Avery thought he was being clever. As his feet carried him closer on the precarious path towards the orc, he had a plan in mind. The bridge lurched and tilted more, but he was more sure of his footing now. He almost stumbled, but with his fingertips on the still-taught rope, his wing behind him acting as a balance, he managed to stay the course without plummeting to the fiery pit below. His still-nameless opponent brought forward a shield and came to meet him, and just as the distance between them closed, Avery leapt. As his feet left the planking, wood giving way and rocking as he left it, he wondered if it was just him or did it feel like it had too much give? He held his hands out before him, and as they met the orc's shield, using it to catapult upwards, he cast the illusion. A burst of light and stars erupted where his body had been, his form disappearing in the cloud of sparkling dust that seemed to spread and dissipate before Orun.

His brilliant plan had been to use the light show to mask his somersault over the larger warrior. He would land behind him in style and grace and then strike out at the spine of the beast, using his steel-lined claws to do as much damage as possible. And yet, he was over Orun, having jumped and spun, but something wasn't right. He did not land on solid board. He did not really land at all. As he came down, he saw that the bridge was falling away, swinging down from the side whence he came. All that he could do was to reach out for slack roping or loose timber and hope that this was not the end of him.

As his palms and fingers, sweaty from the heat and nerves, grabbed at the rope, he slid. The bridge was still falling, in a fast arc towards the far wall of the chasm. His grip slipped on the braiding, pain exploding through his skin as the rough threads ripped into his palms. He screamed, the sound nothing like the manly roar of vigor that he might have thought befitting a king. It was more of the yelp of a puppy. In the moment he was grateful he hadn't brought his shield to this fight, but questioning if it had been wise to bring Crispen.

He knew the other man didn't truly care for him as much as he cared for his own agenda. The lack of love was something the incubus king found almost comforting. They both shared a burning desire to achieve their own ends, a passion that ignited something angry and violent in them. Avery understood why Cris had cut the rope of the bridge, because the end was so much more than the means. The savage practicality almost made Avery want to leave the arena and take the Akashiman to bed right then and there. However, there were more important things to do, such as keep a tight hold on the rope, his feet wedged as best he could between slats of the bridge, and brace himself for the impending impact on the rocky side of the cliff.