“Dalinar?” Sadeas demanded. “What in Damnation are you—” Dalinar punched him across his helmeted face, an excellent right hook, carrying with it decades of frustration and strength. The fist blasted through the Plate helmet, shattering it, and cracked across Sadeas’s too-red, too-puffy, too-smug face. Sadeas dropped like a lead bar, crashing to the floor in a heap of Plate. That one … that one felt good.
