From every surrounding mirror, a dozen identical, obsidian-ice surrogates stepped out in unison. They raised their hands, unleashing sweeping streams of dense, liquid frost that coated the floor in friction-less oil while raining long-range, needle-like ice javelins from the safety of the perimeter.
Ragnar was everywhere and nowhere, constantly swapping places with his reflections, sliding seamlessly through the mirror network to maintain maximum distance.
"You seek a brawl, God of War," Ragnar's voice echoed simultaneously from a hundred mirrors, cool and detached. "Then dance through my court first."
