Hi everyone. :)

Little preamble: English is not my mother language, I'm italian. So, despite my love for this language, it is possible that you will encounter grammatical errors. I put a lot of attention on what I write, but still, I'm not professional yet. I will gladly welcome any suggestions, and corrections (and obviously, constructive criticism!).

I like a creative style of writing, and I hope this won't ruin the reading. If so, please you are free to tell me, and I will write in a more clear way.

I point this out because this is the first time I attempt to publish in English, so this is a bit of a challenge.

That said, I introduce the story: this is a little collection of chapters on the Reapers. I wanted to analyze their characters, their very presence, and what could be their psychology (if they have any). It's a try.

There won't be any spoilers on Mass Effect 3, because I haven't yet started it, I have just finished Mass Effect 2. So I really don't know which end they will face (or Shepard), BUT I know of the Leviathan DLC, so probably some details could show up. In any case, I will warn of any spoiler if you have no idea of what is said in that DLC.

What else to say? If you like the "mystery" of the Reapers – the hidden meanings, the possible metaphors with humankind – like me, you might like it. This is not very demanding, it's just free words on "paper".

So. To leave a review will obviously make me happy!

Hope you enjoy :)

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1.

Awakening

Resonant in the somber web of space, the voice of primordiality lulled cold and vast minds.

The clean fabric of the cosmos flickered on motionless exoskeletons, a glacial black that didn't know of the caress of light. The distant stars, invisible at those sidereal distances, didn't dare to glance, to meet the unknown fauces of a rage bred by millennia. Planets with their motions nothing knew of the dour dusk of that icy, cosmic empathy, quivering and synthetic.

In the eternal night void of asters, rich of the untamable veil of nothingness between the galaxies, the Immortals stood.

And in the chagrin of an existence of questions to which they didn't feel the urge to answer, the creatures stirred relentless, kilometric tentacles. Watchful eyes, alert as the inexorable repetition of cycles, surveyed the oceanic path without roads that led to the asters to them so hostile.

Distant lives loathed them without recognize them, oblivious being looked at them without understand them, laying silent demands to the horizon of the universe that they, indomitable perfectionists, grazed with the quiet exercise of conspiracy.

Majestic fingers, invisible in such oblivion without gravity, contract on themselves, in an awaited awakening, dreaded, needful.

The spires of their shells drew lines in space while they shifted, conscious anew, turning to watch far afield. Tiny gleams warmed up the perimeters of their hulls, segmented the frames of the myth that one day the organics would call Death.

And that day wasn't so far, uncoiled ahead the remembrance of the unearthly waitings of which they were witnesses from immemorial times, memoir recorded like bare calculations. Soon, soon their embrace would shatter the galaxy, strict in the grip of their murky limbs, burnt by the scarlet blaze of their beam.

In the dark hush beyond the veil of the galaxy, made by unbiased light, four eyes tore the gloom of space.

Where no one could see him, from the other end of the cosmic horizon, Harbinger returned the glance.