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Visit my folder named Steelheart: Forged by Fate to read the previous chapters.

Novel Description:

Long ago, three extraordinary hats existed, each imbued with unique powers. The most formidable and ominous among them was the red hat, a symbol of unparalleled strength. This hat was entrusted to a global scientific consortium known as the Crown, dedicated to exploring and harnessing its potential. However, during one fateful experiment, a senior scientist succumbed to the corrupting influence of the red hat, unleashing chaos and leading to the Crown's catastrophic downfall.

In the wake of this destruction, two rival organizations emerged from the ashes: The Regal Nexus and The Phoenix Watch. Both factions became obsessed with locating and controlling the lost hats, each striving to gain an upper hand in a hidden war. Over the decades, the red hat transformed into a legend, whispered about only within the inner circles of these secretive groups. The other two hats are still believed to be concealed somewhere in the world, waiting to be found.

Events of previous chapters:

Chapter 1: While waiting for his friend Frank, Phil discovers a deady fight in an alleyway. He has a near death experience. 

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Steelheart: Forged by Fate

CHAPTER 2

Agent Blackdog

The muscular man’s hold loosens and his body slumps to the ground. Phil coughs and gasps for air, the rush of oxygen flooding his lungs. He stumbles away from the motionless form. 

The second man has returned from the dead.

“I will shoot you too. If you try to run... or shout...” he declares. Seated with his back against the wall, the man aims his gun at Phil.

“Okay,” cough “okay, I won’t,” cough “run.” Phil puts his hands in the air. The sight of blood triggers a nauseating response and he doubles over to expel a wave of vomit.

The man beckons Phil closer.

“Take the briefcase...” the man wheezes, his voice strained with laboured breaths. He points towards the black briefcase lying within arm’s reach.

Phil stands rigidly, staring blankly. “Y-you just killed him.”

The man nods, lowering his gun.

Phil notices a knife protruding from the man’s abdomen, his clothes soaked in blood. “And... you are bleeding…”

The man’s weary eyes sharpen. "Do you know where the abandoned warehouse is?”

“Yes-yes, down Willow Tulip Lane.”

“Listen closely. I need you to go there, you’ll find a phone attached to the wall. Call 66982 and say ‘Black, Red, and White, I venerate the Knight.’ Can you—can you do that?” 

“I can’t, please, I can't. I don’t want to get involved in any of this,” Phil responds, taking a step back.

The man’s tone turns cold, “The future of our existence depends on it. This case must be delivered to supposed hands.”

“Why-why me? You must know someone who can do this.”

“There’s no time! Should you fail, your family, friends, love–everything might get lost. Forever.”

Phil’s eyes widen. “Wh-what are you saying?” 

“No one must suspect you with the case. My people will come as soon as you make the call.”

It’s just a delivery. I had been doing it for years. I can do it. I won’t fail… Phil swallows hard. “But, I-I won’t remember anything you said.”

The man takes out a small screen from his pocket and manipulates it with his fingers. He hands it to Phil.

“The number will be visible for 25 minutes. Then this device will self-destruct. Be sure to throw it away.”

Phil keeps the device inside his pocket, its timer ticking away. “And, the phase?”

“It can’t have a written copy. You have to remember it, ‘Black, Red and White, I venerate the Knight.’”

“Black, red, white, I venerate the night,” Phil murmurs.

“Remember the stakes, what’s at risk if you fail...” the man’s voice tightened. “Now, go. No more delays. Go!”

Picking up the briefcase, Phil hurries off from the alley. He couldn’t avoid stepping over the lifeless body, its crimson pool staining the pavement beneath.

*

With trembling fingers, the man clicks buttons on his watch. “Cubies Dunice,” he utters.

“Permission granted,” an automated voice replies from the watch. A holographic image of a phoenix appears over the watch.

“Sir, I have failed...” The man says, his breath growing shallower. 

“Where is the case?” a deep, authoritative voice demands from the other end.

“I- I had to hand it over to a boy. He’s headed for B12.” 

The voice takes a deep breath. “Does he know the code?”

“Yes, he does.”

“How could you trust him?”

“I did not have an option, sir.”

After a pause of a few seconds, the voice continues, “Do you have anything else to report?”

“There's a… a mole amongst us.”

“Who do you suspect?”

“Daterina. She was acting strangely for the past few days.”

“Do you have any final message?” 

“Scima Icta Semtatica,” the wounded man utters with grim determination. 

“Scima Icta Semtatica,” the man on the phone repeats with equal resolve. After a brief pause, he speaks again, “It was an honour knowing you, Agent Blackdog. Any device equipped to you, will self-destruct after the call disconnects. You will be remembered amongst the Steelhearts. Sentinel signing off.”

Blackdog retrieves his phone, it's screen lighting up with a picture of his family. The phone begins to heat up in his hand, growing hotter by the second. With a final glance, he tosses both objects into a dumpster. Almost immediately, wisps of smoke curl out. He remains rooted, succumbing to the grasp of death, slumping further against the concrete. 

*

Phil manoeuvres through the hushed road, his complexion drained of colour. His limbs quiver under the weight of the scene he just witnessed. The faint glow of streetlights and the distant hum of passing vehicles punctuate the silence of the night. 

Walking with his eyes fixated on the ground, he reaches the decrepit warehouse. Its windows veiled in layers of dust and the entrance flanked by rusted metal shutters. A large tree looms over, its branches casting shadows over walls covered in graffiti. In the distance, a lake surfaces like a gloomy expanse, while the chorus of chirping insects and croaking frogs heightens his tension.

