Arc VI- Chapter 5: Bridge of Blood

The bridge held its breath. Not the armies, not the dead the stone itself. Vris and Ulg circled in slow, measured steps, boots and claws grinding against blood-slick rock. Ulg’s grin never left him, wide and amused, as though this were little more than a diversion. “Look at you,” the Trollking rumbled, voice thick with mockery. “All dressed up in shadow. Thought you’d be bigger.”

Vris said nothing. Heartfang hung low in his grip, Ruin whispering faintly at his side. He watched. Measured. Waited.

Ulg rolled his shoulders, bone cracking wetly. “I’ve eaten things older than you,” he went on casually. “And meaner.”

Then he moved.

The distance vanished in a blur. A claw tore through the air where Vris had stood a heartbeat before, striking stone with such force the bridge split and sprayed debris. Vris had already shifted barely. He stepped in on instinct, Heartfang flashing upward. The blade struck Ulg’s side, bit shallow and stopped.

Ulg looked down at it. Then laughed. “That tickled.”

His other hand came around in a brutal arc. Vris twisted, but not fast enough. The blow caught him across the ribs and hurled him sideways. The world snapped. Stone cracked beneath him as he slammed down, breath torn from his lungs.

The armies did not move. They watched.

Ulg stalked forward, slow now, savoring it. “Good,” he said. “You didn’t break.”

Vris pushed himself up, dragging air back into his chest. Pain mapped itself cleanly across his body ribs, shoulder, spine. Useful. He rose.

Ulg was already there.

The next strike came down like a falling wall. Vris caught it on Heartfang, but the force drove him to one knee instantly, the stone beneath him buckling under the weight. Ulg leaned in close, smiling, breath hot and foul. “There it is,” he murmured. “That look.”

Their faces were inches apart.

“You’re thinking.”

The pressure increased. Vris’s arms trembled not from fear, but from calculation. Ulg saw it and laughed softly. “Good. Think.”

Then he kicked him.

Vris was thrown again, rolling across the bridge before catching himself in a low crouch. Blood dripped from his mouth, but his eyes were steady. Watching. Learning.

Ulg followed, slower now. “You know what the difference is between us?” he asked, flexing his clawed hands.

Vris wiped his mouth. Said nothing.

Ulg chuckled. “I’ve done this before.”

He came again faster, harder. A flurry of strikes. Claw, elbow, backhand. Each one heavier than the last. Vris slipped one, blocked another, took the third. The hit slammed into his shoulder, spinning him sideways. Heartfang cut again on instinct, drawing a deeper line across Ulg’s forearm.

Blood.

Ulg stopped. Looked at it. Then his grin widened. “Better.” He flexed. The wound began to close not fully, but enough.

Vris saw it. Measured it.

Ulg saw him seeing it. “Oh, you don’t like that, do you?” he laughed.

Then he lunged not to strike, but to grab. His hand closed around Vris’s throat and lifted him effortlessly from the ground. Vris’s feet left the stone as Ulg held him there, studying him like meat.

“You’re fast,” he said. “Clever.” His grip tightened. “But you don’t hit hard enough.”

Vris did not thrash. Did not claw. He watched. Counted. Felt the rhythm of Ulg’s breath, the timing of his grip, the shift in his stance.

Ulg tilted his head slightly. “…Still thinking.”

Then he slammed him down.

The impact cratered the bridge, stone splitting beneath Vris’s body. For a fraction of a moment, he lay still. Then he rolled just in time to avoid the next stomp that shattered the space where his skull had been.

He came up differently this time. Lower. Lighter.

Not meeting force. Moving around it.

Ulg slowed. For the first time, his grin faded just a little. “Ah,” he said. “Now you’re learning.”

Vris circled. Not away around. Testing.

“Make him falter… Make him-” His own thought felt jumbled, and he noticed how much faster it seemed Ulg was advancing.

Ulg followed, watching him now as closely as he was being watched. “Go on,” the Trollking said. “Show me.”

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Vris shifted closer and struck not at the body, but at the leg. Heartfang bit deep into tendon. Ulg snarled, more surprised than hurt, his stance faltering for the briefest instant.

And in that instant?

Vris moved.

But Ulg adapted faster than expected. His other leg drove forward, smashing into Vris’s chest like a battering ram. The Fanglord flew again, skidding across the bridge, stopping hard.

This time, Ulg did not laugh.

He stood still for a moment, staring at the blood on his leg… then at Vris. Something in his expression shifted.

The amusement drained.

The hunger remained.

“Enough of that,” Ulg muttered.

