//------------------------------// // Prologue: Death Comes // Story: The Reaper // by Blade Trail //------------------------------// At 11:45 p.m., an unusually large energy signature appeared somewhere within Shimada Castle in Hanamura, Japan. Despite its strength, the source of the energy left no visible signs of its presence and did not cause any interference to nearby electronics. This meant that only someone monitoring equipment designed specifically to detect and track the activity of items or locations of significant power - such as Omniums [1] or Russian Svyatogor mechs [2] -  would even know it was there. Of course, with the world on the brink of a second international war against the sentient machines known as Omnics [3], practically every major global power, both licit and illicit, employed such a person, and many of them were already quietly scrambling to find out what the source of this unique energy signature was. Around Shimada Castle itself, however, there was no sign of alarm. The fall of the Shimada crime family had in turn caused the fall of the area’s nightlife. This late, most lights had been dimmed or shut, and the few guards that still patrolled the castle grounds wandered about more in an effort to ward off their own drowsiness than any potential intruders. All in all, it was the very picture of a quiet night. Even the sounds of the still active city nearby were no more than a quiet murmur easily lost to the breeze. Fifteen minutes passed in peace. At precisely midnight, an unnatural pool of shadows formed at the entrance to the old Shimada Castle. Moments later, the shadows solidified into a tall, black-robed man wearing a deathly white mask. The man, wanted throughout the world as the terrorist known as Reaper, walked through the unguarded entrance, making no attempt to dampen the sound of his heavy boots against the creaky wooden floor. Reaper walked straight through the middle of the dark corridors of the castle without hesitation. He knew that the situation called for stealth. He knew that the lackluster security outside was no reason to let his guard down. And he knew that he was not going to be the only dangerous entity seeking the unknown power signature tonight. He just didn’t care. The Talon criminal organization had sent Reaper because he had been nearby, and because he, unlike the myriad small time criminals and informants Talon employed throughout the city, was actually capable of succeeding. No disasters so far? Wow, there’s a chance we might actually pull this off! a voice said in Reaper’s mind. A chance, not a guarantee. And not a very good chance, either. Reaper was painfully familiar with that voice. It was the smooth voice of Commander Gabriel Reyes. The voice of the man he used to be. He hated that voice. “Quiet,” Reaper growled in the echoing rasp that his voice had become. In an effort to distract himself, Reaper turned his attention to his surroundings. The castle was dark and cold. The hallway he was in was lined with various decorative pieces - lanterns, paintings, tapestries - but it was obvious that all of them had been abandoned to time. He could see no sign of the item he was here for, but his senses went beyond mere sight. Reaper reached inward and tapped into the darkness within him. His body faded into a black mist, and for a brief moment, his mind was overwhelmed. He could feel the energy all around him. It was in the air and in the wood and in the shadows - everywhere. And beneath the castle, beneath his feet - so close - was the source. It didn’t feel like a machine. It was too warm, too vibrant. But it didn’t feel like a living thing, either. It lacked the drive, the sense of self. Reaper had encountered and consumed countless energies since his transformation. He had sampled the metallic spark that drove the Omnic, devoured the chemical cocktail that housed the essence of the human being, and once, in desperation, he had even ripped the life from a grove of trees to satiate the hunger within him, but this...this was something else entirely. It was unique. It was alien. But more than anything, it was strong. Stronger than anything he had ever encountered before. Stronger than anything he had ever had the chance to - KILL! CONSUME! Reaper willed himself back into being. He staggered as the urge to feed radiated from every pore of his reconstructed body. He leaned against the nearest wall as he fought to regain control. He realized that he was cackling. “What the hell is that sound?” someone said from somewhere nearby. “It’s...laughter. Like, evil laughter, man!” someone else replied. “Shut up!” the first person said. “I told you something was up with this job, man! I told you! It’s probably the ghost of that Shimada kid that was murdered here, back for revenge!” the