Telekinesis

Mab’s lips moved, and her voice sounded clearly inside my head, even though I couldn’t hear anything else. “Finally.”
She rose, just levitated the hell up, stiff as a board, like in the old vampire movies, her hair and battle mail covered in blood, and as she did, she lifted her left hand—and suddenly squeezed it into a fist.
The surge of magic that came out of her was so dense, so intense, that it sent several pieces of stray Styrofoam fill nearby spiraling into the air on what looked like a helical sine wave around her. I looked back at the FSC. The Fomor sorcerer on the left end of the line . . . just sort of . . .
Did you ever squeeze a handful of red Play-Doh?
It was like that.
The Fomor sorcerer hovered suspended, maybe a foot above the sudden large splatter of blood on the ground.
Mab turned her head to the next sorcerer in the row and flicked her wrist.
The remains of the first Fomor went flying at the next sorcerer in the line at maybe five hundred meters per second. The impact was . . . really, really messy. And confusing.
Mab turned to the next Fomor sorcerer, her eyes cold.
The FSC turned out to be smart enough to know when they were outclassed. And they were outclassed. Mab’s magic had crushed their defenses like empty beer cans. They turned to run, vanishing behind veils as they went.
Mab watched them flee. Then she turned, still cold, and stalked over to Butters.

Battle Ground Chapter 28, Page 259