Manifests as a number that never settles, shifting with every round like sand through fingers. When challenged, the Reaper's presence thickens the air with the smell of old bones and fresh graves. Those who face it report hearing whispers of scores yet to be made.

The final arbiter of the culling, appearing at the bottom of the leaderboard to claim those who hesitated too long. Each elimination adds another grain to its form, each survival another notch on its handle.