Mace’s hand sank in to the wrist, and Vastor’s fighting snarl became an agonized struggle for breath. Mace used the Force to hurl him off and send him tumbling through the air to slam into the flank of an agitated akk dog. Eyes glazing, half stunned, the lor pelek slid bonelessly down the akk’s armored ribs, and staggered as his feet skidded over gnarled roots.

Before he could find his balance, Mace was on him. “Impressed yet?”

Standing toe to toe, the top of Mace’s head barely came to the level of Vastor’s chin, and you could have tucked Mace’s whole thick-muscled upper body inside Vastor’s chest with room to spare. And even hurt, lurching drunkenly, Vastor still could whip his arms in blindingly fast raking slaps at Mace’s head and wounded neck.

But where Vastor’s speed was blinding, Mace’s was invisible.

Not one of those slaps connected.

Before Vastor could even focus his eyes, Mace had hit him six times: two thundering hooks to his short ribs, a knee slamming hard into the same thigh he’d hit before, an elbow snapping up to the point of his chin, and two devastating palm strikes to either hinge of his jaw.

An ordinary man would have been unconscious. Vastor seemed to be getting stronger.

Vastor fired another of those blinding slaps. This time, instead of ducking, Mace countered with a whirring hook that met the lor pelek’s swinging arm directly on the nerve that ran up the inside of the biceps. Vastor threw the other even harder—which only made the inside of that arm connect that much harder with Mace’s counterhook.

Vastor’s mighty arms spasmed and dropped limply to his sides.

“This is called Vaapad, Kar.” A fierce light burned in Mace’s eyes. “How many arms do you see?”


- Shatterpoint, Chapter 12