Dark Settler

***7:42 P.M. Mountain Time; Salt Lake City, Utah...

The red sun was setting over the Salt Lake Valley, sinking behind the blue mountains. The sun’s fire bathed the buildings of Salt Lake City, infusing them with the colors of autumn. The workday had ended an hour ago, but the patchwork of streets were still laden with traffic throughout the concrete jungle. People still shopped the various stores, and visited the monuments of the 2002 Winter Olympics. Hundreds of thousands of citizens resided in the City itself and the large neighborhoods surrounding it, readying themselves for the oncoming night, unsuspecting, feeling secure in their apartments and homes.

Sadly, their fate had been decided by one being. High above the City, among the peaks of the Rocky Mountains, a solitary figure stood, his gaze fixed upon the restless city. The wind tore at his black cloak, threatening to rend it from the shoulders of it’s bearer and send it far away upon it’s updrafts. With his cloak blown back, the black armor that he wore could easily be seen, along with the small crimson fissures that crawled across the unknown metal like serpents. A steel Masque adorned his face, hiding it from the world, and a Black sword was held to his back by black Tentaculums. The Tentaculums looked like ashen branches, hanging from a lifeless tree engulfed by an inferno. Darkness followed Malsidous, and sorrow would be left in the wake of destruction he prepared to thrust upon Salt Lake City.

As the sun set, black clouds descended upon the valley, hiding the small pinpoints of starlight. Malsidous raised his hands from his sides and began his incantation. Obscure and intricate phrases, not uttered upon the earth for three millenia, opened the door to the black arts. As the being that once was human recited the ancient spells, a pentegram began to glow in a reddish hue around him. His voice rose and fell, punctuated by supressed thunder. No rain fell, but the clouds continued to threaten the desert valley with a possible deluge that was much needed. Malsidous, bringing the incantation to it’s pinnacle point, crescendoed into a roar, raising is open palms to the violent sky.Lightning now danced around the Servant of the Void, but never touched him. The ground rumbled, and the black arts took effect.

A grey, rotted fist smashed its way out of the ground, sending small chunks of earth flying. An arm followed the fist, the putrefying flesh literally falling off the decay-stained bones.The undead creature scrambled up, showing quite amazing agility for one who had been deceased for quite a time. Three more reanimated bodies clawed their way up from the depths of the earth, obeying the laws of the incantation.Malsidous did not know their stories, whether they had died hiking or had been murdered and buried in a shallow grave to hide the evidence, nor did he care. Four previously lifeless bodies now stood in front of the Dark One, ready for his every command. Though to any creature who had never seen the undead these creatures looked like zombies, slight differences held them apart from their mindlessly feasting bretheren. One difference was the fact that these creatures, known as Spawn Liches, could reanimate any creature they, or any of their spawn, slayed as zombies, making them far more terrible. Another difference, which was far less noticable, was their eyes. While the eyes of a mindless zombie had no color at all, the Spawn Liches’ eyes were given a slight grey hue, and their pupils stayed intact. Few knew the actual incantation to raise such a creature, but those who did were far more dangerous than any normal Necromancer.

“Tonight, you seek the blood of humans,” Malsidous called to them. “Reanimate all that are slain, for they will be needed. Keep tight control over your spawn. Let none contact the outside. Attack with stealth until the time comes when it is no longer possible. Let none survive, nor escape.” The Spawn Liches nodded to their master, and he pointed down into the city avenues. “Our time has come. Travel swiftly, and do not fear death, for these mongrel creatures know not the incantations. Do not destroy more than is needed, and when it is finished, conceal yourselves.” Malsidous looked once more into the eyes of his servants, the turned his back on the city. “You have your orders,” he said, “do not fail me.”

“Yess, Lord Malsidous,” the Liches responded. They then turned toward the city, which was no lit with the light of a million lights, and swiftly descended from the peak, navgating the terrain with calculated percision. After a few moments of contemplation, Malsidous turned back towards the city and waved his hand in a slow sweeping motion. The dark sky grew more agitated, and a single bolt of of electrified energy struck a power station far from the city’s light. Part of the plant caught fire, causing a minor explosion. The once bright city immediately went dim, like a candle that had been blown out. By the time the power was restored, it would be too late.

“Night has fallen.” Malsidous said darkly, and he returned to his vigilant watch over the city.


***4:04 A.M. Mountain Time; Washington, D.C.
***Eight Hours Since Last Contact...


No one knew what was going on. The Pentagon was in shambles trying to find out if this was some kind of pre-emptive strike against the U. S., or some kind of virus that had struck. Three hours earlier, a message had been sent from Salt Lake City from a radio station, which, luckily, one of the White House aids had been listening to at the late time. He recorded the message and headed strait for the pentagon, believing that lives were at risk.
He was let strait into a large conference room full of high-ranking military officials.

