Chapter 9 : The Reaper's Warning
Four days into Daniel Cross's life, and his apartment had been violated.
I stood in the doorway, keys in hand, staring at the wreckage. Every drawer opened. Every cabinet emptied. Books scattered across the floor, their spines cracked and pages torn. Someone had been thorough. Someone had been making a point.
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: ELEVATED]
[INTRUDER SIGNATURE: MULTIPLE (ESTIMATED 2-3)]
[TIME SINCE INTRUSION: 6-8 HOURS]
The enhanced senses I'd extracted from Karl confirmed what my eyes suspected. The intruders had worn gloves—no fingerprint oils. But they'd left something else: a sharp, metallic scent that reminded me of old blood and industrial cleaners.
I moved through the apartment carefully, checking corners, confirming I was alone. The bedroom was untouched except for the dresser drawers. The kitchen had been emptied onto the counter but nothing broken. The bathroom—
The bathroom mirror stopped me cold.
A symbol, drawn in something dark and crusted. A scythe, curved and cruel, with a skull at its base.
[SYMBOL IDENTIFIED: REAPER MARK]
[ORGANIZATION: GRIMM HUNTER SOCIETY]
[ORIGIN: EUROPEAN (PRIMARILY GERMAN)]
[THREAT LEVEL: SEVERE]
[HISTORICAL CONTEXT: REAPERS ELIMINATE GRIMMS WHO DISRUPT WESEN BALANCE]
The Reapers. I dredged the knowledge from fragmented memories and System archives. An ancient organization of Wesen—multiple species working together—dedicated to killing Grimms. They viewed themselves as necessary balance, culling hunters who got too effective. Their symbol was their calling card, left for targets who had time to run.
This wasn't random violence. This was a formal death sentence.
I photographed the symbol with Daniel's phone, then found cleaning supplies and scrubbed until the mirror reflected only my own pale face. The bloodied message might be gone, but its meaning lingered.
"They know I exist. They know where I live."
The apartment suddenly felt smaller. More exposed.
My phone rang. Unknown number.
I answered.
"Good evening, Grimm." The voice was male, middle-aged, and carried the precise consonants of German-accented English. "I trust you received our message."
"The interior decorating could use work."
A pause. When the voice continued, it was colder. "You killed three Blutbaden at the meatpacking plant. One of them was ours."
"Karl worked for you?"
"Karl served a purpose. As do all Wesen who understand the natural order. Grimms hunt. We hunt Grimms. This is how balance is maintained."
I moved to the window, checking the street below. Empty. No obvious surveillance.
"Balance. That's what you call murder?"
"We call it necessity. Your kind has slaughtered our people for centuries. The Reapers ensure that only the useful Grimms survive." The voice hardened. "You are not useful. You fraternize with Wesen, negotiate instead of kill. You are an aberration."
"And you're giving me advance warning because...?"
"Because we follow protocols. You have one month to leave Portland. Abandon your allies, your investigations, your pretense of building something different. Walk away, and we will not pursue."
"And if I don't?"
"Then we will add your head to our collection. And we will make an example of every Wesen who assisted you."
The threat landed exactly where they'd aimed it. Monroe. Rosalee. Anyone who'd helped me in these first days.
"One month," I repeated.
"Thirty days. Use them wisely."
The line went dead.
I stood in my ransacked apartment, phone still pressed to my ear, and felt something cold crystallize in my chest.
[QUEST GENERATED]
[SURVIVE THE REAPER HUNT]
[TIME LIMIT: 30 DAYS]
[FAILURE CONDITION: DEATH OR EXILE]
[REWARD: REPUTATION ESTABLISHED, REAPER THREAT NEUTRALIZED]
Thirty days. The countdown blinked in the corner of my vision, a constant reminder that my borrowed life had an expiration date.
I called Monroe.
He answered on the second ring. "Cross? You should be resting."
"My apartment was broken into. Someone left a message."
Silence. Then: "What kind of message?"
"A scythe. Blood on the mirror. I just got a phone call from someone with a German accent telling me I have thirty days to leave Portland or die."
Monroe's breathing changed. Faster. Shallower. "Reapers."
"You know them?"
"Every Wesen knows them. They're... they're legend. Bogeymen. Parents tell their children that if they're bad, the Reapers will come for the Grimms, and then the Grimms will come for them." He paused. "They're real. They're organized. And they don't make threats they can't back up."
"So I've heard."
"Cross, you need to run. Pack whatever you can carry and disappear. I know people who can set you up with new papers, new identity—"
"No."
The word came out harder than I'd intended. But something in me had shifted during that phone call. The Reapers expected fear. Expected compliance. Expected the natural response of prey confronted by predators.
"I'm not prey."
"Cross—"
"They threatened you too. And Rosalee. Anyone who's helped me." I moved through the apartment, assessing damage, cataloguing what I'd lost and what remained. "If I run, they'll still come for my allies. That's how they work. Total elimination of the threat and everyone connected to it."
"So what's your plan? Fight an organization that's been killing Grimms for centuries?"
"No." I found Daniel's laptop under a pile of scattered papers, miraculously undamaged. "My plan is to become too dangerous to kill."
"And how exactly—"
"Aunt Marie Burkhardt's trailer. The Grimm repository. Weapons, knowledge, everything her family accumulated over generations. I need access to it before the Reapers make their move."
Monroe was quiet for a long moment. "That trailer is probably watched. Nick Burkhardt is starting to claim his inheritance. The Royals want what's inside. And now you want to walk in and take what you need?"
"I want to walk in and make sure those resources don't fall into hands that will use them to hurt more people. Mine, Burkhardt's, anyone's—as long as they're not being used by Royals or Reapers."
"You're insane."
"Probably."
Another pause. "When do you want to do this?"
"As soon as possible. Every day I wait is a day the Reapers use to prepare."
Monroe exhaled. The sound carried resignation, frustration, and something that might have been respect.
"Tomorrow night. I'll pick you up at ten. And Cross?"
"Yeah?"
"If this gets me killed, I'm going to be very annoyed."
The line clicked. I set the phone down and started making lists.
The next several hours dissolved into preparation. I cleaned the apartment, returning Daniel's possessions to some semblance of order. I photographed everything damaged, creating a record in case the Reapers tried to gaslight their own intrusion. I checked my wounds—the Fuchsbau medicine had worked miracles, reducing the shoulder lacerations to angry pink scars and the rib fractures to manageable soreness.
[HEALING RATE: 340% ABOVE HUMAN BASELINE]
[GRIMM PHYSIOLOGY: ADAPTING TO WESEN MEDICINE]
[NOTE: FURTHER STUDY RECOMMENDED]
The System catalogued everything. My recovery rate, my enhanced senses, the way the extracted Blutbad ability integrated with my existing perception. I was becoming something more than human, more than Grimm. Something the Reapers hadn't accounted for.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: I've considered your offer. Meet tomorrow. Same place.
Adalind. She'd made her decision.
I smiled for the first time since finding the scythe on my mirror.
[QUEST UPDATE: HEXENBIEST ALLIANCE]
[STATUS: MEETING SCHEDULED]
[NOTE: ADALIND SCHADE HAS DIPLOMATIC VALUE AGAINST ROYAL INTERESTS]
The pieces were falling into place. Allies. Resources. Time—limited, but present. The Reapers thought they were hunting a scared young Grimm who'd stumbled into a world he didn't understand.
They were wrong.
I pulled out a notebook and started writing. Weapons I needed. Knowledge I needed. Skills I needed to extract. Thirty days wasn't much time to build an army, but it was enough time to build a foundation.
The Reapers had given me a deadline.
"I work very well with deadlines."
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