Descriptions of fight scenes

[Nikos]

Hello everyone,
I really hope this is the right threat for this because it's sort of a specific question(sorry if there is a more appropriate one but I did not notice):
Does anyone have any advice that they feel will be extra helpful regarding the descriptions of fight scenes? I have studied martial arts for nearly a decade now, and I like to pay extra attention to those scenes. Sometimes I like paying homage to some of my favorites (e.g. electrified truncheons clashing and releasing sparks in honor of lightsaber fighting). What I fear most is making it overbearing with details about side steps, sleeping beneath hits etc. Has anyone had similar issues? Have you found any formula so to speak, to keep in mind while writing those scenes?

 

[thatoneguywho-]

havent written a fight scene just yet, but the way I'm doing it is I am imagining what the fight would look like by developing it in my head. this will make sure that you know exactly what will be in the fight.

 

[CupofJoe]

For me, a blow-by-blow or move-by-move description would bore me to tears. I think a more abstract approach, describing the sensation and impressions of movement would work better. Then may be add in some colourful details, like sparks from a blade, the scream of the wounded or the sweat making holding a gun/sword more difficult. I've only seen the blow by blow done well once [and if I remember correctly], when a seasoned and trained swordsman killed someone by recognising the katana[?] that was being used against him and planned the counter blow that he knew would kill.

 

[Devor]

The standard advice for a fight scene is to skimp on the blow-by-blow details and to focus on what the character is thinking and feeling as it happens.

I don't like that advice. To me, it's another example of, "It's hard to do right so don't do it." A lot of the standard writing advice boils down to that sentence. And I think that does a disservice to the craft.

You can do better by using the internalization to as a break in the play by play.

Short sentences. Push your verbs to the front. Match that breakneck rhythm of the action, where you hew and lunge and thrust, dodge and weave, dancing in the chaos without time to think, reacting before you know what you're even doing.

Then stop. Something's happened, the heart races, your mind is catching up. There's blood now. Our prose has more than verbs as time has stopped for us. But the heart and mind are still racing. What the hell happened?

For just a moment we're back to our normal narrative, we zoom out a little so the reader can process what's happened, a quick sequel cutting into the middle of the scene. The character takes in the scene and what it means, perhaps what it reminds them of, and what they have to do next. The action is still happening, but it's in slow motion, an arrow darting by, a voice yelling in the distance, just enough to remind the reader that there's more to the scene, just as the character resolves on the next course of action.

And a dodge. We're back to choppy, verb-heavy sentences, pushing our way through the next cycle of the scene. Action is ours.. Readers will keep interest. It can be done.

 

[ThinkerX]

Keep the sentences short and the descriptions to a minimum. No exposition, no reflections, just movement and pain.

 

[pmmg]

Truth is, the blow by blow seldom matters. What matter more is the outcome, and what did it show about the characters.

There are many ways to write a battle...you could write from the perspective of a combatant in the battle, and follow the suggestions of Thinker and Devor above. You could also write it as if we were a bird overhead and try to show how the battle unfolded and why such and such happened the way it did.

The one thing I would add is that the battle needs clarity. Its easy to get lost in pronouns and he hit him with a sword and have the reader go...who hit who? At the end, you need to make sure that what you mean to say is conveyed in the prose.

Battle usually take up a lot of space too. To show the blow by blow can go on for pages, so I recommend settling it fast. Just a few blows until one is defeated and the other is gloating over.

 

[Nikos]

The standard advice for a fight scene is to skimp on the blow-by-blow details and to focus on what the character is thinking and feeling as it happens.

I don't like that advice. To me, it's another example of, "It's hard to do right so don't do it." A lot of the standard writing advice boils down to that sentence. And I think that does a disservice to the craft.

You can do better by using the internalization to as a break in the play by play.

Short sentences. Push your verbs to the front. Match that breakneck rhythm of the action, where you hew and lunge and thrust, dodge and weave, dancing in the chaos without time to think, reacting before you know what you're even doing.

Then stop. Something's happened, the heart races, your mind is catching up. There's blood now. Our prose has more than verbs as time has stopped for us. But the heart and mind are still racing. What the hell happened?

