Editing LotS/The Story/Playing with Fire (Part 1)/Al-Husam

Wake up! Hurry!
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Deep inside Ali, the flames screamed at their mistress. But she was insensible, her mind submerged beneath the weight of the psionic assault. They could feel it too... Probing, shoving hands. These people were dangerous!
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Wake up!
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"Bring her," the dark man said.
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No! They're going to take her somewhere, to a place with more invading minds -- and maybe worse. We have to do something!
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The flames seethed. They tried to surge, to burst from Ali's body and lay waste to their enemies. But their mistress' psionic fugue had turned her entire being into a cage. Her mind, both conscious and subconscious, was frozen. There was nothing for them to latch onto, no spark of cognition to hurl them into action.
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Wake up!
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"For... for now?"
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McManus, the man who had betrayed their mistress, was on his feet.
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"What?" The one with the keffiyeh stared at him.
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"You said she'd live <i>for now</i>. You're going to kill her!"
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"Consider the bonus your blood money."
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"You bastard!"
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McManus' hand whipped out from behind his back. Something shone in the artificial firelight.
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The weapon's blast zapped across the room. It seared past the masked man's head, scorching his featureless face. The window behind him exploded.
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His psionic grasp faltered. The flames surged.
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Waves of fire whooshed down Ali's arms. These people tried to hurt their mistress!
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The masked psychics screamed. Screamed, and burned.
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Ali blinked. Her mind rose to consciousness, and found two immolated forms beside her. Water was raining down on her from the sprinkler above, soaking her hair and sending plumes of smoke up from the bodies.
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"What the hell? What did you do?"
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We saved you! See? We told you there was danger here! You didn't listen, but we-
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"Shut up!"
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The masked man and woman were silent and motionless, their smoking flesh charred and roasted. But someone else was screaming now... McManus was on his knees, a crimson ocean gushing from his chest. He looked at Ali, mouthed unintelligible words, and flopped onto his side.
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A dark man, dressed in an almost chitinous armored jumpsuit, stood over the corpse. He had a green keffiyeh around his neck, and a scimitar in each hand. The one in his right was covered in blood.
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Ali's hand shot out. A globe of fire roared towards him, throwing dancing orange light and waves of heat through the room, making each of the sprinklers burst into life as it passed.
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The Arab threw himself aside, diving through the door beside him with a crash of shattering glass. A mirthless smirk hardened on Ali's lips. He was screwed... That was the door to the balcony.
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Destroy him, the flames insisted. But this time she needed no urging.
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Alison Haelia stepped through the doorway, glass crunching beneath her boots. The Arab was waiting for her, his weapons raised, rain splashing across their blades.
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"Kalaxia has chosen," he said. "So be it. One of us must die."
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The man was burning. But he didn't cry out. The only sounds were the pouring rain, the raging flames that were steaming, flickering, and smoking beneath the water's assault, and the swishing of his swords.
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His scimitars were burning as well. They carved flaming trails through the air in front of Ali's face as she leapt backwards.
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Who the hell was this guy? She and the flames asked the question in the same instant. How was he...
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It doesn't matter, they told her. We'll handle this.
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Fresh torrents erupted from her body, a vast wave of consuming flame -- an avalanche of fire. It bombarded the Arab, surrounded him, submerged him. And still he came, a blackened, ruined form staggering through the inferno, his swords slashing.
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But then he stumbled, and collapsed.
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"Kalaxiahu akbar..."
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The cracked, burned rasp crept from his charred throat with his final breath.
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Ali stepped through the shattered glass doors, into the burned and sodden mess her fire and the sprinklers had made of the lounge. Her flames huffed. Their beautiful handiwork, ruined by water... This displeased them. But at least their mistress was saved. Perhaps she would let them burn more things as a reward...
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She gave a start as the elevator doors opened. Her hands came up, and her flames flooded them with fierce warmth.
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A woman emerged, dressed in armor that a vague part of her mind recognized as Sian. There was something familiar about her face as well...
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"Who are you?" Ali asked. If this one knew what was going on, she'd burn the truth out of her...
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"Durlin. And it looks like I got here too late." She held up her hands, palms outward. "I'm not your enemy."
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Don't trust her! The flames hissed. Let us destroy her, before she can hurt us!
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"Shut up!"
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"Huh?"
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"Not you!"
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Durlin blinked. A look of confusion crossed her face.
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"You said you came too late..."
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"Yeah, I-"
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"Then you know who these people were?"
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"They're Kalaxians. Part of a cult."
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Religious fanatics... That part seemed believable, at any rate.
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"What did they want with me?"
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"That's a long story."
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"Then tell it fast."
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"Okay..."
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Afterwards, may we burn her?
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"Maybe. It depends how good her story is..."
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"What?"
<br><br>

"Never mind. Just start talking..."