Bruce as it be, shakes his head at the sight of the bridge, an often overseen part of his lackluster life. Seen yet ignored for too long, he sighs ever the more to his men.
"Let the bridge be cleared, from this day forward... Marshall be damned, these choices are not ones of a sane man"
The lumbering man would wave to his men, ordering the end of the act, be it now or the future. He'd watch as the men dragged the shattered bits and pieces towards the city, as a pyre would be planned.
"And fire shall cleanse the land, though soul never so..."
He mutters to himself, his devout gaze never wavering