Bridge didn't breathe until he was past the last door to enter a waiting room exclusively for each competitor.

The moment the roar of the crowd cut off—snuffed out like someone slamming a door on a raging storm—his entire body folded. His knees hit the floor with a dull thud, and the breath he'd been holding escaped in a strangled, shaking gasp.

Cold. Ruthless. Strong. Confident. Dominant.

That was the version of him who walked out there.

This version? The one now bent over the cold stone, arms trembling under his own weight?

This version was the truth.

"Holy… stars…" he wheezed, fingers digging into the ground as if he needed to anchor himself in reality. "…That was… that was the hardest one yet."

His vision turned dark at the edges. Sweat dripped down his jaw, trailing along bruises that darkened by the second. Even with his regeneration working at full tilt, he felt like every muscle in his body had spent the match screaming profanities at him.

He let his head hang. Closed his eyes. Tried to get his breathing under control.

He'd won.

But that didn't change the fact that he'd also come dangerously close to losing.

No. Dying.

No amount of public bravado changed that.

A few months ago—hell, even two months ago—he wouldn't have even been in a place like this. He would've been horrified at the thought of stepping into an underground, borderline-illegal brawling ring where opponents were fully willing to tear you limb from limb for prize money and bragging rights.

And the Bridge from back then?

He wouldn't have survived ten seconds against Drainen out there.

"…I need to be stronger," he muttered.

His fingers curled into fists.

Because the world wasn't slowing down.

Because the Abyss wasn't giving them time.

And because—no matter how much he pretended otherwise—that gap between him and Kain wasn't going to close itself.

His breath shook again when he remembered that conversation. The one that had shifted something deep inside him. The one he kept replaying whenever he was tired, or scared, or just needed fuel to keep grinding forward.

It had been about a month ago.

--------------------------------------------

Kain had called them all to the living room. At first he and the other kids had gathered in the living room with a ligh heart, thinking it was a casual gathering. Maybe a surprise family movie night?

But seeing Kain's serious expression once they arrived put a stop to that. The kind of expression where you could feel the weight in the air before he even opened his mouth.

They'd all sat. Even the normally rowdy younger siblings like Cherry and the twins were unusually quiet, looking at Kain like he was about to reveal some surprise test they hadn't studied for.

Kain didn't ease them into it.

He never did.

"The Abyss is invading," he'd said. "They're going to hit our continent. Full force. In ten months."

Silence. Total, suffocating silence.

Bridge had felt something cold drop into his stomach. Some mix of fear and disbelief and… resignation? Because he knew. Deep down, he'd known something was wrong with how tense Kain had been lately.

But hearing it aloud… hearing a deadline…

That was different.

The others looked to Kain like he had all the answers. And somehow, he did. He'd been calm. Controlled. A grounding presence in the middle of their panic.

Then he revealed the next piece.

His Gift.

Awakening humans.

Bridge had known. The director had known. Gabriel and Ferrin had known. Heck they'd been the recipients of said gift.

But the others hadn't. And the looks on their faces—wide-eyed, awe-struck, practically glowing—would've been funny if the topic wasn't so terrifying.

"You can do that?!"

"No way!"

"Does that mean you could awaken me—?"

They'd all leaned forward like ducklings staring at bread.

Then Kain had hit them with part two.

He'd been using that gift.

Secretly.

He'd been building an organization. Training people awakened by himself. Forming teams. Getting ready for the Abyss long before any of them had a clue.

Darius.

Malzahir.

Jax.

And the others Kain had introduced over the last year—casual, gradual introductions that Bridge had never questioned.

Every single one of them had already been part of Kain's network.

The kids' reactions had been…

"WOAHHH! Big bro has a secret organization?!"

"That's so cool!!"

"Oooh! Does it have a name?"

"A boss of a secret group! Kain's like the villain in the cartoon Naroto!"

Smack

"How can you compare Kain to that villain!"

