The sirens marked the start of the day.
They always did.
A low, mechanical howl rolled across the GRIMM compound, echoing through reinforced concrete halls and steel-reinforced glass. To most Reapers, it was nothing more than routine—another cycle, another day of training, another reminder that the world had ended a decade ago and never bothered to apologize.
To Isaac Demonio, it was just morning.
He groaned and rolled over on his bunk, pulling the thin blanket over his head as boots thundered past his door. Someone down the hall was already yelling.
"MOVE IT! IF YOU'RE LATE, YOU DIE—SIMPLE!"
Isaac cracked one eye open and sighed.
"Overdramatic bastard," he muttered.
A sharp knock rattled his door before it slid open.
"Up."
The voice was calm. Too calm.
Isaac didn't need to look to know who it was.
"Yes, Vance," he said flatly. "Good morning to you too."
Vance Demonio stood in the doorway, arms crossed, GRIMM uniform immaculate. His presence filled the room without effort—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair tied back neatly. His eyes were sharp, always watching, always judging.
Horseman candidate.
Top of his class.
Oldest brother.
"You have three minutes," Vance said. "Or you're running Sol drills with weighted seals."
Isaac sat up instantly.
"Okay, okay—I'm moving!"
Vance smirked faintly before turning and walking away.
Isaac swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes. The scars on his arms caught the dim light—old ones, new ones, all earned. GRIMM training didn't believe in mercy, especially not for Reapers.
You survive, or you don't.
He pulled on his uniform and strapped his boots tight, heart steady. This was his life. Had always been.
No gods.
No destiny.
Just family.
As he stepped into the corridor, the compound was already alive. Young Reapers moved in tight formation, some nervous, some eager, some already hardened despite their age. This wasn't a human school—no classrooms full of chalkboards and textbooks.
GRIMM taught survival.
Combat halls stretched endlessly, reinforced to withstand Sol incursions. Training pits were stained dark—blood never quite washed out. Above them all loomed the Rift Towers, massive structures humming with Black Force, monitoring the unstable tears in reality where Sols crawled through.
Isaac joined the others heading toward the main training arena.
"ISAAC!"
A familiar voice cut through the noise.
He turned just in time to catch Lisa tackling him into a hug.
"—HEY!" he grunted, stumbling back. "Lisa, get off me!"
Lisa Demonio laughed, bright and unrestrained, dark hair tied back messily. She wore her trainee uniform like she owned the place—confident, sharp-eyed, already dangerous.
"You were gonna be late again," she said. "I saved your ass."
"You assaulted me."
She grinned. "Same thing."
Lane followed close behind her, smaller, quieter, but watching everything. Her eyes lingered on Isaac longer than the others—always did.
"You okay?" Lane asked.
"Yeah," Isaac said. "Same nightmare. Same morning."
Lane nodded. She didn't push.
The four of them moved together toward the arena—siblings by blood and by choice, even if Isaac didn't know which was which. Vance stood ahead near the instructors, already briefing a squad of older Reapers.
When Isaac caught his eye, Vance gave a single nod.
Pride.
Expectation.
Pressure.
The arena doors sealed shut with a heavy clang.
"LISTEN UP!" an instructor roared.
Holographic projectors flared to life, forming the snarling, shifting shape of a Sol-class entity—six limbs, exposed bone, no face.
"RIFT ACTIVITY IS INCREASING. TODAY'S DRILL IS LIVE COMBAT."
A ripple of tension ran through the trainees.
Live meant blood.
"YOU WILL KILL IT OR IT WILL KILL YOU."
Isaac's pulse quickened—not with fear, but something deeper. Something hot.
The Sol screeched as the containment field dropped.
"BEGIN!"
The monster lunged.
Isaac moved.
His fist punched the air—and it cracked like glass.
From the fracture, his blade slid free, cold and familiar in his hand.
He didn't question it. Never had.
Steel met flesh.
Bone shattered.
Black blood sprayed across the floor.
The Sol died screaming.
Isaac stood over the corpse, breathing hard, blade dripping.
Somewhere above, unseen, something watched him with interest.
And far beyond the Rift Towers, beyond the rules of GRIMM,
A mysterious siniter being smiled.
The world had already chosen its next sacrifice.