Phoebe's POV
I was already deep in the thick of combat with the thugs. Moving with fluid grace, I wove between them without effort. Though they had me surrounded, I launched kick after kick, hurling them backward one by one.
My fighting stance stayed relaxed and unhurried, my face blank of emotion. Yet every punch I threw found its mark on their vulnerable spots. Each kick appeared gentle and effortless, but sent my opponents flying several feet.
The battle was both fierce and quick. In just moments, all the yelling and swearing thugs lay sprawled on the ground. None of them could figure out exactly how I'd done it, but they were completely unable to stand.
They felt as if their limbs, their torsos and backs, had stopped responding to them.
In that instant, the way they stared at me shifted entirely. Their scalps prickled, and terror filled their faces.
Not only were my combat skills terrifying, but every technique I used was brutal and dirty.
