The Blunt Reaper

The clerk left the counter and guided them through the main hall. They descended two levels beneath the administrative wing, passing classrooms, armories and chambers where instructors demonstrated unfamiliar Death Imprints to groups of Reapers.

One room contained six students striking suspended slabs of meat with different weapons. In another, a woman stood inside a circle of ash while an instructor repeatedly set her hands on fire. Farther along the corridor, several Reapers observed a restrained First Rank Abomination clawing at the bars of a reinforced cage.

The creature had once resembled a man. Now its arms had grown long enough for its fingers to drag across the floor. Its head remained lowered, and a wet clicking sound escaped its throat whenever one of the students approached.

Mara slowed to look at it.

Rook placed one hand between her shoulders and pushed her onward. "You’ll have plenty of time to stare at them later."

"That was a person."

"Most of them were."

The clerk led them into a broad preparation chamber attached to an enclosed training yard. Several instructors occupied tables around the room, examining weapons, issuing uniforms and recording measurements from a line of Reapers-to-be.

Mara expected the assessment to begin immediately. Instead, two assistants approached with lengths of marked cord. One took her arm and extended it outward while the other began measuring her shoulders.

Mara looked between them. "What are you doing?"

"Uniform fitting," the first assistant said.

"I already have clothes."

"You have torn clothes covered in blood and salt."

"They still fit."

"That is not the standard."

Rook leaned against the nearest wall. "This is the part I was trying to avoid."

One assistant measured the distance between Mara’s shoulders while the other recorded the number. They continued down her arms, waist and legs before comparing the measurements against several folded uniforms stacked upon a nearby table.

Mara looked toward Rook. "Do Reapers need uniforms?"

"No."

An instructor standing behind the table glanced at him. "Official Reapers do. He hasn’t reaped anything yet."

Mara would take a long look at the instructor, he had a long coat, a black leather vest, and pants that looked to be both stylish and good for mobility. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but the uniform which he wore made him look quite decent.

Turning to Rook, he looked gruff, still had filth on his face, his entire clothes were torn and patched in far too many places to even call them clothes instead of rags. His hair was unkempt, and his attitude was worse.

In a world she imagined, maybe a distant world, if he actually wore the uniform, he might actually look like a strikingly good looking man.

Rook shrugged. "What are you looking at."

"At an impossibility," she shook her head.

The instructor selected a dark coat with reinforced sleeves and handed it to Mara along with fitted trousers, boots and a sleeveless shirt. Pale stitching ran through every item, strengthening the fabric without making it excessively heavy.

"This is training equipment," he explained. "It will not stop an Abomination from tearing you apart, but it should survive ordinary weapons and most controlled exercises."

"Most?"

"You are enrolled in an accelerated program. We may not have time to identify every possible way you can injure yourself."

Mara accepted the clothing. "Comforting."

A changing room occupied one side of the preparation chamber. Mara entered, exchanged her salt-stained clothes for the issued uniform and returned several minutes later. The coat sat more tightly than she expected, leaving her arms free while protecting her chest and shoulders.

Rook examined it. "Too clean."

"I’ve been wearing it for thirty seconds. Of course it will be clean."

"Yeah, but don’t expect it to always remain like that."

"You really need to wear the officer uniform. Elara’s clothes looked real nice on her."

"Nice clothes don’t matter when you’re being eaten by an abomination."

She shook her head.

One of the examiners approached carrying Elara’s tablet. He was an older man with close-cropped grey hair and a Brand covering both hands. Unlike most Reapers Mara had encountered, he carried no visible weapon.

"Candidate Mara?"

She stepped toward him. "Yes."

"I am Examiner Talren. I will conduct the first assessment. The Vice Manager’s report says you awakened after remembering a fatal stab wound."

"Through the chest."

"And the resulting Death Imprint allows you to create a similar wound through physical contact?"

"Not exactly."

Talren motioned toward the enclosed yard. "Then show me."

The training ground beyond the preparation chamber was rectangular and surrounded by high stone walls. Dividers separated the yard into several sections, allowing different groups to work without interfering with one another. Training dummies filled the nearest area. Some had been constructed from wood and packed cloth, while others contained layers of bone, remembered flesh and a dark material designed to imitate the resistance of an Abomination’s body.

Talren directed Mara toward the strongest of them. Its chest had already endured dozens of attacks. Cuts covered the surface, punctures scarred the torso and several sections had been replaced after previous examinations.

"Use your Imprint once," Talren instructed. "Do not attempt maximum force. Stop immediately if you experience severe pain, disorientation or memory displacement."

"What is memory displacement?"

"If you begin remembering your death as though it is happening in the present."

Mara stared at him. "That happened the first time."

"Then you are already susceptible. Tell us the instant it begins."

Rook moved closer to the edge of the training area, but Talren noticed and pointed toward the white marks carved into the floor.

"Remain outside the line."

"I’m under contract."

"The line is six paces from her."

"The Brand decides what is close enough."

