Chapter 14: Clashing Against the Raging Tide
The lights shone stark and white, pressing down heavily on the air like solid blocks of iron. The arena ring was a scene of utter ruin. Guard robots had dragged Monkey Face and Hearts beneath the stage, clearing an open space for the two combatants remaining on the platform.
Looking up at the uninvited “Hearts” standing on the ring, Quicksand felt as though a ball of cotton was wedged tightly in his throat, completely stuck. He recognized that flippant voice and the platinum-blonde hair reflecting a greasy, cold sheen. That was not “Hearts” at all—it was a charlatan he knew all too well.
Yet, he distinctly remembered that the man was nothing more than a loose-tongued, smooth-talking swindler with a frail constitution, constantly pouring a massive assortment of colorful pills down his throat like Skittles. But the real Hearts had just claimed that he had been defeated by this very person three times in past duels, a fact that Quicksand found impossible to believe.
A heavy silence rippled across the blood arena. In the next instant, without the blast of a referee’s whistle, a ferocious exchange of blows erupted! The monster constructed from Hearts’s missing limbs and a mechanical torso began to crackle and pop all over, sounding like thawing ice fracturing in spring as countess strands of raw flesh proliferated out from within it. Tiny, bud-like hands sprouted from its thick, coarse arms, sweeping toward “Hearts” like a tangle of branching tree limbs.
“Hearts” maintained an elegant posture, shifting his weight and switching his steps as lightly as a feather drifting in the wind, easily evading the monster’s assault. Staring at his fluid silhouette, Quicksand was suddenly struck by a piercing headache, feeling as though a corner of his mind had collapsed—that man’s movements looked intimately familiar.
Countless fragments flashed across his consciousness. Quicksand felt as though he had witnessed similar movements before, atop a speeding taxi—no, even further back in time.
An image flashed through his mind. He found himself within a spotless, bone-white sector assembled from diamond-shaped steel paneling. Countless mechanical gears rotated across the ceiling, and a colossal clock whirled upon the wall, its face engraved with the number “2035.” He lay half-reclined within a hemispherical pod, mechanical tendrils pressed tightly against his temples. Someone standing outside the pod asked him: “Why are you reviewing the basic combat data of Subject A-0 again? Wasn’t that data already hardwired into our brains long ago?”
The past version of himself within the memory replied: “He is the archetype for every single one of us in our branch. By studying his data meticulously, perhaps I can refine my combat techniques a little further.”
Archetype… combat techniques… data. Countless concepts sparked and died within his consciousness, and a dull, agonizing pain throbbed in his head as if shards of broken glass had been driven into his brain. Quicksand suddenly realized that the “Hearts” on stage moved with a clinical, efficient power that linked directly to his deepest memories—in every battle he had fought up until now, he had been mimicking these exact movements!
Cold sweat poured down Quicksand’s face as he stared at the figure on the stage. Questions swirled within his heart like moths hitting a flame: Who exactly was the person on the stage? And who was he himself?
By now, deafening echoes shattered the air across the ring. “Hearts’s” movements were concise and straight to the point—jabs, hooks, uppercuts. Though his physique was far more slender than the monster’s, his fists struck with the thunderous force of a massive battering ram hitting a temple bell. The monster was actually driven into a corner, its four limbs sliced open by the razor-sharp wind of the punches as dark blood snaked across its skin.
But in the next instant, accompanied by the sharp hiss of an electric current, the monster’s blood abruptly began to harden. Due to its cybernetic modifications, the metallic iron ions and graphene composite particles within its bloodstream began to aggregate and align, forming a rigid armor and razor-sharp blades. Gathering its four limbs together, the monster lunged toward “Hearts” like a massive wind turbine laced with scythes!
Yet, “Hearts” remained entirely unperturbed. He discerned that the monster, relying on a mechanical chassis for its torso, was devoid of eyes and relied entirely on sound to track its target. Consequently, in the following fraction of a second, he rose onto his tiptoes, appearing as though he were dancing across the edge of a blade. Quicksand recognized it instantly as a footwork pattern routinely utilized by professional assassins. As “Hearts” brushed past the monster, its median nerve, ulnar artery, and flexor digitorum muscles were severed in rapid succession. In a heartbeat, blood erupted violently, looking as though dozens of spider lilies had blossomed across the monster’s frame.
“A truly rare sight to behold,” a soft sigh echoed from his side. Quicksand turned his head to look.
Gazing intently at the ring, Hearts murmured softly, “This old man hasn’t seen him get truly serious like this in a very long time.”
Quicksand blinked blankly. “The person on the stage… is really the black-hearted boss?”
He found it impossible to reconcile. The man he knew was crafty, deceitful, and capable of nothing but running his mouth—someone he easily pinned to the floor every single time. The person before his eyes felt like an entirely different entity.
