I engage him in an easy back-and-forth parry, blocking his blows with little effort. I’m a better fighter than him, but his quick recovery time makes it challenging to get any kind of upper hand. We trade blows while I evaluate what to do next, keeping him engaged in conversation so he doesn’t turn his sights elsewhere. All the while, I maintain a strong shield in front of the cellar doors and around myself.

“Is that all? Power?” I let the disappointment and sarcasm ring out in my voice as I block another blow and slice him with a beam of light. “Here I thought you were truly an interesting and worthy opponent. Instead, you’re nothing but a backwoods magic user trying to be more than he is.” Krantz growls, and I’ve clearly struck a nerve, so I keep pressing. “What, did the kids at school not like you very much? Did the females not fall over themselves in awe at your dual conduit affinity?” The ferocity of his blows increase, and now the tables have turned. Last night, he got under my skin, but tonight, I’m coming for him. Miniscule orbs of light rush him, too many for him to block them all, and his body is covered in tiny cuts when they reach him. He falters, and I slice the backs of his knees with ice as I deliver the final, stinging verbal blow. “Poor, sad Krantz. The male who had to start a rebellion just to stroke his own ego.”

He hisses at me from the ground, still healing, and I can only laugh. All this time, I worried about taking the leaders of the rebellion out, worried that I was the real villain in the story. But all along, Krantz was an ego-bruised male playing insurgent to make him feel better about his lot in life. I stalk toward him, ready to take him out, but he recovers, launching into his own offensive again. It takes me by surprise, and he slices my arm. I feel Thorne’s growl from across the yard, but I trust him to stay focused on his own task. With barely a thought, I’m healed.