Cera is grateful for the length of the spear, watching Are shift his center of balance lower to bridge their height difference. He can't magically grow taller, so he forces the giant of a man to his level with the jabbing reach of his spear. Equality.
His opponent chooses to use his superior strength instead of startling away from Cera's attack, the shield catching the blunted tip harder than anticipated. Impact reverberates up his arms, but Cera holds firm, broad shoulders braced. The tip sinks down beneath the force of the block, but he knows he can't overpower the directional force and moves with the momentum. A thud of impact and a cloud of dirt emanates as the tip hits the ground. It nearly distracts him from Are striking behind the shield, instinct jolting him straight back in a swift hop to avoid the reach of the shorter weapon.
Unlike Are, Cera is no mountain, and though he's light on his feet the axe whistles forth and catches his shirt. The fabric rips readily, flimsy as it is, and a shallow scratch sears across his abdomen. It's so close to the gnarled scar that had nearly killed him, and his reaction is more trauma-induced survival instinct than skill.
Cera uses the advantage of both hands still being braced on the spear, still pointed towards the ground. With a quick twist of his palms he spins the head under, blunt end swinging forth as he aims to strike Are's forearm in a downward blow. If he's fast enough the arc of his swing from the axe will keep it in range, otherwise the length of the spear will hopefully smash down upon the edge of the shield and force it to lower. Anything to keep that weapon from his chest, no matter their agreed upon rules.
Attack: 2/4