For just a moment we're back to our normal narrative, we zoom out a little so the reader can process what's happened, a quick sequel cutting into the middle of the scene. The character takes in the scene and what it means, perhaps what it reminds them of, and what they have to do next. The action is still happening, but it's in slow motion, an arrow darting by, a voice yelling in the distance, just enough to remind the reader that there's more to the scene, just as the character resolves on the next course of action.

And a dodge. We're back to choppy, verb-heavy sentences, pushing our way through the next cycle of the scene. Action is ours.. Readers will keep interest. It can be done.

You must come and cook for me again sometime! I usually write my fight scenes with enough descriptions and in a more technical way, probably due to all the time that I've spent studying fighting. And that worked fine up to this point because most of my characters that had been fighting were already experienced fighters. In my second book there is a scene where one of the main characters that has not yet experienced through combat with their lives on the line will be forced to fight for his life. That scene made me really anxious because I don't want it to seem shallow or sloppy. But as I was reading your example it began taking shape in my mind. Thank you so much!

 

[Nikos]

Hello everyone,
I really hope this is the right threat for this because it's sort of a specific question(sorry if there is a more appropriate one but I did not notice):
Does anyone have any advice that they feel will be extra helpful regarding the descriptions of fight scenes? I have studied martial arts for nearly a decade now, and I like to pay extra attention to those scenes. Sometimes I like paying homage to some of my favorites (e.g. electrified truncheons clashing and releasing sparks in honor of lightsaber fighting). What I fear most is making it overbearing with details about side steps, sleeping beneath hits etc. Has anyone had similar issues? Have you found any formula so to speak, to keep in mind while writing those scenes?

Thank you all for your responses. I am usually somewhere between making it too detailed like the fights of one of my favorite childhood heroes Drizzt do Urden Sorry for the spelling I have only ever seen it written in the Greek translations. But when I came back to it a few months ago I realized that it's not exactly what I want from my own books. Something about the repetitiveness of the details in every fight made it less fun for me now. So all your different points of view helped, thank you all. I will definitely have to adjust and develop my own style, but every little bit helps!

 

[Prince of Spires]

You need a bit of blow by blow. After all, the fight is about hitting the other guy, so you have to tell us the other guy is getting hit.

How much blow by blow to give is a matter of taste, personal preference, and target audience. Often it's a case of less is more. Think of a Jackie Chan movie. That can have a 10 minute fight scene of Jackie Chan running through a city, punching people in a funny way or getting punched in a funny way. That doesn't really make for great reading. There are only so many ways you can say he punched him in the face and keep it interesting.

However, you mention that you studied martial arts. If you let that knowledge bleed through in the writing, then there is an audience for that. Now, most readers won't care that you can describe how to wield a longsword in exact detail, and that you know the difference between Liechtenauer's and Fiore's types of swordfighting and can have a character abuse that difference and win the fight. However, some people out there will know. And many readers will appreciate the knowledge you can put into your writing. Though they can also tell the difference between a true master and someone who's just pretending.

So if you have the knowledge, put it into your fight scenes.

The other thing is that all the stuff around the punching is usually more important than the actual punching itself. How does the character feel during the fight? Why does he make certain decisions? These are all great moments to show characterization and character growth. Show us that, even more that just the punching part.

 

[Nikos]

You need a bit of blow by blow. After all, the fight is about hitting the other guy, so you have to tell us the other guy is getting hit.

How much blow by blow to give is a matter of taste, personal preference, and target audience. Often it's a case of less is more. Think of a Jackie Chan movie. That can have a 10 minute fight scene of Jackie Chan running through a city, punching people in a funny way or getting punched in a funny way. That doesn't really make for great reading. There are only so many ways you can say he punched him in the face and keep it interesting.

However, you mention that you studied martial arts. If you let that knowledge bleed through in the writing, then there is an audience for that. Now, most readers won't care that you can describe how to wield a longsword in exact detail, and that you know the difference between Liechtenauer's and Fiore's types of swordfighting and can have a character abuse that difference and win the fight. However, some people out there will know. And many readers will appreciate the knowledge you can put into your writing. Though they can also tell the difference between a true master and someone who's just pretending.

