Six years now. That’s how long I’ve had this idea sitting on the shelves of my mind, my desk, and my computer.  I’ve had what once was a simple vision blossom into a grandiose project that I became determined to finish. Over time the characters have grown from simple and uninspiring to characters that feel alive, that feel every event set before them. A plot that at first was extremely simple and linear evolved into a complex parallel world of countless events taking place, some mentioned in the story line, others only briefly looked at that I look greatly forward to addressing in later books.

          My focus changed part-way through this project of what I wanted the story to be about; while I spend a great deal describing the plot, it is with satisfaction that I spent even more time creating interactions between characters, making them real. I captured and conveyed emotion in many ways, not because I felt it was necessary, but because it adds authenticity: when we are hurt, we shout out in pain…when we lose things or people, we cry. 

          I think the story is best described as a trial of heroism…of ordinary people becoming and doing extraordinary things. Over time you see the characters evolve, grow up, and accept the changes that happen to them…and things will change, that I assure. I digress…onwards with the tale of Drenar Rashalda, our protagonist of the story, told through his eyes (and others when deemed necessary) the trials he faces in the gathering darkness that threatens our world.

This story is dedicated to of course my family…my overactive imagination, Cassy and James, and Flat-line. You guys rock.

          --Some say heroes are born, not created. There will always be those who shall heed the call when a hero is called for to save the world, or even so much as a single person, to drive away the darkness that gathers at the corners of our world…And as often is the case, the greatest of heroes rise from the most unlikely of people.

          Man, why is it people always call at the middle of the night? Brian McClane thought sleepily as he stumbled out of bed, grabbing the ringing phone near his desk. This had better be good, or I’m hanging up; I don’t care if it’s the police station again, I need some well-deserved rest, let someone else handle the paperwork. “Hello?” he said once brought the phone to his ear.

          “Brian? Thank god you’re there. I was running out of people to call, and I had hoped you of all people would answer. Listen, I know it’s late—”

          “Late? Jack, it’s almost one in the morning,” Brian grumbled. “You’d better have a good reason for waking me up; I’m still trying to catch up on sleep from the last case I was on, that burglary downtown by the jewelry store. Could this have possibly waited, because if it can, I’m going back to sleep,” he said, preparing to put down the phone.

          “Brian, I know what killed those miners, and frankly the implications have me questioning my own sanity, but the evidence is incontrovertible,” he said, as Jack suddenly halted, bringing the phone up again.

          “You know what I’m talking about, Brian. The mining accident from three years ago, the one no one likes to talk about,” he said, talking in a quieter tone than before. Brian thought briefly to the details of the case, and remembered the massive investigation that had gone on during the events that followed, but the evidence had always led them nowhere; A compressed gas pocket rupturing and resulting in an explosion had been the official determination, but no one had ever agreed that was the best explanation—just the one that made the most sense. I remember that; one of the damndest investigations I had ever run, he thought.

          “Okay Jack, you have me attention,” Brian said, knowing he was going to regret letting this conversation continue. “But why call me at one in the morning?”

          “They’re after me—they, whoever they are, that orchestrated this. They found something down in that mine, something horrible, and they killed the only witnesses. Whatever they found down there, they are willing to kill people to ensure it stays a secret,” he said. “I’m busy gathering my things Brian, but I need protection. I need it now, badly.” Indeed, he could audibly detect the edge in Jacks’ tone, and he was half-inclined to be authentic. He was horrifically afraid of something.

          “Whoa Jack, hold on a second. You have told me precisely nothing,” Brian said, already getting his clothes from yesterday on. “Who is this ‘they’ that you keep referring to?”

          “Brian, shut up and listen. They are coming for me next! They were watching my office today, the same people from before the accident, that research team. I also found something else, something in the mine recently when I tried to trace back the incident, and it's not normal at all. Brian, please, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t dead sure of it.”

          “When did you go there?” he asked impatiently. “You know that area is closed off, it’s still restricted property.

