They call me Grim (COMPLETED)

Chapter 1: Death stops

Grim arrived just in time to watch the last werewolf get its throat ripped out.

She didn't flinch as bits of trachea, blood and flesh flew through her head. She did let out the smallest sigh though at the needless bloodshed. She had to admit, through her decade of being a death reaper she'd gotten tired of it. It wasn't that she couldn't stomach the sight of guts and bones and the ground soaked red, she just hated the needless violence.

But it kept her in business.

"Stupid mortals," she muttered to herself as she stepped over a torn out liver. Grim hated going to battle fields between feuding werewolves especially. They were so gruesome and fought over things that were utterly stupid. One pack believed their border ended at a certain tree, the neighbouring pack disagreed and the next second they were fighting. That she-wolf visited the shops on our land without permission, kill her and start a war. God, they were so very stupid, and to think she had once been one of them.

She would have loved to avoid werewolves entirely, but of course, she was a level ten reaper, battlefields were her speciality. Anything where there were more than twenty deaths was her domain.

Times like these, when she was forced to look at the sobbing survivors and the moaning dying, were when she longed for the days when she was on suicide clean-up. She would go in and claim the souls of those who had hanged or jumped or slit their wrists, it would only take a second. Grim liked the people who had wanted to die, they went into the void with no complaints, just like she should have but didn't.

It was so very ironic that she dealt almost exclusively with people who clung desperately to life, when she herself had willingly ended hers. It seemed like the sort of sick joke the council would make up as they sat in their chamber

Grim sighed and shook her head. Now was the time to claim the lost souls, not ponder her position or think badly of the council. You never knew who was listening to your thoughts.

Grim called for the scythe, which was so familiar it felt like part of her arm, and it materialised in her hand. The staff grew to reached the ground, the blade elongated and curved, glinting wickedly in the setting sun. Grim brought the bottom of the scythe down on the ground. There was a whisper, like the sound of leaves scrapping on the ground and rushing water, and a ripple was sent out along the ground.

She watched with impassive black eyes as souls gasped, ripping free from the mortal confines of the human body. It was an oddly beautiful thing to see. The way the silvery lines connecting the soul snapped, expelling the wispy, almost see through souls. They stood next to their bodies, the light of the setting sun making them shine almost, and then they begun to panic.

"What's happening?"

"Oh god!"

"Where am I?"

"Am I dead?"

Dozens of voices begun to thrum through the air and Grim gritted her teeth. With but a thought she sent the scythe away, almost missing the feeling of it in her hand, and summoned her next item of death. She held out her hand once again and this time a long scroll appeared.

Clearing her throat softly she then yelled out, "Everyone shut the hell up!" People froze and turned their head, jaws slack with shock and eyes wide and panicked. She offered them a smile that felt odd on her face.

Grim knew they must have been terrified. They were looking at a reaper and they knew it. The long black cloak that covered her body was no doubt a giveaway. Once she had wondered how the humans knew so much about what Death Reapers looked like, and the information had been downloaded in her head, telling her that it was intentional so they knew when they were dead.