The first harvest in any reapers career is momentous. It’s in the flicker of the weapon; in the awakening of the suit for the very first time; in all the possibilities that rush through the reaper’s mind. In fact, if a reaper wanted, they could bring down the mortal plain. Ash had the same sensations, lusting for the power like an angsty teenager might. His first harvest was a plague boy, surrounded in a cottage by a mother, father, and three siblings--which Ash would return for throughout the week. He could’ve taken them all at once. Nothing prevented him, except for an oath.

The preservation of peace was the source of harmony, he once spoke.

This felt different.

Detritus swept through Fort Lipton with fire in his eyes and fallout on his wings. His outstretched fists snatched every soul that washed out from the irradiated houses and shops, exposed long enough to claim. Eruptions rocked the power plant, inching closer to the core, in rhythmic whomps. It dawned on Ash that the meltdown wasn’t by chance. This was an attack.

“Detri! Stop your unfocused harvesting. There is purpose here,” Ash shouted, running for the emergency trucks that clogged the plant entrance. “Someone’s attacking the plant.”

“Don’t you think Sol would tell us if he had a plan? He wants us to have a good time and earn our place.” Detritus clapped both hands to the pavement, bringing down rows of houses like blades of grass. His suit swelled with power. The cloth throbbed in violent, shifting waves as it struggled to swallow everything it was given. “Ten thousand, Ash. Halfway there and not a care in the world.”

Ash didn’t hear him. The wind screeched against his sprinting body, irradiated but without flavor, scent, or color. Had the decay started in secret, flooding the town? How else could thousands of people be ready for harvesting already?

A light as bright as the sun rocketed from the cooling tower. Ash shielded his eyes and slipped on wet grass. He landed on his back, cracked his head on the dirt, and watched the light rise, high, unstoppable, and then blinked out of existence.

Moments later, the night turned to day. Unimaginable heat swallowed Ash. The plant erupted in a mushroom cloud that flattened the town and any last souls milling about within it.

Through the gusts, Ash heard a single scream. He rolled slowly onto his side. Even reapers feared breaking parts of their bodies, after all. He saw Detritus standing, arms splayed in the air, head cocked high and mouth ripped open. His suit had torn.

Much like the nuclear blast that preceded it, the partially synthesized energy sprayed out from the suit and collided with untouched life. The union of harvested souls and wandering essence caused a reaction.

Under the shadow of the mushroom cloud, Detritus imploded. All the scattered debris of the initial blast flung toward him, with the tonnes of lumber, metal, and corpses piling higher like a monument to his failure.