kIlLaR_bEh
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Hey, so I wrote a chapter, it is part of my novel, The God of Mischief and Madness.
Would really appreciate if you could give me your opinion.
It is a fight scene, but more focused on the characters than the combat. Let me know if pacing is too slow. Its my first proper fight scene, so don't be afraid to be harsh. I need it.
Here it is:
I tried implementing some of the feedback. How is this ver?
Edit: currently working on a full rewrite using feedback. Thanks.
Would really appreciate if you could give me your opinion.
It is a fight scene, but more focused on the characters than the combat. Let me know if pacing is too slow. Its my first proper fight scene, so don't be afraid to be harsh. I need it.
Here it is:
Anya hadn’t moved. She just lay there, staring at me. Not with awe, not even anger. Just… shock.
I didn’t stand a chance against the brute. His smile widened like he already knew it. Still, he never went back for the sword. He didn’t need it. It still lay on the ground where Anya had knocked it from his hand.
I could dodge a few hits, maybe buy Anya enough time to run. That was the plan. Find her a window. That was all I could do.
Stepping into the centre ring of the arena, I stumbled like I was drunk.
Because I was.
Two drinks.
Empty stomach.
Idiot.
The crowd murmured, some realising my condition. Just some fool in love.
The intercom cracked alive.
“Twenty-five to one against lover boy!”
Not as bad as I expected.
A hush settled over the arena, like the entire Citadel was holding its breath.
The brute laughed, stepping forward.
“You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”
I could taste the liquor crawling up my throat. I clenched my jaw, doing everything not to hurl. I needed every drop. Would make swallowing the beating easier.
I glanced past him. Anya still hadn’t moved. Her leg… it was bent at an awkward angle.
A blur of motion.
I saw it coming, a right jab, but I was already moving. I threw a left hook into his gut. Too late. He slipped past like water. Now he was behind me.
Fuck.
I twisted, off-balance. My face was exposed, nothing I could do.
But the blow didn’t come.
He just stood there. Watching me.
“You’re not Sworn,” he said. “Not even Marked.”
My breathing was ragged. My arms trembled.
“Mundane, aren’t you?” he said. “Chased your girl up here.”
I grinned, stepping sideways. Circling. “Got a problem with that?”
He didn’t bite.
Just grinned.
“She’ll be all over me once she sees me kill you. They always are.”
That was enough.
I lunged, hands up, already predicting the jab he hadn’t even thrown.
It came, fast as I guessed. Too fast.
Another jab. I deflected, just barely. It still rattled my jaw.
My vision warped, bouncing with every footstep, every twitch of his shoulder. I couldn’t keep up. I couldn’t breathe.
I stepped back. Barely dodged a hook.
More jabs. Hooks. An endless rhythm. I retreated, blocking what I could. He was just toying with me.
Then he slowed. I saw the gap, took it. Drove a hook straight into his cheek.
It landed.
And he smiled.
My heart stopped.
He surged forward, faster than before. I didn’t even raise my hands. I couldn’t. My body didn’t respond.
My vision went white.
His fists hammered into me. Jabs. Hooks. Elbow. Gut. Temple.
I felt teeth crack. The inside of my cheek split. I was bleeding from the ears, I could feel it.
But then he grabbed me.
His hand gripped the back of my neck, The crowd faded -- a muffled roar beyond the pulse in my skull.
“You’re weak,” he murmured, almost fondly. “But I get it now. You’re not fighting for yourself.”
He yanked me up by the collar, just enough that my feet couldn’t reach the ground.
“You’re fighting for her.” He leaned in, breath curling against my ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll take real good care of your bitch when I’m done. She’ll forget your name by the time I’m finished.”
His voice dropped lower, intimate. Heavy with history.
“They used to call me Caelus of the White Spire. But we had a slave girl. I kept her to myself, protected her from my brothers, they were the depraved ones. Took her outside sometimes. Bought her dresses. Jewellery. Makeup. Thought we were lovers. Destined. Meant to be.”
He pulled closer.
