Training Room – Reaper HQ

  Henry sat on a steel bench, his bandaged hands resting on his knees. He no longer wore the wraps over his face; his skin was mottled with bruises and healing cuts, but his eyes—now cold and analytical—never strayed from the center of the room.

  In front of him, Elijah and Zack were in the heat of combat.

  Zack moved with a playful strangeness. He spun across the battlefield as if following a song only he could hear, flicking razor-edged playing cards that whizzed through the air, slicing through the artificial mist. He laughed from behind his black mask, which bore a predatory grin.

  "Eight of spades, Elijah! Fate says you’re gonna bleed!" Zack exclaimed, firing off a sequence of rapid kicks while using the M4 carbine on his back as a counterweight.

  Elijah, however, was silence in motion. He didn't waste a single breath. In his wide-grinning skeleton mask, he looked like a ghost, dodging Zack’s paper blades with millimetric tilts of his torso. When Zack lunged for a finishing blow, believing he had the Argentine cornered, Elijah executed a fluid transition from Jiu-Jitsu to Krav Maga.

  In a blur of motion, Elijah seized Zack’s wrist, pivoted his body, and locked him in a devastating armbar while simultaneously driving a knee into the Uruguayan’s solar plexus. The impact echoed like a gunshot. Zack was slammed into the floor, cards scattering around him like confetti at a funeral.

  Elijah remained standing, not even winded, watching his teammate cough on the ground.

  "Luck is a human concept, Zack," Elijah said, his smooth, friendly voice distorted by the mask. "Biology is the only card that never lies."

  The ensuing silence was broken by the annoying jingle of bells. Jester glided into Henry’s field of vision on his hoverboard before barking to a halt in front of the Heretic. The court jester mask tilted to the side, its cloth antennas swaying.

  "Oh, look at that! Bluey’s lost his bandages! What an... expressive face!" Jester gave a high-pitched giggle. He reached into a pocket of his colorful garb and held something out to Henry. "For you. Sugar helps form synapses, and you’re gonna need every neuron today."

  It was a cherry lollipop, red as fresh blood. Henry stared at the candy for a second before taking it with his remaining fingers. Jester winked (or so Henry imagined behind the mask) and glided off toward Zack, laughing at his friend’s defeat.

  The heavy thud of military boots announced the leader’s arrival. Silas walked up to Henry.

  "They’re getting deadlier every day, aren’t they?" Silas asked, observing Elijah and Zack. He turned his gaze to Henry, his voice taking on the commanding tone that brokered no argument. "Your fourth mission, Henry. You’ve proven yourself efficient, but today’s target requires... delicacy and brutality in equal measure."

  Silas pointed toward the exit, where Fabrizio and Aiden were already waiting. Fabrizio was silently cleaning one of his hand-scythes, while Aiden checked his reflection, adjusting his pompadour.

  "You’re going with Fabrizio and Aiden. We’ve received reports on the 'Thorny Ones.' They’re blocking the supply route north of the Cascades with those wire-and-nail barricades. Clear the path. I want no survivors—just open asphalt for our convoy."

  Henry stood up slowly, the cherry lollipop still between his fingers, a bizarre splash of color in the monochromatic environment. He walked toward the field duo. Fabrizio, already wearing his skull mask that displayed only the upper row of teeth, growled through his voice modifier, making the sound come out like a metallic snap of contempt.

  "Are you serious, Silas? Seriously, I have to take this Heretic with me?" Fabrizio gestured with one of his hand-scythes, the curved blade gleaming. "Aiden and I can handle this in ten minutes. He’s just gonna slow us down."

  Silas didn't answer. He simply turned his face toward Fabrizio. The silence that followed was dense, weighted by the leader’s quiet authority. Silas held his gaze for five, six seconds—a span of time that felt like an eternity. Fabrizio, feeling the weight of that pressure, lowered his head slightly and sheathed the scythe in his tactical holster. He got the message: Silas’s orders were absolute.

  Aiden, oblivious to the tension or perhaps just choosing to ignore it, let out a dramatic sigh as he tucked away his small pocket mirror. He looked at Henry’s face, analyzing the purple bruises and the marks left by Lil’s fists.

