starved stray dog came at us.

He shoved me behind him. When the dog lunged, he took it for me. Its claws tore straight through his throat, and the blood hit my face.

He collapsed in my arms, a gaping hole in his neck, blood pouring between my fingers no matter how hard I pressed.

I knelt on the ground, sobbing so hard I couldn't breathe, and in the end I traded fifty years of my own lifespan to bring him back.

It's him My voice was shaking. All of me was shaking. It's really him

I pulled the tattered soul against me and held on with everything I had.

But he was so broken, not even limbs left, and I didn't know where to put my hands.

How can this be you how did this happen to you

My tears came heavy and fast, striking the ruined surface of what remained of his body.

Wasn't he supposed to be the Morton family's golden son-in-law? Wasn't he supposed to be living in wealth and glory?

Brutus and Solomon watched me, motionless, and pressed harder:

White Reaper, the hour's passed. We need to report back!

I didn't hear a word. I braced my hands against the ground and pushed myself upright, every last shred of grief in my eyes hardening into bone-deep hatred.

I'm not reporting back.

I'm going to the Morton estate myself. I want to see exactly what kind of thing that fake Sylvester sitting beside the Morton heiress really is.

I lifted my head. Behind my eyes churned a killing intent I had not felt once in five hundred years.

If they really did this to my brother

I, Rose Delgado, will make them pay in blood.

I tucked the tattered soul fragment away with the gentlest hands I had and tore through the night toward the Morton estate.

I couldn't bear to look at it, couldn't bear to think. All I could do was beg, over and over in my own head.

Please be alive. Sylvester, please be alive.

I ran the whole way and finally reached the estate walls.

Sylvester knew I'd never cared for the stiff rituals and social games of wealthy families, so he'd had a quiet little courtyard built for me in the side wing of the Morton grounds somewhere I could stay whenever I visited.

I stood at the door of that courtyard now, and the ache in my chest was so sharp I could taste it.

I could still hear him, back then, pulling me by the hand with that easy grin.

Rose, whenever you miss me, just come find me.

The second you show up, I'll take you all over Ashford City. We'll eat everything good.

Those words still circled in my ears. I gripped the hem of my sleeve and forced myself to think the best once I saw him, everything would be clear.

I'd barely stopped walking when a man in a security uniform sauntered over, looked me up and down, and curled his lip:

Where'd you crawl out of? You think you can just stand here? Get lost!

I swallowed the violence rising in my throat and kept my voice level:

My name is Rose Delgado. I'm the sister of your family's son-in-law, Sylvester Delgado. Let someone know I'm here.

The guard rolled his eyes and let out a snort:

Rose Delgado? Never heard of you. You think the Morton estate just lets any stray off the street walk in?

Every ounce of grief and fury I'd been carrying flooded straight to my skull, and the spectral cold pouring off my body thickened the air around us.

Before I could move, a household servant came rushing over and tore into the guard:

Are you blind? This is Miss Delgado the master's own sister, the one he told us about personally. Who gave you the nerve to disrespect her?

The color drained from the guard's face in an instant, and his knees hit the ground.

The servant turned to me with an apologetic smile:

Please forgive us, Miss Delgado. There was an incident on the grounds not long ago, and all these guards and staff were brought in temporarily. They've never met you, they don't know the rules.

Please don't hold it against them

The tension coiled around my heart eased, just barely.

So that was all it was. As long as Sylvester was fine.

I didn't wait for the rest of their apologies. I was already walking into the estate.

On the rear lawn, beneath a large tree, a familiar figure was throwing punches.

Sharp, powerful strikes. The fists cut the air with real force, and every single form was one I knew by heart.

Fine sweat beaded along his brow. Nellie stood beside him holding a damp cloth, and the moment he finished a set, she stepped in close to dab the sweat away.

Sylvester, take a break. Don't wear yourself out.

The heiress's voice was soft as a spring breeze.

He lowered his fists, gave her a smile, took the cloth and swiped it carelessly across his face, then slipped his other arm around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I stood behind the courtyard gate, nailed to the spot, unable to move.

The way he held himself, the force behind every strike, the small habits between movements identical to the brother in my memory.

That fighting style couldn't be learned in weeks or months. Sylvester had drilled those forms since he was a child.