“One day, she asked if she could go out. Said she wanted to get me something. My birthday was coming up, you see.
But she didn’t come back. That’s when I realised.
It was all a lie.
She never loved me. Just took what she needed. Long enough to run.
So I hunted her down. Down to the surface. Down to the Gutter. Tracked down to the family that had originally sold her.
She’s quiet now. Beautiful still. Just… a little slower.
The bones never set right.”
A dry chuckle.
“But the public found out. My family tried to hide it, but had to publicly disown their own son. You think this is new? You think you're the first boy to bleed for some girl who smiled at you?”
He twisted my arm until something tore.
“They don’t call me that anymore,” he mutters. “But I do. When I look in the mirror, when I dream. Caelus, Champion of the White Spire. I earned that name with blood, and I’ll take yours in kind.”
The crowd roared.
But not because they heard.
Because his fist sank into my gut.
Something shattered inside me. A rib. Two. Maybe more.
I flew. Slammed into the arena wall, head snapping back. I slid down, breathless, legs refusing to move. My head rested on the wall.
My breath caught. Not from pain. Not from the shattered ribs or the blood in my throat.
From the horror.
He kept her.
As if she was his to keep.
I couldn’t let him do that to her.
I couldn’t let that be her fate.
He turned away.
Back to Anya.
What was she doing?
Why hadn’t she left?
I saw her darkened silhouette. He walked towards her, not looking back.
My hand drifted through the pool of blood beneath me.
Then the world shifted.
The arena bled away.
I didn’t stand a chance against the brute. His smile widened like he already knew it. Still, he never went back for the sword. He didn’t need it. It still lay on the ground where Anya had knocked it from his hand.
I could dodge a few hits, maybe buy Anya enough time to run. That was the plan. Find her a window. That was all I could do.
Stepping into the centre ring of the arena, I stumbled like I was drunk.
Because I was.
Two drinks.
Empty stomach.
Idiot.
The crowd murmured, some realising my condition. Just some fool in love.
The intercom cracked alive.
“Twenty-five to one against lover boy!”
Not as bad as I expected.
A hush settled over the arena, like the entire Citadel was holding its breath.
The brute laughed, stepping forward.
“You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”
I could taste the liquor crawling up my throat. I clenched my jaw, doing everything not to hurl. I needed every drop. Would make swallowing the beating easier.
I glanced past him. Anya still hadn’t moved. Her leg… it was bent at an awkward angle.
A blur of motion.
I saw it coming, a right jab, but I was already moving. I threw a left hook into his gut. Too late. He slipped past like water. Now he was behind me.
Fuck.
I twisted, off-balance. My face was exposed, nothing I could do.
But the blow didn’t come.
He just stood there. Watching me.
“You’re not Sworn,” he said. “Not even Marked.”
My breathing was ragged. My arms trembled.
“Mundane, aren’t you?” he said. “Chased your girl up here.”
I grinned, stepping sideways. Circling. “Got a problem with that?”
He didn’t bite.
Just grinned.
“She’ll be all over me once she sees me kill you. They always are.”
That was enough.
I lunged, hands up, already predicting the jab he hadn’t even thrown.
It came, fast as I guessed. Too fast.
Another jab. I deflected, just barely. It still rattled my jaw.
My vision warped, bouncing with every footstep, every twitch of his shoulder. I couldn’t keep up. I couldn’t breathe.
I stepped back. Barely dodged a hook.
More jabs. Hooks. An endless rhythm. I retreated, blocking what I could. He was just toying with me.
Then he slowed. I saw the gap, took it. Drove a hook straight into his cheek.
It landed.
And he smiled.
My heart stopped.
He surged forward, faster than before. I didn’t even raise my hands. I couldn’t. My body didn’t respond.
My vision went white.
His fists hammered into me. Jabs. Hooks. Elbow. Gut. Temple.
I felt teeth crack. The inside of my cheek split. I was bleeding from the ears, I could feel it.
But then he grabbed me.
His hand gripped the back of my neck, The crowd faded -- a muffled roar beyond the pulse in my skull.
