Reaper of the Revolution

It had been nearly twelve hours since Cyrus's encounter with the Marines. He had done a few odd jobs around the bar and inn to help out Gene, all the while watching the Marines intently. Many of the high ups had become intoxicated throughout the course of the day, clearly taxing the lackies with making sure they get to bed fine. This seemed true for all but Sinclair who had spent much of the afternoon in his room. Once dinner was called he came down and ate with the rest of them but then stayed down in the bar area, a booth to himself in the crowded restaurant. He read, alone and undisturbed while, by Cyrus's count about twenty-five of his men milled about in various forms of intoxication. By midnight many of them had made their way up to the second and third floors to sleep, after all they had a big day tomorrow. Gene himself finished cleaning up and retired to his own room in the back of the bar for the night. By one in the morning Cyrus was completely alone in the bar, so he got to work. In the alley outback was some old lumber that they used for repairs around the bar. He took a few of the thicker beams and pushed them through the doorhandles of the double door entrance. He did the same to the door on the side of the bar that lead to the alley. Finally, making his way around back, Cyrus opened the back door and entered the inn that way. As he walked in he noticed Gene's bedroom door to his right closed tightly, the lights off. The old man was going to hate him for what he was about to do next, but orders were orders.

Now in the kitchen area of the bar, Cyrus turned on the gas burners on the stove, watching the blue then white hot flames lick the metal grates. Satisfied with the size of the flames, Cyrus made his way back to Gene's room and opened the door quietly. Almost immediately, Gene sat up and jerked his head in several different directions, searching for his intruder in the dark. Without wasting a second, Cyrus grabbed the old man off the bed, turning him around so Cyrus was behind him, his hidden blade at the man's throat. Cyrus pitched his voice higher and simply said, Walk. Gene wasn't pleased in the slightest and began yelling, You sonofabitch, I'll die in this bar be- Cyrus rolled his eyes and, without warning, delivered a swift elbow to the temple. Gene dropped like a sack of bricks, but Cyrus caught him before his head sustained any more concussive damage. Sorry about that old man, but you just had to be difficult. Throwing Gene of his shoulder, and grabbing the old man's coat on the way out, Cyrus opened the back door of the bar but turned back to the open burner. Pulling out one of the vials of blue liquid he made a few weeks ago, Cyrus tossed the glass vial at the open flame. As he closed the door behind him, he could hear the shattering of glass as the vial broke against the wrought iron stove top. The Wildfire erupted in a glorious blue inferno behind him as Cyrus threaded the wooden plank through the door handle, effectively blocking all exits save for the windows. Though, by the time the Marines actually woke up and found out what was going on, he suspected it would be too late. The Bar was nothing more than a three-story tinderbox and Wildfire was far more aggressive than any normal fire.

Walking several blocks down the beaten path, Cyrus dropped Gene on the front entrance to a house, placing the old man's jacket over him. He was sad that this would most likely be the last time he saw the old man. Gene had been good to him and in return Cyrus burned down his bar. It ate at his very being. If this is what it meant to be a Revolutionary, was it really worth it? Shaking his head, Cyrus gave several sharp raps on the door and then ran back towards the bar. Back at the bar, the fire was burning nice and hot. Looking in through some of the windows Cyrus could make out the blue flames that licked at the glass panes, snaking their way up the wooden beams that made up the bar. The entire downstairs was already ablaze when he got back and he watched as the fire made its way up the newly polished stairs and onto the second floor. As the fire ate away at some of the bedroom doors, this was when the first Marines began to wake up. Screaming broke the near-silence of the night as some Marines were unlucky enough to be touched by the flames. Others, those unlucky enough to not be given rooms with windows decided to take a chance on the flames, risking bodily harm rather than death. Unfortunately for the Marines, they had never seen fire quite like this. The moment they ran through the flames, all was lost. The fire would cling to them, incinerating their clothing and skin almost instantly.

Cyrus stood outside, watching the chaos and panic unfold in front of him. This wasn't his way. He was a man of the sword, a man who gave others a fighting chance. Perhaps this new recipe was too much, perhaps the world wasn't ready for Wildfire yet. He wasn't sure he was. Moments later the first of the windows broke and a Marine came falling out and into the snow. Blue flames licked his body as he rolled around in the frozen water but to no avail. His screams were eventually choke out by the fumes coming off of his own burning flesh. From the third floor two more Marines came through the windows. Their madness and desire to flee from the flames ended up with one of them breaking their ankles and the other their neck. Cyrus strode over to the still breathing one who gasped in agony, Please, mercy please. Get help. He asked Cyrus, but the Reaper of the Revolution simply unhinged his scythe from his cane and slit the man's throat, soaking the powder white snow with crimson. Three other Marines managed to make it out through windows, but Cyrus dispatched of them easily enough. They were scared, confused, some still even drunk or half asleep, and Cyrus had the advantage of the cover of night. It had been ten or fifteen minutes since the burning started and the lower level of the building began to groan. Cyrus took several steps away from the building as the wood splintered and screamed. From the top most window a final Marine jumped to the snow below, landing in a roll. The moment he landed, the inn gave up on its fight to stay standing and collapsed in a heap of burning wooden planks.