  "Geez, Henry... sorry about the 'makeup' Lil gave you. It really ruins the aesthetic of the whole look," Aiden said, his voice dripping with superficial vanity. "Better put your mask on. Black hides the imperfections and, honestly, it’s scarier than those bruises."

  Silas turned his back on the trio and began to walk away, his black cloak swaying slightly as he headed toward the command wing. As soon as the leader was out of earshot, Fabrizio stepped forward, invading Henry’s personal space. The skull mask was inches from the Heretic’s face.

  "Listen here, Henry," Fabrizio hissed, the voice modifier making the threat even darker. "Jester told me he heard you talking to my sister the other day. The 'angel among ten demons,' wasn’t it?"

  He pressed the blade of one of his scythes against Henry’s neck, just enough for the cold steel to bite into the skin.

  "Silvia is pure. She’s the only thing worth a damn in this family of monsters. If you touch her, or if you try to put ideas of 'freedom' in her head again, I swear I’ll rip your heart out of your chest with my scythe and show it to you before you fade out. Got it?"

  Henry held his gaze through his own tired eyes, feeling the throb of his missing fingers. The world of the Reapers wasn't just about technology and death; it was a nest of obsessions and sick protections.

  About 20 Minutes Later – Cascade Road

  The Reapers’ black armored transport cut through the road with a muffled roar, its reinforced tires crushing branches and stones without hesitation. The interior was freezing, lit only by the clinical glow of the touchscreens. Aiden was at the wheel, tapping his fingers on the dashboard in sync with a somber melody drifting from the speakers. In the back, Fabrizio remained in a hostile silence, sharpening his scythes, his gaze fixed on Henry through the lenses of his skull mask.

  "So, Henry," Aiden broke the silence, his voice distorted by his white mask’s voice modifier. "Do you know who these 'Thorned' guys are? Silas said they’re compatriots of yours. Brazilians. Sounds like they brought that Amazonian jeitinho to our forests. Oak armor, eucalyptus spears... quite the rustic aesthetic, don’t you think?"

  Henry didn’t answer immediately. He watched the landscape blur past the small armored slit.

  "They aren’t just rustic, Aiden," Henry finally said, his voice now altered by the device, sounding heavy and devoid of emotion. "Their wood is as hard as the steel of your knife. If you try to close the distance without being careful, you’ll end up impaled before you even see their faces."

  Fabrizio let out a dry, metallic laugh. "Wood is still wood, Heretic. My scythes cut through anything with fibers. It doesn’t matter how much they hide behind tree bark."

  The armored vehicle slowed abruptly. Aiden cut the external lights. "We’re here. North Sector of the Cascades. GPS says their main barricade is just past that dense reforestation curve. It’s the perfect territory for their tricks."

  They disembarked. The silence of the forest was oppressive. Ahead, the road was blocked by gargantuan logs arranged at angles that made vehicle passage impossible. Atop the structure, silhouettes covered in thorny wooden plates moved with tribal agility.

  Suddenly, a powerful voice echoed through the trees, speaking in a thick, firm Portuguese:

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  — "Parem onde est?o! As máquinas de Silas n?o têm permiss?o para respirar o ar deste bosque. Retornem para sua base branca ou suas carnes servir?o de adubo para o carvalho!"

  It was Bark. He appeared atop one of the logs, an imposing figure protected by armor made of black eucalyptus. He struck the butt of his barbed spear against the wood, producing a hollow, rhythmic thrum.

  Fabrizio stepped forward, drawing his hand-scythes. "Henry, Aiden... watch. I’m going to show this 'chief' what happens to anyone who blocks the Reapers' path."

  Henry also stepped forward. Jester’s voice modifier transformed his warning into a mechanical thunder, devoid of any trace of his former humanity.

  "Your armor stands no chance against our firepower, Bark!" Henry shouted in Portuguese, his cold voice slicing through the forest's silence. "Better to give up and run now. The Reapers are wiping out every faction in Oregon, one by one. You’re just one of the last items on their blacklist. Don’t die for some tree trunks."

