The attack came without warning.
One moment we were navigating between two large boulders, and the next something massive exploded from the shadows with a roar that shook the ground beneath our feet.
Caphik.
The creature was enormous—easily twice my height and three times as broad. Its body was covered in thick, mottled fur that ranged from deep brown to rust-red, and beneath that fur I could see the ripple of powerful muscle. The head was ursine, with a broad snout and massive jaws filled with teeth like daggers. But the eyes were feline—red and predatory, tracking our movements with terrifying intelligence.
And covering its back and shoulders were quills. Hundreds of them, each as long as my forearm and wickedly sharp.
"Blasters!" Cullen shouted, already drawing his weapon.
I had mine out a heartbeat later, both of us firing at the creature as it charged. The energy bolts struck its hide and dissipated harmlessly, absorbed by fur so thick it might as well have been armor plating.
"It's not working!" I yelled, diving to the side as a massive paw swiped through the space where I'd been standing. Claws as long as my fingers gouged furrows in the rock.
Cullen rolled in the opposite direction, coming up with a blade in his hand—one of the crude knives he'd fashioned fromthe ship's wreckage. He moved like a warrior, like someone who'd spent years in combat.
But the caphik was faster than something that size had any right to be.
It pivoted, tracking Cullen's movement, and lunged. He managed to slash at its face, drawing a line of dark blood across its snout, but the creature's momentum carried it forward. A massive paw caught him in the chest and sent him flying backward into a boulder with a sickening crack.
"Cullen!"
He groaned, trying to push himself up, but I could see he was hurt. Blood ran from a cut on his forehead, and he was favoring his already injured left side.
The caphik turned toward him, sensing weakness. Preparing to finish what it had started.
No.
Something primal surged through me—not fear, not panic, but pure Vaktaire battle fury. The kind of rage that had made my people legendary warriors across the galaxy.
I dropped my useless blaster and grabbed a fallen branch from the ground. It was thick, solid, about the length of a quarterstaff. Not ideal, but it would do.
Because a quarterstaff was my weapon. Had been since I was old enough to hold one.
"Hey!" I shouted, spinning the staff in my hands, feeling the familiar weight and balance. "Over here!"
The caphik's red eyes locked onto me, and it roared—a sound that vibrated in my chest and made my ears ring. Then it charged.
I waited. Counted the seconds. Watched the way it moved, the rhythm of its gait, the slight favor it gave to its right side where Cullen had cut it.
Three meters.
Two.
One.
I moved.
Not away—toward. Sliding under its initial swipe, using my momentum to drive the end of the staff up into its throat. The impact jarred my arms, but I felt the satisfying give of vulnerable flesh. The creature gagged, stumbling, and I was already moving again.
Spin. Strike. The staff cracked against its knee joint, and the caphik's leg buckled.
It swiped at me with its other paw, and I ducked, feeling the wind of its passage ruffle my hair. Too close. But close was where I needed to be—inside its reach, where those massive paws couldn't generate enough force to crush me.
I drove the staff into its ribs, once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Heard something crack. The caphik roared in pain and rage, trying to back away, but I pressed forward.
This was what I'd been trained for. What I'd spent decades perfecting. Combat wasn't about strength—it was about precision, timing, understanding your opponent's weaknesses and exploiting them without mercy.