So if you have the knowledge, put it into your fight scenes.

The other thing is that all the stuff around the punching is usually more important than the actual punching itself. How does the character feel during the fight? Why does he make certain decisions? These are all great moments to show characterization and character growth. Show us that, even more that just the punching part.

Thank you, I appreciate that. I'm more of a hand-to-hand combat person and not the sword fighting kind of guy (not for lack of trying, I simply have not found an instructor yet in my very very small town in Greece) though I understand what you mean about pretending. I will definitely keep all that in mind. Thanks again!

 

[Devor]

Though they can also tell the difference between a true master and someone who's just pretending.

I follow some sword guys on TikTok, Sellsword Arts, and they talk about swordfight techniques you see in film and anime. Their favorites are either the extremely realistic ones like Princess Bride or the really cool fantasy ones like you see in Demon Slayer the anime. They hate the normal ones that act like they're real but aren't - the ones with sloppy techniques that are filmed slower and sped up to look good. I'm not sure how that translates to a book though.

 

[minta]

Sanderson goes into how to write good fight scenes on YouTube. I’d recommend checking it out.

 

[A. E. Lowan]

I like to tell people that violence and sex are two sides of the same coin, and it isn't bs. They use the same sort of sensual intensity, of bringing all the senses into play, and the same sort of language. Plus, you can pack in story and character growth in with the choreography of the fight.

I'm throwing in one of our fight scenes as example of all of this. Pay attention to the language used, how it shifts and flows between the description and the action, and how it tries hard to get in all the senses. Fights are visceral.

