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Hm.
It has come to my attention that I can't write action scenes.
I am currently writing for a comic where action scenes are seriously required.
This may be a problem.
So. Meme time: Request two-or-three characters (preferably of the same canon) within a series I know, and I shall try to write FIGHT-O. Or at least some vaguely action-y happenings going on between them.
knowing a lot of shounen manga comes in really, really handy for things like this...
I am currently writing for a comic where action scenes are seriously required.
This may be a problem.
So. Meme time: Request two-or-three characters (preferably of the same canon) within a series I know, and I shall try to write FIGHT-O. Or at least some vaguely action-y happenings going on between them.
knowing a lot of shounen manga comes in really, really handy for things like this...
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"A moment, Hardin," promised Sydney, distractedly deigning not the backwards glance as the serpent unwound another of it's heads from the pillars in the room and made a perfect spearing plunge for his companion's head.
Sydney's eyes were on the wall. "Just a moment," he said again. The tips of his fingers clicked over the grooves in the stone.
The hydra's dripping, needle thin fangs were stopped about an inch from Hardin's nose.
"Well enough, Sydney," he gasped, the thing's jaws were skewered on his sword point, but it was not as though it didn't yet have five extras to spare. He kicked it's quivering throat with a boot and disengaged in a messy arc, sizzling arc. He dropped his foot and spun again to severe the split skull. Partway at least: he wasn't exactly the picture of accuracy righthanded, and the poison was already beginning to throb hotly in his left. "I'll imagine I'll not need that limb, anyway."
"...they're good for barter, aren't they --ah. there." Sydney pressed a metal palm to the wall. It glowed. For a moment the young prophet's eyes did as well, face seized in a sudden delirious gasp not unlike the onset of a Revelation. It passed quickly, hardly even bringing on a swoon. Sydney looked terribly disappointed.
Hardin saw none of this: the hydra had coiled it's body high and swung it down in a loop at him, he'd charged under it, skidded nearly to the opposite wall. It was entangling itself with the pillars again, not so eager to lose another head, more eager to wind itself high: to descend from above.
"Messily done," said Sydney, with a frown.
He glanced back. "I tire of you. Begone."
The very Word sung off the walls. The hydra vanished in a rather anticlimatic splash of Dark on the ceiling.
Hardin fell to his knee, the hotness had spread to his shoulder. He hadn't the head left not to puzzle at how Sydney crossed the room so quickly: for he felt a curving pressure on his arm. The warmth was gone. At least, the bit of it in his skin. Sydney's silver hands, heated like bloody pokers, felt as though they might burn right through the ruined leathers.
"...and I take it..." Hardin panted. "...that was it."
"That was it." Sydney confirmed, mildly. He stroked the flat of his blades up to his shoulder, fondly. "Easy to barter but they are..."
"...haven't the head for this..."
"Shh, Hardin. Easy to barter but they are," Sydney smiled, "I should hope that arm would go to better."
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