“You’re weak,” he murmured, almost fondly. “But I get it now. You’re not fighting for yourself.”
He yanked me up by the collar, just enough that my feet couldn’t reach the ground.
“You’re fighting for her.” He leaned in, breath curling against my ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll take real good care of your bitch when I’m done. She’ll forget your name by the time I’m finished.”
His voice dropped lower, intimate. Heavy with history.
“They used to call me Caelus of the White Spire. But we had a slave girl. I kept her to myself, protected her from my brothers, they were the depraved ones. Took her outside sometimes. Bought her dresses. Jewellery. Makeup. Thought we were lovers. Destined. Meant to be.”
He pulled closer.
“One day, she asked if she could go out. Said she wanted to get me something. My birthday was coming up, you see.
But she didn’t come back. That’s when I realised.
It was all a lie.
She never loved me. Just took what she needed. Long enough to run.
So I hunted her down. Down to the surface. Down to the Gutter. Tracked down to the family that had originally sold her.
She’s quiet now. Beautiful still. Just… a little slower.
The bones never set right.”
A dry chuckle.
“But the public found out. My family tried to hide it, but had to publicly disown their own son. You think this is new? You think you're the first boy to bleed for some girl who smiled at you?”
He twisted my arm until something tore.
“They don’t call me that anymore,” he mutters. “But I do. When I look in the mirror, when I dream. Caelus, Champion of the White Spire. I earned that name with blood, and I’ll take yours in kind.”
The crowd roared.
But not because they heard.
Because his fist sank into my gut.
Something shattered inside me. A rib. Two. Maybe more.
I flew. Slammed into the arena wall, head snapping back. I slid down, breathless, legs refusing to move. My head rested on the wall.
My breath caught. Not from pain. Not from the shattered ribs or the blood in my throat.
From the horror.
He kept her.
As if she was his to keep.
I couldn’t let him do that to her.
I couldn’t let that be her fate.
He turned away.
Back to Anya.
What was she doing?
Why hadn’t she left?
I saw her darkened silhouette. He walked towards her, not looking back.
My hand drifted through the pool of blood beneath me.
Then the world shifted.
The arena bled away.
Anya hadn’t moved.
She lay sprawled on the arena stone, one leg bent at a grotesque angle, her chest rising in shallow, ragged breaths. Her eyes weren’t wide with fear or awe -- just shock, dull and glazed, like she couldn’t process what was happening.
My heart didn’t race. It just... stopped.
I tried to stay calm. Anger only clouded thoughts, I reminded myself. But he had hurt Anya. Yet he was twice my size and had his Vow. There was no way I could beat him, only stall to get her out.
The brute knew it too. His grin widened, not with cruelty, but with the quiet certainty of a man who’d done this before. He didn’t even glance at his sword, still lying where Anya had knocked it away. He didn’t need it.
Just buy her time. Find her a way out.
I stepped forward, legs buckling beneath me. The world tilted, liquor sloshing in my gut. Two drinks. Empty stomach. Idiot.
The crowd murmured. A few jeered. Most just watched, hushed, as if the Citadel itself was holding its breath.
The intercom crackled. "Twenty-five to one against lover boy!"
Better odds than I had expected. But Caelus laughed. "You said you were gonna teach me a lesson?"
I spat blood, swaying. "Lesson one: never underestimate the idiot who’s already lost everything.”
He moved.
A blur, not just speed, but something unnatural, like the air bent around him. A right jab coming fast. I saw it. Reacted. Threw a left hook into his gut.
Sloppy. Too slow. Off-balance.
He slipped past me like smoke. Now he was behind me.
Shit.
I twisted, exposed. No guard. But the hit never came. He just stood there, watching me. Studying.
“You’re not Sworn,” he said. “Not even Marked.”
My arms were trembling. Breath uneven. I let him talk.
“Mundane, aren’t you? Chased your girl up here.”
I stepped sideways, circling. “Got a problem with that?”
He didn’t answer. Just smiled.
“She’ll be crawling to me by the time I’m done with you. They always do. Especially the ones who swear they won’t.”