second person shouted. “I said shut up! It came from over there. Let’s go check it out,” the first person said. “Are you crazy, man? Just call it in and let’s get out of here while we still can!” the second person exclaimed. “I’m not calling in anything until I know what it is! Now pull yourself together and move!” the first person commanded. By now Reaper had managed to get himself under control. He could hear two sets of footsteps slowly moving in his direction, and he saw the faint light of a flashlight cross the wall at the end of the hallway. Spoke too soon. Looks like we’re about to botch another one, commented the voice in his head. Reaper let out a wordless growl. That would make it two in one night. Congratulations, we’ve hit a new low! Maybe we’ll get a statue now, eh? We’ve earned it, right? KILL! Reaper ignored the voices in his head and started down the hallway in the opposite direction of the flashlight. TURN BACK! KILL THEM! We should listen to what the hunger says. Otherwise, it’ll be shouting at us all night. This mission’s a lost cause anyway, just like the rest. How many does that make now? Reaper picked up his pace. He wasn’t here to kill random guards. He needed to find the source of the energy. He needed to - FEED! - find a way to get beneath the castle. Let’s see, we failed the mission in Gibraltar, couldn’t retrieve the gauntlet in Numbani, completely screwed up the assassination in Volskaya, messed up our attempt to re-kill Genji not half an hour ago...and all that’s just the recent ones! Reaper could almost see the mocking grin and the sarcastic shrug that went along with those words. He clenched his fists. Have we ever succeeded? When it counts? Think about it. YOU. MUST. KILL. Reaper shook his head, but the voices would not go away. This is the loudest it’s ever been, isn’t it? And here’s a comforting thought: it’s only going to get worse. Reaper turned a corner and broke down a door. Inside was a small room full of display cases. A dead end. He let out a frustrated scream. “There it is again! This way!” “This is a really bad idea, man!” YES! YESSS! KILL! KILLLL! The two guards’ footsteps were faster now. They were running in Reaper’s direction and inadvertently blocking his way back. With no way to move forward, it wouldn’t be long until they found him. Face it: we aren’t human anymore. All we are is a cloud of rogue biotics trapped in a cycle of degradation and regeneration. All we know is pain. All we can do is destroy. So why bother playing at sentience? Why try hanging on to control? Maybe it’s time to give up the ghost and just - “DIE!” Reaper shouted. “DIE! DIE! DIE!” Reaper materialized two Hellfire shotguns using his dark mist, and began firing in every direction. Glass shattered. Wood splintered. Antiques hundreds of years old were completely obliterated in the face of the senselessly violent onslaught. Reaper revelled in the release. The deafening cacophony of shotgun blasts drowned out the voices in his head, and the strain of generating and converting enough darkness to shoot and destroy everything within an eight meter radius of himself was enough to dull the pain of the unending hunger that threatened to overtake him. When Reaper finally finished, the room was unrecognizable. Debris carpeted the tiny room, and holes coated the walls and ceiling. The wall at the far end had collapsed entirely, revealing a hidden elevator. Reaper tossed away his spent guns, which faded back into mist shortly after hitting the ground. Then he took a deep, calming breath and listened. “There’s a firefight going on at Shimada Castle...” “Sounds like there’s an entire army shooting it out in there!” “We’re backing off now to...” Besides the fading voices of the guards as they ran away, there was silence. Blissful silence. It did not last. Just...die. Exactly, Gabe. Exactly. Screaming in rage, Reaper pulled a new pair of shotguns from the mist and fired their full capacity into the elevator door. Electronics sparked as the door broke apart, which was followed swiftly by the sound of screeching metal as the elevator fell down its shaft. Silence. This time, the voices did not return. Reaper once again discarded his guns, then walked forward to examine the now broken elevator. The elevator shaft went down deep. Reaper couldn’t tell how far down the hole went, but that did not concern him. The source of the energy was beneath the castle. This elevator had been hidden behind a wall and led beneath the castle. Clearly, this was the right way to go. Without hesitation, Reaper stepped into the elevator shaft and dropped. He fell silently for a few seconds before dissolving into dark mist upon hitting the broken remains of the elevator at the bottom. The mist shifted through the wreckage and reformed into