SOP CH13: The Showdown of Aces

Scarlet laser lights flickered overhead, pulsing like a beating heart. “Rust Bone” Sally gazed up at the dome, his consciousness blurred.

It took him a second or two to recover his senses, hurriedly scrambling up to dodge an incoming attack. The gray-eyed youth slammed a fist into the canvas right beside his head. Even after absorbing the shock, the canvas cover and rubber matting were still smashed into a gaping hole.

Sally spat a mouthful of saliva, thinking to himself, “What a monster!”

Twisting the thumb ring on his hand, he triggered a mechanism that pricked his finger. Blood flowed into the ring’s blood groove, shooting like an arrow toward the youth’s face as Sally threw a punch. Passing through the mechanism, the metal ions carried within the blood aggregated under strong magnetic force, forming arrowheads harder than steel.

The youth dodged with effortless ease, adopting a boxing stance. His movements were light, agile, yet packed with power. Sally instinctively sensed that this person’s killing techniques far surpassed his own, like an exquisitely dancing puppet of slaughter. Sally shifted from offense to defense. When the youth struck with a fist, Sally twisted the thumb ring, blood gushing forth to coat his fist in an instant, hardening into a layer of solid blood armor.

Yet right at that moment, the youth unleashed a colossal overhand punch that rattled the world, sending a shudder not only through the ring, but through the hearts of the spectators in the stands. The armor shattered, and Sally’s left arm dislocated.

This kid might be even more troublesome than the real Hearts! Alarm bells rang in Sally’s mind. Recklessly triggering the mechanism once more, blood poured from his wrist vein, converging into a long whip resembling a venomous snake. The whip lashed wildly, intersecting shadows carving out a crimson wall around him.

The youth’s brow furrowed slightly. The blood whip left behind tiny blood needles invisible to the naked eye in the air, scraping bloody welts across various parts of his body. Sally laughed maniacally, pressing forward step by step while wielding the blood whip.

Just as the youth was backed to the edge of the ring, an uproar suddenly erupted from below.

“Catch, grown-up dummy!”

It was a group of children dressed in woven sacks and old cloth rags, pooling their strength to heave a long-handled axe onto the ring.

Catching it, the youth’s gray eyes trembled slightly, as if asking where they had dug up this weapon. Lately, this group of children living in the scrapyard had frequently visited the bar to check on the wounded Hearts, developing a keen interest in Quicksand’s daily life along the way; back and forth, he had actually grown familiar with them.

A child placed hands on hips and giggled, “Take it, dummy! This is a weapon we picked up near the scrapyard. Once you finish this match, we’ll take it to sell for cash!”

The moment the long-handled axe touched the youth’s grasp, he felt as if a missing puzzle piece had snapped into place. Gripping the ash-wood shaft, he felt the weapon humming in joyful resonance.

Sally’s pupils contracted sharply. He watched the Grim Reaper raise an axe blade before him. Head, neck, chest, abdomen: the blade tip tore through the air with a sound like ripping silk and shattering jade, aimed squarely at vital points. Laser lights from the dome swept across the arena. The youth’s silhouette drifted forward like a dark cloud, advancing gracefully.

Everything occurred in a single instant. The file-axe slashed a dizzying blur of silver through the air, like fireworks suddenly detonating! A moment later, Sally’s clouded pupils reflected the red lights of the dome as he collapsed. No one knew what had transpired in that split second; they only knew Sally had crumpled like a puppet with cut strings.

No blood, no messy hesitation: a crisp, clean victory.

Silence descended over the arena. Moments later, cheers as violent as an earthquake erupted from all sides. Everyone chanted in a frenzy:

“Hearts! Hearts!”

The youth stood in the center of the ring, expressionless. Winning this match seemed to have been well within his expectations all along. He was indeed Quicksand, masquerading as Hearts.

At this moment, Quicksand tightened his grip on the file-axe, his chest stirring with an emotion like reuniting with an old friend.

Corporate droids moved forward, dragging the unconscious Sally away. Quicksand told them:

“Don’t kill him. And as for that Clubs Cat from earlier, you aren’t allowed to touch her either. Once we win in a moment, you still have to restore their freedom.”

“Haha, that might not be so.”

Suddenly, a voice carried over from behind.

Everyone turned their heads. Red fluorescent tubes embedded along the aisle lit up section by section, and a figure emerged from the dry ice fog. Pointed snout, sunken cheeks, and massive arms thick as rebar: it was 2030 Branch Director Monkey Face.

