[ As much as he knows not to enjoy fighting for the sake of fighting, the rush of adrenaline and the hum of his own blood in his ears is a welcome change of pace; not because "kill or be killed" is his motto, but because he has genuine appreciation for someone with craft, someone with principle. His sincerity is his downfall, really— Diarmuid of the Shining Face, steadfast and trusting to a fault— and it's perhaps because he approaches these battles with all due seriousness that he contributes to his own demise.
Not today, though. Today, he doesn't intend to have those swords pierce his heart, no matter how much respect he may or may not have for his enemy. His lances flick through the air like bullets, heavy weapons handled as if they're weightless, but he's careful— he has a feeling that the other Servant still has something up his sleeve. ]
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Not today, though. Today, he doesn't intend to have those swords pierce his heart, no matter how much respect he may or may not have for his enemy. His lances flick through the air like bullets, heavy weapons handled as if they're weightless, but he's careful— he has a feeling that the other Servant still has something up his sleeve. ]