Chapter 23: The Plan Begins
It had been ten months since the pyramid.
Three months since his last visit to the museum.
And still, no sign of Frank.
Philip stood in front of the bathroom mirror, shirtless, steam swirling from the shower behind him. His eyes stared back, hardened by time. Focused. Refined. He didn't look like the man who stepped into the pyramid that night. That man had been curious, uncertain. This one?
This one had fire burning beneath his skin—and a mind sharper than steel.
He ran a hand over his chest. The faint glow of the red gem embedded in his forehead pulsed once, like it felt his resolve.
He inhaled.
"Enough waiting."
Frank had made his choice. Whether it was brainwashing, betrayal, or something else, it didn't matter anymore.
Philip had his path to follow.
It was 3:17 a.m.
The National Museum stood silent under the moonlight, its grand colonial walls casting long shadows. The security guards were tucked into their routines—two on the perimeter, one half-asleep in the control room, and another patrolling the halls with a flashlight and a bag of roasted groundnuts.
Philip crouched near a ventilation shaft on the third floor, suit still pristine, eyes glowing faintly from the gem embedded in his forehead. He had studied the layout for a week, memorizing guard shifts, camera blind spots, and emergency exit paths. He wore black gloves. No fingerprints.
Down the hallway. Past the galleries.
Through the staff-only doors.
His breath slowed as he reached the storage vault. The old steel gate still stood. Cold. Thick. Quiet.
But the gem in his chest burned hotter now. Closer.
Philip exhaled.
He stretched out his hand—and the air around it shimmered.
Telekinesis first. He wrapped his mind around the hinges. Felt the resistance. They were reinforced—but not invincible.
Then came the fire.
A focused stream—slow and steady—like a welder's torch. He applied heat exactly where the frame met the lock, holding it for ten, then twenty, then sixty seconds.
Smoke rose. Metal groaned.
The air filled with the scent of ancient dust and melting iron.
With a grunt of mental force, he pulled—hard.
The gate popped loose, falling back with a clang that echoed through the underground chamber.
Behind it: a narrow passage, dusty and unlit.
And at the very end, glowing faintly—
But what he hadn't planned for… was the whisper in his head.
"It's here."
The whisper was ancient, layered with voices—some urgent, others calm, all leading him to one thing.
The relic.
It was locked inside a glass case deep within the basement archives, stored with forgotten pieces from Nigeria's mystical past—labeled "myth" by academics, but very real to him.
He glided past cameras, bending their angles with a subtle wave of his hand. His telekinesis was getting stronger—more intuitive. He didn't need to concentrate as hard anymore. He could feel metal bolts, sensors, and wires—he could taste electricity.
Down in the archives, the air was cold and heavy. Dust clung to the walls like secrets. Then he saw it.
The relic.
It looked like a cracked ring of obsidian, hovering slightly above a worn pedestal. Despite its size, it hummed with restrained power. He didn't even have to touch it—just stepping close, the gem on his forehead pulsed, and the ring slowly descended, disappearing into his suit's subspace pocket.
That's when the alarm blared.
He cursed under his breath. One of the new motion sensors must've caught his shadow. Boots thundered down the stairwell. Flashlights cut through the dark.
Philip ducked behind a pillar, heart racing. He wasn't ready for a fight. Not yet. He needed—
Then it happened.
The space around him bent. His body folded inward like paper in the wind, and in a blink, he was behind the next wall. He stared at his hands, stunned.
"Teleportation…?"
It felt like instinct. Desperation had pulled it out of him.
The guards burst into the room just as he vanished again—this time to the hallway near the fire exit. Another blink, another jump. It wasn't smooth—it felt like pushing his mind through a tight pipe—but it worked.
By the time the guards reached the lobby, Philip was gone. Disappeared into the night.
With the first relic in hand.
And a new power at his fingertips.