Hallo, ladies and gentlemen!

I am a dirty, dirty fanfiction writer hailing from the lands of scum and despair that one must hail from when going into such a hideous affair. I will admit this right-up. But while I'm revelling in the pits of filth, I may as well revel as best I can...right?

Without the folderol, I'm writing a first-person story which is much more action-orientated than the only other work I've done so far, which was far more descriptive and exploratory. Hence my coming to this fine haven. I would deeply oblige as much insight, opinion, critique and what-have-you on the following text; this is the first real action scene that I've written, and indicates the style of how I'll write for the rest of the story. Hence, nothing less than excellence and perfection will do.

This section is first-person, and I feel it conveys the character quite well, but; at the same time I want to grip the reader and make them feel excited and enthralled, and this is why I have come to you!

I am totally open to anything that's said and will not attempt to defend my work at all, since this is merely the primordial form of a finished product. Sadly I am unable to correct the formatting; if I were to beg for forgiveness, perhaps you could grant it?

- Pride

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“YEAH!!”
Fist straight to the face, a point-blank roar of pain - dive low, clawed swipe sails straight over my head, throw myself up to its throat, fingers clench, crush the windpipe, choke the thing! -
Bloody - solid muscle, neck thick as a brick, like choking a phonebook – get out of there, back out – shit!
Jaws like a giant bear trap! Almost lost left hand – arms out, clamp on the nose, fend it off until it tries to swipe, the stink of its breath almost colouring my vision – see it move for a swipe! Lurch back, claws sail past, reach out and stamp on its paw, right hook straight to the nose and shoulder-barge, rush the thing right to the floor –
Both of us go down, now! Kick out at the thing’s throat – yes! Clamber up, lean out weight, fall forward and one full-body stamp to the throat, jump down its body, two-foot stamp on the stomach, that’s got to sodding hurt, pressing right into his organs, can feel them underfoot, leap off –
NNNNNGH-!
Choking, falling, tumbling, rolling, pain in my stomach, good God, it kicked me in the air, I’m lucky I’m not wearing my own entrails as a hat, it could have gutted me with its claws - get up, come on – halfway up, stumble, hit the ground on all fours but now I’m on my feet.
The manticore rights itself and starts to circle. I follow suit, circling right.
Clunk.
My staff. At my feet.
The beast was ready to strike. Don’t look at the claws, look at the beast. Don’t look at the sword. Look at the sword-arm.
I need the staff. I need the staff. No sudden movements. Start to kneel. Easy. Easy.
Fingers trembling. Manticore snarling like a bloody death waiting to happen.
Touch of gnarled wood on my palm.
The beast leapt!
It happened slowly; the staff went up between the beast and I, a latent but permeating surge of an intangible power pushing in, through, over and around me, culminating in a white flash, a spark of another world -
I leapt to my right, and with my every faculty -
“Rrrgggh-!!”
- move the beast – just enough - !!
“RRAAAAAAAGHH!!!”
Thin curtain of arcane silver bursts like the spark of imagination, the beast smashes into the wall with a terrific rumble – don’t wait around, press the advantage, Chester! Plant a kick in its side while I – I–? Nnnnh. . .
Fallen forward, palms on the – the manticore, push away, get away – how did I get down here? I’m on the floor – I can’t be on the floor, get up, got to – to get up – magic too much, on too big a thing -
I feel like I’m wading through water – like I’m underwater . . . Hard to move my limbs - sound is oceans away . . . Watched him – it’s groggy, the beast is reeling, need to. . . just get up –
Entire body. . . Begging me to succumb, lie still, rest a while, rest forever. . .
Beast is getting up, claws coming - roll, Chester, roll!!
Ka-THUD -
It, it fell over, it couldn’t keep its balance – come on, get up get UP, Chester, get – the – hell – UP -!!
Legs working, biceps – pushing away from the floor, the whole word looks like a cloud, so much white, world shifting everywhere –
Except for…
The manticore. Standing two feet away.
Looking straight at me.
Can’t run. Can’t move. Can’t feel limbs.
It’s over.
Is it mocking me? Raising its paw so slow into the air. Like an Emperor holding his hand out after the coliseum games, to please the crowd, to call all attention to his outstretched hand, all to see which way the thumb would point.
At the apex of the paw’s ascent I closed my eyes. This is it; the end of the line.
A moment passed.
A paw prodded me in the chest.
I fell over.
“Mittens,” I growled, heaving for breath, “I think trying to levitate you was a really, really bad idea.”