          “I went last week, something had been bugging me for a long time and I found recent signs of activity. That must be when they found out I’d been snooping around.”

          “Alright Jack, fine, but I want details: what caused the accident? And who do you think is after you?” Brian said, as he opened a cabinet beneath his desk, and he glanced questionably at his standard-issue 9mm Beretta sidearm. If I have any sense at all, he’s not pulling my leg, he thought as he strapped on the holster, grabbing his reserve magazines.

          “Brian, these are powerful people, they’re capable of making me disappear without a trace. All the other workers at the mines, those who knew the most, they all started vanishing Let's not forget about Fred, huh? I’ll tell you more when you get here,” he said, almost in a pleading tone that surprised even McClane.

          “I’ll be there in half an hour,” he said as he put on his coat. “Sit tight Jack, okay? I can’t help you until you tell me exactly what is going on.”

          “Alright, thank you,” he said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Look, I’ll pack some stuff, then we’ll talk when you get here,” he said, before hanging up.

          Damn it Jack, what have you gotten yourself involved in? Brian thought as he headed out the door, grabbing his keys off the rack and headed to his car.

          This is the last time I’m ever going out on a limb for anyone, Brian thought as he pulled up along the winding driveway, got out of the car, and walked up the driveway slowly. Why did he insist on meeting me right away, for heavens’ sake? He thought angrily as he spotted the door to the modest two-story house. He was seriously thinking that maybe he should just head home and forget all about this. Paranoia seems to be the running gag these days…people calling in the dead of the night, sounding as if the dead had risen or something, he thought, pausing for a moment. Would this be a violation of his orders?

          “McClane, honestly, this case is closed, okay? As much as I hate leaving things unsolved, there are more important matters to attend to, and we’re not going to solve that murder…not unless the state pursues it. It’s been over six months since we’ve had any leads, and you stepping on toes all over the place doesn’t exactly help! I don’t know how many times I’ve told you to stop this goose chase… I got a call from down at the mining company yesterday, citing you were trespassing. That badge you’re wearing means upholding the law, that includes following the law yourself, do you hear me?”

          “Something doesn’t smell right, chief. They closed that mine in a hurry after the accident, and the workers who did get out of there aren’t talking; something bad happened in there that no one wants to know about, and my buddy was killed because he knew something.”

          “Hunches and guesswork aren’t good enough, McClane. Unless you find some solid evidence that these accidents are related in any way to the recent events, my hands are tied. You and I both know the findings for that accident were final: it was a freak gas explosion, that’s what the evidence says and nothing more; I’ll say it so it’s official: there’s no conspiracy, and this murder and the other one are unrelated as far as we can tell. Now, as for your friend, I suggest you let it go…take a few days off, for God’s sake.”

          “How come they never recovered the bodies from the mines up on Mount Syren?” McClane asked. “I honestly want to know.”

          “Structural instability; all the attempts they made were met with failure, and the site has been shut down. They’ll never be recovered, not with that much rock and stone,” he said.

          “Chief, I honestly think that these murders are related, and all the men worked at those mines at one time or another…don’t tell me it’s just coincidence.”

          “Brian…just let it go, okay? Look, I know you’re a good detective, but you’ve taken this case too seriously. I know he was your friend, but we have no leads…we haven’t had any for six months. Let it go, okay?” he had said, looking rather tired.

          Fred…are these the people that killed you? Brian pondered. One of the victims had been one of his friends, whom he’d known for years. He had been found three years ago in his house, the building ravaged and in flames. They had pulled the body out shortly before the flames took down the roof, followed shortly by the rest of the house. There wasn’t much left of a body…what the fire had not consumed, was horrifying. Now Jack had called, seemingly out of the blue, to tell him all of this might be connected, and he had the smoking gun in his possession?