This is hella long, but I think it reads fast. Enjoy!

~~~

The two knights circled each other, their minds set on murder, and the fighting around them slowed to a standstill as Zephan’s soldiers stopped the massacre to watch their champion kill the half-breed prince at last.

It was a fight centuries in the making. Bloodied soldiers jeered and elbowed each other, growing jocular, making bets among themselves on how long Etienne could hold out against their champion. None wagered on his survival.

Fuck all of them.

The healers watched with far less of a festival mood. Etienne could feel the weight of responsibility for them pushing at him just as their gaze and their hope and their fear did. If he fell, the healers would be next, and if they got through Ásta and Aodhán there would be no one to stop it. Etienne saw frightened faces as he circled around and knew he had to save them.

This wasn’t just about killing Zephan anymore. This was about saving his family.

Aodhán and Ásta stood stoic over Cian and Winter who, despite the Seelie forces in their midst waiting to cut them down, were kneeling over Colm’s still form, doing their duty. Etienne felt a surge of pride in them but stifled it for the moment. He forced his focus to narrow down to only the piece of shit in front of him.

Zephan, the King’s Vengeance.

Zephan, the Pitiless.

Zephan, the sidhe who had tortured him, carving spells over and over into his flesh until he sobbed and begged even as Zephan laughed. Until he vomited from pain and fever and was left for dead.

The sidhe who would slaughter his loved ones.

Etienne gripped Regal firmly, shifting it from side to side to keep his wrist limber and to watch the champion’s reaction. He wished desperately that he still had Agmundr. The named revolver’s last bullet weighed heavy against his chest. He had served Ráthulfr for a hundred years to earn it. Without Zephan’s cruelty, Etienne would never have gone to the dwarves. Without Zephan’s cruelty, and Etienne was sure Sigmundr and Sindri’s murders were Zephan’s doing, Ráthulfr would never have asked for Etienne’s help. Without Zephan’s cruelty, no one would have died today.

It all came back to this one man, and Etienne was determined that it would end right here.

Right now.

Zephan kept his visor up as he circled, the better to taunt Etienne with his sadistic smirk. “You’re in a lather, half-breed. Which one of these sheep are you fucking? Should I rape her on your corpse?”

The soldiers catcalled and whistled, but Etienne ignored them. They were inconsequential until either he or Zephan lay still in the mud. Zephan would never allow them to kill him. He wanted that pleasure for himself.

If Etienne managed to kill Zephan, then the Seelie knights and soldiers would become an issue, but Etienne dismissed them for now. One problem at a time.

Zephan lashed out with Radiance, a vicious attack aimed at ending the fight in one blow. Etienne blocked with Regal but was forced by the strength of the swing to stagger back a few precious steps. Regal sent up sparks that hissed in the mud and the soldiers cheered.

Etienne stiffened just a little, and then made his shoulders relax. He needed to ignore them. To keep focused on killing their champion. He reached back to hundreds of years of shutting out the taunts and jeers of Seelie assholes and his mind quieted. They didn’t matter.

Only killing Zephan did.

For his family.

For himself.

This time Etienne struck out, a brutal swing that Zephan caught but made Radiance sing out in what sounded almost like pain and shake with such force that Zephan’s whole arm shivered. The smirk vanished from his face and was replaced with a snarl as the seasoned knight forced his arm back under his control and brought his shining sword to bear in an arc designed to take Etienne’s head.

Etienne jumped back, one foot skidding an inch in the slick mud, giving up a couple more feet of space as the wind of the blade whipping by kissed his throat, and felt a trickle of blood tickle on his skin. But it was just a trickle, not a pulse, and Etienne dismissed it. Horseshoes and hand grenades.

Etienne took his bearings. He’d been backed up almost into his circle of loved ones. He was giving up too much space. He lashed out at Zephan with Regal in glowing arcs, the superheated blade shining against his sidhe steel armor, pushing the champion back step by step, earning more room to maneuver.

Zephan sneered and slashed back, and as if obeying a cue, both men surged forward, battering at each other in a flurry of attacks and counters. The soldiers laughed and cheered their champion on. The healers were eerily silent. Etienne felt the impact of each blow reverberate through his bones, and knew that, half human, he could only take so much for so long.

He had to find a way to end this fight before Zephan did.

Zephan brought Radiance down in a vicious swing, and Etienne caught it against Regal’s haft, twisting the axe and catching the blade, and with one sharp movement he jerked Zephan in close. Etienne gave the champion a feral grin, pulled one hand from the haft, and punched Zephan in his exposed face with all the force he could bring to bear. There was a satisfying crunch against the knuckles of his gauntlet and Zephan’s nose spouted blood, eyes watering.

Zephan let out a bestial growl and snapped his visor down as Etienne gripped Regal and tried to disentangle the two weapons.

Zephan pulled a slender dagger from his belt and took a stab at Etienne’s throat, aiming for the gap between his cuirass and the mail hanging from his helm.

Etienne lunged backward, wrenching Regal free, as pain flared bright enough to startle his breath from his body. The dagger lodged against his left clavicle, bouncing softly as he wheeled back.

Zephan’s laugh rang out across the healer’s camp. “You can only be lucky so many times, mongrel.”

Etienne pulled the dagger out and tossed it to the mud, letting himself bleed. He eyed Zephan’s closed helm, a thought tickling at his mind. “I only need one more time.”

Zephan laughed again, delighted, and held up a hand, gesturing Etienne forward. “Come on, then, Summer’s Get. Come see what your luck can do.”

Etienne felt his expression harden, and he shifted Regal to his left hand. He drew the Glock from its velcroed holster on the side of his tac vest.

Zephan frowned for a moment, looking at the gun, and then smirked. “That’s not Agmundr. Your little toy can’t hurt me.”

Etienne’s mouth twitched so slightly he barely felt it, and he surged forward at full sidhe speed in a vicious attack, using Regal to push Radiance far out to Zephan’s right as he stepped inside the champion’s open guard. He brought the .45 up, muzzle jammed against the tender underside of Zephan’s chin, locked his gaze, and pulled the trigger.

Even with his speed fully on him and the rest of the world slowed to a crawl, Etienne couldn’t separate the sounds of the round ricocheting about inside the bulletproof sidhe steel helm. He did see Zephan’s eyes widen for a fraction of an instant, and then one jerked to the side and the other pupil blew wide, his brain churning to skull slivers and paste. Zephan’s eyes emptied, and he dropped into the mud like so much meat.

Etienne raised Regal high and struck what was left of Zephan’s head from his shoulders and kicked it hard further into the healer’s camp. He turned to face Zephan’s shocked soldiers, Regal in one hand, his Glock in the other, breath ragged.

