Hello, I am working on the beginnings of a book and was wondering if I am on the right track. Just wanted to know if the action is comprehensible, and if anything that might stand out as wrong so that I can adjust accordingly. (Formatting, grammar, etc.) Since I just started to write, I wanted to see if I am doing anything wrong so that I can change it before it becomes a habit. Thanks to anyone that helps! Here goes:

He stood still, a statue in the blistering heat. Was he paralyzed with fear? Or was he relaxed, possibly bored? He let his opponents decide. Their doubt was his advantage. He adjusted his mask, a bit lower, before unsheathing the blade hanging from his back. To this, murmurs arose from the crowd. They knew what was coming. The three men opposite him shuffled, steadied themselves. Their grip on their spears tightened. The masked man raised his blade, a thin, straight length of metal, pointing first at the one in the middle, then gesturing slowly to the right, and lastly to the one on the far left. I’m going to kill you in that order. This seemed to say. The crowd jeered.

The three spearmen tensed, looking at each other. One nodded, a signal. They spread out, as planned, setting up flanks on both sides — a V formation.

A few moments was all Kahir needed.

He was on them, dashing forward to the middle spearman, which struck a quick jab in an attempt to fend him off. Quickly shifting his sword into a reverse grip, Kahir slid the flat of his blade along the spear’s edge, then along its shaft, pushing it aside to narrowly miss as he moved closer. Without losing momentum, he spun, stabbing the spearman in the neck. Kahir let go of the blade as he crouched, drawing one of two daggers sheathed on his lower back. Kahir rolled on his shoulder, and in one flowing motion, closed the distance towards the next spearman, the one on the right. This one found himself with a dagger lodged just below his sternum before realizing what had happened. The second spearman fell. Seeing he was alone, the last remaining spearman attacked – a desperate, feral bid for survival. He lunged with his spear. Kahir stepped forward and dodged to the side. He grabbed the spear as it missed and kicked the spearman’s knee, bending it unnaturally with a sickening crunch. He fell with a quick dagger to the ribs. The spearman writhed on the ground, pooling blood. He gasped for air that will never come.

Read:  Poke all the holes you can in my flash fiction before I submit it for a contest.

More boos from the crowd.

Kahir was on his fifth win, the first three being quick, flawless victories. Not a scratch on him. Veldt, the match coordinator, decided that Kahir’s fights were done too quickly. A hasty execution, rather than the violent, drawn-out deathmatch that was promised to his patrons. At Kahir’s fourth match he defeated two of his most promising fighters. Some noble’s bodyguards from faraway . They were to be his next attraction, an expensive investment felled by this masked contestant. He was an excellent fighter, maybe the best Veldt has seen, but he’d rather have inexperienced cretins beating each other bloody for the better part of an hour. This simply isn’t a good show. He arranged for Kahir to fight three, hoping for an end to this farce. Now three lay dead.

This cannot continue. At this rate he’ll be running out of human refuse to throw in the arena. There’s also the fact that no one will pay to see a match where the victor is decided before their seats were even warm.

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