Preliat Mantis
The Wolf
Fifteen years ago, Nar Shaddaa sports complex...
Twenty two years old. Twenty two and the best goon in the league. The Nar Shaddaa planetary Null-Hockey team had selected him as their draftee based on the level of violence he brought. And he brought it, he did. Before the Mandalorians, before it all- Preliat Mantis was one of the fiercest Hockey Goons to ever grace the game.
So quiet. So quiet in his helmet. The helmet could block out external audio. Something about helping with concussions. He clicked it back on as he set his boots onto the floor. The gravity was still on. Null Hockey was a vicious sport. It used a low amount of gravity within the arena, letting fights become especially brutal. Preliat was wearing number twelve, number twelve of the Nar Shaddaa Hutts. They were going against another team from the outer rim, the Krayts. Preliat lined up along the edge of the rink, touching his glove to the handle on the side that slid out for him. His teammate, Jani Kilo, a Chiss woman of about equal viciousness- her only setback in life being that she was incredibly small. It made her a hell of a shooter, though. But Preliat was the goon of the team. His only real job wasn't to play much. Cracking skulls and knocking teeth out was the name of the game. Refs only stepped in when it got too violent. Everyone liked violence here, but people didn't like to see people die. Preliat curled his knuckles, and gripped the bar tightly as the refs counted down. The puck dropped and Jani launched off the wall, shooting through the air faster than he could let go. He sprang off the wall, and went for one of the Krayts that was on a beeline for Jani.
The beeline trick worked. No loss of momentum or velocity meant that Preliat hit the man hard- sending the humanoid tumbling into the wall. The other man knew the drill. He reached up and took off his helmet and dropped his gloves. Preliat did the same. Fair fights, bright lights. That's what he was about. Preliat reeled his hand back, and clocked him across the mouth. With his left hand, he fisted the collar of his shirt and with his right- he liked to call it 'going to work'. Preliat paid for his drug usage and women with his right fist. And people loved to watch him go to work. He first went for the man's ribcage, and then for his jaw. He worked like a jackhammer, bulldogging him so he had no real chance to put up a fight. Blood and teeth floated around Preliat's body as he mercilessly beat the man's face in. Camera droids caught the action close up. They liked to get the slow-motion shots of the finishing move- and this time, it was a swift right hook that sent a flurry of blood across the arena wall, and teeth that floated in mid air.
Refs came and collected Preliat, men far burlier than him. They took his stick and threw him in the penalty box, but the damage was done. The other Krayt was going in the penalty box. He was going to the clinic. Preliat slammed on the glass, eliciting cheers from the Hutts equally-vicious fans. Some of them threw their confections at him, in pure excitement. They loved Preliat Mantis for his violence. Years later, they'd condemn him as a monster. He sat down and wrapped his hand around his stick, shaking off the adrenaline. He squeezed some water into the air and sucked it out of the bubble it formed in. Low gravity, low problems.