Let them come.

The soldiers looked to each other and at the headless body of their fallen champion, stunned. Visors were raised, as if somehow that would make what had just happened clearer.

Etienne felt movement at his sides, as Ásta and Aodhán took up positions on either side of him. More movement as Cian came to stand beside Aodhán, looking pale, and Colm—Colm!—came to join them, his severed arm in place and strapped to his chest, healing, a sword in his shield hand.

Etienne nodded, eyes on the soldiers, at least thirty in all against the five of them, and knew that it would end here. These weren’t farmers conscripted to be cannon fodder. They were trained and disciplined soldiers, some knights, and they outnumbered their small group. “Thank you. It’s been the greatest honor of my life to have known you. All of you.”

 

[JBCrowson]

You need a bit of blow by blow. After all, the fight is about hitting the other guy, so you have to tell us the other guy is getting hit.

How much blow by blow to give is a matter of taste, personal preference, and target audience. Often it's a case of less is more. Think of a Jackie Chan movie. That can have a 10 minute fight scene of Jackie Chan running through a city, punching people in a funny way or getting punched in a funny way. That doesn't really make for great reading. There are only so many ways you can say he punched him in the face and keep it interesting.

However, you mention that you studied martial arts. If you let that knowledge bleed through in the writing, then there is an audience for that. Now, most readers won't care that you can describe how to wield a longsword in exact detail, and that you know the difference between Liechtenauer's and Fiore's types of swordfighting and can have a character abuse that difference and win the fight. However, some people out there will know. And many readers will appreciate the knowledge you can put into your writing. Though they can also tell the difference between a true master and someone who's just pretending.

So if you have the knowledge, put it into your fight scenes.

The other thing is that all the stuff around the punching is usually more important than the actual punching itself. How does the character feel during the fight? Why does he make certain decisions? These are all great moments to show characterization and character growth. Show us that, even more that just the punching part.

I'd pick up on the last paragraph here especially. Usually in described fight scenes the outcome hinges on one or other protagonist winning a psychological battle either with the other fighter or themselves (or both). Once both protagonists both believe one will win, they do. The emotional consequence of the fight is, I think, what makes a fight scene work - for me at least.

I offer two short fights from a short story I wrote while developing backstory for my WIP the first sets up the shift during the second.

In the heat of afternoon Acheeta and Osello glowered at each other across the courtyard of their father's mansion, swords in their hands.
"I thank the gods for your stubbornness, little sister," said Osello rotating his wrist to loosen it. "It means I get to humiliate you yet again."
So saying, he lunged into an attack, his sword moving precisely, through long hours of practice. His mouth held in the half sneer he always used to infuriate her. Blood pounded in Acheeta's ears as she fought back red mist and her brother's dancing blade.
"Damn you brother. I promised father I wouldn't fight you while he was gone," she said parrying without moving her eyes from him.
"Don't worry, he wouldn't call that fighting," replied Osello as he forced her to retreat across the dusty courtyard.
"Enough!"
The sound of their father's voice brought both fighters to a standstill.

Acheeta glowered at her brother, hatred boiling inside her, heated by the image of Mertallus clear in her mind. Was the sword magnifying her emotions?
"No," she replied, to both the question he hadn't asked and herself.
"I'm not asking, I'm telling," he said, with the smug smile that said she ought to know he would do as he pleased.
"Come take it if you want it," she said, rolling her shoulders to loosen the muscles.
The bastard laughed at that.
"You've never been able to best me one on one," he said drawing his sword and dropping into the first position, his stance perfect.
In response she said nothing, but drew her grandfather's sword and matched him in readiness. In a blur he attacked, forcing her onto the defensive. She backed up three steps while circling left. The sword felt light in her hand, yet had the heft to block as though much heavier. Twice he feinted and lunged, only for her to read his moves almost before he made them. The second time her riposte forced him to leap backwards to avoid her drawing first blood. She pressed her advantage, combining strokes in ways she had never thought to use before. His expression changed, the confident grin replaced by a more desperate look. She was winning, and they both knew it. Satisfaction born of years of pent up anger rose in her. She drew him in then unbalanced him sending him sprawling to the dust, her sword point at his throat.
"Kill me or I'll die of shame," he said spitting dust.
The urge to run him through, to end years of his cruel disdain, was strong. More so than it ought to have been, despite his taunting. Despite even Mertallus' death. Sensing the sword was attempting to influence her she turned and walked away from him. If she yielded to it now it would always be the master, and she the weapon wielded. That was not why I did this; for Mertallus and my father I will not fail. The faint sounds of Osello him picking himself up and running at her were warning enough. Almost lazily she raised the sword behind her, neck high. His sword rang as it met her block. As she pivoted to face him she shifted her grip, rolled her wrists so that her blade slid over his. Its tip wrote a thin red line across his throat that spelled death.
She looked down at his motionless body with regret. Regret that his arrogance drove him to his destruction. Regret that he would not have wanted to resist the sword, regret that he would have been too weak had he tried. But most of all, regret that she did not mourn his loss. Even in dying you find a way to make me feel less worthy brother.

 

[Prince of Spires]

I like to tell people that violence and sex are two sides of the same coin, and it isn't bs. They use the same sort of sensual intensity, of bringing all the senses into play, and the same sort of language.

One small word of caution here. If you ask a friend to help you choreograph the thing just to make sure it's physically possible etc, then one of the two will get you stranger looks than the other...

 

[Nikos]

I like to tell people that violence and sex are two sides of the same coin, and it isn't bs. They use the same sort of sensual intensity, of bringing all the senses into play, and the same sort of language. Plus, you can pack in story and character growth in with the choreography of the fight.

I'm throwing in one of our fight scenes as example of all of this. Pay attention to the language used, how it shifts and flows between the description and the action, and how it tries hard to get in all the senses. Fights are visceral.

This is hella long, but I think it reads fast. Enjoy!

