[ WP ] Give me a super hero story set any where in the world but North America , and any time in human history before WWII

A bit hastily put together, enjoy anyway: 
 
 
 Another gust of wind. I pull my coat tighter around me. Walking through the cobblestone streets, I hope I ’ m not too late to prevent accidents. I look at my hands, and quickly look away again. They are almost shining, something flowing underneath the skin. I still have no idea what it could be, but doctor Wilkinson, a good man, told me that one of his acquaintances, one doctor John Henry, has seen cases like this before. He gave me his address, and prescribed me another batch of that new herbal tea that seemed to calm my nerves enough to stop the shining in my hands. 
 
 I turn another corner. They look all the same to me, I ’ ve never been to London before. But I know where to go, because of a man who told me the way, shaking his head all the while. It ’ s getting dark outside, I worry, but luckily I can see the building that was described to me by the man. I hasten my steps, and just as I arrive I hear a shout in the upper room. 
 
 As I try the door, it swings open, unlocked. While I hadn ’ t expected that, I don ’ t dwell on the thought, and hurry upwards to the room I heard the shout in. When I open the door, a man is being beaten brutally by some thugs in rags. He screams for my help, and I reach towards my knife, but suddenly, the thugs seem to have found what they came for. They run past me, and I turn towards the man. I know some first aid, and I tell the man so, but he shakes his head vigorously. 
 
 “ They mustn ’ t get away! Please, if you want to help me, catch them! They have taken something important! ” 
 
 “ Now, mister, I don ’ t think… ” I retort, but the man interrupts me. 
 
 “ No time! Catch them! This is more important than my life! ” 
 
 Shooting him a last look, seeing a panicked man in his forties, sweating, I decide to oblige him, and run down the stairs once more. A frightened maid comes towards me, and I point upstairs. She nods, and I bolt out of the door, seeing the thugs at the end of the street. 
 
 I sprint after them, fueled by some strange sense of purpose. They turn left. I turn left. They turn right, and try to shake me by immediately turning left again. It almost works, but not fully. I can still see one of them, so I follow. They split up, and me being alone, it works, but it seems that the man I chose to follow quickly loses his stamina now, and he bolts into a bakery, after pounding down the door. Farynor, it says above the two small windows, and I pray he may forgive us for breaking and entering. I go into the house, trying the first room, and by the lord (! ), the thug is in there. As I approach, he backs against the wall, fear in his eyes. As he can back away no further, he stammers: 
 
 “ Please, no more! We ‘ ave done our jobs, innit? Don ’ t hurt me, I beg of you! Keep away, by the lord! ” 
 
 Jobs? As I stand still and rethink my plan, it comes to my attention that the man is not looking at my head. I follow his gaze, and see that my hands are shining brighter than ever before! How could I not have noticed?! With a cry of surprise, I stumble backwards as my hands suddenly catch fire. The ‘ thug ’ takes the chance as he bolts past me, shoving me aside, which causes my head to collide with the wall. 
 
 +++++++ 
 
 The good doctor John Henry looks upon his work, the flames towering from below, from what was once the medieval part of London. And he smiles. A smile of the evil and the wicked, promising deeds even more atrocious than this one. 
 
 Meanwhile, amidst the flames, a new hero awakens. Steeling his resolve that he will atone for the fire that has come from under his skin, he walks away. His burned skin regenerates, except for one blotched mark on his back. The mark of flame. 

