SOP CH14: Clashing Against the Raging Tide

The lights were stark white, hanging heavy in the air like slabs of iron. The ring was in utter disarray as security robots dragged Monkey Face and Hearts off the platform, clearing an open space for the two duelists.

Quicksand stared at the uninvited “Hearts” on stage, feeling as though a wad of cotton was lodged in his throat, neither swallowing down nor coughing up. He recognized that frivolous voice and the shimmering, cool platinum-blonde hair. That was no “Hearts” at all, but a fraudster he knew all too well.

Yet he clearly remembered that person was merely a glib-tongued, frail weakling in poor health, constantly shoveling handfuls of colorful, candy-like pills into his mouth. For Hearts to say he had suffered three consecutive defeats against him was completely unbelievable.

Silence blanketed the arena. In the next moment, without any whistle from a referee, an intense clash erupted! The abomination pieced together from Hearts’s limbs and a mechanical torso crackled all over, like spring ice splintering, countless sprouts of flesh and blood budding outward. Tiny hands sprouted like fleshy buds from its massive arms, lashing out toward “Hearts” like gnarled branches.

“Hearts” moved with graceful poise, light as a feather on the wind, shifting his footwork to evade the creature’s strikes. Watching his silhouette, Quicksand suddenly felt a piercing headache, as though a corner of his heart had caved in: that person’s movements were uncannily familiar.

Countless fragments flashed through his mind. Quicksand seemed to have witnessed similar movements before, atop the roof of that speeding taxi, no, even further back in time.

A scene flashed across his mind. He was inside a snow-white chamber constructed from diamond-patterned white steel. Innumerable mechanical gears turned on the ceiling, and a massive clock whirled on the wall, the number “2035” engraved upon its face. He reclined inside a hemispherical pod, mechanical tendrils attached to his temples. Someone outside the pod asked him, “Why are you reviewing Subject A-0’s basic combat data again? Hasn’t that already been downloaded into our brains long ago?”

In his memory, he heard himself reply: “He is the prototype for everyone in our branch. By studying him closely, perhaps I can refine my combat skills a bit further.”

Prototype… combat skills… data. Countless words flickered in and out of his consciousness, his head throbbing with dull pain as if stabbed by shattered glass. Quicksand abruptly realized that “Hearts’s” clean, powerful movements connected directly to his deepest memories; in every battle he had fought until now, he had been imitating these very techniques!

Drenched in cold sweat, Quicksand stared at the figure on the ring. Questions swirled in his chest like restless moths: who on earth was the person on stage? And who was he himself?

Meanwhile, thunderous crashes shook the ring. “Hearts’s” movements were crisp and concise: jabs, hooks, uppercuts. Though his build was far leaner than the abomination, his fists struck like a giant battering ram tolling a heavy bell. The beast was actually suppressed, its limbs sliced open by the razor-sharp wind of his punches, dark blood snaking across its flesh.

Yet in the next moment, accompanied by sizzling electrical sparks, the monster’s blood began to harden. Having undergone modifications, the iron ions and graphene composite particles within its bloodstream began aggregating and aligning, forming hardened armor and jagged blades. Curling its limbs inward, the creature rolled toward “Hearts” like a scythe-bladed windmill!

Yet “Hearts” remained unfazed in the face of danger. He deduced that this machine-bodied monstrosity had no eyes, relying entirely on sound to locate targets. In the next instant, he stepped lightly on his tiptoes, dancing as if on the edge of a blade. Quicksand recognized that footwork: a classic stride favored by assassins. As he grazed past the beast, the median nerve, ulnar artery, and flexor muscle groups were severed in an instant. Blood erupted in sprays, blooming across the creature’s body like dozens of crimson spider lilies.

“A truly rare sight,” Hearts’s sigh drifted from beside him, prompting Quicksand to turn his head.

Gazing at the ring, Hearts murmured softly, “It has been quite a long time since I last saw him fight completely in earnest.”

Quicksand blinked in bewilderment. “The one on stage… is really that black-hearted boss?”

He found it impossible to believe. The person he knew was sly, deceitful, and only good at running his mouth, knocked flat by him every single time. That man was a completely different person from the fighter before his eyes.

Hearts paused for a moment, then let out a gentle laugh:

“Neither black-hearted nor Hearts. He is Diamonds.”

