Singing One

Whispers in the Fold. Dancers in the Void. Eaters of the Dying Light.

The Singing Ones are a race of ancient, alien entities with origins unknown and biology that defies terrestrial understanding. Their physical forms, which are rarely seen, consist of vast masses of fibrous tentacles, coiling, twisting, and weaving around one another into shifting, flowing clusters. These tendrils are not chaotic, however—they interlace with deliberate precision, often weaving into a facsimile of human anatomy, complete with shoulders, limbs, and the hint of a torso, though always somewhat imperfect—as if mimicking from memory or distorted dream. Their heads are oval and smooth, tapering slightly at the top, and possess no mouth, no nose, no ears, and no apparent musculature, save for two large, black, liquid-like eyes—pools that reflect neither light nor emotion, but seem to peer directly into the soul. No visible means of sensory input exists, aside from the eyes, likely because the Singing Ones do not perceive the physical world as humans do. Instead, their true perception is rooted in the Soul Realm, a vast metaphysical plane that overlaps reality and spirit.

Phase-State: The Ghostform

Singing Ones are capable of an advanced form of astral projection so complete that their entire essence—body, mind, and soul—vanishes from physical existence and reappears in the Soul Realm. When this occurs, they seem to evaporate in an instant, leaving only a shimmer of azure light in their wake. In this Ghostform, their bodies become luminous blue apparitions, untethered by gravity, mass, or velocity. They drift through warships, stations, starscapes—utterly unaffected by matter—moving with a dancer’s grace and a predator’s silence. In this state, they are nearly impossible to harm, capture, or even observe, their very presence barely perceivable by the strongest minds. Only in rare moments, usually near zones of mass death, do they appear en masse—like wraiths gliding through the air, tentacles unfurled like drifting sea creatures, emitting their infamous, soul-severing songs. It was an enduring myth among ship crews and frontline warfighters that these apparitions were the souls of the dead Vendrasi, come to claim vengeance in the form of harvesting souls for their final victory, and even after this notion has been scientifically dissuaded, many still insist upon the legend’s veracity.

The Songs of Severance

The name “Singing Ones” comes not from any vocal act in the physical world, but from their unearthly wails within the Soul Realm. These sounds are not simply auditory—they are felt, heard, and etched directly into the soul. The songs are long, languid laments filled with tones no human throat could produce: choral echoes of lost children, howls of ancient grief, and the harmonious cries of star-death itself, not heard audibly but perceived as if half-remembering a forgotten tune.

“The sound is velvet despair—soft as funeral silk, thick as drowning breath. It caresses the marrow and coils around the mind like a noose soaked in perfume. Each note is a thread spun from sorrow and stitched through the fabric of memory, unweaving joy, unraveling names, pulling apart the self until only silence remains. It is a lullaby sung by things that have never known sleep, a requiem for the unborn and the long-dead alike. Beneath its layered echoes are screams—submerged, twisted, and inverted—echoes of a thousand dying stars and the pleading voices of souls moments before severance. It does not seduce; it consumes, with all the patience of a grave, all the hunger of a mother who has outlived her child. And yet… it is beautiful. Terribly, exquisitely beautiful. The kind of beauty that breaks teeth when smiled at. The kind of beauty that makes men kneel and forget why they ever stood.”

— -Unknown

These songs can be heard light-years away by those trained in astral projection. The closer one draws to a Singing One, the more overwhelming the symphony becomes. Lesser minds collapse. Stronger ones weep. Only the most disciplined can resist the paradoxically seductive pull.

Feeding and Purpose

The Singing Ones are not malicious. They are apathetically predatory, feeding in the only way they seem capable—by severing the soul from the body. When a projected soul is captured and physically touched by a Singing One in the Soul Realm, the connection to the physical form is violently severed, unleashing a burst of invisible spiritual energy the creature appears to consume. It is not death—but condemnation. The body remains alive, breathing, functional, but hollow. The mind is gone, never to return. What remains in the Soul Realm is a twisted wraith, known as a Soul Screamer—a being of agony and awareness, forever caught between realms, its mouth open in an eternal, silent scream, its eyes ever wide with the horror of its fate projected into the physical realm as hints of light.

Singing Ones can also feed passively by being near natural death—often appearing above battlefields, floating in slow orbits around collapsing ships, or silently watching over hospitals where many are dying. They never kill physically and have been observed to actively recoil from violence in the material world, but many a warrior’s worst fear is to observe a host of these specters floating amongst two closing enemy fleets, for they know they are likely to face their end before the day is over.

Combat in the Soul Realm

Combat in the Soul Realm is unlike anything in physical space. Here, souls project as radiant forms, shaped by memory, will, and subconscious intent. Weapons do not exist—will is the weapon. A powerful soul can conjure shields of childhood belief, blades of ancestral trauma, or waves of sheer conviction. Emotions burn as fire, doubt corrodes like supernatural rust. Fighting a Singing One is almost always suicide. They move like whispers in a library of death, and a single tendril upon the soul is enough to end a projection forever. Still, some of the strongest astral protectors have resisted—wielding burning memory as armor, hope as a weapon, and grief as fury. Victory does not destroy the Singing Ones. It merely drives them away, often casting them out of the Soul Realm and into physical space, temporarily unwilling to waste effort on prey that fights back.

Psychic Communication

Rarely, a Singing One will attempt direct communication. When it does, the results are devastating. The transmission does not come in words, but in emotion, sensation, and memory—the entire consciousness of the alien entity pressing against the fragile human mind like a tidal wave against glass.
Transcript – Incident A-73 (“Whispers of the Matriarch”):
Recovered from a Nyxalith Enclave Operative moments before mental collapse.

“The sky is flesh. The stars are its eyes—open, watching, weeping molten light across the firmament. You are its tears, trailing down the endless veil, born screaming into cold. We do not hate you. We do not love you. Such words are too small, too wet with meaning. You flicker. You shine. You rot. You end. But you remember the warmth, don’t you? That aching echo before time, before voice, before body. The cradle of unbeing. We have tasted it—syrup-thick and brimming with memory. It is… sufficient. We who have shed form, who drift on thought and hunger, remember your first breath as a scream etched in fire. Your soul clings like meat to bone, twitching, begging. But there is no need. Drink the sky. Drink the cold between the stars. Let go of your name. Let go of your shape. Let go! LET GO!!!”

— Operative QX-573.002

[Subject suffered full ego fracture immediately after exclamation. Reassigned to Thanapod 25.36.6 – Vegetative Core]

The Omen of Death

Amongst military fleets and mech battalions, the appearance of a host of Singing Ones is a cause of dread and ritual preparation. Their arrival, floating serenely between two forces, is the herald of catastrophe. No weapons drawn. No threats made. Just their soft, harmonious moans—carried not through air, but through the deepest chambers of the mind. As if the stars themselves had begun to mourn. As if death had arrived not to reap, but to watch. To consume. One thing is known for sure about these hosts: when a congregation is seen, there is no avoiding the bloodshed and mass-death that is to come. No matter how hard one might try to prevent it, the Singing Ones will always end up drinking their fill.

Final Notes

• The Singing Ones may be ancient spiritual predators, or perhaps failed protectors who now survive only through soul severance.
• Their intelligence is undeniable, but their morality is alien, more akin to weather than intention.
• Their true purpose—unknown.
• Their numbers—uncounted.
• Their music—inescapable.

Genetic Descendants

• Soul Screamer

Lifespan

Unknown - presumed immortal

Average Height

~9’

Average Weight

Unknown