The crowd howled.
Was he serious? Nobody talked like that.
Not unless they were playing a part. But his eyes were steady. Not performative… predatory.
I lunged, hands up, already guessing the jab. It came. Faster than I was ready for. Another. I blocked, barely. It still rang through my skull.
My vision bounced with every step. I couldn’t track him. Couldn’t breathe. I stumbled back, barely dodged a hook.
He pressed in. Jabs. Hooks. More. They came like a rhythm, like a song only he knew. I blocked what I could. Mostly, I bled.
Then, a lull. A space. A trap. My mind knew it, but my body struck anyway. Hooked him in the cheek. He let it land. My fist connected. His smile didn’t even flicker.
Oh.
Then his knuckles shattered my vision into white.
Blow after blow. Temple. Gut. Elbow. I felt my teeth crack, my ribs splinter, blood trickling from my ears. The crowd’s roar faded into a distant hum, drowned by the pulse in my skull.
He grabbed me by the throat, lifting me until my toes scraped stone.
"You’re weak," he murmured, almost kindly. "But I get it. You’re not fighting for yourself."
His breath was hot against my ear.
"You’re fighting for her."
He dropped me. I crumpled, gasping.
Caelus knelt beside me, voice low, confessional.
"There was a girl once. Mine. I kept her safe. Gave her dresses. Jewels. Even let her go outside."
His fingers traced the arena stone, like he was remembering her skin.
"She smiled. Said she’d get me a gift. Never came back."
A pause.
"I found her, of course. Brought her home. She’s… quieter now. Still pretty. Just… slower."
He leaned in.
"The bones never set right though."
My stomach lurched. Not from pain. From the image, Anya, broken like that.
A dry, joyless chuckle.
“My family tried to bury it. But the truth clawed out. They disowned me. Pretended I never existed.”
He twisted my arm. “You think this is new? You think you’re the first boy to bleed for a girl who smiled at you?”
Something tore in my shoulder. A guttural moan escaped me.
“They don’t call me by my name anymore,” he mutters. “But I do. When I look in the mirror, when I dream. Caelus, Champion of the White Spire. I earned that name with blood, and I’ll take yours in kind.”
He kept her.
Like she was a thing. Like she was his. I couldn’t let that happen to Anya. I couldn’t let that be her fate.
Then--
Steel burst through his ribs.
Caelus froze. Looked down. His own blood dripped onto the blade. Behind him, Anya stood on one leg, her other twisted beneath her, her hands shaking around the hilt.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" I roared.
She didn’t answer. Just wrenched the sword sideways. Her leg bent further. She couldn’t walk, yet she had. For me.
Caelus snarled, not in pain, in annoyance, and backhanded her. She flew, crumpling like a doll.
I lunged for the sword.
He moved faster.
A kick sent me slamming into the arena wall. My skull cracked against stone. I slid down, legs useless, vision swimming.
Anya was crawling away. Caelus stalked toward her.
My hand hit something wet. Blood. Mine? His?
I pressed my palm into it--
Then the world shifted.
The arena bled away.
She lay sprawled on the arena stone, one leg bent at a grotesque angle, her chest rising in shallow, ragged breaths. Her eyes weren’t wide with fear or awe -- just shock, dull and glazed, like she couldn’t process what was happening.
My heart didn’t race. It just... stopped.
I tried to stay calm. Anger only clouded thoughts, I reminded myself. But he had hurt Anya. Yet he was twice my size and had his Vow. There was no way I could beat him, only stall to get her out.
The brute knew it too. His grin widened, not with cruelty, but with the quiet certainty of a man who’d done this before. He didn’t even glance at his sword, still lying where Anya had knocked it away. He didn’t need it.
Just buy her time. Find her a way out.
I stepped forward, legs buckling beneath me. The world tilted, liquor sloshing in my gut. Two drinks. Empty stomach. Idiot.
The crowd murmured. A few jeered. Most just watched, hushed, as if the Citadel itself was holding its breath.
The intercom crackled. "Twenty-five to one against lover boy!"
