[center][h1] Lancer - Percival Lily - Outskirts of the burning Foreigner District/Miyama[/h1][/center]		

Those blows from that great hero were indeed the destroyer of mountains, the conquerer of monsters and the diverter of rivers. Yet Percival stood against them. Waving between the blows, restoring the ground carved into trenches and craters by Ruler's blows so as to give himself a path to advance that he would not expect. Parrying and redirecting strikes with his wooden spear that groaned in protest even with its status as a Noble Phantasm.

Every inch granted was gained with the most effort Lancer had put out in his life. Blow after blow weared down at him. His hands were numb from the god-strength that threatened to tear the spear away from him. Blood dripped from his limbs, near-hits and scratching blows shredding his skin. He had taken blows that were reduced in impact from his own counter blows or parries, he had dodged many blows but he was still being worn down by the great hero who he had yet to even strike.

But then came the chance. Strike, strike, strike! With a roar Percival threw his spear into the chest of Hercules… which simply bounced off his body. Yes, indeed, that cursed body was the embodiment of human indomitability. The curse that represented the conquering of those twelve labors that could stand against all but the greatest of things.

Unfortunately his spear was just a spear, a stick in comparison to the legends of the great hero.

ᚄ  SAIL, he thought to himself. It was no magic of his own, but instead of his master. But it would be enough in this case.

Just because he could not hurt Ruler with his Noble Phantasm didn’t mean he had the liberty to just give up. The spear came to life, arresting its momentum and flying back to strike at Ruler’s ax. It could not contest his strength without the power of Percival behind it, but it would give him a small opening.

Roaring out, Percival stepped in from below twisting his torso to the right. His hands clenched into fists tight enough that his fingers were whitening, and putting all that he had left he sent a blow towards the chest.

This would be the end, one way or another. This was a battle he could not win… but… He had his reasons to stand his ground. He had to try, he had to succeed, if not win.