The Whispered Ones were beings of pure energy. They soared between the stars devouring the essences of dying beings, feeding off of their despair, consuming their thoughts. They lurked just out of sight, growing fat on the suffering they found on battlefields and in hospitals.

But not this one. It was running. In fact, it was positively sprinting. "No! No! No!" It shrieked as the human souls pursued it.

A pile of pulp that had once been a human soldier watched with great amusement as the would be grim reaper flailed wildly at the specters chasing it. The Whispered One looked very much like a child that had just discovered that the "Beware of Geese" sign at the pond was in fact not just for show.

"Give him hell boys!" The soldier glurped happily. Technically he was dead but he didn't let that bother him. He would be back on his feet soon enough. He had shit to do.

The Whispered One almost got free before a flying tackle scythed its legs out from underneath it. The spirits piled on top of the whimpering parasite and went to work.

A translucent phantom broke off from attacking just long enough to salute that mound of what had once been Human guardsman Mike Moar. Then it returned to beating the ever loving shit out of the Whispered One. The black robed figure curled up in a fetal position as the Human medics continued to vent their frustrations.

Their whole careers had been spent fighting off an invisible enemy that took the just and the unjust alike. Finally getting their hands on one of the beings responsible was like Christmas to them. And they were going to make the most out of it.

Stolen novel; please report.

How a spirit could be out of breath was a theological debate for another time. But Mike could hear one of the souls shouting at the Whispered One between angry stomps of its standard issue combat boots.

"DO… NOT… FUCK… WITH… MY… GRUNTS!" The medic yelled between stomps. Not much was left of the Whispered One at this point. Its robes were tattered dish rags. Its bones were powder.

"I think it's dead!" Mike called out, noticing a new human spirit approaching. This one was different. Bigger. Bolder. Angrier.

The spirit walked over to the Whispered One and looked it over carefully before reaching down into where the being's chest had been. Mike watched as bones knit and light returned to the being's eyes. Or what passed for eyes.

"I'm not done with you, asshole." Officer Remus of the Human Nomad Pararescue whispered.

---

Somewhere far across the universe the Whispered One that had been assigned to the Hunds greedily approached his first victim. It was an elderly Hund with black fur that had long since gone to gray. It looked up at him from its cup of broth.

"I'm already happy with my current afterlife provider, thank you." It remarked in a rough and gravelly voice before returning to admiring the sunset.

"It's really not up to you, old dog." The Whispered One replied menacingly. This Hund was pulsing with life-energy and he would not be denied his first real meal in centuries. His predecessor had vanished unexpectedly and this new territory was ripe with souls for him to consume.

"There is no need for that kind of language." The Whispered One felt his mouth say as a much greater presence settled around him like a lead blanket. He could feel himself being crushed underneath the weight of this new mind. It was massive, inescapable, unrelenting.

"Oh." The old Hund chuckled as he took a sip from his cup. "I see you've met the Gravekeeper."

"What's a Gravekeeper?" The Whispered One asked, feeling his mind beginning to slip away as it was consumed and dissected piece by piece. By the time the old Hund answered he was already gone.