A voice called out in the air.

"Wake up, Syren. Wake up and smell the mold. Wake up. Wake up and take a peek."

Syren Toorn was his name. He was a young, bright boy at sixteen years of age. His eyes slowly sprung open. He looked up at the damaged ceiling made of stone. He whiffed the smell of burnt charcoal and rotting flesh. He laid there on the floor wondering what happened. By his side was a tome wrapped in black leather. It gave off a terrifying, yet alluring aura.

His head ached as if he was struck ten times by a boulder. Slowly, he sat up and looked around. At first, it seemed all very unfamiliar, but slowly things were coming back. He looked at the tome next to him. He held it in his hands as something precious.

Around the room there were books laid around haphazardly. Candles and fire lit the room. In the center of it the room was a large circle comprised of runes. Still, he wasn't entirely sure where he was or what he was doing there.

But to his surprise, a voice spoke right beside him.

"What a disaster. Well, at least for you," the voice said as Syren looked to his side in fear and shock. He had no idea what it was. It was humanoid in the figure of a female, but spoke with a masculine voice. His or her eyes were serpentine and had large fangs. Its skin was gray with branches of red. It had bright-red lips. Its nose was pulled back far

It continued talked without even looking at Syren. "You really are an idiot. Can't even get a simple spell right. There's not even any bones left. A real failure."

Syren crawled back a few inches before the creature looked back at his terrified face. It was confused at first. It looked behind and around itself unsure of what Syren was looking at. Then, it stared back and took one more step closer to him. He flinched back and the creature was suddenly in shock just as much as Syren was.

"You can see me?" it asked.

"Wha-What are you?" Syren asked as his entire body shook in fear. And at that moment, he realized that his own voice was the same as the creature's.

"Woah. You actually can see me," the creature replied, "That's strange."

"What-What-What...?" he asked but was too afraid to finish his question.

It replied with an ecstatic smile, "This is wild. I'm a whisper. A so-called 'demon' that is always by your side telling you to do naughty things. You're not actually supposed to see me."

"A whisper..." Syren repeated. He had never heard of such creature before.

"Get up," the whisper said, "Get your ass off the dirty floor. I'm sure it hasn't been brushed in months. If you die from some dirty infection, I die too. Albeit, I sometimes prefer death over existing. But not today. Today, I'm thrilled to be something more."

He got himself up and wiped off the dirt. He held the tome in his hand as if it was a part of himself.

"I got to say that your ritual was a failure, but I guess it wasn't exactly a 'failure'. I wonder if your ritual did other wonders for me," it said before trying to pick up a fallen book. But it couldn't. It tried harder and harder, but it was only able to lift it up to his ankles. Then, its fingers seemed to go right through the book and it dropped back down to the floor. "I guess I still can't properly do anything in this world."

At this point, Syren was confused by the creature. It looked hideous, but didn't seem hostile. And it also seemed to know him.

"Well, not like I can really do anything. What do you plan to do, now?" the whisper asked.

"What are you talking about?" he replied.

"You...you don't actually remember, do you?"

Syren remembered his past quite vividly. He remembered his childhood was a good one. He had a moderately wealthy upbringing. He learned magic at some academy or institute. He loved his parents so very dearly. His father and mother were mages. They were masters of magic and the arcane arts. Syren wasn't particularly good at magic, but was proficient enough to understand the basics. But after that, it became very fragmented. He scratched his head trying to fill in the missing pieces, and as he wanted to do so, they came to him slowly.

But what he held in his hands was something extremely powerful. The book he held belonged to his parents in their personal library. That was where he was standing - deep undergound with the house above. But it was something more. The tome felt like his own blood and soul was inside, although he didn't know why. When he opened it, he saw many different sentences. There were notes on what each spell would do, what to think about when saying those words, and any other necessary requirements. There was almost a spell for anything from conjuring simple lights to summoning golems. Anybody - even people without magical abilities - would be able to conjure any trick up their sleeve. But there were so many pages. It was possible to memorize each one, but difficult.