Cyrus frowned as he recognized just who this Marine was. Sinclair spoke into a Den Den Mushi as he stood up, his back to the burning wreckage of the building, Yes, come immediately. The building caught fire, we'll need medical care for the few survivors I managed to- Sinclair stopped speaking as he noticed the first of the bodies in the pale blue light of the fire, its throat slit from ear to ear. Come armed, this fire was purposeful. I'm going hunting. The man placed the Den Den Mushi back into his pocket and took the bow off his back, notching an arrow he began to scan the surrounding area. Whoever you are, my men from the ship are already on their way. We will find you, and we will kill you. Give yourself up now and you'll be put in chains, but your life spared. Sinclair spoke into the darkness of the night. From the shadow of a building about seven meters away, Cyrus smirked. The man was a lousy liar. Without a second thought, Cyrus rushed forward, Crow in hand. He unsheathed the sword and attempted to cut Sinclair down in one fell swoop. There was a moment of confusion as Sinclair's bow came between the sword and his body. Cyrus looked straight at the man and a moment of stark realization crossed Sinclair's face, So it was you. He said without any real emotion in his voice. Afraid so. Cyrus replied before unhinging the scythe in his left hand and swinging it towards Sinclair's back. The Marine was fast, he ducked beneath the scythe, also giving up on holding Cyrus's sword back, which would harmlessly pass over his head as well. Sinclair kicked at Cyrus's ankles with a low sweep of his leg, forcing the Revolutionary off balance and to the snow covered ground. Almost immediately Sinclair was up, a notched arrow in his bow. As Cyrus watched the tip of the arrow began to glow, This is called my Buster Shot. Your life is mine. Sinclair said, but before he could release the arrow Cyrus brought his scythe up the man's forearm and pushed it off balance. The scythe would bite into Sinclair's arm but it wouldn't cut clean through. What it would do however is knock Sinclair's arm up and to the right. The glowing arrow would fly harmlessly into a closed store front behind Cyrus where it would explode immediately. Rolling away from Sinclair who gripped his forearm in what could only be described as annoyance, Cyrus hopped back to his feet and momentarily peered at the storefront unlucky enough to catch the arrow intended for him. Damn, this guy's not messing around. Cyrus thought to himself. The store looked like a massive bite had been taken out of its left side.

He had very little time to think as an arrow cut through the night sky intended for his right eye. Had Cyrus not turned his attention back to Sinclair the moment he did, the arrow would have impaled his brain, instead he had managed to turn just enough that the arrow only grazed his cheek, letting a fresh trail of blood cascade down. Ranged combat was no good for Cyrus, he needed to get in Sinclair's face. From behind Sinclair more Marines began to emerge from the shadows and onto the streets. They had clearly all been running and Cyrus figured it was the Marines left to guard the ship. About ten in total. Some looked like lowly grunts while at least three others seemed like they had some actual skill. Kill him. Sinclair gave the simple command as three of the grunts and one of the higher ups rushed him, weapons drawn. Cyrus met their steel with his own, lopping off the hand of one and using his body as a pin cushion for the attack of two others. Cyrus danced through the blades as two more grunts joined the fray. An arrow pierced one of them in the back of the head as Cyrus swung around her neck with his blade. The arrow had clearly been meant for him. The older Marine locked blades with him and they danced in the dark, sparks flying with each connecting blow. Cyrus was in command of the fight, but it was clear that this Marine was also a skilled warrior. As they danced, Cyrus brought the tango closer and closer towards Sinclair and the remaining Marines. The others had their weapons ready, waiting on Sinclair's orders. He himself simply stood there, an arrow notched, waiting for the shot to put Cyrus in his grave. As Cyrus met blades with the Marine, he placed his cane back in the holster on the back of his jacket and reached into his coat pocket to retrieve a vial of Wildfire. Knocking away the Marine's sword he kicked the man in the chest, sending him towards Sinclair and putting him between Cyrus and the Ensign, not allowing a proper shot to be taken. Uncorking the vial, Cyrus threw liquid Wildfire at the Marine as he stumbled back into Sinclair. Rushing forward Cyrus used Zetsumei Dansu: Sin once more but this time aimed to specifically for the Marine's sword and Sinclair's bow. Sparks would fly from each hit, engulfing both the Marine and Sinclair in Wildfire as Cyrus walked away from them, they burned brightly behind him. He sheathed Crow, looking back over his shoulder at the burning bodies and the four remaining Marines who had stayed out of the fray. Sinclair and the Marine screamed in agony as they dropped to the ground and attempted to roll around on the ground. The four remaining Marines ran to their superior's aid and one even attempted to smother him with his jacket, but that Marine too was only consumed by the Wildfire. Another rushed to get water while the last two only looked on, consumed by fear and unsure as to how to proceed. Cyrus, unable to watch the hellish nightmare anymore, turned from Sinclair and his Marines, turned from the burning wreckage he had called home for the last few weeks, and walked into the night, his stomach nearly betraying him several times. His job was done, the meeting would not be able to take place tomorrow morning. He should feel something, something more than shame.

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