"Then allow it to complain before you interfere."

Rook clearly disliked the instruction, but he stopped outside the marked area.

Mara faced the dummy, raised her right hand and placed her palm against its chest.

Nothing happened at first.

She closed her eyes and searched for the memory.

Cold metal entered her chest.

The recollection returned with terrifying clarity. Mara remembered the pressure before she remembered the pain. Someone had stood close enough that their body prevented her from falling. One arm held her upright while the other drove a blade beneath her ribs.

There had been no warning or desperate struggle. She had felt no fear until after the weapon entered her because she had trusted whoever stood before her.

Mara could not see their face. Whenever she tried, the memory distorted and folded away from her. Yet the feeling remained. Familiarity. Warmth. The absolute certainty that the person holding her had belonged close enough that she had never considered stepping away.

Then the blade had been pulled free.

The wound remained.

Mara opened her eyes, and something nearly invisible extended from the center of her palm.

It possessed no color and reflected none of the Beacon’s light. Mara perceived it only through the faint distortion it left in the air, a narrow shape stretching from her hand and passing directly through the dummy’s chest.

The figure shuddered. A circular wound appeared beneath Mara’s palm, followed by another through the dummy’s back.

There was no blade between the openings. No steel, bone or hardened memory connected the two punctures. Only the injury existed, created through every layer separating one side of the body from the other.

Mara pulled her hand away, and the unseen blade vanished. The dummy remained upright with a clean hole passing entirely through its chest.

For several seconds, Mara felt nothing.

Then the training ground shifted beneath her.

Nausea surged through her stomach. Her legs weakened, and the white light surrounding the yard became painfully bright. Mara stepped back just as the remembered sensation of steel entered her own chest again.

Rook crossed the marked line. Talren raised one hand to stop him, but Rook had already caught Mara by the arm.

"I’m fine," she said.

"You look dead."

"We’re all dead."

"You look recently dead."

Mara pulled her arm free and attempted to stand without his support. She managed it, though the nausea remained.

Talren approached slowly. "Describe the reaction."

"Tired and nauseous. My arm feels heavier."

"Pain?"

"Not exactly. I can still feel where I was stabbed."

"Is the sensation stronger than it was before using the Imprint?"

"Yes."

"Any loss of memory?"

"Not that I know of."

"Visual distortion?"

"The light became brighter for a moment."

Talren looked toward the hole passing through the dummy, then motioned for two other examiners to join him. Both studied the entrance wound before walking around to examine the exit.

One inserted a metal rod into the opening. It passed cleanly through every layer.

"There is no tearing around the channel," she said. "No displaced material either."

The second examiner touched the edge of the wound. "Because she did not force anything through it. The damage appeared complete."

Talren returned his attention to Mara. "You said you used this ability during the crossing."

"Several times."

"How many?"

"I don’t know. three, maybe four."

Rook folded his arms. "Too many."

"I was underwater for a couple of them."

"That improves nothing."

Talren’s attention sharpened. "You used the Imprint while submerged?"

"Against a mermaid. I touched something inside it and Culled it."

"Did the ability manifest through the outer body?"

"Yes. I reached the part holding its memories together."

"And the second Cull?"

"A smaller creature attached itself to the boat. I destroyed whatever was inside its head."

One of the examiners looked toward Talren. "Direct core penetration."

"Possibly," he replied. "Although she may be perceiving concentrations of memory instinctively."

Mara steadied herself against the edge of a nearby table. "Is that unusual?"

"Death by stabbing is not unusual," Talren said. "The Underworld contains more souls killed by blades than anyone could count. Most never awaken because they cannot remember the death clearly enough, or because the memory no longer carries sufficient weight to form an Imprint."

"And the ones who do?"

"They usually require an instrument of expression," the female examiner answered. She drew a short knife from her belt and held it where Mara could see. "A Reaper stabbed with a narrow blade might increase the penetration of whatever weapon they carry. Someone killed by repeated cuts may deepen existing wounds or cause a slash to extend beyond the weapon’s reach."

The other examiner pointed toward several marks covering the dummy. "Some can create minor punctures at the point of contact. Others reopen old wounds, produce cuts through armor or force a weapon to recreate the angle of the fatal strike."

Talren looked toward the hole Mara had made. "They still require something to carry the Imprint. A dagger, sword, needle or sometimes even a sharpened finger. The weapon expresses the memory."

Mara examined her palm. No mark remained upon it. "And mine?"

"Your Imprint does not require a weapon. It manifests the wound itself."

Rook pushed away from the wall. "Is that a problem?"

"It explains the cost," Talren said. "She is not strengthening an existing attack. She is creating the final result without performing the action that should cause it. No blade enters the target, yet the target remembers being pierced."

Mara looked back at the dummy. The wound remained unnaturally clean. There were no splinters around the opening, fragments scattered behind it or any sign that something solid had passed through the torso.

A hole simply existed where the material had once been whole.

An ability that ignored the laws of contact. An ability with seemingly impressive potential.

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