McClane sighed heavily, keeping focused. He wasn’t out here to think of the past. He was here to find out what Jack knew—and whatever it was, he doubted it would be good news. What was so important to him that he would want to meet in the dead of the night? I still have half a mind to turn around and go back home, he thought as he walked up to the door. To his surprise, the door was ajar, lights on inside; it wasn’t that fact that disturbed McClane but the silence; the absolute dead silence. Pulling out his handgun, he cautiously approached the door, holding the flashlight with his left hand. Something was amiss here, and he wanted to be prepared for it; he hoped it was just his imagination, but he felt a gust of wind blow by as he gently eased the door open. The hallway was deathly quiet, and he would have felt better if he had heard some kind of noise…any noise at all. McClane noted the door was not damaged, signaling Jack may have let someone in… but where was he?

          If he was so paranoid, why would he leave the door open for anybody to walk in? McClane began to wonder, immediately stepping away from the bitter fall air, as he walked into the living room. The lamp by the sofa cast a soft light on the walls, creating eerie shadows. Jack had been very organized in college, an obsessive neat freak; it still showed in this modest house. A desk to the left of the sofa yielded a small laptop, still charging from the last time it had been used. Sticky notes plastered his desk, ranging from the usual reminders about appointments and buying milk to other, stranger messages. McClane, naturally born with a curiosity that had gotten him into trouble time and again, moved closer to read the notes, some scribbled that they were almost illegible. One in particular read ‘sulfur based gases, gastric tract?’ or, ‘research history of cults, 1300-1996?’

          What has Jack been researching? McClane pondered, gazing at the notes, and then cautiously opening the desk drawer. Inside, he found a newspaper clipping, dating three years ago; it’s streaming headline proclaimed FIVE MEN DIE IN MINING EXPLOSION, INVESTIGATORS UNABLE TO DETERMINE CAUSE. Looking around nervously, he folded up the clipping, and then quietly closed the drawer. I remember that accident—I lost one of my high school friends in there; the whole thing caved in, and the bodies…never recovered. Inexcusable, he thought bitterly, placing his gun back in his holster, he walked into the kitchen, flicking on the light switch. Peering around it looked as empty as the living room. Dirty dishes piled up on the counter, a coffee mug sitting on the center counter. Cautiously, McClane put a finger in the coffee; still warm, which meant Jack wasn’t too far away.

          “Jack?” he called out, hoping to hear an answer; there was none, only the creaking of the house settling and the ticking of the small clock mounted on the wall. Walking back into the hallway, he noted that Jack’s bedroom door was closed. “Yeah, thanks for leaving me no clue to where you are, I really appreciate it,” McClane muttered as he moved forward. Yet another door with the lights still on was marked by small caution signs giving reason to believe chemicals were stored within. Probably his miniature laboratory, he thought. Daring his courage, he opened the door; no one was there, and there was no sign that anyone had been here recently. One desk held a large computer, with various DVD’s and flash memory sticks in neatly sorted piles, some of them with labels designating them as data analysis. Ignoring those, he turned to look at a small table, various books and lab equipment strewn about its glossy surface.

          What was odd about the books was their genre; obviously, they had nothing to do with geology. As he glanced at the books, he felt that they were distinctly out-of-place; some of the titles displayed works such as “Understanding Myths and Legends,” while another one was titled “A History of Subterranean Exploration,” and one final book called, “Eyewitness accounts of strange sightings in Europe, 1250-1650.” Did all of this have to do with what Jack was so nervous about? McClane thought, especially when he noticed a strange looking object by a microscope on the table. Picking it up in his hand, he realized that it wasn’t a rock, but a scale of some sort, perhaps off of some reptile. But, this scale was almost two and a half inches in length, so just how big was this reptile? Looks like theres’ a note here, he thought as he looked at another laptop, this one still on and the screen glowing with a document still opened.

