The sudden, jerking pull of Jacen driving his momentum forward was a brutal sensation. Braze's leg tore free from his grip, his slight frame dragged along the dirt as his fingernails clawed for purchase on the ground below, several nailbeds tearing under the strain. It was a smart move, brutally efficient. Jacen had experience with ground fighting, perhaps more than anyone Braze had met. A mind quick enough to keep pace with a body moving at such advanced speed, adapting in the moment with practiced ease. That alone told Braze just how dangerous and experianced Jacen truly was.
Braze planted a foot, steadying himself after being ripped off the ground. He had intended to invert his position and gain advantage by mounting up on Jacen's back once they hit the floor, but that plan was already shredded by the shift in momentum. He broke from it instantly, adaptation was his strength.
Precious moments slipped by as Jacen turned, gun swinging back toward him. Braze refused to relent. He rolled forward with dogged determination, bursting upright
right in Jacen's personal space. Both arms shot up, wrists crossed, catching Jacen's weapon hand. He called on the Force to aid him with strength, driving the gun upward in a twisting windmill motion, trying to torque Jacen's wrist and force the muzzle skyward. One hand wrenched at the weapon, while the other pressed hard against the back of Jacen's elbow, shoving the limb sideways.
He pushed into close quarters, fighting for leverage. The goal was simple: disarm him. Braze slid under the trapped arm, snapping up beside Jacen in the same breath. With a sharp jerk backward, he attempted to leverage Jacen into a rough arm-lock throw, using the man's's own weight and momentum against him.