A rush of absurd, desperate hope flooded through me, and I let half the tension drain from my lungs.

Could it bethat I'd spent too long in the Netherworld, missed him so badly it made me sick, and misidentified that tattered soul fragment?

The Sylvester standing right in front of me was fine. He was here, alive, at Nellie's side, the two of them warm and affectionate. He held the honored position of the Morton family's son-in-law, living in comfort and prestige.

How could he possibly be that pitiful wreck abandoned in the wilderness, with only half a soul left, too broken to even cry properly?

The moment he saw me, my brother's eyes lit up.

He tossed aside his hand wraps and came striding toward me, that smile on his face the same one I knew best in the world.

Rose! Finally! I've missed you so much!

He grabbed my arms and looked me over head to toe, his eyes brimming with joy.

Nellie was just scolding me about it, saying I'm a terrible brother for not making you stay a few more days.

He took his shirt from a servant and pulled it on while he talked.

My gaze drifted instinctively to the base of his spine, to the tailbone. The slight protrusion was clearly visible through the fabric, identical to the shape I remembered from the time I'd mended his bones years ago.

The dread I'd carried the entire way here finally settled.

All I felt was guilt and self-mockery, convinced I'd been overthinking for days, scaring myself over nothing.

I pushed the last traces of unease from my eyes and drew out a small, crudely stitched rag doll from inside my coat.

I saw this little doll at a market. Think of it as an early gift for your future kid.

He took the doll, and the tips of his ears went red. He scratched the back of his head, grinning sheepishly.

What are you on about

That shy look. Exactly the way I remembered it.

Nellie immediately sidled over with a laugh and turned to tease me.

Someone's eager. Already looking forward to being an auntie?

The teasing turned his face even redder. He snatched the doll back from Nellie and tossed it to a nearby servant.

Put that away carefully. It's a gift from my sister. Don't let anything happen to it.

He turned back to me, still smiling.

But I couldn't smile anymore.

That rag doll wasn't something I'd picked up at a street stall. I had sewn it with my own hands after I gave fifty years of my lifespan to save his life. I had told him, again and again, to keep it on him at all times.

How could he not recognize it?

My nails dug into my palms as I stared straight at him.

Look at it again. Carefully. Do you really think it's pretty?

A flicker of impatience crossed his face, gone almost before it arrived, replaced by that easy warmth.

Of course it's pretty. My kid sister picked it out. Everything she picks is pretty.

That single sentence dropped me into ice water.

I circled behind him, pretending to straighten his collar.

My fingers slipped beneath the fabric, and the scar running through his throat came into view.

Right position. Right length. Right shape.

But no matter how perfect the copy, a forgery is still a forgery.

The smile on my face went cold by degrees. I tilted my head toward Nellie.

Miss Morton. My brother saved your life, and this is how you repay him.

Nellie's expression darkened instantly.

What exactly is that supposed to mean, Rose?

The man grabbed Nellie's hand and turned on me, reproach sharpening his voice.

Rose. Watch your mouth.

You've been running wild out there too long, so I'll let it slide. But this is the Morton household. You don't get to be disrespectful here.

The tears I'd been fighting finally broke free, sliding down from the corners of my eyes.

My real brother would have shielded me before anything else. He never would have scolded me like that, and he never, ever would have taken someone else's side and told me to apologize.

I wiped the tears from the corner of my eye. When I opened them again, nothing remained but ice-cold hatred

Drop the act. Where is my brother Sylvester Delgado? Where is he really?

Nellie laughed, the sound sharp with fury. She smoothed the ends of her hair, her tone dripping with mockery

Rose, I think the long ride scrambled your brain. Your brother's standing right in front of you, isn't he?

I didn't bother answering. A flick of my fingertip, and the temperature around us plummeted. Cold wind tore through the entire courtyard in an instant.

In the darkness, countless pairs of green eyes flickered to life.

Spectral soldiers fell into formation. Ten thousand ghosts stood silent.

I stood at the front, the hem of my White Reaper's robe snapping in the wind, five hundred years of fury churning behind my eyes like nothing I had ever known.

Nellie. My brother gave you everything. He put his life on the line for you.

If he really was murdered, if his soul was shattered far from home

I raised my fingertip, and behind me the ranks of spectral soldiers advanced a single step in unison.

I will make you taste every last floor of the eighteen hells.