BLOODCAPE
Chapter 117: The Burned Street

Chapter 117: Chapter 117: The Burned Street

The streets of District 4 shimmered with heat, the air rippling like a fever. Car husks melted into slag across the boulevard, their steel skeletons drooping toward the concrete like they were trying to escape what was coming next.

A woman screamed from a fire escape. A drone whirred past her, its camera lens focusing not on her — but on the figure below.

Ashvein walked slowly, flames leaking from the seams of his scorched black armor. Not a trail of fire — a pulse, like his heartbeat was magma. Every few seconds, he’d flick his hand toward a vehicle, and it would ignite, explode, or collapse into a glowing tomb.

But he hadn’t touched a single human.

That was what made Hernan pause.

Beside him, Captain Virex — the lion of District 1, the golden star, the man whose hands once strangled Solaris — stood with arms folded, face carved from calm marble. His cape barely moved in the smoke-warped wind. The drones circled overhead, catching his best angle.

"Stay on his left," Virex said quietly. "He’s right-eye dominant. You’ll fake him out easier that way."

Hernan didn’t answer.

He just stepped forward.

Through the smoke, over the ash, into the blistering streetlight where Ashvein turned to meet him.

"You’re new," Ashvein said. His voice came filtered through the heat — low, distorted, like a dying engine. "You look clean. Clean breaks easy."

Hernan didn’t speak.

Instead, he moved.

A blur of motion — training drills and mimicry instincts combining into precision. Hernan ducked under a burst of flame, kicked off the rim of a crumpled car, and launched a punch into Ashvein’s side. It landed — but the heat shimmered so violently that Hernan’s skin blistered on contact. He gritted his teeth, dropped back, then spun into a low sweep that knocked Ashvein into a power line pole.

The crowd, blocked off behind cordon drones, cheered.

One woman fainted from the heat. Two others held up signs.

One said: ROOK VALE – OUR NEW LEGEND.

Ashvein snarled, throwing up a pillar of fire. Hernan rolled through it, using the movement to bait him toward a wrecked bus — then kicked its half-melted frame into Ashvein’s knees.

He fell hard.

Flames sputtered. The drones zoomed in.

Hernan stood over him, panting once. Twice. Then pulled the inhibitor cuffs from his belt.

He was about to clamp them down when a hand landed on his shoulder.

Virex.

Calm. Unbothered.

"Leave it," the man said.

Hernan blinked. "Sir?"

Virex crouched beside Ashvein, looked him over like he was inspecting a painting.

"He knows not to kill," Virex said. "He lights cars, not kids. Fear without fallout. Makes good headlines. Boosts our urgency metrics for next quarter."

Hernan stared at him.

Then at Ashvein — who looked almost smug now, a man who knew he wouldn’t pay the bill.

"We let him go?" Hernan asked, his voice dangerously level.

"We let the story grow," Virex said, standing again. "You’ll learn."

He turned toward the drones, smiled wide, and raised a victorious fist. The crowd roared. A news anchor’s voice projected from somewhere in the chaos, already naming Hernan and Virex "a new power duo on the streets of fire."

Ashvein stood and walked away.

No cuffs. No resistance. He disappeared into smoke like a man catching the next bus home.

Hernan didn’t move.

He didn’t speak.

He just stared at the spot where the villain had fallen — and now left without chains — and watched the flames ripple in the reflection of Virex’s polished boots.

Later.

The fire crews were gone.

So were the cameras.

District 4 was quiet again, the kind of quiet that stinks of burned rubber and dirty lies.

Hernan knelt beside the wreck of the van he’d used as cover earlier. Its side was blackened, one wheel still slowly turning, squeaking like it was trying to remember movement.

He reached out, touched the metal.

Still warm. Still real.

Behind him, somewhere far away, he heard laughter — Virex debriefing the media with lines about "heroic young potential" and "controlled strategy."

Hernan said nothing.