The industrial metal music surged into a sudden crescendo as Monkey Face mounted the ring, his metal gauntlet gleaming with a perilous sheen. That was the primary culprit that had shattered Hearts’s body, the electronic screen upon it blinking with Monkey Face’s lifespan balance: 491 years.

Suddenly, all noise was extinguished, leaving only the rustle of Monkey Face’s footsteps echoing across the venue, dripping with menace. Everyone held their breath, seemingly forgetting to breathe, until both his feet planted firmly on the canvas like iron clamps.

“Young man, you are not Hearts,” Monkey Face showed a dark smile. “Yet your performance was splendid, driving up the viewership ratings for this month’s tournament, so I shall forgive you. Step down. The next match is about to begin.”

Quicksand stared at him icily: “What if I don’t leave the ring?”

“Then we can only disqualify you for a foul, and the previously promised rewards will be forfeit.”

“Didn’t you also foul and take down our fighter earlier?”

Monkey Face let out a few dry chuckles, his sullen eyes fixed upon him, and suddenly whispered:

“‘Our fighter’? Cleaner Quicksand, just whose side are you on?”

A sudden throb of pain struck Quicksand’s head. Clamping a hand to his forehead, those words felt like a red-hot branding iron searing deep into his temples. Monkey Face had called him “Quicksand.” During the previous raid on the 2030 Branch, he had indeed impersonated the chief cleaner’s identity, but why did he react so violently whenever he heard those syllables?

Suddenly, a vicious grin surfaced on Monkey Face’s face. A punch arrived without warning, the metal gauntlet radiating a frost-like chill as it hurtled toward Quicksand’s face. Struggling with splitting head pain, Quicksand tilted his head to dodge, but his cheek was grazed, bleeding profusely. Monkey Face transformed his fist into a claw, swiping at the side of his head. Yet right at that split second, a powerful fist struck from the flank, slamming hard into Monkey Face’s cheek!

The carbon-fiber headgear shattered, its foam lining scattering across the canvas. Monkey Face slammed heavily into the ropes, stumbling. Amidst dizziness and ringing ears, thunderous roars erupted from below, tens of thousands of voices merging into a single cheer:

“Hearts! Hearts!”

Monkey Face staggered to his feet, an enraged face coming into view. The newcomer’s brows bristled, his features bunching like crumpled tinfoil, his shoulders broad like a fortress wall. His limbs were cobbled together from various cybernetics: one hand supported by a carbon-fiber exoskeleton, and an eastern lowland gorilla’s arm.

This person was none other than Hearts, bristling with fury.

The genuine article, formerly Boxing King Anvil, now leader of the rebel army: Hearts.

Monkey Face squeezed a dry laugh from his throat:

“Haha, this time… the real deal has finally taken the stage.”

Hearts said nothing, merely making a gesture. Quicksand understood and obediently vaulted off the ring. The only person he rebelled against was Diamonds; toward his idol Hearts, he was utterly submissive.

“You recover quickly. In just three days, you managed to dig matching spare parts out of the trash bin?” Monkey Face provoked. “I remember long ago, I also used this fist against you, but back then you spent immense effort just to patch up your mangled body. Seems you’ve gotten used to being my defeated foe.”

Hearts said in a deep voice, molten iron rage churning in his eyes:

“Who gave you permission to lay hands on our employee time and time again?”

His voice carried the weight of a volcano on the brink of erupting, making listeners tremble all over. Monkey Face laughed aloud:

“Please don’t be angry, Brother Anvil. My eyes failed me earlier; I thought this fine employee of yours was you after a botched plastic surgery. But now that you’re here, let us, the aces of both sides, begin the final bout.”

In a best-two-out-of-three tournament, with the first round won and the second lost, everything would be decided in the third. Monkey Face tossed aside his sable coat. Hearts planted his feet, slightly elevating his right heel. Lights whirled overhead, shadows tangling on the canvas like slithering vipers, the air seemingly frozen.

At this very moment, the fifty thousand spectators in the venue, along with tens of millions of eyes watching via online broadcast, fixed their gazes upon the two figures.

Suddenly, the bell chimed with a crisp ring like cracking ice. The mechanical referee barked: “Fight!”

In a split second, both silhouettes crossed, the sharp whistle of fists cleaving air threatening to shake heaven and earth. This was a bona fide clash between both sides’ aces, onlookers seemingly forgetting how to breathe. Monkey Face stealthily clamped his thumb between his middle and ring fingers, a small poisoned steel blade flicking out from his fingertips.