  Bark froze for a second, surprised to hear his native tongue coming from a monster of metal and polymer. But tribal pride spoke louder. He slammed the spear against his chest, making the metal thorns grind against the hardened wood.

  "Then come, Silas’s demons! Let the forest drink the oil that runs through your veins!" Bark roared, raising his spear. "ATTACK!"

  The Slaughter at the Cascades

  Chaos erupted in the clearing.

  Aiden, with his symphony of Poison and Shock, didn't run. He walked, pulling his white guitar from his back as the first of the Thorned leapt from the trees like wooden predators. He struck a sharp, distorted note that echoed like an electronic shriek. When the first warrior lunged with an oak club, Aiden used the side of the guitar—studded with steel spikes—to deliver a crushing blow that shattered the enemy's wooden helmet.

  Without missing a beat, he drew his compound bow. With choreographed speed, Aiden fired three arrows in rapid succession. The first caught a Thorned warrior in the neck, right between the armor plates; the lethal venom paralyzed the man instantly, making him drop like a dead log. The other two struck the eyes of two scouts trying to flank him. Aiden laughed softly under his white mask, turning the battlefield into his private stage.

  Henry operated with the cold discipline Silas demanded. He raised his M4 carbine, tucking the stock into his shoulder. Unlike the Heretics, who prioritized close-quarters combat, he was a Reaper now. The rifle’s report was dry and rhythmic.

  He didn’t aim for the chest, where the oil-hardened oak plates might deflect the rounds. Henry focused on the joints and leather gaps. A Thorned warrior charged with a spear, but Henry fired a short burst that blew out the attacker’s knee, dropping him; the next shot, to the skull, finished the job. He moved in a tactical zigzag, using the environment for cover, cutting down four, five warriors in less than a minute. Every kill was a calculation; there was no hate, only the execution of the order.

  Fabrizio ignored the cover fire and dived straight into the heart of the Thorned formation. His twin hand-scythes spun like the blades of a war chopper.

  A warrior tried to impale him with a stake, but Fabrizio slid under the attack and, with an upward arc, buried the curved blade under the enemy's jaw. With his left hand, he drew the Silver Ghost. The silver pistol fired with surgical precision; every snap of the weapon meant one less Thorned. Fabrizio moved with a macabre elegance, kicking a fallen body aside while slitting another’s throat with his blade, leaving a trail of sawdust and blood on the road.

  The road, once a proud guard post, was now a slaughterhouse. The bodies of the Thorned lay scattered, their legendary armor useless against the Reapers' military tech and biological enhancements.

  Bark, seeing his people decimated in seconds, leapt from the barricade, spear leveled, his eyes locked on Henry.

  "YOU!" Bark screamed, charging like a wounded animal. "You speak our tongue, but you serve Death! I’m going to nail your body to this road!"

  Fabrizio stopped, wiping blood from one of his scythes onto his uniform sleeve, and glanced at Henry from the corner of his mask. "He’s yours, 'Bluey.' Show Silas you know how to finish a job, or I’ll handle it myself."

  Henry stepped forward as Bark advanced with a guttural war cry. The leader of the Thorned was a force of nature, but Henry no longer felt the hesitation that defined the Heretics.

  "I’m not in the mood for games, Turner," Henry said over the comms, his voice ice-cold.

  Bark raised his eucalyptus spear for the final blow, but Henry’s response was purely mechanical. With amplified reflexes, he fired the M4 in short, surgical bursts, hitting the leather joints and the armpit gaps in Bark's armor. The tribal leader staggered, blood staining the sacred wood.

  "I’m sorry, friend... I'm just following orders," Henry whispered.

  In one fluid motion, Henry let the rifle hang by its sling and fired the iron bident from his hidden gauntlet. The twin prongs shot from his black sleeve and pierced Bark’s neck with precision, tearing through his throat and spine. The Brazilian warrior fell to his knees, the light fading from his eyes as the Cascade asphalt drank his blood.