~~~

The two knights circled each other, their minds set on murder, and the fighting around them slowed to a standstill as Zephan’s soldiers stopped the massacre to watch their champion kill the half-breed prince at last.

It was a fight centuries in the making. Bloodied soldiers jeered and elbowed each other, growing jocular, making bets among themselves on how long Etienne could hold out against their champion. None wagered on his survival.

Fuck all of them.

The healers watched with far less of a festival mood. Etienne could feel the weight of responsibility for them pushing at him just as their gaze and their hope and their fear did. If he fell, the healers would be next, and if they got through Ásta and Aodhán there would be no one to stop it. Etienne saw frightened faces as he circled around and knew he had to save them.

This wasn’t just about killing Zephan anymore. This was about saving his family.

Aodhán and Ásta stood stoic over Cian and Winter who, despite the Seelie forces in their midst waiting to cut them down, were kneeling over Colm’s still form, doing their duty. Etienne felt a surge of pride in them but stifled it for the moment. He forced his focus to narrow down to only the piece of shit in front of him.

Zephan, the King’s Vengeance.

Zephan, the Pitiless.

Zephan, the sidhe who had tortured him, carving spells over and over into his flesh until he sobbed and begged even as Zephan laughed. Until he vomited from pain and fever and was left for dead.

The sidhe who would slaughter his loved ones.

Etienne gripped Regal firmly, shifting it from side to side to keep his wrist limber and to watch the champion’s reaction. He wished desperately that he still had Agmundr. The named revolver’s last bullet weighed heavy against his chest. He had served Ráthulfr for a hundred years to earn it. Without Zephan’s cruelty, Etienne would never have gone to the dwarves. Without Zephan’s cruelty, and Etienne was sure Sigmundr and Sindri’s murders were Zephan’s doing, Ráthulfr would never have asked for Etienne’s help. Without Zephan’s cruelty, no one would have died today.

It all came back to this one man, and Etienne was determined that it would end right here.

Right now.

Zephan kept his visor up as he circled, the better to taunt Etienne with his sadistic smirk. “You’re in a lather, half-breed. Which one of these sheep are you fucking? Should I rape her on your corpse?”

