"So, where's your boyfriend?"

She closed her eyes, took in a short little breath, and sighed. Yeah... this had been expected, but she had held out hope that enough damage had been done with her punch that he would have left to sleep off his drunken stupor.

Or maybe he was really just that big of an idiot. Either way, he stepped up to the side of her, and his buddies lined up behind her. She didn't notice them right away, mostly because she was busy taking a sip of her drink, and also because she wasn't a ninja. Her mutation didn't allow her super senses like that. Tired eyes slid the guys way. He didn't look anymore sober, but was certainly angry.

"...Leave me alone."

A grin sprouted on the guys lips, and he ran a hand through his hair. "naw, I don't think I will. I wanna see if you are just as brave without someone here to hide behind."

She could feel a headache starting up again. Probably because she was clenching her jaw too tightly. Yeah... this wasn't making the night any better. Some goon sitting beside her, the only other sane person gone. She peeked over her shoulder toward the door, and noticed that it was obstructed by a nice fellow with his arms crossed against his chest.

... and she was outnumbered. Damnit...

"You have to be afraid of something your facing down for it to count as bravery." Icy eyes slid back to him, where they looked him slowly up and down in a very measured manner. "You are hardly scary... more like an annoying drunk fly."

It took only a moment for her words to sink in, and before she knew it he had a hold of her by the collar and had hauled her almost off her seat. "Listen, you little b--" She acted on instinct (bad instinct, but still) and swung at him. He managed to dodge the blow this time, as he had seen it coming, and stood from his seat. Megan was lifted onto her tippy-toes and sent crashing into the bar. Empty and full glasses alike were sent rolling to he floor. The bartender hurried over to stop the man, but was knocked completely off his feet with a well aimed punch from one of the drunkards buddies. He was unconscious by the time he hit the floor.

"Let me go you sonofa--" Before she could finish, he set her flying over the other side of the bar. The back of her head connected solidly with a glass shelf. Half empty bottled rained down on her as the shelf shattered, and she threw her arms up to protect her face.

Back behind the counter, a few other bar goers noticed what was happening when they heard the crash and shattering of glass over the music, and jumped up to help. A small brawl broke out between two strangers and the four trouble makers. Megan could only listen to the sounds as she collected herself, checked for blood at the back of her head, and then set about getting back to her feet.

That jackass was going to pay for that, even if it killed her in the process!

The sound of smashing glass reached Sylus's ears like the bang of a starting gun. He glanced briefly into the main room, analyzing the distraction Scora had set for him.

The woman with which he had been talking to at the bar now lay in a daze behind it. The readied stocks of liquor and vodka lay beneath her, their volatile fuel dripping steadily onto the floor. Across from Chelsey stood several men who were obviously there for combat.Their anger and overconfidence leaked into the air along with the alcohol on their breath. The fight was obviously one-sided, and it would seem that the young woman was about to be the victim of a vicious beating.

On another day, at another time, Sylus may have assisted her, but the weight of a divine task was set upon his shoulders. Besides, everyone within these forsaken walls was about to become the victims of a tragic fire. There was no point in saving someone who would be dead soon anyway.

Chelsey did not get to rest from the first attack for long, as her attackers soon wrenched her from her current position and back in front of the bar. The focus in the room moved as swiftly as her body did, and it led everyone's eyes away from the waiting stairs into the basement. This was Sylus's chance.

He moved slowly but deliberately towards the waiting bar, not wanting to draw attention away from the brawl. The commotion kept anyone from confronting him as he went down into the area marked "employees only" beneath the bar. The basement was large, and stored all kinds of goods for the waiting customeres upstairs. Sylus passed boxes of beer and pretzels, cleaning equipment, and finally reached his destination.....the main support beam for the floor above him.

The thick beam loomed before him as Sylus searched for the last necessary component for his plans. After a brief look, he came back to the beam with several boxes of hard alcohol in his arms. These he set nearby, and, without hesitation, he ripped open the first box. With a flourish, he picked up and poured out the first two bottles around the beam. This arduous work continued for several minutes, and as he worked, Soot began to pray, nay to preach, to the open air around him.

His voice rang softly through the basement, muffled by the commotion above him.

"Destruction breeds Creation, and it is Scora's Forge that creates this cycle of life. With each body burned, a new soul kindles the fires of the Forge. Scora's cycle is harsh and tragic, but necessary. As his prophet, it is my burden to carry out the cycle, replenishing life by creating death. This is my purpose, a tool for a god, and I treat it with the highest reverence. Today I bring the divine fires to this desolate altar. With many sacrifices in mind, i ready the pyre. Let the sacred ritual begin."

Before she knew it, there was an arm latched securely under her armpit and around her throat. She was plucked up before having gotten all the way to her feet, and bodily dragged back over the top of the bar.