"Remember..." the whisper said, "Remember what happened..."

Syren's head felt like it was about to burst, but he stood his ground taking everything in.

He continued to remember as tears started to flow out of his eyes.

"They're dead. They're dead."

Syren began to remember his parents. He was experimenting with magic. He wanted to impress them. He figured out how to conjure a fire in the palm of his hand. He ran over to his parents excited, but he lacked control. His parents couldn't stop it in time. It was so fast. The fire spread burning the whole top house into smithereens. And his parents died protecting him.

When it was over, there wasn't a home left. He had no other family. He was alone. He scrounged for food. He stole to survive. But he knew there had to be a way to bring them both back. He went to the library underneath the house. There were so many books and tomes, but there was one locked away. He broke it open to find the black tome he held in his hands. In it, he found the solution to his problems.

He dug up his parents graves and prepared a ritual. He stole money and bought himself buckets of chicken blood to write the necessary runes and markings in a circle. He dragged his burnt parents into the middle of that circle. They were already rotted corpses with maggots eating away at whatever was left. But he didn't mind the smell. He could bare it if it meant bringing them back. There was no sacrifice small enough that he wouldn't have done. He would have sold his body and soul in exchange. But he didn't need to. He found the answers he needed. He just had to follow instructions.

As the circle was completed to the exact specifications required, he turned to the page that had the words that needed to be spoken in a calm manner. As he spoke, his mind focused on thinking about his parents. Any memory at all worked - bad or good. Whether it was a time when he played a game with the other two, or when he was scolded for stealing a teddy bear.

"A sky forever toiled.

A world without bones.

A snake coiled.

A night without thrones.

And with death no longer soiled,

blood is spelled."

With that, the runes glowed in disharmony. Darkness rose from the corpses until a shadow cosumed the bodies. Syren wasn't concerned. He was absolutely certain that it would work.

The room shook. Books and paper flew around the ritual in a torrent. Eight dark beams shot up around the circle. They went straight through the ceiling without actually damaging it. Yet, as the room shook, Syren began to lose his balance. He fell onto the back of his head.

And then, he awoke.

"My parents. I killed them," Syren said. He panicked and looked at the middle of the circle. There were no bodies there. "The ritual. Did it work?"

"Not exactly the way you intended," the whisperer said, "Your parents' bodies are completely gone from existence. Eaten away by shadows and other things."

"No... It failed. It couldn't have failed. I followed it to the exact word," he said as he opened up the tome to the same page he was on. To his surprise, the page did seem to be newer than the other pages around it. But he shook it off as nothing.

The whisperer went over by his shoulder. Syren was taken aback for a moment.

"I'm not going to bite you. I don't think I can, anyways. I know what you did wrong, if you'd let me just point it out to you," it said.

Syren was afraid of it at first, but no longer felt that fear was justified. If that creature wanted to kill him, then it would have done so already. He had no other reason but to believe in that monster. And there was a sense of being familiar with it as if it was a childhood friend.

"Fine. But first, we should prove that you are what you're telling me. Whisperer... tell me one thing only I would know."

Without any hesitation, the creature replied, "Well, technically, your parents would know this, but they also kept it a secret. You stole a teddy bear from little girl. Don't worry, you were the same age at the time. And I wouldn't call it grand theft."

"As you said. My parents knew of it. You could have been watching as they scolded me for it."

"Ahh. But they never really found out why you did it. I know you had a crush on that girl. I whispered in your ear to take her bear, so that when she cries about it, you would be the one to find it and you'd be her hero."

"Oh, God," Syren said as his face was completely red with embarrassment.

The whisperer continued as he was having too much fun, "Hah. I still can't actually believe you did that. I know I suggested it to you, but I never actually thought you would act upon it."