Reaper on the other side of the broken elevator doors. Kill. Reaper ignored the hunger’s command. He was in another hallway. Unlike the ones in the castle above, this one was made of reinforced concrete, not aging wood. It was also bare of ornaments or decorations of any kind, save for the utilitarian lights lining the sides. At the far end, opposite the elevator, was a large vault door. The door was open, but the room beyond it was too dark to see into. Sensing a trap, Reaper pulled two more shotguns from his mist before walking forward. As soon as he stepped past the vault door and into the darkness, his hunger flared. Left! Kill! Reaper let the hunger guide his aim and fired a shot. For a moment, nothing happened. Reaper did not feel the surge of relief that followed his biotic-infused shots impacting a living target, so he knew that he had missed. Then a man spoke, “You have some skill.” Above! KILL! Reaper fired again, and he missed again. We’ve been spending too much time with Widowmaker. “Tell me, why have you come?” the man asked. Reaper decided to respond. “I can feel something powerful here. Where is it?” “So you feel it too? Intriguing. I had thought that only a Shimada would feel the call.” Suddenly the lights in the room turned on, revealing its contents. The room was large and full of various antiques. There were old suits of armor, broken weapons in glass cases, and multiple shelves filled with valuable jewelry. In the middle of it all stood a Japanese man dressed in an odd half robe that did not cover the left side of his torso. An intricate dragon tattoo went all the way down his left arm. In his left hand, he held a bow and a matching quiver of arrows hung on his back. “I am Hanzo Shimada, and these are the greatest of my family’s treasures,” the man said. “Who are you?” “Death,” Reaper replied. Hanzo frowned. “There is a saying in my family: ‘Mock Death at your own peril’. You would do well to heed those words, especially when speaking to me.” KILL HIM! This guy’s practically asking for it. “Where is the source of the power?” Reaper asked. Hanzo stepped to the side, letting Reaper see the thickly covered pedestal directly behind him. Hanzo pulled off the cover, revealing a large blue sapphire orb. Energy visibly swirled within the orb, and it gave off a powerful blue glow. “It is known as the Soul of the Wind,” Hanzo said. “Legend says that when the Dragon of the South Wind chose to walk the earth alongside his brother, he poured what remained of his power into this stone and declared, ‘Within this stone is my power, the power to do great and terrible things. I am no longer worthy to wield it, but it shall remain as a reminder of all that I have lost and the skies that I have forsaken.’ I had always believed that it was just another one of my father’s stores, that this was just an ordinary sapphire stone, but now...I am not so sure.” Hanzo turned to Reaper. “Nevertheless, the Soul of the Wind has been in my family since time immemorial. Even were it a plain polished stone, I would not allow anyone to take it away. Knowing this, and having found what you seek, what do you intend to do, stranger?” “I’m going to kill you and take it away,” Reaper replied. “So predictable,” Hanzo scoffed. In an instant, Hanzo nocked an arrow and fired. The arrow flew through Reaper as he dropped his guns and dissolved into a dark mist, causing Hanzo’s eyes to widen in shock. The mist rapidly approached Hanzo and the pedestal. Hanzo took the Soul of the Wind in his right hand and tried to use the pedestal as a platform to leap up towards the ceiling, but he was not fast enough. Reaper materialized and grabbed Hanzo’s leg just as he jumped, sending him crashing towards the ground. Hanzo twisted at the last second and kicked at Reaper’s head with his free leg. The blow made Reaper lose his grip on Hanzo, who rolled onto his feet. Hanzo glanced down to check if the Soul of the Wind had been damaged, giving Reaper an opening. Reaper punched Hanzo’s face with his right arm and grabbed the Soul of the Wind with his left. Hanzo quickly recovered and swung his bow at Reaper. Reaper ducked under the swing and Hanzo used him as a stepping stone to leap up towards the ceiling. While airborne, Hanzo nocked an arrow, twisted, kicked off of the ceiling at an angle, and fired. The arrow sailed harmlessly past Reaper and Hanzo crashed into the floor behind an armor stand. “You missed,” Reaper said. Reaper had barely finished speaking when he was hit by six small arrows. Hanzo’s arrow had hit the shelf behind Reaper and split into six smaller arrows which bounced across the various objects in the room multiple times until they embedded themselves into Reaper’s body. One hit his left shoulder, two hit his back, one bounced off of the floor