Page 23 of Ravaged By the Reaper
And whateverheis—monster, savior, madman—I know, with bone-deep certainty, that we are meant to be moving together like this.
Drawn by gravity older than stars.
Every time our eyes meet, the heat between us tightens.
Not lust. Not yet.
Something more primal.
Recognition.
And I don’t have time to wonder what that means because the fight isn’t over yet. Not even close.
CHAPTER 6
HAKTRON
The moment our eyes lock, my blood erupts to life. It’s not adrenaline—it’s something deeper. Primordial. It’s like my veins light on fire and my heart begins its own war-drum beat. At that one glance, I know she’s real. Flesh and bone, not specter or dream. Everything my dreams whispered about, this woman is more.
Her silver hair is plastered to her face, tangled with sweat, darkened with dried blood, yet she holds it like armor. Her ice-blue eyes are molten with fury—a blaze in human form. Beneath the violence in them, though, I see something that pulls at me: steel-willed defiance laced with fury.
She’s not a fragile thing crafted for companionship. She’s forged of storm and iron.
The corridor around us is littered with bodies. Coalition soldiers—some cleaved open, others melted into the walls, still twitching in convulsions of death. The acrid stench of burned plasma, half-charred flesh, and ozone fogs the air. Around me, flames flicker and wail, licking at the bulkheads, casting strobing shadows through smoke-thick darkness.
But she moves through it like a dancer in a blood-red waltz.
She steps forward first. It's not hesitation—it’s recognition. The way her blade flashes in her hand shows she’s already hunted and not uncertain. She’s here, utterly aware. And my gaze doesn’t stray to the dying forms around us; instead, it stays locked on her.
I’ve never fought beside anyone—not ever. I like clean chaos, bloody interrogations, solo raids where fear is the only partner I ever needed. But something in her, right now, changes that fundamental truth. It shifts the ground under me. Her presence promises something I didn’t know I craved.
She flicks the tip of the blade. Sparks of blue plasma reflect in her eyes just as the lights up the hellscape around us. Blood spatters across her cheek, glowing red in the firelight. Bodies part before her, as if the corpses sense her will and stand aside—either that, or they’re already indistinguishable from slag.
I step forward. My scythe swings through the air, chain rattling like war music. I hear the central bone spurs in my shoulder chafe through my armor—they’re always present. Pain is no distraction. Now, pain is focus.
One soldier charges, weapon clawed at an odd angle. I don’t pause. I sidestep, halfway turning my head to watch her. She ducks low, power blade arcs upward—it’s a brutal strike. I’m still watching her through the corner of my vision when I unleash Bloodfont, chain whipping around the soldier's neck, dragging him down until the sound is not a man’s cry, but a scream of torn meat.
She’s still poised. Her grip is tight. Her breathing steady—just quick enough. Judging from the way she doesn’t look at me but at the battlefield beyond, I know she’s checking for threats. Yet I feel her awareness includes me. She senses my shifting presence.
I advance. Her silver hair burns streaks of starfire in the dim red light. She’s drawing power from chaos—not overwhelmed by it. Sheexudescalm amid the storm.
Her eyes flick to me briefly. Just once. It’s a full beat, but it fractures time.
I don’t hear orders in my brain. Just a deeper, powerful call tethering me to her. It isn’t a word yet. Not love. Not 'mate'. Something older and more dangerous. An ignition.
I clear a throat, low and gravelly. “Your name,” I rumble. Not loud, but steady.
Her chin lifts, shoulders tightening. She meets my gaze, ice blue against red static.
Now she knows I’m here.
We stand in the rupture of chaos. I taste sweat and ash in my mouth. My hands glisten with the sheen of spilled blood and spent energy. The metallic tang of it seeps into bone and muscle. I breathe it in.
I don’t wait for her to respond. We don’t need words yet.
I take the first strike—not at her, but at the swirling enemies beyond. Power blades clash. Plasma arcs. Metal screams.
I fight beside her, not in front, not behind, butbeside. Our rhythms align seamlessly. She flows, I follow. I push, she parries. She slices, I shield. The blade she holds isn’t delicate. It's precise, brutal. My scythe is savage, unstoppable.