          “Specimen appears to be made of a complex matrix of carbon, silicon and other organic elements. Microscope shows that there was blood-vessels lining the inner edge of the scale sustaining a nutrient flow, meaning it was obviously biological. No currently recorded species has scales this large, of any of the reptilian species I’ve ever heard of. Puzzling—perhaps it’s a dinosaur fossil, but the area is very poor for fossil formation. And carbon dating has shown it to only be a few hundred years old. There must be a problem with my equipment; I’ll ship it out later this week to get it analyzed by my lab partners at MIT, maybe they can make sense of it.

          “I get the distinct feeling that once again, Jack bit off more than he could chew,” he muttered, wondering where Jack was; he was running out of rooms to search, and technically he shouldn’t be looking around. Arrested for breaking and entering…the irony that it was a policeman found at the scene of the crime, he thought bitterly. He noticed that yet another document was open, and he glanced at it.

          FBI database? He’s hacked into that? Brian thought in amazement as he glanced at the screen. On the screen was the FBI profile of several known wanted fugitives, and even more surprising, profiles on known cults, including one that he had highlighted on the screen.

Organization name: Shazal-Re, aka Sect of medieval pagan worshippers.

Location: numerous facilities across the country and abroad in both Western and Eastern Europe. Primary circle undetermined.

Current status: secret meetings of many high-tiered government officials of world nations including Somalia, Croatia, Russia, Germany, Norway, Britian, France, and Italy. Membership and numbers unknown, but theorized to be in the hundreds to low thousands.

Threat Assessment: Undetermined. Cult appears to be highly secretive, but no known links to terrorist activities or protests. No known links to current Interpol databases or MI6. Attempts to meet with any members are met with failure. Highly suspected to be carrying small arms and possible sensitive technology.

Current leader: Unknown. Only vague references to a figure known as a Messiah, with megalomaniacal tendencies and techniques of unquestioning loyalty.

The Shazal-Re’s origins are ill-determined at best; rumor has it this cult has had its roots set in the thirteenth century originating in France, Britian and Spain; exact origin can only be interpolated. Rumors from informants suggest this cult has a worship of strange dark objects and elemental powers readily accessible to anyone. Even stranger reports of strange lights and sounds originating from these meetings have been confirmed on multiple occasions. Last known attempt to infiltrate agents to determine a threat assessment was countered by their sudden dispersal and disappearance. It is possible they have their own counter surveillance set up and were warned ahead of time.

Recommended Action: Pursue additional information in regards to cults intentions. Increased monitoring for extortion and possible terrorism ties. It is entirely possible harmful substances are being used by this group as possible terrorist weaponry, including hallucinogenic gases.

            Damn it Jack, you have definitely bitten off more than you can chew this time, Jack thought angrily, and was going to read further when a sudden creak of the floorboards caught him by surprise, causing him to drop the scale. Darting out into the hallway, he saw that the bedroom door was now ajar. Holding close to the wall, he moved to the door, and with a shaking hand, pushed the door open with a resonating squeak.

Flicking the light-switch, the lights refused to turn on at all, keeping McClane in the darkness. Switching his own light on, he swept the beam across the room; there were signs of a struggle, judging by the toppled desk light and alarm clock smashed on the floor. “Jack, are you there?” he whispered, seeing a shoe sticking out from behind the bed. No response at all.

          The sight that greeted McClane as he rounded the bed was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen. The body that had been once been Jack was nearly unrecognizable, similar to Frederick. If he could even call it a body…there wasn’t much left.

          “Oh damn,” whispered McClane as a wave of nausea overcame him, bringing him to his knees. The wall behind him was marred by a crimson coating he could only assume was blood; an indent in the wall suggested Jack had been slammed into the wall, almost three feet above the floor, with bone-shattering force. The thought caused him to tremble in fear. “Okay, screw this. No conspiracy, my ass Markus,” he said as he stood up quickly, reaching for his cell phone. As he read the display, there was zero signal on his phone. I always have a clear signal. What’s going on? He thought hesitantly.

          “There’s no reception, so don’t bother; they wouldn’t be able to help you anyways.”