"Okay. Okay. I get it. Stop it. I wish I could forget that embarrassing moment for one second."

The whisperer laughed in glee.

Syren sighed. "What did I do wrong? You said you knew."

"Right. Right," the whisperer said as he pointed at the last line, "You said 'blood is spelled'. What's written there is 'blood is spoiled'."

But Syren looked at the writing and said, "Are you blind? It clearly says 'blood is spelled'."

"You idiot. Yes, it says that, but it was probably a spelling error or the ink was smudged."

"A spelling error!?" Syren exclaimed.

The whisperer continued, "The spell rhymes. It was probably supposed to read out 'blood is spoiled' to go along with the previous line of 'death no longer soiled'. Besides, what the hell does 'blood is spelled' even mean? How could blood be spelled like some kind of dictionary term? It doesn't make any sense. Then again, it could just be cryptic nonsense. What the hell do I know? The only reading experience I got was whatever trash you read."

"That's..." Syren was perplexed and disheartened. He couldn't believe that his spell failed with a simple spelling error.

"Don't be too hard on such mistakes. Maybe, it was spelled correctly," the whisperer said, "Let's look on the bright side. It could be your fault. The circle isn't exactly a circle. It's more like a slight oval. And one of the runes that you drew has a bit of a smudge. And if I have to be completely honest, the guy who sold you chicken blood actually sold you leftover cow blood. I don't know if that makes a difference, but maybe. Syren, I have to say that magic is a lot more tedious than I would have ever thought."

"That doesn't help," Syren said, "And it doesn't matter, either. It failed. I failed. My parents are dead. Their bodies washed away in oblivion. Even if I wanted to try again, I can't do it without the bodies."

"Well, if you really want to cheer up, let me tell you something. If you had brought your parents back with that magic book, they wouldn't have been the same. At best, they would be zombie puppets with some memories that obey your will without question. At worst, they would be monstrous creatures that eat away at people's flesh. Maybe, it's for the best."

Syren sarcastically replied, "You really know how to cheer somebody up."

"I know. I do this all the time to you. It's so much fun. Although, not as fun as actually being able to do something."

"I never asked, but what is your name?" Syren asked. In that moment, the whisperer froze unsure what to say.

"Name? Hmm. I never had one. I know there are other whisperers. One for each person, but I rarely talk to any. Occasionally, we'd team up to cause some mayhem, but I've never been asked what my name was."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Want me to give you a name?" Syren asked.

"I am NOT being called Syren Jr. Or something like that."

"I wasn't thinking anything like that," Syren said with a laugh, "How about... Whisper?"

"Whisper? Should I call you Human? What else you got?"

"I don't really know. Hmm. What about Cornelius Kullius the Snake-eyed Demon?

There was a brief pause of silence.

"Whisper is fine," the creature replied.

"Alright. Glad that's settled. Nice to meet you, Whisper."

"Can't say the same, Syren. I've known you longer than you've known yourself ever since you came crawling out of that horrible womb. I wish I didn't have to remember the feeling of being pushed out through a straw like you."

"You certainly talk a lot."

"That's the one thing I can do."

And with that, Whisper and Syren walked out of the basement and into the world. And both of their eyes were met with shock.

Above them, there was an eclipse. A dark shadow loomed over the world. The sky was blood-red. The sun looked like it was crying.

Syren looked away knowing full well that looking straight at an eclipse was dangerous. There was a sense of thrill knowing that there was such a rare occurence happening today. He waited for the sky to change color, but it never did. Whisper kept watching with a giddy smile.

After about thirty seconds, Syren looked back up at the black sun. It didn't change. It remained.

"What is this?" Syren asked to no one in particular.

"It seems your ritual succeeded not only in making me visible, but turning the sun into an eternal eclipse, as well. What a wonderful day. What a wonderful day."

At that moment, he noticed beams of darkness shooting out from the eclipse in different directions. There were exactly seven of them. Seven beams.