#2 Rees - Combat Scene - The Knight

I don’t think I’ve ever written a combat scene, and am short on time this week after a particularly productive day with work. So I thought I’d try something different but simple, just to see how it goes in retrospect, which is theoretically the point. I tried to recall some advice from Brandon Sandersons’ lecture on writing combat scenes, though it’s been some time since I’ve watched the video. I haven't re-read this (write and forget, at least until time for a retrospect), but I actually felt pretty happy with it as I was going.

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Dead leaves crunched beneath his steel plate. Kriton prayed for weightlessness, and the noise stopped.

Forms solidified in the mist, and he realized they were tombstones.

Why did it always have to be a graveyard? Did the followers of death imagine they gained some power here?

Something swept through the mist behind him, and Kriton prayed for strength. Instead of using it to attack however, he used it to jump.

She screamed as she missed, stumbling underneath him, where he had just been standing.

He landed behind her, heavy, and the ground shook. Without his prayer for weightlessness, he was like a boulder in his armour.

“Godly fool.”

“Death witch.”

They engaged. Her knives sought the holes in his visor. His greatsword deflected them with ease.

Until one almost made it through.

He prayed for speed, and matched her prayer just in time. Both aspects were equal in this.

Five quick swipes came at his face. He blocked every one.

He made a large underhanded swing at her legs, but she jumped away. So she was praying for strength.

Well, at least it was an even match. He blinked, and looked down. Blood in his armour joints. Perhaps not.

Poison.

Shit.

He immediately prayed for life. She must have prayed for death, because the effect was slower than it should have been.

The witch closed the gap, knowing that he was unable to pray for anything else. Damn.

She prayed for lightning, and it arced on her sick long blades.

He bellowed, and charged. She hadn’t expected that. But he was hardly powerless without his prayers.

He slammed right into her, before she could properly align her blades, and she sprawled back along the paved paths.

His sword came down at her in an instant, and she was forced to pray for speed to evade.

The witch shot back away from him, propelled by fast moving arms and legs, and then flipped up.

She came at him again, trying for something less fancy this time. Raw speed came at his visor.

He covered his helmet with his wrist, and his exposed joint with his elbow. Her blades struck, but did no harm.

She howled.

His healing was done. At least as much as he needed.

He prayed for fire.

His flame burst alight, and she was not prepared.

Her eyes widened as he lifted it high. She was too close to the heat to think. Surprise had taken her.

He smashed his sword down, hearing a satisfying crunch. Sizzle and smoke poured forth a moment later, and the knight knelt forward.

The poison still wore at him, he needed to heal.

As he rested on his sword, he glanced down at the figure he’d slain. Thin, gangly, smoking far too much.

Damn.

She’d prayed for illusion.

He whirled about, and caught her right in the side for real this time.

Her shocked eyes met his, and even through the visor, he knew that she could see.

There was a reason they sent him. And had for many years now.

The witches of death would themselves die. And then the god of life would consume all. Nourished on the souls of the world, which would end in consumption. Their efforts to end Him, and bring death to a god, must not be allowed. Would not be allowed.

The knight of the apocalypse stood, and wiped sweat from his brow. Another world would be claimed. Another world would fall.