Let's have some good battle scenes here. They can be any kind for people who have the trouble describing them. If you got any good ones or ideas, post them here, please. It doesn't how you write them as long as they are readable. Go crazy if you want to, but don't start a flame war. I just want good examples that can be shared here.
This is from my web serial. Erland jumped over the boat with inches to spare. Impressive for a guy in armor. He was smiling. I hated how he showed his teeth, but I couldn’t reach him. I’d have to close the distance if I wanted to strike. Erland was waiting for me to try, so he could step into his own range; He didn’t fear me. We stared at one another for a long time – the only motion between us were his tests. He raised his sword or stepped his lead foot up to gauge a reaction. I gave him small reactions. Erland was looking me in the eye. I looked him in the chest. I had to stay focused on myself. Mind games would be too risky given my disadvantages. Again, he stepped a foot in but this time more boldly. He was trying to train me not to fear his step. I bit down on my impulse to pull back and acted as if I had frozen. It was the reaction he wanted, but I gave it to him on purpose. He laughed as he took a rushing step in and tried to cleave my head. Ready for it, I leapt away and swung the oar in a flat arc. Its blade landed flush with his ribs. Nothing’s more satisfying than making a clean hit with a blunt instrument. I could hammer nails all day.
A short part of a little bit longer affair, from Major Graxis. Greeted by a pair of guards, they fail to react to our intrusion in time. Placing precise cuts into their unarmored bodies, spilling their organs and blood upon the crude stone floor. More come to join their fallen comrades. Bullets tear through the air and scar the walls of the cavern in the narrow passageway leading deeper into the much lager areas of the complex. The combative Confederation troops test my body armor, and my resolve. Taking a hit to my left forearm and another to my right thigh, I roar in pain and rage. Fighting through the searing punctures, a dozen more bodies lay mutilated by my blades. They begin to retreat from the animal they have awakened in me, realizing the fatal mistake it was to not put me down when they had the chance. Some men begin to be picked off ahead of me, and I can only assume the others found their way here into the fray. Limping and growling, I continue to cut them down like a farmer in harvest season. Each strike felling, and dismembering, hungrily gnawing into their soft tissues and shattering bone. Boots making the familiar sick slapping as I tread through blood, organs, and other bodily fluids. The last enemy unit falls to the floor with a dull wet thud from my blade, his eyes wide as his last breath hisses from his lungs and the lights leave his eyes. The others at my back ready to get the civilian captives out of here.I listen to them as they proceed in locating the cell blocks where they are held. I set off down another route to where the Harvest is being done, a pair of boots at my rear. I do not know who is following me, but at least they are on my side.The stench of death is a sick irony, as the death dealing enemies lay mutilated about the larger alcove. Tributaries of their blood slowly wind across the gray stone underfoot, making sticky tracks to a drain in the floor.
