[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]

[@Yukitamas] [@floodtalon] [@Phonic]

It connected. The feedback was right there.

So why, he thought as the axes sent him face-first into the mire, why, he thought as he used his freed hands to strike against that inevitability, to deny the miracle he sought to bring forth, why could he feel something wrong?

The blow had certainly been lethal, the renewed vigor of Achilles undeniable, and even an opponent possessing the qualifications for the [i]Battle Continuation[/i] Skill at the same rank as his own would not be able to escape death. If the miracle he sought was to strike at his heel, if the miracle he sought was to hit the weak-point of Achilles, he would die for it while Achilles did his all to deny him in turn.

That much should be doable. The momentum imparted by the axes, unable to harm him but able to move him, twisted him slightly downward, and he just needed to follow through without resisting. If the entirety of the mire was concentrated below, then he’d just have to — 

Punch.

And punch, and punch, and punch.

Darius’ skeletons, combined, might be able to exert enough power, but they were still far from quick enough to outpace the combat speed of the fastest, and the state of their master would not help matters. Perhaps if he had tried something else, such as holding him down, the ‘miracle’ that was striking Achilles’ heel might have been within reach, but as it was. . .

So strike, and keep at it. That is what mattered, in the end. Even a blow to any other place was fine. Create an opening, a soil you can land on, and then back away from this last-ditch attempt.

And yet, and yet. . .

At that instant, he also understood the source of his bad feeling entirely—! 

And then, he laughed, standing in the forest floor, the enemies receding as the monstrosity weaved forth by Darius and his army of undying soldiers sprung forth, realizing his enemy possessed the kind of miracle to overturn that death.

He was a hero, after all. Since when were there any certainties in a battle between such existences?

He guessed that even losers had pride to them.

“Ah, what an interesting situation.”

Achilles was fundamentally a hero who fought other heroes. The loss of his spear had, in a sense, constrained his overall fighting power, but that single truth had not changed, and he would freely admit that this sort of thing laid outside of his realm of expertise. He had killed men of varying sizes over the years, but this was new.

But not unwelcome. To begin with, he had said he needed to forge something more brilliant than his last legend, no? Then this would be a good place to start. Reviewing the options he had in mind — 

. . .Yes, there was a way to ‘decisively crush this battle’, but he also had to think on the responsibilities he had as a Servant. Using it right now would be much too reckless considering the circumstances.

Besides, it wouldn’t be much fun.

“Very well, Darius III. May the Olympians bless our future battle with glory and honor.”

Ah, he had addressed him by his name. He had acknowledged this to be a proper battle to the death between two heroes. Just as Achilles had struck with all that he was, just as he had promised himself that each and every strike would carry that weight from now onwards, his enemy had answered in kind.

Being recalled was disappointing, but not unexpected. Considering the circumstances, he would also admit that it was far from an ideal battleground, and testing his Master further might not prove wise. He was one that naturally sought to prevail in flashy manners, but all the same, he had sworn loyalty and accepted the trust of that girl.

So, begrudgingly, he would acquiesce to her request.

“Alright, alright I’ll be—!” 

The hair on the back of his neck stood up. His eyes darted toward the church in the distance and the explosions therein.

There he was, that ‘Archer’ from the previous day. This was his intent, then?

. . .But, the Archer that called upon lightning had fallen to a misunderstanding once again.

To begin with, Servants were ‘sprinters’. In terms of close-quarters combat and reactions, they were all monsters in their own right even when compared to creatures such as the Phantasmal Species, even if they could not maintain that speed for long periods or use it in normal movement.

Achilles overtly defied this rule — the Noble Phantasm that granted him divine speed akin to teleportation, the Noble Phantasm that cemented his legs as ‘the swiftest of mankind’ and made his speed unmatched in such regard.

But, at the same time, the speed he wielded in his arms and the sharp reflexes he boasted of were no less monstrous. Whether in combat or in a race, Achilles was the ‘fastest hero’, and even if the former was a closer thing, he still stood at the top of a category populated by monsters.

The speed of a projectile must be much greater that of its target, this is well-known. Furthermore, it must also be strong enough to harm its target. Such things are basic principles.

Because if it were not enough, a difference in speed between two objects can be overcome if one of them needs to move [i]substantially less distance[/i].

Achilles did not dodge. Rather, all he did in response to the bolt of lighting aimed at his head was lift his arm, and carelessly let the gauntlet act as an impenetrable wall for the shots. Archer had done nothing to properly box him in or cut off his options, and now he would be entertained by Darius III, who, it seemed, had completely forgotten about their fight.

Well, he felt better about leaving now. If nothing else, the mood was ruined.

“Ah, well. . .”

He wondered what his Master would say about a new spear.

And thus, he disappeared, using his divine speed not to dodge — but to make it home before curfew.