The moment Daniel issued his challenge, the chaotic melee around them seemed to freeze. A singular event. A challenge issued between two kings on a battlefield of pawns.

The lesser combatants, both holy warriors and monstrous denizens, instinctively pulled back. The center of the blood-soaked plaza became a dueling circle. A silent and consecrated ground for a battle that would decide the fate of them all.

Edward looked at the Champion. At the unwavering, righteous certainty in his sapphire-blue eyes. He knew this was inevitable. The duel he had been running from. The confrontation his very existence demanded. He was the shadow. Daniel was the light. And in this world, there was no room for both.

He accepted the challenge. Not with a shout or a grand gesture. A silent and subtle shift in his posture. He rose to his full height on the pile of rubble.

The Shadowfang Dagger was in his right hand. His new shortsword was in his left. He settled into a low stance.

A silent andvdeadly acceptance.

Daniel began to walk forward. His movements were calm. He did not run. He did not charge. He simply advanced. An inexorable, unstoppable force.

His divine sword, the Light's Verdict, was held in a classic, two-handed guard. Its white-gold light was so intense it seemed to make the very shadows recoil.

Edward met his advance. He leaped from the rubble. He landed with a soft, silent grace. He began to circle. A predator sizing up a creature it had never before encountered. His movements were fluid.

The duel began.

A clash of polar opposites. A violent, breathtaking expression of two completely different combat philosophies.

Daniel was a fortress. His style was one of pure, perfect, and uncompromising mastery of the longsword. Every parry was a solid, immovable wall. Every riposte was a precise line of attack.

His footwork was a masterpiece of efficiency. His divine blade was always between himself and his opponent. He was the very definition of the system's ideal warrior. Powerful. Disciplined. Utterly flawless.

Edward was a storm. His style was a whirlwind of chaos, speed, and brutal, pragmatic efficiency. A dervish of black leather and dark steel.

His two blades were a constant, confusing flurry of motion. He never attacked from the same angle twice. He would feint with the shortsword, then lunge with the dagger.

He would spin, drop low, leap high. A dizzying, unpredictable assault. Designed to overwhelm. To confuse. To create a single, fatal opening.

Their blades met for the first time. The sound was not the clean, ringing clang of steel. It was a sharp, explosive hiss. Two diametrically opposed forces trying to unmake each other.

The holy energy of Light's Verdict and the dark, soul-forged nature of Edward's blades met in a shower of brilliant, golden sparks and wisps of acrid, black smoke.

The impact was a shock to them both. Edward felt a jolt of pure, searing, holy fire travel up his arms. The divine energy was an agony against his corrupted soul. He gritted his teeth. The pain was a sharp, unwelcome reminder of the gap between them.

Daniel, for his part, felt a cold, draining sensation. A touch of the void. A feeling of profound and unnatural wrongness. A touch of a power that was a negation of the very divine principles he embodied.

The duel became a frantic, high-speed chess match.

Edward was faster. His raw, stat-based speed was a clear advantage. He could land three strikes in the time it took Daniel to execute one perfect, powerful swing.

But Daniel's defense was a masterpiece of impenetrable. Edward's blades, which had sliced through steel and monster hide, were met with a wall of divine light.

Every one of his lightning-fast strikes was parried. Blocked. Deflected. He was a hornet, stinging again and again at a mountain of solid granite.

Daniel, in contrast, was the epitome of deadly patience. He weathered Edward's storm of attacks. His sapphire-blue eyes were calm and analytical. Searching for a single, fractional error in the whirlwind. He didn't need to land a dozen blows. He just needed to land one.

And he did.

Edward, in a feint, spun. His shortsword a wide, distracting arc. His dagger darted in. Aimed at Daniel's exposed wrist. A move that would have ended the fight against any other opponent.

But Daniel was not any other opponent. He did not fall for the feint. He ignored the shortsword. And with a movement so fast it was almost a blur, he brought the pommel of his own sword up. A short brutal vertical jab.

The heavy, silver pommel caught Edward squarely in the ribs. A sickening, audible crack.

Pain, white-hot and absolute, exploded in Edward's chest. He felt his ribs give way. A sharp, stabbing sensation that stole the air from his lungs. He stumbled back. His perfect, fluid rhythm was shattered. A choked, pained gasp escaped his lips.

He had made a mistake. A single fractional error. And he had been brutally, devastatingly punished for it.

Daniel did not give him a moment to recover. He pressed his advantage. His flawless technique transitioned from a perfect defense to a relentless and overwhelming assault. He was no longer a fortress.

He was an avalanche.

His glowing, white-gold blade was everywhere at once. Edward was forced into a desperate, clumsy retreat. His every parry was a agonizing shock to his broken ribs.

His movements grew slower. More predictable. He was no longer the untouchable phantom. He was a wounded animal. And the hunt's true master was closing in for the kill.

He saw the final blow coming. But he was too slow. Too wounded. To stop it. Daniel executed a perfect, textbook lunge. His form flawless. His blade a streak of pure, divine judgment. Aimed directly at Edward's heart.

This was it. The end of the duel. The end of his rebellion. He had fought. He had gambled. And he had lost.

But he was not the only player on this chessboard.

Just as the tip of Daniel's blade was an inch from his chest, a new sound cut through the air. Not the clang of steel. Not the roar of battle. The sharp, distinctive click of a detonator.

From the shadows of a high balcony, a new figure appeared. Selene. Her face was grim. Her eyes were cold.

She had seen her prize asset, her greatest weapon, about to be destroyed. And she had made a difficult decision.

She pressed the button.

The entire central plaza had been rigged. The Crimson Syndicate, in their mastery of urban warfare and dirty tricks, had spent the battle planting a series of powerful, alchemical explosives at the base of the massive pillars that supported the plaza's roof.

The explosion was not a fiery, concussive blast. It was a series of sharp, powerful, implosive charges. The massive stone pillars, their foundations shattered, groaned in protest. Then they began to fall. A slow, inexorable, and utterly catastrophic domino effect.

Daniel's eyes widened. His perfect, warrior's focus was momentarily broken. He was forced to abort his killing blow. His instincts screamed at him to survive the collapsing architecture.

A massive, multi-ton chunk of the ceiling broke free. It plummeted towards the dueling circle.

"Edward, now!" Selene's voice screamed. A sharp, commanding cry.

Edward, his mind still reeling from the pain and the nearness of his own death, reacted on pure, animal instinct. He threw himself backward. A desperate, rolling tumble. It took him out of the direct path of the falling debris.

The massive chunk of stone crashed down. The impact shattered the plaza floor. It sent a cloud of dust and pulverized rock billowing outwards.

The battlefield was plunged into a state of absolute, blinding chaos.

The duel was over. A forced, chaotic, and utterly ignominious retreat had just been called.

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