At the Kumpania:

As the garou charge down the Moonbridge, the land of the Kumpania comes into view.  A few feet away there was another Moonbridge, silver light that heads south west.  The Silver Fang Victor stands there smirking at the kinfolk of the kumpania, jauntily waving to the garou running down bridge.  With an insufferable smirk, he turns to the second bridge, reaching to grab a small shining show when he is struck, run over by a a Silver-white furred, red armor wearing crinos from.  Strength of the Ancestors plows into him, grabbing the athro and using his massive strength to bulldoze Victor out to the edge of the camp.  Micky’ voice floats up the Moonbridge. "Ooooh you f-cking DICKHEAD SON OF A COKE HEADED BITCH!!!!" She shouts at Victor, before starting to bolt for the camp "KICK HIS ASS STRENGTH!"

While the garou run from one bridge to the other, and the Kin face their own battle, the two Silver Fangs face off against each other, Victors shifting up into his Crinois form.  “There you are you fucking mule.  I was wondering if you would be brave enough stand before me.”  Strength just stands there, his hands dropping to his massive blade.  “Stand aside, Mule, and you get to live.  You can come serve my sept.  Stay here and I will kill you, spreading your name with the rest of these wyrm addled fools. You just be remembered at Kinslayer-ikthya.”

Strength remains focused and calm, saying nothing to answer the taunts of Victor, except this.  “My alpha placed me here, Lord Buzzard has made me strong.  Come and let us end this.”  He draws his blade, the one he has shunned for almost two months and it springs to life with a silver flame.  Victor laughs and drawn his klaive and nods. His action drawing attention to a fang dagger on his hip, drawing a growl from the Metis.

“Oh, this?  Yes, I took it as a spoil of war,” Victor taunts the other Ahroun.  “Some kin had it.  I left her, broken and bleeding.  I don’t think she’ll need it anymore.”  The Metis trembles, his rage battling to be free, but the warrior knows that is death for him.  He shifts his stance, taking a very distinct stand and Victor’s eyes go wide.  “Who taught you Klaivascar, you stupid mule?”

“Lord Buzzard,” is his simple answer.  The Athro growls, a dark cloud pouring out of the Klaive and into the Ahroun.  When he speaks again, Victor’s voice is noticeably different.   “You lie, you foul little abomination.  The Lord would never!”  The Klaive starts to burn.  “Let us put an end to this farce.  I’ll kill you, then we’ll smash the wallow, and return to put the rest of these stupid kin to the blade!”

“All you have to do, is kill me.”  Strength growls.  “You cannot do that.  My mate is dead by your hand.  You will not leave this place.”

The warriors nod to each other and suddenly the battle is joined.  Victor moves to end it quickly, clearly a master at his form, the silver blade licking out to seek the Metis’ heart.  It’s only by the minute flicker of his ears that someone might see the sudden fear in him.

Strength’s blade moves in counter, an oh so subtle shift just before the klaive strikes him, skittering along his armor flashing against a silver light and not biting deep enough to kill.  Blood flows freely, even as the nodachi slides down its blade, striking the pommel and holding for just a moment before it slices through the weaker metal.  The Klaive is powerful and well made, but the steel of Strength’s blade has created in the same manner, and in the end, steel is stronger than silver.  Victor howls as his fingers sheer away with the pommel, the blade spins into the air.  “DIE!” the metis howls out, but instead of striking the other Silver Fang his strikes the twirling blade, cleaving it in two.

Victor screams as the black cloud is sucked out of him, the shrouded figure glaring at the Metis.  “I was the Dragon Slayer!  The mightest of the Kings!”  More darkness surrounds it, and other skeletal figures grab at him, dragging the spirit away to its doom.  At Strength’s feet, Victor sobs in relief.  “Forgive me, warrior.  I have done so much evil, allowed my dreams of power to cloud my mind.”  He holds up his ruined hand.  “I’ll never carry a blade again, and my shame is complete.  Give me some honor.”

The Metis nods, and steps to the side, flicking one of the broken shards of silver at him.  “I will be your second.”  He takes up his stance, and Victor nods, laughing at the irony of this stupid moment.  “I name you Athro before the nation, Strength of the Ancestors-yuf.  Be what I could not.”  With the, he plunges the silver shard into his eye.  A whistling strike from the still intact sword and it’s over, Silver Fang blood on the ground.  The Metis reaches down and takes back the fang dagger he gave his mate.  The first gift he gave to her.  Slipping it on his belt, he stands up.  Behind the the roar of fire can be heard followed by the screams of the dying.  Naze’s voice cuts through the confusion.  "Strength of the Ancestors! No is not the time for contemplation We are still beset! Walking Sun needs a warrior of your caliber! Aid them! We will hold here!"