Chapter 8: Seizing the Opening
In an instant, the crowd lunged forward, everyone unleashing their finest tricks. Single-handed clubs, cybernetic claws, and mantis blades—a chaotic storm of weaponry converged upon Quicksand from every direction!
Yet Quicksand remained entirely unphased. The members of Clepsydra only saw him execute a swift, low crouch, bracing one hand against the floor as his legs whipped outward in a sweeping kick. He struck the wrists of several attackers off-center, violently altering the trajectories of their strikes. Their weapons collided mid-air, erupting in a brilliant shower of sparks.
In the blink of an eye, he slipped behind one of the fighters, driving a sharp kick into the back of the man’s knee to force him to the ground. Gripping the man tightly by his riveted belt, Quicksand hoisted him up to use as a human shield. Seeing their comrade compromised, the remaining members hesitated, their assaults faltering. Capitalizing on the pause, Quicksand channeled his immense upper-body strength and spun the man like a grinding wheel before hurling him outward! The projectile fighter’s skull collided heavily with the heads of the surrounding crowd, sending everyone crashing to the floor in a chorus of groans.
Barely a dozen seconds had elapsed, yet ten elite fighters of Clepsydra lay completely incapacitated—and Quicksand had accomplished it entirely bare-handed.
The remaining onlookers shifted between panic and sheer exhilaration. Standing at the center of the room, Quicksand calmly raised his hand to flash a nonchalant ‘V’ for victory.
Hearts let out a booming laugh. “See? This old man wasn’t mistaken. He is, without a doubt, a formidable asset to our cause.”
“And to think Big Brother was so suspicious of him initially that he didn’t even want him working at the bar. I didn’t expect you to embrace him so quickly,” Diamonds chuckled from the sidelines.
One of the fallen Clepsydra members yelled out, “Diamonds! Why don’t you step up and show us what you’ve got? Knock this newcomer down a peg or two!”
Diamonds stepped forward with a lazy, unhurried stride. “True enough. It’s never wise to let a rookie get too full of themselves—arrogance invites defeat. My dear underpaid employee, let us have a bout. I’ve yet to witness you cut loose entirely.”
He took his position opposite Quicksand. As Quicksand scrutinized him, a sudden, sharp throb flared behind his temples.
A fleeting memory flashed before his eyes: he vaguely saw himself standing atop a taxi speeding down an expressway, a chillingly familiar silhouette drawing a firearm directly at his face. He and Diamonds had crossed paths before this life.
In a fraction of a second, Quicksand erupted forward, as if a lethal combat switch had been flipped deep within his biology. Every instinct screamed at him, practically begging for a violent collision with the man standing before him.
He threw a lightning-fast jab, but the moment his knuckles neared Diamonds’s face, his fist was suddenly enveloped by a transparent stasis bubble. Diamonds merely toyed with his Mauser pistol, offering a deeply provocative smirk.
Anticipating the maneuver, Quicksand’s left hand shot out like an electric current. With absolute, unyielding force, he clamped down on Diamonds’s wrist, forcibly twisting the man’s own finger against the trigger of the Mauser and firing a shot directly at his face!
Yet before the projectile could pierce Diamonds’s features, the silhouette dissolved into thin mist. A crisp snap echoed from behind, and Quicksand realized with a jolt that the version of Diamonds he had been fighting was merely a frozen afterimage suspended within a stasis bubble. The true trickster had already materialized behind his back like a phantom.
A premonition of lethal danger pricked the back of Quicksand’s neck like a freezing needle.
In the microsecond between life and death, Quicksand delivered a blind, backward kick. It was a desperate, instinctive counter, yet it connected cleanly with Diamonds’s midsection.
Diamonds stumbled backward a few paces, clutching his stomach as he hunched over to dry-heave for a moment. The Clepsydra members erupted into absolute hysterics, someone shouting:
“Diamonds, you’re all flash and no substance! Undone by the rookie in a single move!”
Diamonds wiped his mouth, completely shameless. “An absolute fluke. I overindulged last night, and this hangover is severely dampening my form.”
“You didn’t touch a drop of alcohol last night. You drank cucumber-mint water,” Quicksand exposed him flatly.
The chapel shook with another wave of laughter. Yet despite the humor, everyone knew their palms had been sweating throughout the brief exchange. It had been a masterfully precise and exceptionally lethal dance; a single misplaced step would have resulted in an early grave. Anyone could see that Quicksand had unleashed genuine, unfiltered killing intent—behaving like a feral wolf intent on tearing out his opponent’s throat. Someone marveled, “If even Diamonds can’t suppress this rookie, Clepsydra is about to be turned upside down!”
Ignoring the chatter, Quicksand turned his gaze toward Hearts. “Mr. Hearts, would you honor me by accepting my challenge?”
“This old man?” Hearts blinked, caught slightly off guard.
“Yes. I am a devoted fan of yours, and I would be honored to receive your guidance.”
The crowd assumed Quicksand was merely being arrogant, unleashing a chorus of loud wolf-whistles. Only Hearts recognized the absolute sincerity in the youth’s eyes. Hearts offered a warm smile. “I wouldn’t call it ‘guidance.’ With a fan as exceptionally gifted as you, this old man can only hope to act as a student.”
Hearts removed his heavy coat, folding it meticulously into a neat square before placing it upon a bench. He stepped forward to face Quicksand. Quicksand lowered his stance, his brows knitting tightly as he adopted a defensive posture. He knew precisely who stood before him: Anvil, the legendary King of Boxers who had once electrified Spiral City. Rumors dictated that the man’s explosive punch exceeded two tons of force; standard human flesh was nothing more than fragile tissue paper before his fists.
The air within the ancient chapel seemed to solidify. Hearts’s massive frame loomed before Quicksand like a veritable mountain. Shifting into a classic orthodox stance, he let out a sharp hiss. He drove off his rear foot, snapping his hips to the left, and unleashed a sudden, devastating straight right!
A violent gale tore across Quicksand’s face, the crest of Hearts’s knuckles coming to a dead halt barely an inch away from the tip of his nose.
From the sidelines, Diamonds drew out his voice: “Ten points.”
Someone countered, “The Boss didn’t even hit him! Even if it connected squarely, that’s only worth a single point.”
“Ah, but Big Brother did hit something else. Well, technically not people—twelve angels, to be exact,” Diamonds clarified, pointing behind Quicksand. Quicksand stood entirely unharmed, but with a deafening crash, the marble statues of the nine orders of angels lining the altar disintegrated into fine powder. A massive crater marred the rear wall, shedding a heavy cascade of dust and candle ash. The stone pillars groaned and trembled as if caught in a localized earthquake.
The sudden tremors caused several onlookers to lose their balance, tumbling to the floor. The mere displacement of air from his fist had left such an apocalyptic footprint. The crowd turned ghost-white, and even Quicksand betrayed a rare expression of sheer astonishment. Diamonds offered a playful grin. “Technically, it should be twelve points, but who am I to argue with a ten-point boxing scale?”
Hearts offered an apologetic smile. “Forgive my clumsiness. It appears this old man has destroyed public property yet again.” The others laughed it off, shouting, “Don’t worry about it, Boss! Diamonds has destroyed far more property than you over the past few weeks.” Diamonds rolled his eyes dramatically at them.
Someone remarked, “Boss Hearts is as incredible as ever. Ever since Boss Morning Star vanished, Clepsydra would have fractured into a scattered mess if you hadn’t stepped up to lead us.”
Hearing the name, something stirred deep within Quicksand’s mind. He reached out, pulling the speaker aside to ask, “What do you mean? Hearts isn’t the sole founder?”
The man lowered his voice, explaining, “Aye, Boss Hearts is our second leader. The original founder, Boss Morning Star, vanished without a trace one day. To this day, no one knows the true reason behind it.”
Quicksand found himself experiencing a peculiar, unprompted interest in this historical figure, pressing for details, but his inquiries ultimately yielded nothing. He only gathered that “Morning Star” had been a titan among men, an extraordinary individual who had utilized an iron fist to suppress the warring factions of the lower districts. Following his disappearance, the resistance had fallen into a deep malaise, only recovering its stride once Hearts assumed the mantle of leadership.
Throughout the remainder of the assembly, no one dared to voice a single doubt regarding Quicksand’s capabilities, and the looks directed toward Hearts carried a renewed layer of profound reverence. The group finalized several operational details for the upcoming assault, and before they knew it, the midday sun hung high above.
“Let’s move, my underpaid friend. Time for lunch,” Diamonds announced as the Clepsydra members began to filter out of the chapel in small groups. He stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looked at Quicksand.
Quicksand looked back with evident reluctance. “Are we eating sawdust loaf again?”
“Today marks your official entry into Clepsydra, and you managed to survive a direct encounter with Big Brother Hearts’s fist. Consider this a proper reward—we’re dining out.”
Though Quicksand’s expression remained flat, the realization that he wouldn’t have to ingest Diamonds’s standard fare caused his gray eyes to brighten ever so slightly. The two navigated the labyrinthine alleys of the lower district, eventually slipping into the Heavenly Blessing Eatery.
The restaurant was modest, featuring off-white walls, terrazzo floor tiles, and a green Diamond-brand ceiling fan humming overhead. They took their seats, and Diamonds snatched up the menu, showering the proprietress with a barrage of smooth flattery that left her beaming with delight. He finished smoothly, “We’ll take one of everything on the menu.”
The proprietress laughed so hard her eyes narrowed into slits. “Oh, little Xiao Fang, you certainly know how to support my business! It’s perfect timing, really; we’re preparing to upgrade our selection and expand the menu by ten pages soon.”
Diamonds let out a light chuckle. “No matter. I’ll order every single dish regardless of how thick you make the menu. It’s not my coin, after all.”
“My, did our little Xiao Fang catch himself a wealthy benefactor?”
Diamonds cast a deeply meaningful look across the table at Quicksand. “No benefactor, just a remarkably expensive mouth to feed.” Quicksand was already occupied with rinsing his utensils with boiling water, his eyes locked onto the menu as if his saliva might hit the floor at any second.
The dishes materialized in rapid succession—succulent roast goose, delicate wonton noodles, and fragrant claypot rice filling the tabletop to capacity. Quicksand hadn’t enjoyed a single square meal since his arrival at the Poker Bar. Finally granted the freedom to indulge his inner glutton, he devoured the feast at a breakneck pace, his cheeks bulging with food like a stuffed hamster.
Once the food had cleared his throat, Quicksand wiped his mouth and remarked, “How did the boss strike it rich? To think you actually have the capital to treat me to a meal.”
Diamonds offered a sly, cunning grin, pulling a sleek titanium-tungsten alloy pocket watch from his coat. The name Hearts was elegantly engraved across the casing. “Your idol’s wallet is currently financing this operation.”
“I am reporting this,” Quicksand deadpanned, though his hands never ceased stuffing baked lobster with cheese into his mouth.
“Why the sudden concern for his finances? It’s hardly the first time.”
Quicksand snatched the pocket watch from Diamonds’s grip. Diamonds sighed in resignation. “I thought you claimed to remember absolutely nothing. Why the sudden, fierce devotion to Big Brother Hearts?”
“I don’t remember a thing, but a persistent instinct tells me that the version of me before the amnesia was a passionate fan of his. Perhaps staying close to my idol will trigger a breakthrough and restore a portion of my memories.”
Diamonds skewed his gaze at him. “The clicking of your internal abacus is loud enough to hit me in the face.”
Quicksand looked down at the watch. The display indicated a remaining lifespan reserve of 5 years—a massive fortune by lower-district standards, but a pitifully small sum for a former superstar and King of Boxers. Diamonds chuckled, “Relax. That’s merely Big Brother’s pocket change. He managed to squirrel away some savings during his golden years, and he provided this to me explicitly as operational capital.”
“It still qualifies as embezzling public funds,” Quicksand countered. As he handled the watch, his finger brushed against a recessed button on the casing, causing a holographic photograph to project into the air.
It was a family portrait. A powerfully built gentleman clad in a bespoke, hand-embroidered suit stood with a neatly trimmed box beard, his eyes shining as bright as stars—it was clearly a younger version of Hearts during his peak as Anvil. He was smiling warmly, seated upon a plush sofa alongside a refined woman and a young girl, presenting a scene that carried the serene coloration of a classic oil painting.
“What is this?”
Diamonds leaned closer to inspect the projection. “Ah. That’s Big Brother’s family portrait.”
“I didn’t realize he had a family. Where are his wife and daughter? Are they living within the lower districts of Spiral City as well?”
“My dear employee, you are far more gossipy than I anticipated.”
Quicksand continued to crunch down on fried fish skin coated in salted egg yolk. “Can you blame me? I am a fanatical devotee.”
“By the time I crossed paths with Big Brother Hearts, he was already entirely alone. His wife passed away many years ago. His daughter, however, is still technically around. Haven’t you already met her?”
Quicksand frowned, combing through his fractured memories but failing to find a single face that fit the description. Diamonds prompted him gently:
“Do you recall the glass tank resting against the wall in Big Brother’s quarters? The human head suspended inside? That is his daughter.”
Quicksand froze mid-bite.
After a prolonged silence, he murmured, “I assumed… it was a porcelain doll.”
The memory of the head suspended within the fluid resurfaced—the smooth, porcelain-white skin and the delicate, pale pink lips. It was a beautiful young girl.
“It’s no doll; she’s a living human being. The reservoir is filled with a specialized nutrient solution engineered to preserve cellular vitality. Her name is Duo Duo. The silver lining is that she remains technically alive. She’s essentially a sleeping beauty, waiting for the day she finally awakens.”
“Can a person truly remain alive with only a head?”
Diamonds chewed lazily on the straw of his lemon tea. “Yes. It remains the deepest, unhealed wound in Big Brother’s heart. The Corporation is directly responsible for reducing his daughter to that horrific state, which is precisely why he harbors such a burning, absolute hatred for Chrono-Entropy. Once you forge a deeper bond with him, perhaps he’ll find the strength to share the full history with you.”
Quicksand lowered his gaze back to the floating photograph. The girl in the projection wore a beautiful jacquard dress, her smile radiant and full of pure sunshine. The photograph was a single, frozen moment in time—an era when she remained entirely ignorant of the profound, endless agony that awaited her beyond that brief window of happiness.
Diamonds shrugged off the melancholy. “No use drowning in sorrow. Who in the lower districts doesn’t carry a broken heart? Big Brother Hearts is channeling every ounce of his soul into guiding Clepsydra now. He’s found a new purpose to live for.”
“Do you have one as well?”
“What?” Diamonds raised his eyes, finding Quicksand’s cold gray gaze locked onto him like a sniper targeting a bullseye.
“Do you carry a broken heart as well?”
Diamonds leaned back against his chair, his gaze drifting away toward the street. The vibrant glow of the neon lights refracted through the frosted glass windows like smeared rouge, painting a fractured, chaotic portrait of the world outside. After a long pause, he dismissed the query with a casual chuckle:
“None whatsoever. I am nothing more than a carefree soap bubble drifting through the wind. I have no permanent anchor, no one to worry over me, and absolutely no need to worry over anyone else.”
Following roughly two weeks of meticulous preparation, the members of the Clepsydra resistance convened once more within the ruins of the old chapel.
Hearts gathered the core operatives, explicitly outlining the operational parameters for their upcoming raid against the Chrono-Entropy Corporation’s 2030 branch. The objective was absolute: paralyze the facility, liberate the captives trapped within the Blood Arena, and shatter the Corporation’s stranglehold over the lower districts.
Furthermore, the 2030 branch was guaranteed to harbor encrypted data streams linking to the Corporation’s higher-tier facilities. Securing that intelligence would grant the resistance a decisive strategic advantage in the total war that lay ahead.
Hearts scanned the assembled faces, commanding, “We will divide into five distinct squads, totaling thirty core operational assets. The hacking vanguard will be overseen by Clubs Cat; she will breach their security matrix and broadcast fabricated surveillance loops. Lady Spades and our newcomer will compromise the support squad, remaining on standby to cover our extraction, manage medical triage, and handle ammunition resupply. Our five combat engineers will deploy the primary demolition charges and monitor corporate reinforcements.”
He organized the entire operation with seamless efficiency before concluding, “As for you, Diamonds—you will embed with the assault squad to handle the frontline breach and suppression.”
Quicksand cast a skeptical side-eye at Diamonds. He couldn’t fathom this man operating as a frontline shock trooper; Diamonds was far better suited for parlor tricks and deception. The moment real violence erupted, the con man would likely grease his wheels and vanish.
Diamonds had been lounging across a bench with his fedora pulled low over his features, seemingly fast asleep. At the mention of his assignment, he pushed the hat aside and sat up. “Big Brother, I have a counter-proposal. Remove our dear underpaid employee from logistical support. Reassign him to the assault vanguard.”
Hearts frowned, objecting, “The assault vanguard is the most perilous assignment on the board. While our newcomer possesses undeniable combat prowess, he remains entirely ignorant of our tactical maneuvers. It is far safer to embed him within the support tier for his maiden operation.”
Quicksand chimed in with a perfectly flat, deadpan delivery. “Precisely. Dispatching a humble bartender to throw his life away on the frontlines—only a ruthless, cold-blooded employer could devise such a scheme.”
Diamonds pulled Quicksand aside, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially: “Relax. It’s precisely because the assignment carries immense risk that the hazard pay is astronomical. Complete this single deployment, and your daily rate will clear at least two hundred hours of lifespan.”
Quicksand remained entirely unmoved by the mention of coin. Diamonds pressed further: “Besides, didn’t you claim to have no memory of your past? The 2030 branch maintains the tightest operational links to the lower districts. If we successfully secure their primary timeline databases, we might just unearth the records detailing your true identity.”
Quicksand fell silent, his protests dying in his throat. His headaches had grown progressively worse over the past few days, and his unprompted fascination with corporate structures suggested that his missing past was clawing its way to the surface. He enjoyed his quiet life as a bartender at the Poker Bar; the patrons treated him with genuine warmth, and he felt a strange sense of peace there. Yet he couldn’t ignore the flawless, lethal reflexes wired into his muscles, nor the primordial surge of absolute killing intent that flooded his veins whenever he looked at Diamonds.
He was growing increasingly desperate to learn who he truly was.
Sensing the crack in the youth’s armor, Diamonds drove the wedge home: “Furthermore, if I’m assigning you to the assault vanguard, I have no intention of putting you in actual harm’s way. You need only stand on the sidelines and watch the show. Consider it an effortless walk in the park.”
Quicksand looked back at him, his expression dripping with pure skepticism. Diamonds merely offered an enigmatic, charming smile:
“Trust me. Once deployment day arrives, you’ll see exactly what I mean.”
The Chrono-Entropy Corporation’s 2030 branch was situated at the direct geographic threshold separating the lower districts from the upper world. Ascending through the primary elevator shafts brought visitors directly to the heart of the branch facility—a sector notoriously designated as the “Blood Arena.”
Engineered to resemble the ancient Roman Colosseum, the arena occupied a massive, cavernous chamber soaring fifty meters into the air. The atmosphere was thick with the chemical tang of industrial motor oil, a deliberate measure implemented to mask the iron stench of spilled blood. Fifty thousand stadium seats encircled a central combat ring enclosed by heavy metallic mesh fencing. Countless masked aristocrats from Spiral City’s upper tiers frequented the venue, indulging their dark appetites by watching a continuous cycle of unchecked slaughter.
Within this cage of absolute despair, the combatants were almost exclusively individuals pushed to the brink of extinction. Some stepped onto the canvas with a mere two or three hours remaining on their lifespan clocks; others fought because the lives of their families were held hostage. There were even those who had traded away both arms and a leg for cybernetics merely to secure enough time to survive the night, hobbling onto the canvas balanced upon crutches. The stadium stands echoed with continuous laughter and cheers, while the cage below resonated with agonizing screams. Through the continuous broadcasting and syndication of these savage spectacles, the 2030 branch generated astronomical profits.
As a fresh tournament block prepared to commence, mechanical attendants scurried across the primary concourse to usher guests through the VIP gates. Meanwhile, at a nearby freight elevator terminal, a pair of cylindrical sanitation drones rolled out onto the floor.
The sanitation units charted a course toward the Blood Arena entrance, but their path was promptly obstructed by a contingent of mechanical security attendants.
Scanning the hulls of the sanitation units, the security attendants flashed a series of crimson warnings, their sirens blaring: “ID authentication verified. Behavioral pattern anomaly—” Additional security models converged on the position, forming a tight, mechanical perimeter.
A heavy sigh echoed from inside one of the sanitation units. “That clumsy Clubs Cat… she went to all the trouble of engineering real-time ID spoofing protocols, yet she couldn’t bother to alter the attendants’ navigation routing to make the infiltration seamless?”
Suddenly, the metallic chassis of the sanitation units burst open, and two figures vaulted out onto the polished floor. The security attendants’ optics flashed a violent crimson, yet the warnings abruptly ceased the moment their scanners processed the intruders’ profiles.
“Chrono-Entropy ID authentication verified. Welcome to the 2030 branch,” the mechanical attendants chimed in unison, their voices shifting into a smooth, welcoming electronic cadence.
The two individuals who emerged from the disguised units were a massively portly gentleman clad in an elegant, embroidered teal silk robe, carelessly flipping a heavy gold coin between his fingers, and a striking figure wearing the distinctive flame-patterned black porcelain mask of a Time Scavenger, balancing a heavy trench shovel in one hand while checking a platinum pocket watch with the other.
“Mr. Bumblebee and Mr. Quicksand, how may the facility assist you today?” the mechanical attendants inquired, completely fooled by the fabricated clearance profiles.
The portly gentleman and the lethal Scavenger—who were, in reality, Diamonds and Quicksand in deep disguise—exchanged a brief glance. Diamonds raised his chin, adopting a haughty, insufferable tone:
“Escort us to the Blood Arena immediately. Move it.”
Quicksand proved remarkably adept at mimicking the icy, terrifying aura of a corporate Scavenger, planting his free hand on his hip as he barked, “Provide guide services this instant. I am running exceptionally late for my bout.”
The mechanical attendant blinked its optical sensors. “Will the two of you be accessing the arena as spectators or as registered combatants?”
Diamonds answered smoothly, “Spectators.”
Quicksand stated flatly, “Combatant.”
Diamonds snapped his head around, staring at Quicksand in absolute, unmitigated disbelief. While Diamonds was technically embedded with the assault vanguard, his operational style relied entirely on avoiding direct physical confrontations; his primary goal was to slip into the control matrix and disable the attendants’ command systems from the shadows. He hadn’t anticipated that this dense underpaid employee of his would turn out to have such a massive flair for the dramatic, apparently growing so addicted to playing the role of a Scavenger that he actually wanted to climb into the cage and crack skulls.
Adopting an aggressively hostile posture, Quicksand glared down at the mechanical security units and commanded:
“Step aside and lead the way before the opening bell rings. Put me on the roster—I intend to dismantle ten opponents simultaneously!”