and into his right knee, another bounced off of the Soul of the Wind’s pedestal and hit his right arm, and the last ricocheted off of the armor stand that Hanzo had crashed behind and hit him right between the eyes. “I calculated,” Hanzo said, standing. Reaper staggered. The pain from his wounds combined with the pain of his hunger and overwhelmed his consciousness. He knew that he was dying. He had died before. To him, however, death was not the end; it was simply the beginning of a feeding frenzy. One that would not stop until his hunger weakened enough for his mind to reassert control. Every other time this had happened, his body had dissolved. This time, however, it stayed together. Primal though it was, the hunger recognized the value of what Reaper held in his hand. “FEED!” the hunger screamed in Reaper’s voice. Reaper’s hands brought the Soul of the Wind close to his chest and dark mist began to swirl around him. The hunger cackled gleefully as the orb’s potent energy flowed freely into its cells, causing the dark mist to thicken. Hanzo stared open mouthed for a few moments before narrowing his eyes in anger. He did not understand what manner of creature he was facing or what exactly it was doing, but he knew that it was destroying his family’s oldest treasure, and that was something he would not allow. He nocked another arrow and pulled his bow back as far as it would go. Deep within him, his spirit dragon, the heritage of the Shimadas, stirred from its slumber. “RYUU GA WAGA TEKI WO KURAU!” Hanzo shouted. Energy flowed from within him to his arrow as he let it loose, and two blue dragons emerged. The dragons roared and dove towards Reaper, but the Soul of the Wind glowed brighter as they drew near. The dragons changed course and flew in a circle around Reaper before rising upwards and diving once more. A brilliant beam of light shone outwards from the Soul of the Wind towards the dragons, followed by a blinding flash. Hanzo shielded his eyes, but was then thrown off his feet and into a shelf by a powerful shockwave. By the time Hanzo managed to stagger to his feet, it was over. As he blinked away the afterimages and recovered his sight, he looked around the room for some clue on what had happened. His family’s treasures had all been thrown from their displays by the shockwave. All of the items had been damaged beyond repair, while some of the more fragile ones had been blasted apart completely. Reaper was nowhere to be seen. Where Reaper had stood, there was now a shallow crater in the floor. At the bottom of the crater, surrounded by burn marks on all sides, was the Soul of the Wind. Hanzo cautiously approached the Soul of the Wind and picked it up. He turned the orb around in his hands, examining it. While the surface of the stone appeared unscathed, it had clearly changed. The blue color was darker, the energies swirling within it had slowed, and shifting dark clouds polluted the interior. The orb no longer glowed, and the energy it gave off had all but disappeared. Hanzo looked around the ravaged room once more then back at the orb in his hands. “Of all the treasures of my family, of all the symbols of our long and storied past...this is all that remains,” Hanzo said softly. Hanzo lifted the orb up to his face and spoke to it. “I am sorry for not recognizing your importance, and for disregarding the stories that my father told me. I know not why your magic called to me, or what that dark spirit has done to weaken it, but I swear that I will undo the damage that has been done, whatever the cost.” The orb gave no sign of having heard his words, but Hanzo was not deterred. He lowered the orb and thought about his next move. He was determined to fulfill his promise and decode the mystery of the Soul of the Wind. The question was, how would he do so? Where could he begin? Hanzo looked around the room one last time, desperate for some clue, some sign, to guide him, but he saw nothing. He searched his memories, everything he could remember of the mysticism of the Shimada clan, but could not think of anything useful. If only he had listened more to his father’s tales! If only he had sought to understand the legacy of his clan, to learn what his forefathers had learned before him! At the time, all the talk of magic and spirits seemed ridiculous, nothing more than bedtime stories or wild fantasies, but now…now it was too late. He had chosen to walk the worldly path, and now he was alone. There was no one left to learn from, no one who knew of the magic of his clan. He was the last of the Shimada. “No,” Hanzo said, shaking his head. He looked at the dragon tattooed along his left arm. The Dragon of the South Wind. The dragon that had slain his brother. The dragon whose brother yet lived. Hanzo knew what he had to do.