The soldiers catcalled and whistled, but Etienne ignored them. They were inconsequential until either he or Zephan lay still in the mud. Zephan would never allow them to kill him. He wanted that pleasure for himself.

If Etienne managed to kill Zephan, then the Seelie knights and soldiers would become an issue, but Etienne dismissed them for now. One problem at a time.

Zephan lashed out with Radiance, a vicious attack aimed at ending the fight in one blow. Etienne blocked with Regal but was forced by the strength of the swing to stagger back a few precious steps. Regal sent up sparks that hissed in the mud and the soldiers cheered.

Etienne stiffened just a little, and then made his shoulders relax. He needed to ignore them. To keep focused on killing their champion. He reached back to hundreds of years of shutting out the taunts and jeers of Seelie assholes and his mind quieted. They didn’t matter.

Only killing Zephan did.

For his family.

For himself.

This time Etienne struck out, a brutal swing that Zephan caught but made Radiance sing out in what sounded almost like pain and shake with such force that Zephan’s whole arm shivered. The smirk vanished from his face and was replaced with a snarl as the seasoned knight forced his arm back under his control and brought his shining sword to bear in an arc designed to take Etienne’s head.

Etienne jumped back, one foot skidding an inch in the slick mud, giving up a couple more feet of space as the wind of the blade whipping by kissed his throat, and felt a trickle of blood tickle on his skin. But it was just a trickle, not a pulse, and Etienne dismissed it. Horseshoes and hand grenades.

Etienne took his bearings. He’d been backed up almost into his circle of loved ones. He was giving up too much space. He lashed out at Zephan with Regal in glowing arcs, the superheated blade shining against his sidhe steel armor, pushing the champion back step by step, earning more room to maneuver.

Zephan sneered and slashed back, and as if obeying a cue, both men surged forward, battering at each other in a flurry of attacks and counters. The soldiers laughed and cheered their champion on. The healers were eerily silent. Etienne felt the impact of each blow reverberate through his bones, and knew that, half human, he could only take so much for so long.

He had to find a way to end this fight before Zephan did.

Zephan brought Radiance down in a vicious swing, and Etienne caught it against Regal’s haft, twisting the axe and catching the blade, and with one sharp movement he jerked Zephan in close. Etienne gave the champion a feral grin, pulled one hand from the haft, and punched Zephan in his exposed face with all the force he could bring to bear. There was a satisfying crunch against the knuckles of his gauntlet and Zephan’s nose spouted blood, eyes watering.

Zephan let out a bestial growl and snapped his visor down as Etienne gripped Regal and tried to disentangle the two weapons.

Zephan pulled a slender dagger from his belt and took a stab at Etienne’s throat, aiming for the gap between his cuirass and the mail hanging from his helm.

Etienne lunged backward, wrenching Regal free, as pain flared bright enough to startle his breath from his body. The dagger lodged against his left clavicle, bouncing softly as he wheeled back.

Zephan’s laugh rang out across the healer’s camp. “You can only be lucky so many times, mongrel.”

Etienne pulled the dagger out and tossed it to the mud, letting himself bleed. He eyed Zephan’s closed helm, a thought tickling at his mind. “I only need one more time.”

Zephan laughed again, delighted, and held up a hand, gesturing Etienne forward. “Come on, then, Summer’s Get. Come see what your luck can do.”

Etienne felt his expression harden, and he shifted Regal to his left hand. He drew the Glock from its velcroed holster on the side of his tac vest.

Zephan frowned for a moment, looking at the gun, and then smirked. “That’s not Agmundr. Your little toy can’t hurt me.”

Etienne’s mouth twitched so slightly he barely felt it, and he surged forward at full sidhe speed in a vicious attack, using Regal to push Radiance far out to Zephan’s right as he stepped inside the champion’s open guard. He brought the .45 up, muzzle jammed against the tender underside of Zephan’s chin, locked his gaze, and pulled the trigger.

Even with his speed fully on him and the rest of the world slowed to a crawl, Etienne couldn’t separate the sounds of the round ricocheting about inside the bulletproof sidhe steel helm. He did see Zephan’s eyes widen for a fraction of an instant, and then one jerked to the side and the other pupil blew wide, his brain churning to skull slivers and paste. Zephan’s eyes emptied, and he dropped into the mud like so much meat.

