Insanus

Chapter 1: The Mass-Graven Reaper

It was colder than usual on the day when Malcolm decided to get back into his career. He had just gotten off from a personal vacation, one taken his wife and children in tow, and was getting back into the swing of things, what with the untimely nature of his job.

It was hard work he had, but it was good paying, and it tended to make a difference in the world, rather than Malcolm toiling away at a desk for the rest of his life. That was not to say he didn't appreciate his line of work, as it always made him satisfied to see bad people getting their just dues, it was more so an examination of what he wanted out of his life.

Throughout the very course of his path, he had never thought he could have a nice and comfortable family, what with his position as one of the fifty-seven Reaper Lords.

But then again, neither did his family

For the title of the Reaper Lords came with it, great strife and rather great deals of fear in the hearts of many. It was a title of few that struck through the very depths of the criminal UnderGround.

The duty of the Reaper Lords was to serve as the oppositional force to the UnderGround. For it was a place rife with every sense of crime imaginable, such as forced slavery, murder, assault. Why, just about any sort of crime that any one person could think about, could be found within the confines of the UnderGround.

It could often be a rather taxing job for Malcolm, as the nature of seeing the worst that humanity could offer, was an incredibly harrowing position to put himself in. In many ways, although his job was concerned with the stamping out of illegal activities, it often rode the line of being illegal in of itself, as the Reaper Lords had long since been opposed by the police and the policy makers. Granted, however, it was the same sense of fear felt by the criminal UnderGround that kept them from really doing anything to stop the influence of the Reaper Lords.

And so, it was a cold day when Malcolm returned to work, especially when considering the three hostages he had just taken down, were in fact a part of the illegal slave trade being practiced in the UnderGround.

Malcolm indeed had more reason than most to hate the slave trade. As a Reaper Lord, he was already breaking the law by having a family, but he was good at keeping secrets--most of the Reaper Lords were naturally afraid of him. But to make matters worse, his wife happened to be a former victim of this trade, and her freedom was still up for debate.

So, it truly came as a surprise to him when, upon examining his captive belongings, he found a file containing the details about his wife, and the kill order set out on her.

His captives were tied up by the wrists, and those knots crossed over their ankles, so they were forced to kneel before Malcolm. All three of them had scowls about their faces, but Malcolm remained calm, as he held their lives in his hands.

"So,", Malcolm said, calmly, "You mind telling me what this kill order is for?"

"Shut up, pig!", said one of the captors. He then tried to spit in Malcolm's face.

This was, in fact, one of the best possible outcomes for Malcolm, as the traders before him, thought he was a police officer. The captor shifted a little bit, then tried to spit again, only to be grappled around the neck by Malcolm's hand.

"My oh my", said Malcolm, playfully. "Impetus would sure as hell have fun with you. But sadly for him, you have to deal with me; what a shame."

"Did you say Impetus?", asked the grappled captive. The other two started to shift away from their comrade, instead trying to value their own lives. Meanwhile, their friend was filled with fear upon hearing the name of one of the Reaper Lords.

Impetus happened to be a good friend of Malcolm, and really, only Malcolm. His real name was Charlie Stedfield, but he preferred people call him by his Reaper Lord title. He was often considered to be the scariest among the others in the organization, although when he was around Malcolm, he acted more akin to that of a nervous wreck. He was very good at his job, however, when it came to intimidation and torture.

"Why yes, my good friend Impetus", said Malcolm. "Lemme see though, if you can guess who I am. I'll give you a hint: they call me the violent one."

The captives thought for a brief second, and then the one who was shifted the most backwards struggled to pull out his pistol. He eventually unsheathed it from his holster, and as it fell to the ground, he jumped as far as he could in the other direction. He grabbed the pistol with his hands behind his back, starting to scream with worry, and titled the pistol upwards and his head backwards. He then promptly pulled the trigger, and the rest was all over his associates.

"Damn it", said Malcolm. "There's always one person that does that, and it's starting to get really annoying."

"Well then, for the two of you, I'll spare the details and move onto the fun stuff. Right now, I'll give you three options: A, B, or C."

"Are you kidding me?!", said the leftmost captive. "Are you actually kidding me with this bullcrap?! What kind of moron are you?!"

"My oh my, you are quite the talker aren't you?", said Malcolm. "But with such an insult, it would seem that I have to remove the option of a swift death. So now, I reiterate, option B or option C?"

The captive to the right spat in Malcolm's face, while the left began once more, "Go to hell, you bastard! Like hell we're listening to you!"

"Alright, I was trying to be nice, y'know. But I'm only going to give you one last chance to reconsider, before I leave you without mercy. Because right now, all you are telling me is that you want option C, and to keep it frank, I don't like using option, because that guy is screwed up in the head."

Both captives proceeded to spit in Malcolm's face, both missing in equally defined stupor. They both had no idea what lied in store for them, and the equally grave mistake they had done for themselves in denying both option A--a swift shot to the head-- and option B--getting beaten up and left to die.

"Oh my", said Malcolm, with a dismayed look, "So it would seem my associate gets these victims before me, once more. Well don't say that I didn't warn you, gentlemen. You targeted my wife, which was already reason enough to hurt you, but I gave you plenty of chances."

Malcolm tapped the nape of his neck, and relinquished control once more, just as he had done with all of the victims preceding these three that lay before him and his mighty associate.

For those that would become a Reaper Lord, there are many considerations to be made in the quality of life, in expectations made against those who are outside of such a profession. That is to say, it is a very taxing job, and one that can strain relationships; such is the cause of Reaper Lords not being allowed to have a family. Malcolm had been one of the longest running Reaper Lords, a career spanning ten years, when the average was often three or four, due to the psychological taxes the job presented.

Not only was his family a risk within the job, but the specific class of Reaper Lord that Malcolm belonged to. Impetus, Oppressio, and he all belonged to a special classification, known only as the Violence Corps. They alone had sole authority to kill whatever captives they took, so long as it pertained to the mission at hand, The most dangerous among these however, was Malcolm himself, because while Oppressio and Impetus simply had weapons to deal with, Malcolm had a whole other person to deal with.

Well...

Not really a person, per se. More like a separate mind from himself. Like something that was constantly vying for control, but due to a social contract, had found middle ground with its vessel. For it was Malcolm alone who garnered a different name from his associates.

The Reaper of Violence.

"Hey buddy", said Malcolm. "Fresh blood out here."

As soon as he said so, four metal hands popped out from the nape of his neck, and grasped along his eyes, to the corners of his lips. From the slits between the fingers, there opened to holes over Malcolm's eyes, which now glowed a burning, crimson red.

Malcolm's voice would lower in tone, with much more bravado, saying, "Hear me, pathetic flesh, for I am but God among filthy ants. Kneel before me in fear and shock."

For this was the curse of the Reaper of Violence.

A murderous, artificial intelligence, with a thirst for destruction. And a Reaper Lord who may just be as insane as he.

"Kneel before the ever-living God of Violence. Hear me now, and tremble..."

"For I am above your God and your Ha-Satan. I am more and greater than they could ever be."

The two captives were screaming as loud as possible, but no one was there to hear them in the void. the void created by a murderous God, and the void that they had dug themselves into when trying to target malcolm's family.

"Hear me, O, ye pathetic lower-lifeforms. For I am your end, and brutal beginning."

"HEAR ME, FOR I AM... INSANUS!!"