The Steel Man Novels & Stories

Shit, I thought to myself, suddenly glad that I had a good poker face. Steel watched me for a bit, then pushed off the wall and turned his attention back to Drake. "It's indeed my pleasure, Mr. Summerfield," he said in a fluid British accent. "If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know. And thank you for the " "Shush," Drake said, cutting him off. He placed a hand to his lips and looked both ways. "Please, don't mention it." A smirk played at the corner of Mr. Steel's lips. "As you wish," he said, and then turned his attention back to me.

Gripping the handle of the Glock, he pushed open the teal door. The man standing in the middle of the apartment made Chance think of a bad porn from the seventies. Mid-thirties with greasy hair and what could only be described as a porn mustache. He had a beer gut covered by a stained grey Steelers shirt. His ripped jeans were also stained, and the shoes were worn bare. Steelers. Of all the teams, why the Steelers? In Chance’s opinion, it just made him a little worse. Before the man looked up, Chance knew who it was. John Erik Custard. Owner of Tuscan Place. Rumored pimp. All around sleezeball.

"You crafted this?" "Aye, that I did," the smith said, his voice a proud rumble. "Learned the steel-folding technique in my travels." He watched as Cassius angled the blade. The polished steel caught the light of the sun, acting as a distorted mirror of the plaza. A flash of white hair in the polished steel—stark and out of place. My breath hitched. My head snapped up, scanning the plaza. And then I saw him. Across the square, a slender man with hair like spun moonlight, moving with a catlike grace that was horribly familiar.

It was a chance to live. And it was for my life that I decided to move, rolling under the creature, even with blood and bones moaning. She immediately turned to me, determined to finish that soon, but the ground between us broke in a small earthquake, before, a second later, a man appeared before the crack, before me, wearing a black steel armor. He didn't even say a word, he didn't even seem to recognize the creature. The man simply drew his sword, the blade of a black so intense that the world seemed to darken around. And, as easy as it seemed, he cut the creature in two, breaking it in half with a corner of the steel against the wind.

Honestly, even if he left with nothing, he should have been able to make a comeback given his skills. Some time later, the same friend called me again to share some gossip. "Harold's in the hospital! Susan finally snapped. She couldn't take it anymore, as he'd been drinking every day. She lost it and stabbed him. There was a lot of blood. The ambulance and police all showed up. "Harold's parents are insisting on pressing charges. Susan's already been arrested, and the trial verdict should come out soon. "The stab went in pretty deep. Harold might have to live with a catheter for the rest of his life."

His face turned colder than usual with the sharp gaze that man gave. That's not strange. Because everyone must have their other side. Neither Stev. Even though that man is the cruelest mafia in this country. Stev has another trait that sometimes makes Bella almost laugh. And feel calm when you are near that man. Stev is also human. Maybe he is just a little 'different' from other humans in general.

I knew from the way he said it that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Mr. Summerfield was my boss, after all. The patient could wait another moment. I closed the chart and gave the two men my full attention. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” I said, extending my hand. “The pleasure is indeed mine, Dr. Reynolds,” Mr. Steel said, accepting my hand. Then, he raised it to his lips, never taking his eyes from mine. His hands and lips were unusually cold, but it was probably just from the air conditioning.

“Stand down, we're not alone, stay inside until I give the all clear.” “Boss.” I looked around and scanned the surroundings. “So you're alive I thought the Russian prick was lying. I can see clearly he wasn't.” A male six feet tall came walking towards us alone; he was either brave or stupid. “Let me introduce myself. Orian Miller. Better known as O.” I cranked my gun. “You made us lose our women.” “You did that all by yourself, Green. You should've been aware that it was a set up, but you were to dumb and drunk to realise that you'd been played. NowI'm here to get what belongs to me.”

“What are you doing?” A middle-aged man suddenly barked ahead of us, and the Japanese soldiers who were dragging me and Dicken along stopped, with one of them answering, “Captain, we caught a merman and a human while we were patrolling the bitch.” “Hmmm?” The middle-aged man addressed as ‘captain’ was clearly wearing a different uniform from the other soldiers, and he was walking towards us while studying Dicken from head to tail. Soon, his expression turned solemn and he ordered, “That’s the Black Scale King! The one the professor had been looking for so long! Hurry up, separate him from the human and take him to the professor!”

But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared me for what I saw when we pulled up. The cab slowed before massive steel gates that gleamed under golden security lights. Without a word, the gates parted on their own, sliding open with a whisper, like something out of a movie. The driver whistled under his breath. "We’ve reached, ma’am… I must say, it’s quite the mansion.” He wasn’t wrong.