[center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/271031448755109888/452429537993818112/AchBanner.png[/img] [h2]’Lancer Prime’[/h2] [h2]Church Outskirts, Site of the Spear, Shinto[/h2][/center] The loss of treasures, the loss of a dear comrade, the rage and grief following it. Yes, as Achilles tore a path toward his foe, there were no doubts that his legend was being re-enacted once again. No matter the difference in visage, no matter the order, this was certainly how the hero Achilles would set in his self-destructive course. Full of anger, misery and regrets. Once more, sing, o’ muse, of the rage of Achilles. [i]“You dolt, you’re doing it again.” A half forgotten dream. “Do you really think he’d have wanted to see you like this you moron? Do you think he would follow someone as pathetic as you look right now?” A brawl on the sand, the night following the loss of his best friend. He had won, of course. Even if they had both been trained by the greatest teacher of all, he had been both a natural prodigy and in possession of an immortal body. But no matter how much he beat the man in front of him down. . . He just refused to stay that way. He just refused to leave him to those regrets. “The hero Achilles was admired because he was the brightest star, he was envied because of the dazzling radiance that surpassed even others. Seeing you like this would only make him spit on your face and regret he ever called you ‘boss’.” The words. . .they had not reached him then. But much later, in the moment of his death, the memory struck him in the same way it had now. Ah. So that was another moment burned in his soul.[/i] He had lost a friend. He had lost a precious gift. But, in that hand of his he clutched— [i]“I’ll leave the heavy lifting to you.” “Do your best.” “You can do it.”[/i] Trust. He could not disappoint. After all, he had already made so many promises and so many boasts. . . What kind of hero would he be if he went back on them now? His duty was to wonderfully grasp victory, leaving no room for doubts. All she had to do was look at his back and display the suitable amount of awe before his full-powered sprint. The hero Achilles lived the life of a comet. Even if it would be difficult, even if he lost things, even if his regrets caught up to him — all that was required of him was to [i]run forward with a smile and shine brighter than any other.[/i] [i]The loss, the rage, then the grief. And then, death. That is how it goes, that is how the chains holding you are made.[/i] And what are those chains then? [i]The legend you forged with your own hands.[/i] The legend as the great sprinter. The legend as the hero of the rushed life. The legend of a hero who fell to despair. If those are the chains holding him, then it means. . . “It means I just have to snap them, right?” Heroes are slaves to their own stories. Heroes can only repeat their legends time and again. And who decided that? To begin with, a legend that ended in grief and falling to something like being shot through the heel was plenty ridiculous, wasn’t it? So here and now — he’d break that and forge a new one, more brilliant than the last. If the hero Achilles was so deeply intertwined with his great losses that they would follow him, that only meant he would have to surpass that karma and hold on to what he had all the more. If the Berserker before him had a figure he so earnestly wished to surpass, if he had an invincible wall stretching out before him he would nonetheless challenge, then. . . [i]How could Achilles be any less?[/i] No, rather, he had to be even more. Burn more brilliantly than anyone else, and keep going no matter what. Because the wall Achilles wanted to surpass— To surpass ‘that man’, surpassing your own legend was just the entry point—! A phantom sensation, his shoulder being squeezed, and a voice so damningly familiar. It had to have been his imagination, but just for a single instant. . . [i]”Then go. Show me that new legend of yours.”[/i] As thunder roared above. . . It would not do. Even if his charge was not something that could be fully stopped, if they were able to delay him for long enough, against an enemy like this, in a situation like this, it would all come down to the following moments. That is why he would have to change strategies. At that single instant, when the skeleton fell, he flew forward, slamming feet-first against the wall that protected Darius without a single care. As expected, it held. But all the same. . . “Sometimes, the shortest path is a straight line. But, a friend of mine once said that didn’t have to be the case, you know?.” He hadn’t. Not quite, back then. To him and his divine speed, certainly the shortest path was a straight run. He had lived his life trampling down whatever walls were in his way, walking his own road so far ahead of everyone else. But maybe some walls you didn’t have to break down. Maybe some walls you just had to— “—Circle. Berserker, I learned something from this. In this climb I’m going to make—thank you for being my first stepping stone.” And so, with the strength in those legs, with newfound determination, Achilles employed his divine speed not to absolutely crush the obstacle in his way, but to surpass it. After all, the greatest mistake that had been made here was that, while that wall and that soil would be able to buy an extra instant, nobody said that dealing with them was mandatory. With the same legs that were hailed as the absolute fastest, he traveled [i]around[/i] the obstacle course placed by Berserker to impede his path, using that divine speed to take advantage of the staggering of the skeletons in order to make his way to the side, and then behind Berserker and his army of the damned. His face had broken into a gleeful smile. “Hey, Berserker, right now—” And then, with that same speed, right in front of Darius—! “—You’re wide open!” It was a simple punch, aimed right at his torso. Of course, that was all he could do at this moment. After all, no matter what realizations he had, his spear’s loss was no less painful, nor had he magically gotten it back. But at the same time— What he had crammed into that blow was more than just strength. It was more than just power. It was not something he could have been taught. It was based on how he had lived his life. It was based on the memories he had crammed, and the ‘truth’ he had reached following this path with his head held high. It was a blow that exemplified the hero Achilles, delivered with the same hand that held the message of a particularly troublesome little miss. And in that moment. . . It was a radiance that equaled—no, a radiance that [i]surpassed[/i] even a Noble Phantasm. [@Yukitamas]