Hearts fell silent for a brief moment before letting out a soft chuckle:
“He is neither black-hearted nor Hearts. He is Diamonds.”
While they spoke, the battle on the stage raged on. The monster suddenly reached out, tore away one of its newly sprouted arms, and hurled it toward “Hearts” like a high-velocity projectile! “Hearts” appeared caught off guard by the maneuver; the projectile struck his abdomen heavily, causing him to cough up a mouthful of blood. Though Quicksand couldn’t clearly see his expression through the mask, the sight of his pale neck caused his own heart to tighten in sympathy.
Planting his feet firmly, “Hearts” merely let out a soft smile, retrieved a syringe from his vest, and plunged it directly into his median cubital vein. Quicksand recognized the cylinder as the muscle enhancer that had been tucked away in the backpack inside Hearts’s room. The moment the drug entered his system, “Hearts” appeared entirely rejuvenated, his movements becoming even more agile. When the monster unleashed another ferocious punch, he executed a fluid parry, concealing steel within softness, deflecting and redirecting the momentum to neutralize the assault effortlessly.
The monster abruptly altered its strategy, swaying its upper torso back and forth while shielding its face with its arms, moving in a rhythmic, pendulum-like motion. Its strikes shifted between feints and genuine thrusts, making its trajectory entirely unpredictable. This was the legendary signature technique once used by Anvil, the King of Boxers: “Blind Man’s Bluff.”
The announcer robot’s synthesized voice boomed with intense excitement: “Incredible! This monstrosity composed of a mechanical chassis and the physical body of the former King of Boxers has actually replicated the King’s signature technique! Does it possess a trace of self-awareness? Or is it operating entirely on muscle memory? Regardless, the entity before our eyes has transformed into a terrifyingly formidable, peak-tier competitor!”
“Hearts” remained silent. Suddenly, he drew a Mauser pistol from his waist. A life-and-death duel imposed no weapon restrictions. The Mauser instantly spat out several transparent time-stagnation bubbles packed with highly concentrated lidocaine. The moment they impacted the monster, the bubbles ruptured violently. He moved like a firefly skimming across the water’s surface, his actions light, nimble, and incredibly swift. As the anesthetic saturated its system, the monster began to sway unsteadily before crashing heavily to the floor with a thunderous roar, sending clouds of dust billowing into the air.
“Is it over?”
The audience below whispered among themselves. However, “Hearts” did not let down his guard for a single second, his eyes remaining locked on the fallen beast. Sure enough, the monster rolled back onto its feet, the modified beast genes within its biology fully activating as it slammed its twin arms down! The arena stage suddenly split wide open. The mountain of flesh raged across the platform like a rampaging African elephant.
“Hearts” nimbly evaded the cataclysmic assault, casually playing with a few metal bells he had salvaged from the church before tossing them toward the edges of the ring. Tracking the noise, the monster lunged blindly, hearing chiming echoes from all four corners. Unable to pinpoint his exact location, it began tearing and biting wildly at the empty air.
Realizing it couldn’t hit its target, the monster suddenly channeled all its energy, the light apertures across its mechanical torso flashing a menacing red! In an instant, countless laser beams erupted outward like searing blades, leaving scorched brown scars wherever they touched, sparing not even the spectator seats.
The crowd erupted into an absolute frenzy, resembling a mass of ants fleeing a disturbed nest as they scrambled frantically toward the exits. The overlapping shrieks pierced through the ears like shattering glass. Amidst the deafening clamor, “Hearts” suddenly called out toward the stage below:
“Brother, can I finish it off?”
Hearts, who was half-leaning against Quicksand’s shoulder, understood the exact reason behind the question. That monster possessed his original limbs; if they were completely destroyed, he would never be able to restore his body to that of a normal human for the rest of his life. “Hearts” had been holding back his full strength precisely due to this single reservation.
Ever since Monkey Face had shattered his body, Hearts had survived on a mismatched collection of cybernetic parts, frequently subjected to the mocking stares of others. Yet now, he let out a boisterous laugh, roaring back:
“You little brat, since when do you pull your punches? Let it rip! A true fighter shows his brilliance on the canvas, no matter the cost!”
“Hearts” stared down at him through the mask, his eyes reflecting a mixture of sorrow and a soft smile. A fraction of a second later, he finally made his decision, a “8 of Diamonds” playing card sliding from his sleeve into his palm.
Suddenly, the monster launched its assault, its massive arms sweeping across the ring like an oncoming mountain range! The air felt like a boiling cauldron as agonized screams, thunderous impacts, and chaotic footsteps tangled into a single mass of noise.
“Hearts” remained completely composed, standing perfectly still while holding the playing card between his fingers. Paper appeared soft, yet when drawn at a specific angle with immense speed, it could transform into a razor-sharp blade. The moment the monster lunged forward to swing its fist, a sharp, whistling sound sliced through the air, sounding as though thousands of lancets had punctured the atmosphere simultaneously.
In that single instant, a massive torrent of blood erupted from the mountain of flesh like splashed ink, and the colossal frame collapsed limply to the floor. “Hearts” stood in the center of the ring, drenched in the raining blood, resembling Beelzebub, the dark deity of calamity, summoned amidst a crimson slaughter. Quicksand watched the scene transfixed, a strange, primal tremor rippling through the depths of his soul—this was a realm of combat he had long sought but never achieved: movements concise and powerful, every strike delivering a fatal blow without a single redundant gesture. The man standing in the center of that ring was a true god of death!
Right at this moment, a thunderous crash reverberated as the massive doors of the blood arena collapsed inward. It turned out that the members of the Clepsydra resistance had launched a massive wave of strong acid from the outside, utilizing electromagnetic pulse rifles hijacked from the guard robots to shatter the barriers. In an instant, a sea of figures swarmed into the venue like a buzzing hive of bees. The moment they spotted Hearts, everyone began roaring at the top of their lungs:
“Boss!” “Boss Hearts!”
Supported by a guard robot, Monkey Face let out a furious screech: “Employee ID 1458! Why is the resistance here? Where are the rest of the guard robots?”
A staff member scrambled over in a panic: “Chief, I am Employee ID 4158. I—I don’t know what happened! The firewall failed, and the guard robots outside are refusing to follow orders!”
Monkey Face gritted his teeth in fury, only to see a snow leopard casually sauntering through the crowd to park herself right beside Hearts. Monkey Face recognized her as the resistance fighter who had entered the ring at the very beginning of the life-and-death duel, only to be taken down by a tranquilizer dart and carried off by the robots. Yet here she was, moving with absolute agility and grace.
Noticing Monkey Face staring at her, the snow leopard adopted a regal, majestic posture and proudly flicked her tail. The tip of her fluffy, black-ringed tail turned out to be a data connection cable. She scoffed:
“You stupid monkey, why do you think this lady lowered herself to come to a dump like this? It was all to personally plant a worm virus straight into your firewall!”
Monkey Face gasped in horror, suddenly feeling a tight grip lock around his torso. Turning his head, he realized that the robot supporting him was now flashing a menacing red from its optical sensors, its arms locking around him like a pair of iron shackles—it had already been compromised by the worm virus the snow leopard had introduced. The snow leopard’s entire plan had been an espionage mission from the very beginning. Within moments, the electronics of the robots across the venue whirred and clicked, instantly shifting their allegiance to the resistance.
“Employee ID 4158, contact the 2035 branch immediately!” Monkey Face bellowed. “And turn off the camera robots! Stop the live broadcast!”
“It’s too late,” Hearts looked at him with a calm smile. Despite losing his limbs, standing amidst the surrounding crowd made it feel as though the thousands of arms beside him had transformed into his own hands and feet. “While we were trading blows in the ring, Clepsydra had already completely surrounded this facility. In reality, the outcome of the duel was irrelevant from the very beginning; we were merely the vanguard meant to draw your attention.”
“To think you were so foolish to believe we would willingly walk into your trap and become sitting ducks!” someone shouted from the crowd.
The arena was a boiling cauldron of chaos, the overlapping voices popping like droplets of hot oil. This was an absolute, total defeat for the 2030 branch. Monkey Face’s complexion turned a ghostly green, his lips pressed into a thin line as his entire body trembled. For the longest time, relying on technological capabilities vastly superior to those of the Lower District, the Corporation’s branches had never spared a single glance for the resistance. Yet now, facing a routing defeat that flowed like water, he was left completely speechless with rage.
At that moment, a figure tumbled over the ropes and fell beneath the stage. Quicksand reached out to steady him, realizing it was “Hearts,” who had finally concluded his battle.
Only now did Quicksand notice that, in stark contrast to his brilliant display on the stage, “Hearts” was staggering unsteadily, showcasing extreme exhaustion. Beneath his jacket and black undershirt, his skin was covered in massive patches of lacerations and deep bruises. His wrists bore several needle punctures; he had utilized multiple doses of muscle enhancers to maintain his consciousness, injecting a quantity far exceeding what a normal human body could safely endure.
Panting heavily, “Hearts” peeled away the Ace Joker mask, revealing a pale face drenched in fine beads of sweat, his platinum-blonde hair damp and clinging to his forehead in loose strands.
“You see? I told you that putting you in the assault team would keep you out of harm’s way.”
Diamonds offered Quicksand a strained smile, speaking in his usual flippant, easygoing tone.
“A daily wage of 200 hours… this counts as a cushy job where you sit back and enjoy the rewards, doesn’t it?”
