Master Chen's fist shot toward my face with practiced precision. His three disciples attacked simultaneously from different angles, their coordination flawless. The Iron Mountain School's reputation for practical combat was well-deserved.
I sidestepped Chen's strike and caught his wrist in one fluid motion. His eyes widened as I redirected his momentum, sending him stumbling into one of his own disciples.
The second disciple threw a powerful hook at my ribs. I blocked it with my forearm, feeling the impact that would have dropped most men. The force barely registered.
"Impossible," the disciple breathed.
I grabbed his extended arm and twisted sharply. The crack of his elbow joint echoed through the parking lot as he screamed and dropped to his knees.