Turning quickly, gun pointed at the speaker, McClane got his first view of the person. It was a tall man, solidly built (judging by his size), with jet-black robes, which also partially obscured his face from view by a hood he wore. McClane’s flashlight trembled unsteadily, as he stared at he man’s face. His eyes were not normal…no human could have those eyes. The eyes were glowing a deep red, as if piercing into his soul; they were not human either, but of a reptile, cold and dead.

          “Who are you?” McClane said, struggling to formulate the words from his lips, still pointing the gun at the man.

          “It won’t matter…you’ve never heard of me before,” he added sinisterly, his dagger-like eyes glancing at what remained of Jack. “Your friend here was very close to discovering the truth…he should have never become involved, when he came so close to exposing us. Not only would I have been eventually discovered, it would have caused a cataclysmic chain of events that even I would not want presently.”

          “Hands in the air pal, interlaced,” McClane said, who had never been frightened in his life, yet he still managed to keep his professionalism from years of work as an officer. “I’d say judging by the blood on your clothes that you killed him, you sick bastard; must’ve been much of the same with the other people huh? All those people in the mine…hiding something that I knew was crooked from the start.”

          “My my, a cop that understands what’s been going on, such a surprise, although that was not completely my handiwork. I have my followers to thank for that, and unfortunately they made a bit of a mess of things,” the man said. “You shouldn’t be here either, and for that I cannot allow you to leave. A new era dawns, and you shall be the first witness to it.” With this, the man smiled, a smile that sent shivers through McClane's body.

          “I’m not going to ask again!” McClane shouted, gaining newfound courage. “Hands where I can see them, on the floor now!” He held his firearm steady now, his finger on the trigger. The mysterious person brought their arm up as if they had a weapon, and he instinctively pulled the trigger in rapid succession. There were flashes of light from the muzzle as he emptied the clip, hearing a dry click as he realized all fifteen rounds had seemingly hit their target. He had not fallen.

          Instead of collapsing to the ground from multiple chest shots, the man still stood, his arm extended, and it was then that Jack saw a soft glowing hemisphere around the man. Even now, he could make out the bullets hanging in the air, deformed as if they had hit something solid in mid-air.

          “How…why…” he said, realizing this person had just stopped projectiles of lead going two thousand feet per second as if it were nothing. “That’s not possible…”

          “Oh, but it is… did you think I hadn’t studied the modern world? There are powers that be that some individuals can use that render technology useless, fool; then again, judging by what I have read, you would be clueless to this knowledge.”

          “I did. Now since you were permitted to strike the first blow, allow me to try mine,” he said, smiling sinisterly. The hell you are, McClane thought as he reached into his pocket and got out another magazine, popping it in and chambering the shell, ready to fire again. Let’s see how you like a nine millimeter in the face! He thought angrily as he raised his sights, but found himself unable to pull the trigger; it was if it had jammed, as he tried desperately to force the gun to fire. Damn it what a time to jam! He thought frantically.

          “Your weapons are ineffective,” The man said quietly, his eyes now just narrow slits. With the mutter of a few words, he pointed at McClane.

          McClane shouted out in pain, dropping his gun and flashlight, nursing a blackened hand. The gun had turned molten hot for a second, for reasons unbeknownst to him. Now he was wounded and as he tried to grab the gun again, it burned his hand, as he shouted out in pain. This isn’t possible, it just can’t be! He thought in a panic. “My gun…my hand!” he screamed.

          “See? I told you it was useless,” the man shrugged. “You should have never become involved in this, you know. You will see, before you die, whom it is you face, and what I shall usher forth upon the end of this night. Tonight, after your death, I shall finish my work in this town, and those who have the gift of ages old shall hear the call of awakening, a call that none shall ignore.”

          With these words, the man began to change, taking a form of sleek ebony, an incarnation of death. As the figure rushed forward towards McClane, he realized with utter despair, that he was going to die.

A single scream pierced the early fall sky, then was consumed by the night. Then, the sirens of trucks wailed towards a raging inferno, which had already erased all passing of the dark figure…