Well, this is the prologue to a sci-fi (it skews into Young Adult in terms of style I'd guess) story I've been working for five years (seems like forever). Its been through three rewrites, but I think I'm satisfied with where it is going now. It is definitely a work-in-progress, so I would appreciate any comments people might have.
I'll post all the chapters on here, so as to not bog down the forum with too many threads.
I hope people find it at least semi-enjoyable.
Prologue: The Beginning
Outside of a brown, two-story house on 63rd Street, in the town of Crelling, Virginia, a group of men were assembled. The dark night and lack of streetlights kept them safe from any prying eyes and they were thankful for this, as it would aid them in their task.
The house belonged to James and Rachael Wellingsen, a young couple. They had just celebrated the birth of their firstborn, and were finally settled down and getting some much deserved rest. However, on this night rest was the last thing they would get. Although they were just an ordinary family—if one can say that any family is “ordinary”—with no outstanding distinguishable traits, there were unknown factors that would set them apart and make them targets.
The gathered men all wore black, from their helmets down to their boots, making them nearly invisible to the casual eye. It was smothering in the muggy Virginia night, but none of the men said a word. They were highly skilled warriors, trained in and to withstand the most brutal of conditions; this was nothing to them.
One of the men, the leader of the special taskforce, peered into the darkness. He was known to the others as Eirden, but his past was a secret to everyone but himself. He and his men, commissioned by a powerful figurehead whose name was known only as “Guardian”, had been sent to this little town on Earth to protect a boy and his family, a child born that very night. Eirden had been the only one told why the boy was important, and now he set about his task with a great determination. The outcome of his men’s confrontation with those who would kill the boy, known only as the Shadowed Ones, could prove to be a pivotal point in the history of the universe. Unfortunately, having learned of the Shadowed Ones’ intent through an informant less than a day ago, and with the little detail given, the men did not know what to expect, having never faced the Shadowed Ones before.
Suddenly, Eirden’s sharp eyes detected movement. There, barely visible by the faint moonlight on the pavement of 63rd Street, were seven cloaked and hooded figures: The Shadowed Ones. Silver blades glinted dimly in the folds of their billowy black garbs. They strode quickly towards the house, mounting the curb and heading for the front door with determination.
Eirden’s grip on a silver pistol clutched in his right fist tightened. He turned a knob on its butt, raising the power of the weapon to full. As the creatures reached the porch, he hissed into his communication device: “Now!”
Suddenly, the air was filled with harsh hisses as thin red lasers lanced out on all sides of the Shadowed Ones as the men opened fire. Several of the creatures—they were humanoid but not human—were struck, but none fell. Instead, they mounted the steps, completely unfazed.
Eirden rose out of the bushes next to the porch where he had been hiding, and vaulted over the railing, blocking the Shadowed Ones’ path.
“Leave the house!” he commanded, stepping forward menacingly, his weapon aimed at the creatures. His men moved forward, creating a semi-circle around the porch, trapping the creatures.
“
Wirden sheielev!” one of the creatures spat viciously, its voice a guttural growl. The creatures on the porch turned to face the beings that had been attacking them. There was grating of metal on metal as the Shadowed Ones drew long, curved silver swords from their robes. Then, slowly and deliberately, six of the creatures stepped off the porch and marched towards the group of humans. With throaty snarls, they creatures rushed at the line of humans, blades gleaming in their gloved hands. Pulling out long knives from sheaths strapped on their backs, the taskforce countered the Shadowed Ones, the ringing clangs of blade on blade shattering the relative silence of the night, interspersed with grunts of effort from the men. Slowly, with their greater numbers, they began to push the Shadowed Ones back into the street of Crelling, spreading them thin and enabling the men to surround each enemy, double or triple-teaming them.
The seventh creature remained on the porch, turning to the door and to Eirden, who barred the way. The man withdrew his own long knife from its sheath, he leveled it at his opponent. “I said
leave the house,” he said, his tone laced with menace, “or you will be struck down.”
Suddenly, a light came on up on the second story of the house, away to the left. The Shadowed One saw this, gave Eirden a hiss of contempt. Then, with lightening fast reflexes, it sheathed its weapon and bounded up one of the supporting columns of the porch roof with incredible agility. A moment later, it had reached the window, where the face of a young woman had appeared. She saw the Shadowed One and screamed.
Eirden, knowing he had to act fast. Jumping off the porch and taking a knife that had been sheathed to his left thigh he flung it up towards the creature, which was in the process of smashing in the window. There was the sound of shattering glass, and then a dull thud as the knife buried itself in the Shadowed One’s back. It gave a muted, chilling shriek, and tumbled down off the roof. As it fell, Eirden put the butt of his long knife to the ground, blade pointed straight up. The Shadowed One landed atop the weapon and impaled itself all the way to the hilt. It gave a gurgle and twitched once; then it was still, black blood flowing from its wound onto Eirden’s hand and then the ground.
He rolled the body over and pulled out his weapon, looking up at the battle that had moved into the street. It was not good: his men had been spread out, and the noise generated by the combat was incredibly loud. Lights were coming on all up and down the street as people were awoken, and some, seeing the scene outside, began to shout. If too many people saw this, and the authorities arrived, which they would undoubtedly would, there was no way it could be covered up, not unless something happened, and happened fast.
Eirden, once again acting quickly, pulled a round silver ball from a clip on his belt, and pressing a small red button upon it, he flung the ball onto the street, screaming for his men to get down as he fell and lay as low as he could manage amidst the shrubs. With reactions honed from hours of practice and ears trained to catch their leader’s command, they dropped to the ground, clapping their hands over their ears. A split second later, the silver ball glowed a brilliant fiery-orange and then exploded, causing a shockwave of yellow light to rush out in all directions, inches above the prostrate forms of Eirden and his comrades.
The explosion had the effect Eirden desired. The Shadowed Ones could not avoid the wave of energy and it bowled them over, igniting their robes instantly. The rest of the energy rushed away into the night, shattering the windows of the surrounding houses, igniting trees and bushes into giant, flaming torches, and causing several nearby power lines to spark furiously.
Unearthly screams rented the air as the shadowed ones writhed on the ground in pain, bright tongues of fire licking at their flesh. Then suddenly they all sprang to their feet, still ablaze. Like hounds onto a scent, they rushed away into the darkness, responding to an unspoken command from an unseen being, gathering up their fallen comrade as they did.
Slowly rising to his feet, Eirden surveyed the damage. Dozens of civilians had exited their now windowless houses, and they milled about in shock, not sure what had just happened. Quickly, he began to give directions to this uninjured in his crew; five had sustained wounds. They would set about and administer mind-wiping sedatives to the surrounding neighbors and clean up as much damage as they possibly could before any authorities arrived. And then they would disappear, as if they had never set foot in that place.
He looked up, and saw James and Rachel standing at the broken window, looks of astonished bemusement on their faces. Had someone told them only hours before of what they would find outside their front door, they would not have believed. But the scene outside their home, and what they witnessed with their own eyes would convince them, and because of this, the baby that was born that night to James and Rachel Wellingsen was already special, if only in a very small way. But being born on a night that was witness to such strange events did not even compare to what was yet to come in the life of Lucas James Wellingsen.