Bridge hadn't joined the cheering.

Because underneath the shock…

He'd been hurt.

He and Kain used to know everything about each other. They were two peas in a pod growing up—inseparable, synced, always on the same page. When they started college, they'd gone on missions together constantly.

But over time…

Kain went on fewer missions with him.

Then fewer still.

Then almost none at all.

Yet Kain was going on missions—Bridge wasn't stupid. He noticed the disappearances. Days gone. Weeks gone. Months gone.

So if Kain wasn't taking him…

"...I'm too weak," Bridge had thought.

Not strong enough to stand beside him. Not useful enough to be part of whatever he was building. Not someone Kain could rely on in the shadows where he worked.

That pain lingered for days.

And it was that pain that had pushed Bridge into making a decision that made zero sense to anyone except himself:

If he wasn't strong enough…

He'd force himself to become strong enough.

If iron needed to be hammered to be shaped, then he'd let himself get hammered. Literally.

The underground matches had seemed like the perfect crucible.

And to his shock… it worked.

Getting beaten half to death? Good for him. Who knew.

The worse the beating, the more his body improved. His regeneration had jumped to levels he hadn't thought possible, making this borderline-suicidal training method actually survivable.

That was just the start.

On missions, he noticed that wild beasts attacked him less. Some followed him. Others listened to him—actually listened—even ones too low in intelligence to normally understand human speech.

He remembered a white-grade mouse spiritual creature that had become his lookout partner while tracking some bandits for three hours. Three hours. For a mouse, that was practically a committed friendship.

At first he'd thought it was coincidence.

It wasn't.

It was his Gift.

Affinity with creatures. Resonance. The ability to form bonds so deep that he could manifest aspects of their physical forms into his own body once their emotional bonds were close enough.

The problem?

The threshold for "close enough" was insane.

So far, only his own contracted beasts qualified.

…Well, that, and the Vespid Guards.

But that one had been accidental.

When Kain was home, Bridge sometimes borrowed them for tasks or short missions—and, surprisingly, the wasps actually liked him and were willing to do so.

They usually didn't like to leave Queen for long, even if they knew other guards would still remain to protect her, but Bridge's presence seemed to give a good impression, calming their instincts. Enough that they tolerated brief separations.

And over time, a bond had formed.

A real one.

Enough that he could manifest a partial transformation.

Tonight had been the proof.

He'd pulled it off under pressure, during a fight he couldn't afford to lose—the first time he'd manifested the wasp wings while in wolf form. And not slowly, not in the usual gruelling minutes-long shift that made him feel like his bones were rearranging themselves with a wrench.

Instantly.

He'd done it instantly.

That was…

He allowed himself a shaky smile.

That was actually pretty cool.

Bridge slumped sideways until his back hit the wall. He dragged his legs out, stretching them in front of him like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

His heart rate finally slowed.

His breathing steadied.

The bruises across his ribs began to fade, the regeneration kicking in harder now that he wasn't forcing himself to stay upright.

He could already feel the faint humming inside him—the echo of that battle, the "hammering" effect his body responded to. The familiar burning ache that meant he'd get up tomorrow a little stronger.

He exhaled through his nose.

"…Kain…" he muttered softly, his blurry eyes refocused.

He pushed one arm up, braced it against the wall, and forced himself to stand. Pain flared, but it was a manageable kind—one he was becoming familiar with.

"This isn't enough yet," he said quietly, determination settling over him like armor. "I'm not close. Not close at all."

Not strong enough.

Not reliable enough.

Not someone Kain could lean on the way he used to.

Not yet.

But he would be.

Even if he had to crawl out of every match half-dead.

Even if he had to keep fighting until he could barely lift his own arms.

He would be.

Bridge rolled his shoulders, wincing at the crack of half-healed bone shifting into place.

"…Let the hammering begin again tomorrow," he muttered.

Because iron didn't get strong without a severe beating.

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