eybaba

Arthur Winner is a boy who lives in the modern world, unaware of the dark legacy within him—the last fragment of Azrael’s soul, the Angel of Death. Since childhood, his life has been filled with pain and suffering; his mother once tried to kill him, but his father saved him at the last moment. Years later, betrayal strikes again when his girlfriend cheats on him with his closest friend, shattering the little trust he had in the world.

On one of the darkest days of his life, after a fight with that very close friend led to his temporary suspension from school, he spent the first day of his suspension in quiet solitude at home. But that silence didn’t last long. A mysterious voice called out to him… and following the sound, he was led to the basement, where a truth beyond his comprehension awaited him—a secret that might change his destiny forever.

But is he ready to accept the fate that has been written for him?

Legacy of Death

Arthur's breath curled in the cold air of the basement. The darkness wasn't just an absence of light... it was alive, pressing against his skin, seeping into his bones. His fingers trembled over the grotesque cover of the book, the leathery surface warm beneath his touch, as if it had been waiting for him.

The voice slithered into his mind again, its whisper a caress and a command all at once. "Master… do you see now?"

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. His heart pounded against his ribs like a caged animal. "Yeah, yeah. I see just fine," he muttered, sarcasm clinging to his words like a shield. "I see a creepy book in a creepy basement whispering sweet nothings in my ear. Real romantic."

The voice chuckled, a sound that scraped against his skull. "Your fear amuses me. But you are not afraid of me, are you?"

Arthur stiffened. His lips curled into something resembling a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "No, I'm just thrilled to be having a heart-to-heart with my basement's moldy décor. It's the highlight of my week."

The air around him thickened, and for a brief moment, the shadows seemed to move, twisting and writhing like living things. The book pulsed beneath his hand, a rhythmic thrum that matched the frantic beat of his heart.

"They have always watched you, Arthur. Always whispered behind closed doors. Do you remember?"

And just like that, the memories surged forward.

A woman's silent lips moving behind the fence. Not like the others…

A drunken uncle's hand digging into his shoulder. You don't belong here, boy…

His sister's hushed voice in the night. He's changing… we have to tell Dad soon…

Arthur's throat constricted. His body trembled, but his voice—his voice was sharp as a knife. "Yeah? Well, screw them." He forced a grin, sharp and bitter. "I was never big on family bonding anyway."

The voice hummed in amusement. "Good. Hold onto that, Master. They have abandoned you. Betrayed you. But I…" The book seemed to shudder beneath his grip. "… I am here."

Arthur let out a slow breath, the weight of the words settling over him like a lead blanket. The sarcasm on his tongue tasted stale, forced. He was tired. So damn tired.

For the first time in his life, he felt the unsettling certainty that he was truly alone.

The Whispers in the Dark