Better odds than I had expected. But Caelus laughed. "You said you were gonna teach me a lesson?"
I spat blood, swaying. "Lesson one: never underestimate the idiot who’s already lost everything.”
He moved.
A blur, not just speed, but something unnatural, like the air bent around him. A right jab coming fast. I saw it. Reacted. Threw a left hook into his gut.
Sloppy. Too slow. Off-balance.
He slipped past me like smoke. Now he was behind me.
Shit.
I twisted, exposed. No guard. But the hit never came. He just stood there, watching me. Studying.
“You’re not Sworn,” he said. “Not even Marked.”
My arms were trembling. Breath uneven. I let him talk.
“Mundane, aren’t you? Chased your girl up here.”
I stepped sideways, circling. “Got a problem with that?”
He didn’t answer. Just smiled.
“She’ll be crawling to me by the time I’m done with you. They always do. Especially the ones who swear they won’t.”
The crowd howled.
Was he serious? Nobody talked like that.
Not unless they were playing a part. But his eyes were steady. Not performative… predatory.
I lunged, hands up, already guessing the jab. It came. Faster than I was ready for. Another. I blocked, barely. It still rang through my skull.
My vision bounced with every step. I couldn’t track him. Couldn’t breathe. I stumbled back, barely dodged a hook.
He pressed in. Jabs. Hooks. More. They came like a rhythm, like a song only he knew. I blocked what I could. Mostly, I bled.
Then, a lull. A space. A trap. My mind knew it, but my body struck anyway. Hooked him in the cheek. He let it land. My fist connected. His smile didn’t even flicker.
Oh.
Then his knuckles shattered my vision into white.
Blow after blow. Temple. Gut. Elbow. I felt my teeth crack, my ribs splinter, blood trickling from my ears. The crowd’s roar faded into a distant hum, drowned by the pulse in my skull.
He grabbed me by the throat, lifting me until my toes scraped stone.
"You’re weak," he murmured, almost kindly. "But I get it. You’re not fighting for yourself."
His breath was hot against my ear.
"You’re fighting for her."
He dropped me. I crumpled, gasping.
Caelus knelt beside me, voice low, confessional.
"There was a girl once. Mine. I kept her safe. Gave her dresses. Jewels. Even let her go outside."
His fingers traced the arena stone, like he was remembering her skin.
"She smiled. Said she’d get me a gift. Never came back."
A pause.
"I found her, of course. Brought her home. She’s… quieter now. Still pretty. Just… slower."
He leaned in.
"The bones never set right though."
My stomach lurched. Not from pain. From the image, Anya, broken like that.
A dry, joyless chuckle.
“My family tried to bury it. But the truth clawed out. They disowned me. Pretended I never existed.”
He twisted my arm. “You think this is new? You think you’re the first boy to bleed for a girl who smiled at you?”
Something tore in my shoulder. A guttural moan escaped me.
“They don’t call me by my name anymore,” he mutters. “But I do. When I look in the mirror, when I dream. Caelus, Champion of the White Spire. I earned that name with blood, and I’ll take yours in kind.”
He kept her.
Like she was a thing. Like she was his. I couldn’t let that happen to Anya. I couldn’t let that be her fate.
Then--
Steel burst through his ribs.
Caelus froze. Looked down. His own blood dripped onto the blade. Behind him, Anya stood on one leg, her other twisted beneath her, her hands shaking around the hilt.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" I roared.
She didn’t answer. Just wrenched the sword sideways. Her leg bent further. She couldn’t walk, yet she had. For me.
Caelus snarled, not in pain, in annoyance, and backhanded her. She flew, crumpling like a doll.
I lunged for the sword.
He moved faster.
A kick sent me slamming into the arena wall. My skull cracked against stone. I slid down, legs useless, vision swimming.
Anya was crawling away. Caelus stalked toward her.
My hand hit something wet. Blood. Mine? His?
I pressed my palm into it--
Then the world shifted.
The arena bled away.
Edit: currently working on a full rewrite using feedback. Thanks.
Last edited:
