“Lucimia...” Rexi pressed close, like a sparrow under storm; her voice trembled. “Is it because we... snuck in? So a Dark Deity came for us?”

Lucimia kept silent, her breath flat as still water.

Honestly... it might. The possibility hung like a dim shadow.

But the thought only brushed past like a wing; with a Time Halt in play, it’s more than simple smuggling.

As the ground sigil knit itself, a deep, indifferent voice fell from the high sky, from every side, and from inside the skull, like frost.

“This place does not welcome Dark Deities. Leave.”

A man’s voice—cool, glacial, machine-clean—carried pressure like a mountain’s weight.

Unease pricked; Lucimia’s brow tightened, thoughts fluttering like moths.

Isn’t the Time Stasis Bearer female? Our intel shouldn’t be wrong. Is this cooperation? Or did a Dark Deity turn someone into a puppet?

And this man says Dark Deities aren’t welcome—yet he is one; the irony curled like smoke.

Lucimia kept it in; Rexi blurted, “Aren’t you a Dark Deity too? Why don’t you leave yourself?”

She ducked behind Lucimia like a chick under a wing.

Lucimia had no words, her silence shutting like a blade.

After Rexi’s jab, he answered, “Because I must guard this place,” words clean as a snapped twig.

She steadied her breath, cool as night, then said, “We’re different from other Dark Deities. We won’t harm anyone here, or damage anything.”

To draw the line sharper, she added, “Purification and I are mortal enemies.”

“No.” The cold voice laid down iron. “If you won’t leave, don’t blame me for executing judgment.”

Trouble, thick as a gathering storm.

Lucimia’s face hardened. A breath later, she shed her mask. A third eye bloomed beneath her left eye, lines crawling like vines across her skin. Shadow spilled like ink, birthing a forest of tendrils.

Her body seemed sliced to ribbons, then knit in a blink; her presence reeked of eldritch taint, like swamp fog.

And there wasn’t just one Lucimia—countless echoes layered over her, ghosted frames blurred and unreal, like a mirage.

Rexi jolted, skittering back two steps, afraid the ink-black surge would gulp her down like a tide.

The cold male voice went silent; Lucimia spoke first, a blade laid flat.

“You know some Authority Powers restrain all things.”

He gave no answer, silence heavy as stone.

Lucimia’s gaze cooled. Shadow lunged for the long-sword sigil on the ground; the white-lit blade dimmed from the tip, swallowed like snow by tar.

It ate halfway up the blade; she felt no resistance. So his Authority Power didn’t clash with hers—or not by much, like oil over water.

“You can try to resist,” Lucimia said, voice steady as iron. “No matter who wins, the winner won’t walk away clean—energy burned, corruption taken. If you want mutual ruin, we can test it.”

“Are you threatening me?” The voice scraped back, harsh as iron on stone.

“Yes.” Her reply snapped like flint. “I’ll say it again. I’m different from other Dark Deities. I’m here to find a few people. I won’t hurt them. I’ll leave when I’m done.”

He went quiet for a beat, the pause hanging like a paused clock.

Lucimia didn’t press; she let him think, like letting tea steep in calm water.

He stayed silent so long that, if not for time still Halted and the ground sigil still shining, she’d have thought he fled like smoke.

Lucimia had patience; Rexi didn’t. Seeing Lucimia that fierce lit her courage like dry tinder. She shouted at the sigil, “Hey, hey? Cat got your tongue? Did we scare you dumb?”

Lucimia fell silent again, folding like a closed fan. Rexi just had to pour oil on the fire.

Maybe the taunt worked. The man spoke, dropping a stone into still water: “You’re hunting a Time Ability User, right?”

Lucimia blinked, surprise flashing like light. But with Time Halt in effect and ties to that thorn of a man, it wasn’t strange he knew. She smoothed her face and said, “Right.”

“Then, duel me.”

“What?” Lucimia’s confusion sparked like a struck match.

“What duel?” Rexi was lost too. “Haven’t you already lost?”

“There’s a difference.” His cold voice returned with weight and grandeur, bronze-deep. “I am Auril, King of the Lowegar Kingdom, and what the world calls a Dark Deity. My Authority Power is—[Duel].”

“Duel...” Lucimia mouthed the word. Understanding snapped into place like a lock turning.

No wonder the small Lowegar Kingdom survives beneath giants, in a world thick with Dark Deities, like a reed bending yet unbroken.

So it’s Duel—then the pieces align.

A Duel: formal combat between two people, arranged with a witness, lethal in intent, the ground marked like chalk lines in an arena.

There’s a variant too: many contenders in one Duel, last one standing on the sand.

How you play depends on the form of the Duel, like games set by rules carved in bone.

This king kept armies at bay by invoking Duel; numbers melt uselessly when forced into single combat, like snow under sun.

As an Authority Power, he can compel it; during a Duel, others can’t interfere, a glass wall dropped between fighters.

In short, [Duel] runs on its own iron mechanism and rules, like a clock that brooks no hand.

“Why should we duel you? You already lost.” Rexi bristled, sparks popping in her tone. “Trying to cheat now?”

“It’s the rule of this place,” he said, words cut in stone.

“If you won’t agree, then leave. If you keep threatening me, I don’t mind going down together.”

He used the same gambit as Lucimia; both stood at a cliff edge, neither willing to jump.

Rexi choked on words, gasping like a fish out of water.

Lucimia paused, thought weighing like scales, then asked, “Tell me how the Duel works. Rules, mechanisms, and what the victor gains.”

“The Duel is simple. First, the local rules,” he said, like a scroll unrolling.

“First: any dispute, conflict, or grievance among the people here can be settled by Duel,” thunder like a gavel in the air.

“Second: the challenged party sets the Duel’s content, or can yield that right. Content can be anything, but it must have basics—how to decide a winner set in advance; only one side wins; each side has a real chance; and it’s as fair as possible,” measured like rods laid straight.

“Third: when the other side declares ‘Duel,’ the challenged cannot refuse,” a lock clicking shut.

“Fourth: the initiator may set the outcomes for winner and loser,” ink sealing a decree.

“Fifth: those outcomes are enforced by Authority Power; none can defy them,” chains of law binding like cold iron.

“These are the rules of this place,” he finished, the words standing like a stone tablet.