The fighting behind her was suddenly all around her, and as her bottom thumped onto the floor she found herself quickly swallowed up in a sea of thrashing legs and fists. Something crashed into the side of her head hard enough to knock some sense back into her, and she made a beeline for the bar. Stools gave her a little coverage as her attacker was suddenly set upon by the growing sea of brawl occupants. A window opened, and she snatched it up without hesitation.

Crawling on all four in the most disgraceful manner she could, she managed to sneak her way past the mob into a pocket of relative calm. As the men who had jumped up to help her were swamped and dragged to the floor, she got to her feet and reached across the counter for anything heavy that she could grab. An unopened bottle of vodka was her prize, and as she turned back to the little battle waging on in the bar, she attempted to spot the jackass who had started the whole commotion.

Finally, she found who she was looking for. A wicked grin settled on her face, and with weapon in hand she advanced. He was matching a big burly man punch for punch, either spurred on by his state of inebriation, or finally showing some true physical prowess. Megan was inclined to believe it was the drink, and nothing but the drink. Still, he had a buddy right next to him, trying to corner their opponent. His back was to her, so without hesitation she sprang upon the chance to wreak a little havoc of her own.

Sure, it was a cheap shot, hitting someone over the back of the head like that... but as the bottle contacted skull, and as the resounding force of the hit rolled back up her arm, he dropped like big dried piece of cow pie he was. With the neck of the bottle still in her hand, she barely had time to turn and face the guy's buddy, before a fist came spiraling out of nowhere and took her off her feet.

A clean right hook to the jaw. Her head snapped back so fast that she didn't even feel her neck crack in protest, nor did she feel the floor come rushing up to meet her...

The smell of alcohol permeated the air of the dimly lit basement, its odor almost unbearable around the thick wooden beam that would be the starting point of Sylus's newest sacrificial fire. He breathed in the damp air, enjoying briefly the calm before the firestorm. His pyroclastic mind drank in every second. A part of Sylus really relished his destructive habit.

The control over each life in his hands.

The utter satisfaction of laying waste to those weaker than him.

The adrenaline rush from each bloodcurdling scream that reached his ears.

The dark, cold, insanity driven portion of his soul shivered in ecstacy everytime he held this moment in his hands.

"So here I stand on the brink of destruction. I lay aside emotion for my dedication, remove my conscience and replace it with loyalty. Scora, your need is great, but so is my will. I await your command, a match eagerly waiting to be struck in your fingers." A zippo flicked nervously in Soot's hand, each sharp clink of its top echoing distinctly in the room. " Your fires lie low, and without fuel may fail. I hope with this gift i may press the bellows of your great forge and fan the flames. Use the souls gathered here. Harvest each one carefully, and with their energy start the cycle anew. From the tragedy about to unfold, please create beauty. Create lives and events that change this world. Do not let my sins be a futile effort. " Bright orange fire leaped from the rim of the metal lighter as Sylus lifted it skyward.

"I raise my torch to you. To destruction and creation. To the Forge of Life. I know that as the smoke rises here, so will the blistering heat of your home. So, to both the afterlife and this humble human realm, i say, let it burn."

The body that held the fate of the bar's occupants in its hands slowly fell away as the lighter slowly fell to the earth. Searing flame engulfed the beam, its spit and crackle mixing with a whoosh of displaced air that propelled an early cloud of smoke towards the stairwell.

Sylus reformed, turning back to view the growing pillar of fire. Grabbing three extra bottles of liquor, he stuffed a rag hastily down the trio of cocktails. Lighting two and pocketing the third, his body dissolved once more as he ascended the stairs towards the victims above.

The darkness from her impromptu nap started to slowly wane, and she began to realize that she wasn't... on the floor? The hell? The stars and birdies circling her head vanished, her senses returned and she realized she was in the process of being picked up. How long had she been out, anyway?

Moving was hard, especially when it felt like she'd just woken up from being dead, but she swiftly became alert enough to notice what was happening. The big lug who'd locked her was about to lift her over his head, and she was sure nothing good would come of it. Megan twisted sharply, unexpectedly, and managed to slip out of one hand's grip. Another squirm ended with her straddling his shoulder, while he cussed and slurred and attempted to regain his hold on her.

Luck happened to be on her side, however, as her wriggling got him to swing an arm just a little too wide... and he inadvertently punched another bar patron in the back of the head. Her attacker quickly became the attacked, and in the resulting brawl she managed to slip away into the brawling crowd.

With her jaw aching something terrible and a drowsy feeling dogging her heels, she attempted to stay out of the growing fight. Finding somewhere to sit without getting jumped was at the forefront of her mind, anyway... and maybe some friggen ice. Megan ended up stumbling off to the left of the counter, through a single swinging door, and into a small kitchen. It looked like, at first glance, it was used mostly for employee use. A lone fridge, a dirty counter with jars of peanuts scattered here and there... and a door at the back of the room helpfully labeled 'bathroom'.

Megan made a bee-line for it, shutting the door softly behind her, and turned to a lone sink to inspect the damage with a crooked mirror hanging above it.