After the initial assault by the first two clones, the pressure never truly eased. Liam was ambushed again—and again—by more of Percy's ice replicas, each emergence seamless within the fog. For two unbroken minutes, he was forced into a relentless cycle of motion and reaction, contending with nearly a dozen of them in rapid succession. He destroyed every single one, his blades and fire carving through ice without mercy, yet victory came at a cost. Shrapnel wounds accumulated across his body as the clones detonated upon destruction, icy explosions that punished even perfect executions.
At first, Liam assumed there was a rule to it. He believed the detonations were triggered only when a clone suffered a lethal blow, some built-in failsafe meant to punish recklessness. That assumption shattered quickly.
The clones exploded whenever they wanted to.
Or rather—whenever Percy wanted them to.