He turned slightly and reached behind him.

The warclub came free with a low, grinding sound.

It was monstrous fashioned from the thick, yellowed bone of a mammoth, bound into the trunk of a blackened, iron-hard tree. Its surface was scarred, darkened by old blood and older fire. When he lifted it, the weight of it bent the air.

Ulg rested it against his shoulder, rolling it once in his grip.

When he looked back at Vris, the grin was gone.

“This is where it ends,” he said.

Vris rose slowly, breath steadying, eyes sharper now focused in a way they hadn’t been before.

He understood now.

Not everything.

But enough.

Ulg stepped forward and swung.

The club came down like a falling mountain.

Vris moved but not far enough. The impact struck the bridge beside him and detonated stone into shrapnel, the force alone sending him staggering back.

Ulg did not pause.

He advanced.

Swing after swing, each one crushing, relentless, forcing Vris backward step by step across the broken span. Stone shattered. Air cracked. The bridge groaned beneath the assault.

This was no longer a game.

This was execution.

And still he stared trying to find a way forward.

Vris watched.

Learned.

Adapted.

Maz’s hands tightened on the bars of her cage above, her eyes locked on him.

Because she could see it now.

He wasn’t trying to overpower Ulg.

Not yet.

He was learning how to survive him.

And when that moment came.

The war would shift.

Ulg did not wait. The moment the circle closed, the Trollking advanced slow at first, then with terrifying inevitability. His warclub dragged once along the stone before rising into guard, and even at a glance it was wrong. Not just large, not just brutal. The thing felt heavy in a way that had nothing to do with size, like it carried something inside it something awake. Magic clung to it in thick, suffocating layers, warping the air around it.

Possessed.

Vris saw it, felt it, and understood.

Ulg swung.

The first strike came fast far faster than something his size should have been able to move. Vris twisted aside, Heartfang catching the edge of the blow just enough to deflect it, but the impact still rang through his arms like thunder. Stone cracked beneath his feet as he slid back.

Ulg grinned. “Good,” the Trollking rumbled. “You’ll last longer than the others.”

Vris didn’t answer. He stepped forward.

And this time, he drew both blades.

Ruin slipped into his off-hand, its presence whispering eagerly, while Heartfang steadied in his primary grip. The shift was immediate. His stance lowered. His movement tightened.

Focused.

Deadly.

Ulg came again.

The club crashed down in a brutal arc, and Vris met it with speed instead of strength slipping inside the swing. Ruin flashed upward, carving a shallow cut across Ulg’s ribs, while Heartfang followed with a precise strike toward the shoulder. Blood followed.

Not much.

But enough.

Ulg laughed. “That’s it,” he said. “Make it hurt.”

The next exchange came faster. Then faster still.

Steel and bone met again and again as Vris pressed his advantage, weaving through the Trollking’s attacks with increasing precision. Ruin struck low. Heartfang struck high. Each motion flowed into the next, his cadence sharpening into something relentless.

But Ulg was not slow.

He adapted.

A backswing caught Vris across the side, the warclub slamming into him with crushing force. His Ethrani stonebond armor reacted instantly shifting, hardening, absorbing most of the impact but not all.

Vris hit the ground hard, breath forced from his lungs.

Ulg was already moving.

The club rose.

And came down.

Vris vanished.

The impact shattered stone where he had been, the bridge cracking under the force of it as dust and fragments exploded outward.

Silence followed.

Ulg straightened slowly, nostrils flaring as he drew in a long breath. Then he grinned.

“What’s wrong, pipsqueak?” he called out, his voice echoing through the cavern. “Can’t fight fair now? Are you so desperate you’d abandon that little facade of honor you pretend to have?”

He spat to the side, eyes narrowing as he scanned the empty space around him. “I can smell you,” he muttered. “Skulking. Hiding.”

He inhaled again, slow and deep, searching.

“HAH.”

His voice rose, thick with amusement.

“I know the truth of things, Vris. I know you’re not the only project that old hag has been nurturing…”

He turned slowly, head tilting as if listening to something unseen.

“How do you think I got so strong? You had to know. I’m one of her champions.”

The air seemed to shift with the admission.

Ulg rolled his shoulders, confidence swelling.

“But you…” he continued, voice lowering into something almost conversational, almost mocking, “…you could never break the world. Not like I can.”

He lifted the warclub, resting it across his shoulder.

“Truth is,” he said, “all that matters in this world… is that the strongest survive.”

Silence followed.

Heavy.

Expectant.

Ulg waited, smiling, listening, certain.

Vris watched.

And listened.