[ Pin him, is his instinct. Pin him, pin him down.
The enemy sword arcs up and barely misses, but not because Lancer only nearly dodged— his intention is to stay as close as possible, and he takes the gamble of the hair's-breadth guard to keep himself inches away from his opponent.
He feels the whistle of iron millimeters from his face, feels the debris around him hit his skin like harsh rain, but stands his ground to drive his lance forward: even if he doesn't manage a killshot, he'll try to at least pin some part of this guy to the ground. ]
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The enemy sword arcs up and barely misses, but not because Lancer only nearly dodged— his intention is to stay as close as possible, and he takes the gamble of the hair's-breadth guard to keep himself inches away from his opponent.
He feels the whistle of iron millimeters from his face, feels the debris around him hit his skin like harsh rain, but stands his ground to drive his lance forward: even if he doesn't manage a killshot, he'll try to at least pin some part of this guy to the ground. ]