But his voice, when it came, was a whisper scraped from the back of his throat.

"They’re not just liars."

He stared at the firelight dancing in the puddles.

"They’re farmers."

His fist clenched.

"And we’re the crops."

The ash was still in his hair.

Hernan leaned against the back of the half-collapsed alley wall, knees bent, one hand bracing against the brick. His other hand trembled against his stomach, fingers twitching as he breathed through clenched teeth.

The vomit steamed on the ground beside him — acidic, pale, threaded with bile and guilt.

No one saw.

The drones had moved on.

So had Virex, now likely halfway to his polished tower with a press kit and a bottle of imported whiskey. Ashvein was gone. The city would wake up tomorrow to headlines celebrating another victory. No one would mention that the villain walked free.

Hernan wiped his mouth with the back of his glove, then opened the comm band on his wrist. It buzzed immediately.

[TESSA RYE]

I saw the footage.You were incredible, Rook.Are you okay? You looked—god, that was real fire, wasn’t it?

The screen flickered softly with her profile image — smiling, sunlight in her eyes. Her voice played in a private loop through his earpiece. Warm. Proud.

She thought he’d saved the day.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the brick.

For just a second, he wanted to tell her everything.

Wanted to say: They let him go. The whole thing was staged. It was never real.Wanted to say: I’m not a hero. I’m a storm in disguise.Wanted to say: Please don’t fall in love with me. I’ll burn it all.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he tapped the mic and spoke gently.

"Yeah. Took a few burns, but I’m good.""Virex handled most of it. I just... followed orders."

A pause on her end.

Don’t sell yourself short, Rook.You’re something else. The way you moved—hell, you saved people.I hope they give you more missions. You’re ready.

He smiled.

It was perfect.

The smile felt practiced now. Polished.

"Thanks, Tess. Really."

He ended the call before she could say more.

Then he stood.

One breath.

Two.

He walked out of the alley like he hadn’t just emptied his stomach into the gutter. He crossed through the still-glowing ruins of a food stall, past a shattered digital ad board flickering with Virex’s face. He reached the command vehicle where the HCA media team was still packing up.

"Record," Hernan said.

The drone paused mid-retract.

The handler — a bored, underpaid tech with an HCA patch and a half-eaten snack bar — looked up. "You want to say something on record? Pretty sure the captain already did his quote."

Hernan nodded, brushing soot from his shirt.

"I’ll make mine quick."

The drone blinked back to life. The lens found his face.

Behind him: burned-out cars, melted concrete, a city shaken but still standing.

He stood tall. Looked into the glass.

"Today I had the honor of working alongside Captain Virex," Hernan said smoothly."His leadership, his control, his focus under fire — it saved lives. This mission reminded me why I joined the Hero Program."

No stutter. No twitch. No guilt.

Just truth spun backwards.

"We can’t always prevent evil. But we can meet it with courage."

He paused, then added the final, perfect line:

"Working with Captain Virex is the greatest honor of my life."

The drone’s recording light dimmed.

The handler gave him a nod, then turned back to his case.

Hernan didn’t move.

He stood there for a few seconds longer, staring at the dead machine where the camera had been. Like it had just swallowed part of him.

He whispered, so low the drone wouldn’t have picked it up:

"I could’ve stopped it."

He swallowed.

"Could’ve told the world the truth. Shown them what this is — a script with body counts."

He looked down at his own reflection in the window of a shattered storefront. His face was dirty, bruised, handsome.

Beloved.

"But then I’d be a scandal. A headline. A note in a news cycle."

His eyes narrowed.

"No."

He turned and walked back into the smoke, one step at a time, until he reached the exact center of the ruined street — where he’d fought, where he’d lied, where he’d become something else.

"I’ll be the lie they love..."

"Until the day I kill their gods."

The sirens in the distance faded. The city began to breathe again.

And Hernan looked into the lens — just once — as the drone hovered for a final atmospheric shot.

And for the first time...he meant it.

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