The hairs on Simon’s neck tingled, the static in the air drawing them to attention. Without hesitation, Simon envoked a protective ward, knowing the Carl was about to curse him.

The room was flooded with sickly green light for but a moment and, when the blinding glow subsided, Klarian was certain he would find his cousin dead. He was, to say the least, disappointed.

“Best you can do, Carl?” Simon asked with a smirk.

Klarian forced himself to laugh. “You can not hope to best me, Cousin. I am your superior in every way!”

“Really?” replied Simon, quickly preparing another spell. “With skin as pasty as yours, I can’t imagine you see much action from the ladies.”

Klarian stood dumb-founded for a moment. “What?” he queried.

“The ladies; I excect you don’t see much action from them. Thus, I’d be your superior in that regard.”

Outraged, Klarian gathered all his force into his next mystical assault. And Simon, prepared, knew this was it: he’d either defeat his foe or perish himself.