[b]SONJA[/b] 

Sonja groaned inwardly as Light decided to help Hot Rod doubleteam the pyro in there, leaving her to handle the robed figure. Which meant the only real backup she might have would be Clearly Insane Person, or whatever she called herself, if she ever arrived. Her weakened magic against this person, who judging from the way she levitated and gathered life energy from the dead guards, knew what she was about.

"Alright, let's take down the wall- holy shit!" Sonja said, diving out of the way of flying rubble as Light smashed the concrete wall to bits with one punch and dove straight through the flames, throwing punches at the burning woman like Sugar Ray. Sonja decided then and there that she wanted Light on her side at all times from now on.

While Light kept the pyrokinetic occupied, Sonja took the now unwatched door and made a beeline straight for the levitating acolyte. She could sense the raw magical power there, and Sonja knew the mysterious woman could sense hers as well. Both immediately knew what this meant: magical combat, a reality-warping chess game of life and death. Which was why Sonja's opening move was to rush straight at her and swing a baseball bat at her head. Sorcerers are an egotistical lot, always looking to impress one another with a larger and more complicated spell when they face off. They often don't expect to be physically struck by another sorcerer, at least not right away, and certainly not with something as humble as a baseball bat.

In other circumstances, Sonja would've been happy to duel her in the usual grandiose fashion. But no one was watching, her power was dampened, and the room was on fire. Better to just surprise her.

----

[b]SIXGUN[/b]

"And once more Fletcher Ross finds himself in an un-yoo-za-wall situation," Sixgun quipped as the assistants ran forwards clutching knives and other weapons. He snapped the freshly loaded cylinder shut, fanned the hammer as he fired all six rounds into the oncoming mass of men. His gun clicked empty and there was no time to reload. Sixgun passed the revolver into his left hand, clutching it by the hot barrel. With his right, he dug out his pearl-handled switchblade, snapped it open, and threw himself at whoever was left of the Alchemist's men. He fought without any particular style or strategy, just a maniac lashing out with a knife in one hand and a blunt object in the other, trying to cleave a path to the Alchemist.