The street was chaos. Sirens wailed in every direction, workers shouted orders through smoke-filled air, and the sky was painted red from fire and falling ash.
Civilians were rushed out, coughing and crying, some half-dragged by rescue teams.
Arkham moved through it all, stepping over fallen bricks and shattered glass. The noise blended into a dull roar—until a voice pull his attention.
"Please! She's still inside!" A child's screamed.
His head snapped toward the sound.
Near one of the barricades, a little girl thrashed against a police officer trying to hold her back. Her hair was dusty with ash, her cheeks streaked with tears.
"Second floor! Her room's by the window!" she sobbed, pointing toward a house barely standing.
Arkham followed her gaze. The building was a collapsed wreck—windows shattered, roof half-caved in, fire spilling from every corner.
'That one is good, no hero in sight, too risky for normal rescue, this mean I doesn't need to worry anyone see me in action' he thought.
"She told me to go ahead… but I didn't want to leave her," the girl sobbed. "I shouldn't have left her!"
The officer looked helpless, jaw clenched, unable to meet the girl's eyes. His grip on her arm had loosened—he knew there was nothing he could do.
Arkham stepped forward without hesitation.
The officer glanced at him, ready to block the path—but stopped short when he caught sight of the uniform. His expression shifted, flickering with recognition… and relief.
Arkham crouched in front of the girl, his voice steady and calm. "What's your name?"
"R-Rika…" she stammered, wiping at her tear-streaked face with a soot-covered hand.
He gave a small nod. "Alright, Rika. Do you see this uniform?" He tapped the emblem on his chest. "It means I'm here to protect people. I'm going to bring your sister back."
Her eyes widened, trembling with hope. "Y-You will? Really?"
He met her gaze without flinching. "We're called heroes for a reason. Now go with the officer, get somewhere safe. I promise—I'll bring her back."
She hesitated, then slowly lifted her pinky. "Promise me…"
Arkham blinked, surprised for a second, then smiled. He reached out and hooked his pinky with hers. "Promise." He stood and turned to the officer. "Watch her. Don't let her run off."
The man nodded sharply. "Understood."
"Please… save her," Rika whispered, voice shaking. "I'll give you anything... just save her…"
Arkham paused at that, glancing back with a faint smirk. "Don't worry," he said. "I never break my promise."
Then he turned and ran straight into the fire. Heat slammed into him the moment he crossed the threshold.
The air inside was thick—like breathing through wet cloth soaked in smoke. The fire raged along the walls and ceiling, wood groaning and popping, beams already falling in bursts of sparks. But Arkham didn't flinch.
His eyes scanned the interior—burning furniture, collapsing stairs, smoke crawling low to the floor. A normal person wouldn't last two minutes in here.
'Good thing I boost my stats.' His muscles tensed, his boots crunching over scorched tile. He could feel the difference. He wasn't superhuman, not yet, but he was faster, stronger, sharper than he used to be. Enough to matter.
A clear route appear in his mind, as he observe everything, 'That beam,eight seconds before it drops. I could move pass it. That step, cracked at the edge, but should be strong enough if I step on the center. Than I should move to the side.'
Arkham than make his move.
A flaming chair crashed behind him. He didn't even turn.
A support beam split with a sharp, cracking sound above him. Arkham dropped low, letting gravity take him as the burning timber whooshed past his head. Heat kissed his back as he hit the floor and rolled through the embers, his uniform singed but stay intact. He came up in one fluid motion, lungs drawing in a breath of smoke and ash that scorched his throat, but his focus didn't waver.
The stairs is next, half of them gone, the rest warped and charred beyond recognition. But Arkham didn't stop.
Three quick steps, every one planted at the right spot. On the fourth, he jumped himself upward. His hand shot out, fingers catching the cracked banister.
The wood splintered under his grip, stabbing through the skin of his palm, but Arkham gritted his teeth and held on. Pain was a luxury—he had no time for it.
He swung his body sideways, feet skimming past open flame, twisted midair, and landed hard on the second floor, boots hitting the scorched boards with a jolt that rattled through his bones.
But Arkham doesn't have any second to waste, he already start running.
CREAK!! BAM!
Behind him, another blast rocked the foundation. The floor buckled slightly beneath his feet.
But Arkham didn't stop. Every second mattered. His gaze quickly look for a path, 'Rika said her sister's room was on the west side…' His gaze locked on a doorway at the end of the hall.
But there was a problem. The entrance was completely blocked by a pile of burning furniture—half a wardrobe, part of a collapsed beam, and something that looked like what used to be a desk, now a bonfire in its own right.
He scanned the mess in a single breath. 'Too much to move. No time to put it out. Can't go over—it'll collapse.'
His eyes flicked to the side. The wall beside the doorway was scorched but still standing, the flames hadn't spread there yet.
Just above it a ventilation window, half-ripped open by the explosion.
'It's tight… but I might fit.' He backed up a few steps, eyes looking at a nearby shelf half-hanging off the wall. If he angled it just right...
Arkham sprinted forward, leapt onto the leaning shelf, and used it like a ramp. His body slammed against the wall with a grunt, fingers grabbing onto the torn edge of the duct. The metal creaked under his weight, but he pulled himself up.
Sweat dripped into his eyes. His muscles burned from the climb, but he didn't stop. He crawled through the narrow opening, metal scraping his back, the sound of fire rumbling just inches below.
Then—light. He kicked through the brittle end of the duct, dropping into the room on the other side of the blocked door.