"My turn," Lancer declared with a curt nod.
He swept Ragnar's legs out from under him with the spear's butt before lunging for the head with the tip. A brilliant two-strike manoeuvre, sharp and fluid, his spearwork like a sparkling stream. The deceptively light movement of the massive spear belied its deadly potential. Ragnar barely managed to block it with his axe before rolling away to create distance.
He rose, keeping his centre of gravity low, a dull ache throbbing in his axe-wielding arm. He hadn't felt it during the clash in the air or the subsequent fourteen clashes. Was Lancer's weight, turned to offence, really that oppressive?

Fate/Lost Einherjar, Chapter 1