  Aiden sheathed his bow and ran a hand through his pompadour, checking his reflection in the armored transport's plating. "Well... another group extinct. Too easy, honestly. Didn't even mess up my hair."

  Fabrizio cleaned his scythes with a black cloth and looked at the trail of destruction. His voice came out distorted and impatient: "Shut up, Aiden. Let’s get back to HQ."

  Reaper HQ

  The inner courtyard of the CIA base was silent when the armored transport pulled in. Silas stood in the center like a statue of marble and white bandages, watching his team’s return.

  Henry climbed out of the vehicle carrying a heavy canvas bag. He walked up to the leader and, without a word, dropped the bag at Silas’s feet. The sound of hardened wood and metal hitting the floor echoed through the courtyard. Inside were the thorny helmets of Bark and his generals—trophies of a complete eradication, just as Henry had done with the Specters before.

  Silas looked down at the spoils and then back at Henry. A glint of approval crossed his dark-blonde eyes. "Excellent, Henry. You’re learning that efficiency is the only form of mercy in this world. My congratulations."

  The Living Room

  The living room was the pinnacle of the base's technological luxury. Silvia sat in a white leather armchair, watching Zack with genuine interest. The Uruguayan, still wearing his wide-grinning mask, made playing cards float between his fingers in a magnetic levitation trick that looked like pure magic.

  "Luck isn't just what you're dealt, Silvia... it's how you manipulate it," Zack joked, making an ace of hearts vanish and reappear behind the "Beautiful Death’s" ear.

  Silvia let out a short, melancholy laugh, but the mood shifted instantly when the door slid open. Fabrizio walked in, still in his tactical gear and skull mask. He stopped dead when he noticed something on his sister’s neck.

  Under the collar of Silvia’s suit, a necklace with a glowing blue heart pendant shone, clashing completely with the Reapers' monochromatic aesthetic.

  Fabrizio marched over to her, ignoring Zack. His posture was one of aggressive protection. He reached out with a gloved hand and touched the cold pendant.

  "Sister..." Fabrizio’s voice, muffled by the modifier, came out heavy with suspicion and restrained fury. "Who gave you this? This blue... I know this color. It’s his color."

  Zack stopped his trick, the cards fluttering onto the table. Silvia gripped the necklace, shielding it with her palm, and looked up at her twin brother with a firmness she rarely showed.

  The atmosphere in the room, once filled with a rare lightness, turned to pure lead. Silvia didn’t blink; she knew every one of Fabrizio’s rages before they even manifested.

  "I’ve never kept secrets from you, brother. You are my other half, we share the same thoughts," Silvia replied, her pale voice sounding steady. She touched the blue heart with her fingertips. "Henry gave it to me, and I liked it. He was kind."

  The sound that came from Fabrizio’s mask was a huff, air forced from his lungs in a frequency of pure hate. To him, that necklace wasn’t a gift; it was an infection from the outside world, a mark of the Heretics' "Blue" staining his sister’s purity.

  "I’m going to kill that son of a bitch..." Fabrizio hissed.

  "No, Fabrizio! He’s family now!" Silvia shouted, her eyes widening as she stood up from the armchair, but it was too late.

  Fabrizio turned his back, his boots striking the floor with a violent cadence as he stormed through the corridors toward the courtyard.

  Central Courtyard

  Henry stood beside Silas, who was reviewing tactical data on a military tablet. The Reaper leader maintained his imposing stature, discussing logistics for upcoming routes with Henry and treating him almost like a high-ranking officer.

  The housing block door swung open with a crash. Fabrizio Turner emerged like a specter of vengeance. He ignored Silas’s presence, ignored the hierarchy, and ignored the Reaper code of conduct. His obsession with his sister was the only law he followed in that moment.

  Without a single word, Fabrizio closed the distance in a blur of speed and drove a devastating left hook into Henry’s face.

  The impact was bone-dry. Henry’s head snapped to the side from the blow, his body staggering two steps back. Blood began to flow instantly from beneath his black-and-silver mask.

