Story cover for Reavers (Ongoing) by SecretWriter575
Reavers (Ongoing)
  • Reads 141
  • Votes 4
  • Parts 19
  • Time 3h 3m
  • Reads 141
  • Votes 4
  • Parts 19
  • Time 3h 3m
Ongoing, First published Jul 25, 2024
Beneath the grime and grease of the 22nd century lies a hidden world, shrouded in secrets and hearsay. It is a world of magic, of danger, of adventure. It is a world of hexes, gods, and other mischief. It is the world of the Reaver Society...

In St Benedict's Hospital in Marsheton, George Marsh mourns the death of his sister. But his mourning is soon cut short as he encounters the mysterious Hugh Fisher, a man with a history as secret as it is dark. Their first adventure reveals a hidden secret about George - that he is a mythical Ov'l, cursed with powers with capacity for both greatness and terror.

As George trains to become a reaver and control the uncontrollable Powers of the Ov'l, he battles alongside the Reaver Society to ensure peace and order in the world of hexes and magic. But he soon finds himself in the crosshairs of an ancient and terrible enemy who will stop at nothing to capture him. It will take everything George has - and more - to stop this villain and their wicked plan...

Series currently under revision. Once that's done, weekly publishing will resume as normal.
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(TWs: gore, abuse, sexual abuse, cursing) Why does he still breathe? Why is he kept alive in this shadowed purgatory where time has no meaning, and screams are swallowed by the walls? His cell is a cage, his life a cruel experiment, and his mind a battlefield. Questions claw at him relentlessly: Who is he? What is he? Why does this torment exist? The walls bleed stories of others-lost souls whose cries still linger, haunting the air. His own voice has grown hoarse from endless screams, his body a canvas of scars, a map of suffering that tells no answers, only pain. Every day is a ritual of degradation, where faceless captors toy with his humanity, stripping him of it piece by agonizing piece. The only constant is the endless cycle of questions. Why him? Why the torture? What is their purpose? He clings to the faintest memories of a time before-fleeting images of warmth, love, a face he cannot quite recall. But even those are slipping away, devoured by the void growing inside him. In this relentless, suffocating darkness, where hope is a distant memory, only one question remains: When will the game end, and what will be left of him when it does?