Etienne raised Regal high and struck what was left of Zephan’s head from his shoulders and kicked it hard further into the healer’s camp. He turned to face Zephan’s shocked soldiers, Regal in one hand, his Glock in the other, breath ragged.

Let them come.

The soldiers looked to each other and at the headless body of their fallen champion, stunned. Visors were raised, as if somehow that would make what had just happened clearer.

Etienne felt movement at his sides, as Ásta and Aodhán took up positions on either side of him. More movement as Cian came to stand beside Aodhán, looking pale, and Colm—Colm!—came to join them, his severed arm in place and strapped to his chest, healing, a sword in his shield hand.

Etienne nodded, eyes on the soldiers, at least thirty in all against the five of them, and knew that it would end here. These weren’t farmers conscripted to be cannon fodder. They were trained and disciplined soldiers, some knights, and they outnumbered their small group. “Thank you. It’s been the greatest honor of my life to have known you. All of you.”

Thank you so much! I think it will come back to this post quite a few times!

 

[skip.knox]

I've not found there is any one way to write a fight scene. I have noticed, in my own reading, that a couple of non-fight factors weigh heavily when deciding what details to describe.

First, do I care about the character(s)?

I've read any number of fantasy books that have in their early pages some sort of fight sequence, often in a training setting. These can get quite detailed and I inevitably skim right over them. I don't care how much detail is there because I don't yet care about the character. The author does, and makes the mistake that I'm coming to the book in the same spirit. I'm not.

Second, what are the stakes?

Here again, I've read plenty of examples of (poor) story-telling that either have the stakes set too low (see training sequence), or land in early pages with the stakes absurdly high. Either way, I'm not yet engaged. In other cases, the author has not made the stakes clear, or treats the matter too lightly.

Anyway, if it's characters I've come to care about, and the situation is such that there is something meaningful _to those characters_ at stake, and (oh, I guess that's Three), if it's been established in the story that fighting details actually matter, then I can stick around for quite a while.

Of course, any of those matters can be mitigated or outright ignored if the writer is sufficiently skilled. I try never to make the mistake that I'm one of those.

 

[Malik]

I write mine so that the time it takes to read/describe the action stays the same relative to the time it takes the action to happen. When they're circling, feinting, testing each other out? Long descriptions. When the fur is flying? Short, hard phrases. One-word sentences; hell, one-word paragraphs.

Look to anyone trying to recall a fight to the police. They all say, "It happened so fast." Violence is quick. Threats are slow.

 

[Nikos]

I write mine so that the time it takes to read/describe the action stays the same relative to the time it takes the action to happen. When they're circling, feinting, testing each other out? Long descriptions. When the fur is flying? Short, hard phrases. One-word sentences; hell, one-word paragraphs.

Look to anyone trying to recall a fight to the police. They all say, "It happened so fast." Violence is quick. Threats are slow.

A very good point! I never thought about it that way. The change in tempo in the description, is probably making the experience more vivid for the reader I see suggesting his mindset according to the temple of the fight!

 

[Mad Swede]

I write mine so that the time it takes to read/describe the action stays the same relative to the time it takes the action to happen. When they're circling, feinting, testing each other out? Long descriptions. When the fur is flying? Short, hard phrases. One-word sentences; hell, one-word paragraphs.

Look to anyone trying to recall a fight to the police. They all say, "It happened so fast." Violence is quick. Threats are slow.

What is hard to capture is how those involved in the fight see things. Sure, the witnesses all think it happens so fast. And maybe it does. But for me, on those occasions when I've been right in the thick of it, what is odd is how time seems to slow. It's like you can almost see what is going to happen, which way someone will move, when they'll shoot. And it's like you're moving in slow motion, lifting your weapon, almost feeling your finger squeeze the trigger.

I've never managed to capture that sensation in words, not properly. I try to keep the descriptions short and sharp, trying to give that impression of immediacy and tension. Like Malik says, I use very short phrases and sentences. And even then I don't feel I've got it right.