Yet Hearts’s punch was faster, slipping past his guard to slam heavily into his shoulder blade. A surging vibration rippled through the air, Monkey Face’s bone snapping like a disposable wooden chopstick before the iron fist. Monkey Face retreated frantically, a slender needle extending from inside his metal gauntlet to inject lidocaine and nanobots beneath his skin, forcibly bracing the fractured bone.

Meanwhile, facing Hearts charging toward him, he took the opportunity to swing, triggering the gauntlet’s mechanism to expel a dense cloud of light-blocking nanopowder.

This powder dispersed rapidly into the air, creating a haze that bent light. In an instant, Monkey Face’s figure vanished from the ring.

Duels to the death placed no limits on weaponry, permitting any vicious tactic, with the sole iron rule that spectators could not be harmed. With his form concealed, only Monkey Face’s smug voice drifted through the air:

“Brother Anvil, concede defeat. Others might not see it, but I know you’ve barely begun recovering from grave injuries, your newly fitted prosthetics not yet coordinated. I haven’t even used my trump card, yet you’re already wheezing like an ox!”

Hearts was indeed panting heavily, a sheen of sweat covering his face, yet his eyes were unyielding, refusing to back down. Taking a deep breath, his cheeks and chest expanding, he unleashed an ear-splitting, thunderous roar! A section of the light-blocking powder was displaced by the shockwave, exposing a trace of Monkey Face’s outline. Hearts seized the opening, driving another punch forward. Monkey Face flew backward like a crumpled rag.

Monkey Face crashed to the canvas again, gold stars bursting before his eyes. Gritting his teeth, he scrambled up, scenes of past memories flooding uncontrollably into his mind.

Back when they were both contenders in the Blood Arena, he had clashed privately with Anvil several times, yet failed without exception every single time. Anvil was an insurmountable mountain barring his path.

Monkey Face harbored a secret. He was not Anvil’s junior, but his senior.

Long ago, Monkey Face had also been a slave in the arena. After claiming countless lives upon the canvas, he had once commanded immense renown. Gradually, the Time Entropy Group co-opted him, assigning him the position of 2030 Branch Director.

As a slave, Monkey Face’s mind had been consumed with saving enough lifespan to escape. Yet after becoming director, he lived in a lavish VIP lounge overlooking the bottom tier of Spiral City, with mechanical assistants managing his daily affairs, feeling far removed from the filthy world below. Comfort blunted his sharp edges, until a rising star appeared before his eyes:

Anvil.

Anvil was talent he had scouted. Initially entrusted by upper-tier bigwigs to groom Anvil as fresh blood for the arena, Monkey Face never expected Anvil to possess genuine greatness, quickly rising above the contenders. His body and instincts seemed born for combat, and from the moment he set foot on stage, Monkey Face became a shadow in his wake, unable to escape his eclipse no matter how desperately he gave chase.

The seeds of jealousy sprouted in his heart. Monkey Face laid venomous schemes again and again, yet failed to stop Anvil from shining brilliantly. He had burned a total of sixty years of lifespan to scatter Anvil’s limbs across disparate spacetimes, yet like a cinematic superhero, Anvil reappeared before him time and again. And now, standing upon the Blood Arena’s ring, Monkey Face staggered up to find him standing opposite, like an undefeatable divine monument. Envy burning within his chest, Monkey Face roared:

“Anvil! Anvil! Why won’t you fall?”

Monkey Face swung wildly, pummeling the air with deafening cracks. He screamed at the top of his lungs: “What underhanded trick did you use to steal everyone’s attention again and again?”

Hearts’s voice was cold and heavy: “Monkey Face, I have looked into your past. You were once a resident of the bottom tier, yet after acquiring power, you stood against the rebels, turning your blades on innocent people. To punish you, I have had to wade through the fires of hell multiple times just to stand before you and land a punch on your face!”

Suddenly contorting in fury, Monkey Face closed the distance, driving a strike with mountain-shattering force toward Hearts’s chest. Hearts twisted his arm and triggered the mechanism on the gauntlet, beams of laser firing directly into Monkey Face’s eyes. Monkey Face shrieked, clutching his eyes as he stumbled back, his throat working as if swallowing a fistful of sand.

Hearts landed another blow, the gauntlet shattering into cold, stinging metal fragments. Gritting his molars, Monkey Face grappled him, throwing him down onto the canvas. Barely recovered from his wounds, Hearts tripped, shards of metal digging across his back.

Giant floodlights from the dome swept past, casting momentary darkness across the ring. Seizing the opening, Monkey Face drew a loosened spike from his gauntlet, pinned Hearts beneath him, and lunged toward his throat. Just then, a broken tooth spat from Hearts’s mouth, deflecting the spike’s trajectory like a bullet, boring clean through Monkey Face’s cheek. While Monkey Face howled in pain, Hearts scrambled up with a laugh:

“Thanks to your generosity, my entire body is made of modular parts, teeth included. They make decent darts.”

Monkey Face spat a venomous mouthful of blood, secretly pressing a switch near the corner post known to few besides himself. Within a ten-meter radius centered on the ring, a transparent gravity field expanded.

Hearts suddenly felt weightless, struggling to maintain his footing as if treading ocean waves. Metal debris floated into the air, launched like meteors propelled by the wind of Monkey Face’s punches. Hearts dropped his shoulders and elbows, punching through the air. Flying shards collided into silver sparks, weaving together like white foam atop ocean waves. The spectators watched in stunned disbelief, unable to comprehend what was happening.

Seeing that all his tricks failed to subdue Hearts, Monkey Face ran out of options. His brows furrowed sharply, teeth grinding audibly, sneering: “Brother Anvil, you truly are a troublesome opponent. If possible, I wouldn’t have wanted to resort to this.”

“You’ve only ever known despicable methods. Whatever cards you have left, lay them bare.”

Monkey Face grinned sinisterly: “You said it yourself, don’t regret it later!” Stepping his left foot forward and pivoting his right heel outward, his frame tightened like a drawn bow. The display on his gauntlet flashed, lifespan plummeting sharply. Hearts’s pupils contracted; Monkey Face was unleashing that punch costing thirty years of life once more.

During their first bout, his body had been shattered into pieces by this punch and dispersed across different spacetimes, barely escaping death by pure fortune. During the recent assault on the 2030 Branch, he was heavily wounded by this exact strike.

It was undeniably an exceptionally lethal blow. Hearts’s hair stood on end, yet he met it head-on with resolve. Red lights overhead pulsed like a beating heart. He kept his eyes locked on Monkey Face; the opponent’s lead foot was overly rigid, making his ankle vulnerable to tripping, a flaw discovered during the earlier rounds. Tens of thousands of eyes watched without blinking. Suddenly, Monkey Face charged, tearing the stagnant air apart as that earth-shattering blow erupted again!

In that fraction of a second, Hearts ducked low and swept a kick at Monkey Face’s ankle. Monkey Face stumbled, catching his balance, yet his stance was thrown off. Bloodshot veins webbed Monkey Face’s eyes as the numbers on his gauntlet flashed, burning an additional ten years of lifespan to accelerate the punch. Yet right then, Hearts threw a counter-punch on purpose, his left fist slamming square into Monkey Face’s incoming blow.

The next moment, Hearts’s left fist exploded violently! Brilliant flames lit the entire canvas, sending gasps rippling through the audience like a tidal wave.

Monkey Face’s assault was severed. Built within Hearts’s cybernetics were miniature sealed containers storing ammonia and iodine, synthesizing nitrogen triiodide; once removed from protective liquid, the slightest vibration would trigger a detonation. Hearts’s limbs had been converted into miniature bombs.

Even with his left hand pulverized, Hearts roared as he pummeled Monkey Face with a flurry of strikes like driving rain. Monkey Face tried multiple times to engage his gauntlet’s lifespan trigger, only to be disrupted by Hearts’s detonations. Fingers, right fist, arms, left leg, right leg: fire leaped ten feet high, shrapnel raining down amid billowing smoke as the air buckled. Spectators shrieked in panic, some fleeing like leaves tossed in a gale.

One blow. Two blows. Three blows! Sonic cracks and blasts seemed ready to shatter heaven and earth. Monkey Face was battered like a crushed tomato, his body ruined, blood and mechanical parts strewn across the deck. Hearts’s frame likewise tore apart amid the tempestuous punches, sacrificing his own body in exchange for breaking Monkey Face’s assault.

Before long, the explosions ceased, leaving the ring in dead silence.

Monkey Face sprawled splayed out as if disemboweled, his limbs charred black and joints twisted like a broken doll. Hearts collapsed opposite him, his limbs destroyed by the explosions. It was a brutal battle that ended in mutual devastation.