“I have to call Frank. This is all too bad.” He checks his pocket to search for his phone. Realising he left it at the alleyway, a shark terror shakes him.

No. Shit. I have to get out of here as soon as possible.

Phil inches closer, treading carefully. He discovers an old, dust-covered analogue phone enclosed within a glass case on the back wall of the warehouse, its screen lifeless. 

What is all this? He grapples with the challenge of opening the glass cover. Seizing a nearby piece of fallen brick, he smashes the glass. The sound of shattering echoes through the desolate space. 

“I don’t see any button to start this thing. How do people use it?”

He lifts the handset and dials Frank’s number on the keypad in jittery.

However, his attempts prove futile as no call goes through. This can’t be happening.

“Okay, okay, okay... let’s see if this works.” He takes out the small device and cautiously dials the number provided. To his surprise, as he taps the final digit, the dormant phone springs to life. Its display reveals the image of a crown.

“Yes! Yes... but... what’s with the crown?” he whispers, perplexed.

He tentatively inquires, “Hello? Anyone there?” but the phone offers no response to his call. 

His thoughts whirled, recalling the wounded man’s instructions. “Ah, sorry... Red, Blac-... No, no, no... White, Black, and Red, I will venerate this night...”

“Why isn’t anything happening? I must be saying it wrong.”

He recites once more, “Black, Red, and White, I venerate the night,” only to be met with continued silence. Beaded sweat appears on his forehead.

Scratching his head, he mumbles, “How did I forget it? What was it? I must-”

Soft beeping erupts from his pocket, jolting him into immediate awareness. He flings the small device away. It glows red-hot in mid-air before sizzling and bubbling down into the pool.

Tiny bumps prickle across his skin. He blows on his burned fingers.

Gathering his resolve, he tries once more, enunciating each word with careful precision. “Black, Red, and White, I venerate the Knight.” As soon as he speaks the correct sequence, the phone’s display abruptly reverts to its offline state. 

“Oh, no, no, no... did I say it wrong too many times?” He repeatedly attempts to redial the number, but to no avail. 

After several fruitless minutes, he resigns himself to the situation. I should leave the briefcase here. My job is done. I need to go now. He places the black case near the phone before departing from the confines of the abandoned warehouse. 

In a moment’s notice, he spots a sleek white car gliding towards him, its headlights cutting through the night’s darkness. Before he can react, something sharp stings his neck. Darkness descends upon him, and he tumbles to the ground. Four murky figures emerge from the car, dressed in elegant black suits.

*

“Good job, Torin,” says Ravenna, her short, violet-dyed hair glinting under the moonlight. “We’ve arrived right on schedule. Comb the area; the package must be close by,” she instructs, her voice like velvet over steel. 

“Yeah, I’m on it,” Garrick responds, scouring the vicinity of the warehouse. 

Lyria, a lady wearing round glasses, calls out, “I’ll join you, wait up.” She swiftly trails behind Garrick. 

“What should we do with the kid, ma’am?” asks Torin, a slim guy.

“Check him and put him in the car. He’s coming with us.”

“Poor soul didn’t know he’d have such lousy luck,” Torin remarks with a mocking undertone, employing a small scanning device to sweep Phil’s body. “He’s clean, ma'am. Just some keys, wallet and his watch. Oh, and… a pendant. No possible bugs or trackers,” he confirms, gently lifting Phil into his arms and settling him onto the car seat. 

Ravenna nods, her watch never leaving the surrounding darkness. 

Garrick comes out from the rear of the warehouse, the black case in his hands. “Found it; no sign of visible damage,” he quietly reports to Ravenna.

“Scan it and secure it in the car. You are fully accountable for its safety, Garrick. Under no circumstances should it be compromised.”

“Roger that.” Garrick carefully transports the case into the car. “Torin, pass me the scanner,” he requests. 

“Here you go, sir.” He passes the electronic device. “Sir, do you think he would survive with us?” he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty. 

“Who knows? Right now, our mission is to protect him and this case with our lives.” He scans the case with the device, securing it in his lap inside the car. 

Torin nods pensively, folding his arms across his torso.

“Dumb boy tried to use the Spacamo and broke the glass. Apart from that, no irregularities are found on the scene,” Lyria informs.

Ravenna makes a small nod, her face reflecting a neutral expression. “Well... we’re running low on smoke bombs. Take what’s available and contact the tech team for replenishment and repairs.”

Lyria places her thumb on the handset, triggering a biometric eye scan. An automated female voice engages, “Welcome, Agent Chimera,” as her image materialises on the screen. Tapping a sequence of numbers, she triggers another response, “Opening the Sanctum.” 

A concealed entrance in the ground slides open, revealing a staircase spiralling into the shadowy depths beneath the warehouse. Lyria descends, the cool air of the underground facility brushing against her skin. The polished marble floor, its pristine white surface reflects the embedded ceiling lights, creating an almost surreal ambiance.

Glass cabinets line the walls, showcasing an arsenal of meticulously maintained explosives, firearms, armour, and knives. On the opposite wall, a massive screen flickers to life, surrounded by an array of keyboards and switches. The image of a Phoenix glows on the screen. A small vault, unassuming yet secure, stands in the corner.

After a few minutes, she emerges with several smoke grenades. Engaging the keypad once more, the automated voice acknowledges, “Reverting the environment.” The subterranean passage seals shut, rendering the Spacamo system offline. 

Approaching Ravenna, she presents the haul. “Here are six pieces.” 

“Only six...? Regardless, stow them in the trunk and take your seat. Let’s move; our ride awaits,” Ravenna declares. With Ravenna at the wheel, the quartet sets off from the warehouse