“You said you had something important for us to see, young man,” a general stated to the aid in a southern accent. “Well, let’s have a look at it.”

The aid, a short man in his early thirties with a crooked nose and black curly hair, took a tape recorder out of his pocket and set it on the table, pressing the play button once he saw that all eyes in the room were fixed upon the small device. The tape began with static, but after a moment a voice could be heard:

“Something’s happened......they are......not sure, but......dead, everyone dead.......can’t kill......thousands.......police are dead......you gotta......Oh, God!......” Struggling sounds could be heard on the tape, then the unknown man let out a long, agonizing scream before the tape cut off.

“That’s it,” the aid said to the older men that sat around the polished oak table. After a moment of silence, he said, “Uhh...what do you think happened?”

The officials all looked at him, then one general nodded to the MP that had shown the man in. “You have proved yourself resourceful,” the southen general said to the aid as the MP started to escort him out. “Well call you if we find out anything important.”

Once the aid had been escorted, the men listened to the tape over and over again, trying to filter out some meaning to his seemingly mindless ravings. “It could be a pre-emptive attack against us,” one man stated, “like the next Pearl Harbor or World Trade Center. We could be looking at a major fighting force on American soil that we never even suspected. I think we should upgrade to Def Con 4.” Many of the general nodded their heads in agreement.

“If this was some sort of strike force,” the southern general stated, “wouldn’t they have attacked one of our military bases, or even Washington itself?” The man shook his greying head. “Seeing as this ‘attack’ took no more than eight hours, we know that there would have to be tens-of-thousands of undetectable operatives that are highly trained in just about every system the U.S. uses.”

“How did you come to eight hours, Hopkins?” another general asked him through his bifocals. “We just barely got the last message.”

“Well,” Hopkins began, “We know that no transmissions whatsoever have be sent out of Salt Lake City, not even air traffic, since about 8:12 Mountain Time or so. Sure, Salt Lake City is no Los Angeles, but I believe whatever is going on down there is still going on.” Hopkins looked around the room at the others, waiting for a challenge to his ideas. Satisfied that there would be none, he went on. “Now, we have to get some military personel into the city to find out what is going on. Are there any military bases close to Salt Lake City?”

“There is one,” a slightly younger analyst said, tapping his pen against a map of Utah. “Hill Air Force Base. It is stationed in Ogden, about forty or fifty miles away.”

“Do they have any armor they could take to the city, just in case?” one of the other generals asked.

“I believe so,” the analyst replied, “and they could probably make it there before sunrise.”

“All right,” Hopkins said, standing up, “Lock down the entire city. Let nothing in or out.” He saluted to the other generals and said, “I will meet you all in the War Room,” then walked out the glass doors.

***5:49 A.M. Mountain Time; Interstate 15, just outside Salt Lake City limits


The convoy of armored personel carriers, jeeps, and hummers rumbled to a halt upon the empty streets of the interstate under the overcast sky.The convoy had been rolling on for more than an hour, only knowing the little details that the Pentagon had given them, which was that they had lost contact with Salt Lake City under suspicious circumstances and that it should be investigated and contained immediately. The Hill Air Force Base brass had sent out an emergency broadcast to all of the neighboring town that the whole city was on lockdown and that no one should leave their home unless of an emergency.

“why have we stopped?” the commander of the convoy radioed to the head vehicle.

“You better take a look at this, sir.” a voice crackled over the waves. “It’s unreal.”

The colonel stepped out of the passenger seat of a jeep to see what held up the convoy. An immense wall of wreckage blocked the interstate. Twisted chassies of cars and mangled semi trailes streched on for hundreds of yards. Small fires still burned in some, while others were full engulfed in flames. Looking closely through the wreckage, the colonel could not see a singly corpse.

Picking up his radio, he asked the hummer in the lead, “Is there anyway around?”

“No, sir,” a shaken voice answered. “We would have to clear it all away, and that could take a month.” After a few seconds of silence, the voice of the captain re-emerged. “What are your orders, sir?” he asked.

As he looked on, he could only think of one hazardous idea. He radioed back to HAFB and asked, “Command, can we possibly insert some Paratroopers?”

“Negative, Colonel,” A voice, broken by static, answered, “We cannot risk any airborne personel or transports without proper information on the situation or without a rapid exit point. The roads must be cleared first.”

The Colonel sighed, letting the radio hang loosely to his side. After a moment of tumultuous thought, he held the radio back to his face. “Copy, that, Command. Let’s get some equipment down here to start clearing I-15.” The wind blew, seeming to flow around the ebony clouds, which hung ominously over the city, casting shadows and leaving a disturbing chill with the disheartened soldiers as they began the long and arduous task of clearing the Interstate.