“You lost, Monkey Face,” Hearts panted with a smile. “And I can still breathe. I still exist in this era, uneliminated by you.”

Monkey Face rasped, his throat sounding like a jagged saw. “Yet you are no victor either. Brother Anvil… you are the leader of the Clepsydra rebels, while I am merely a minor branch director of the Time Entropy Group. Throwing your life away here will only shatter the rebels into factions.”

“It won’t,” Hearts smiled. “Chenxing fell too, yet Clepsydra did not disband. They are no longer iron filings requiring a magnet to gather.”

Monkey Face ground his teeth, cheek muscles taut, veins pulsing beneath his skin like rotted roots. He said: “Don’t think… everything is over. This match… is a draw. I haven’t revealed all my trump cards yet.”

Hearts stayed silent, brows furrowing deep. Monkey Face rasped in laughter: “With a draw, the duel to the death continues. I have prepared a grand gift, awaiting your unboxing.” He raised his voice: “Security droids, release him, the true ace of the 2030 Branch!”

The iron portcullis rose slowly, deafening footfalls resounding as if thousands of subterranean dragons were overturning the earth. Hearts’s heart leapt into his throat, turning his head with effort.

A figure squeezed out from the locker room. Standing there, the massive gate seemed small in comparison. Boulders of muscle hung on his frame, pulsing with each breath as if possessing a will of their own. Contrasting with the massive muscle, the torso was interlocked from hundreds of mechanical components, gleaming with a blue-gray metallic sheen.

Hearts’s pupils shrank to needlepoints: “Monkey Face… you…”

The creases of Monkey Face’s smile bunched up:

“Do you recognize them too? Brother Anvil, those are your limbs. I spent tremendous effort gathering your four limbs back from various spacetimes, pumping them with potent testosterone to grant them strength rivaling an African elephant. Your enemy is yourself. Does your Clepsydra have any trump cards left?”

Suddenly, that massive bio-mechanical body bowed slightly, grinding like an excavator chewing up pavement. Leaping high, it crashed onto the canvas, sending metal fragments and high-density foam scattering. Massive, over-modified knuckles seized the immobilized Hearts, hoisting him high before slamming him down.

Seeing this from below, Quicksand grabbed his file-axe and charged onto the ring, yet hesitated for a split second when aiming a strike at that body. That was Hearts’s original flesh; once destroyed, it could never be restored.

Seizing that fraction of a second, the bio-mechanical monster hooked its fingers into claws, raking viciously across Quicksand! Quicksand tumbled backward as security droids formed an iron perimeter, muzzles spitting sparks, bullets chewing up the ground. In an instant, the rebels were backed into a hopeless corner.

Monkey Face laughed maniacally, his Adam’s apple rolling rapidly beneath his skin like abacus beads:

“Brother Anvil, the fourth match has begun! Our side has fielded a contender. Who else among you can fight?”

Suddenly, static crackled through the intercom, and an indistinct voice echoed out:

“Isn’t the contender right here?”

A brilliant white beam plunged from above, slamming onto the ring to illuminate the silhouette of an uninvited guest. The newcomer wore a heart-print jacket and denim jeans, standing tall and straight, masked behind an Ace Clown visage plastered with heart stickers.

Locked in combat with the security droids, Quicksand stared blankly toward the ring. That voice was intimately familiar, the lilt at the end of each word floating upward like bubbles carried on the breeze, laced with playful flippancy. Tucked behind the mask was a head of platinum-blonde hair.

The whites of Monkey Face’s eyes bulged: “Who… are you?”

The newcomer chuckled: “Are your eyes mere ornaments? I am Hearts.”

“Nonsense! Hearts is the one on the canvas right now. What is wrong with your rebel army, every single fighter you send calls himself ‘Hearts’!”

“Because we’re triplet gege and didi, right, Brother Hearts?”

Hearing that voice, Hearts chuckled softly: “That’s right, Monkey Face. We still have a trump card. Long ago, I crossed hands with him. Three matches, three defeats. Even Boxing King Anvil was no match for him.”

All surrounding sounds seemed abruptly severed, leaving only the rhythm of heartbeats thudding against his eardrums. Quicksand watched that silhouette illuminated under the light, his heart feeling suddenly clutched. Amidst an overflowing ocean of darkness, that person was like the sole guiding beacon.

Collapsing on the canvas, Hearts began to laugh, his eyes brimming with trust and relief as he looked toward that silhouette, saying:

“He is our true ace.”