  Henry regained his balance, the world spinning for a second. He spat out a clot of blood and looked at Fabrizio. Turner already had his hands balled into fists, his heavy breathing echoing through his voice modifier, ready to draw his scythes.

  Silas didn’t move. He simply lowered the tablet, his dark-blonde eyes watching the scene with a gelid calm more terrifying than Fabrizio’s punch. The leader didn't intervene; he wanted to see what would happen next.

  "You think you can buy her soul with blue junk?!" Fabrizio roared, his voice trembling with fury. "I warned you, Heretic! I told you what would happen if you touched her!"

  Henry straightened his posture. He felt his face throbbing, but there was no fear in his eyes—only the coldness Silas had cultivated in him over the last few days.

  The courtyard became a circular arena under the icy gaze of the elite. From high up in the watchtower, Ian adjusted the focus on his rifle, observing the biomechanics of the confrontation. Diego, Zack, Lil, and Andrew fanned out along the edges. Their silence was proof they knew: when two Reapers collided, the soil was usually fertilized with blood.

  "Stop it, Fabrizio!" Silvia screamed, her voice cracking for the first time. "Stay out of this, sister!" Fabrizio roared back, hatred overflowing through his voice modifier.

  Henry wiped the trail of blood from his mask and stood tall. He was no longer the debilitated prisoner; he was a weapon honed by trauma.

  "Do you want to fight?" Henry spread his arms in a gesture of deadly defiance. "So be it."

  The fight exploded in a blur of black and silver.

  Fabrizio charged like a whirlwind, his two hand-scythes spinning in lethal arcs designed to shred. Henry dodged the first slash by millimeters, feeling the vacuum of the blade pass his neck. In response, Henry fired the bident from his right gauntlet. Metal clanked against Turner’s steel. With his left hand free, Henry grabbed Fabrizio’s wrist and delivered a brutal headbutt against the skull mask.

  The impact cracked. Turner recoiled but retaliated with a side kick that slammed Henry against the concrete wall. Without giving him room to breathe, Fabrizio drove one of his scythes into the shoulder of Henry’s suit, tearing the polymer. Henry brought a snarl, ignoring the pain, and used his free hand to land a short-range punch to Fabrizio’s solar plexus, followed by a right cross that made the Reaper falter, leaving two marks on his metal mask.

  They separated for a second, both gasping, voice modifiers hissing with heavy breath. The audience of monsters watched in a trance.

  Fabrizio attempted a scissor-strike with the scythes, but Henry anticipated the move. He locked Turner’s blades with his bident and, using the raw strength Silas had awakened in him, twisted his body, throwing the twin off balance. With a sharp movement, Henry swept Fabrizio’s legs.

  Henry stood over him, bident retracted, fist clenched. Fabrizio was on the ground, his breathing muffled, defeated for the first time in front of his family.

  "That's enough!" Silas’s voice cut through the courtyard like a divine command. "Go clean yourself up, Fabrizio! You let emotion take hold, and emotion made you slow."

  Silvia rushed to her brother’s side, checking for lethal injuries, but her eyes shimmered with disappointment. "You’re an idiot, brother," she whispered bitterly.

  Then, she looked up at Henry. There was a moment of absolute silence between the "angel" and the new Reaper. "I'm sorry about this," she said, before helping Fabrizio to his feet.

  Both headed back inside, followed by the other members who dispersed, whispering about the spectacle. Henry remained in the courtyard for a moment, feeling his wounds throb as the adrenaline faded. He looked down at his own bandaged hands.

  He knew now. He wasn't just a "tool." He could go toe-to-toe with these monsters. And that certainty was the most dangerous weapon he possessed.

  End of Chapter

  Faction Data (Lore)

  The Thorny Ones: Members of Brazilian tribes living in areas of dense reforestation or swamplands. They developed a technique for hardening wood using oil and fire, creating armor that is lightweight yet nearly impenetrable to blades. They wear oak and eucalyptus plates fastened by leather, covered in long metal or treated wood spikes to prevent enemies from approaching or attempting to grapple them. Experts in close-quarters combat and forest ambushes, though they are few in number—roughly 30 people.