Just as they spoke, the battle raged fiercely on the ring. The monster abruptly ripped off one of its sprouting arms and hurled it toward “Hearts” like an arrow! “Hearts” seemed not to have anticipated this move, taking a heavy blow to the abdomen and coughing up a mouthful of blood. Though Quicksand could not see his face clearly, he noticed his neck turning pale and bruised, making his own heart tighten with worry.

Planting his feet, “Hearts” smiled faintly, pulled a syringe from his coat, and plunged it straight into his median cubital vein. Quicksand recognized it as the syringe filled with muscle-enhancement serum, previously kept in the backpack in Hearts’s room. With that single injection, “Hearts” seemed as though his injuries had vanished, his movements growing even more nimble. When the beast hurled another punch, he executed a flowing tai chi cloud-hand motion, blending softness with hidden steel, effortlessly redirecting and neutralizing the assault with a deft push and turn.

The beast suddenly reeled in its offensive, swaying its upper torso with arms guarding its face, executing a pendulum-like bob-and-weave motion. Shifting between feints and solid strikes, it fired an unpredictable punch out of nowhere. This was the famous signature technique once wielded by Boxing King Anvil: “Blind Man’s Bluff.”

The host droid belted out impassioned electronic commentary: “Truly unbelievable! This creature, forged from a mechanical chassis and the former Boxing King’s physical flesh, has actually replicated the Boxing King’s signature technique! Does it possess self-awareness, or is it operating purely on muscle memory? Regardless, the entity before us has become a formidable, pinnacle contender!”

“Hearts” remained silent, suddenly drawing the Mauser from his waist. Weapons were unrestricted in a duel to the death. The Mauser immediately spat several transparent stasis bubbles loaded with high concentrations of lidocaine, which popped the moment they touched the beast. Skimming like a dragonfly touching water, his movements were light and agile. As the anesthetic surged through its system, the monster tottered and collapsed with a deafening crash, kicking up clouds of dust.

“Is it decided?”

Murmurs spread among the crowd below. Yet “Hearts” never relaxed his guard, his eyes locked onto the beast. Sure enough, the creature rolled back onto its feet, its modified beast genes fully activated as it slammed both fists down! The ring fractured instantly, the mountain of flesh rampaging through the arena like an enraged African elephant.

“Hearts” nimbly evaded the earth-shattering onslaught, toying with several metal bells salvaged from the old church before tossing them toward the four corners of the ring. Guided by sound, the monster heard chimes ringing from every direction, confused as to his location, and began tearing and thrashing blindly.

Realizing its attacks could not connect, the beast gathered all its power, the light apertures on its mechanical torso flaring crimson! In an instant, countless laser beams lanced out like swords, scorching everything they touched into charred brown scars, sparing not even the spectator stands.

The crowd erupted in panic, fleeing toward the exits like ants swarming toward meat. Layer upon layer of shrill shrieks grated against eardrums like shattered glass. Amidst the chaos, “Hearts” called down toward the ring:

“Boss, can I finish it off?”

Hearts leaned against Quicksand’s shoulder, well aware why he asked. That creature possessed his original limbs; if destroyed, he could never return to being a normal human for the rest of his life. “Hearts” had held back earlier precisely due to this concern.

Ever since Monkey Face wrecked his body, Hearts had scraped by on cobbled prosthetics, often subjected to strange looks. Yet now he laughed aloud, shouting back:

“You little shrimp, why hold back now? Go all out! A true boxer reveals his sharp edge on the canvas no matter what!”

“Hearts” looked at him through the mask, his eyes reflecting both sorrow and amusement. A second later, he finally made up his mind, an Eight of Diamonds playing card sliding from his sleeve into his palm.

Suddenly, the monster launched an attack, its arm sweeping across like an advancing mountain range! The air roiled like a boiling pot, screams, booms, and chaotic footsteps weaving into a single din.

Composed and at ease, “Hearts” held the card between his fingers and stood his ground. Paper appeared soft, yet drawn with rapid force at a precise angle, it could cut like a razor blade. The instant the beast charged and threw a punch, a whistling rustle pierced the air, sounding like thousands of willow-leaf scalpels whistling through space.

In that split second, great gouts of blood erupted from the mountain of flesh like splashed ink, and the colossal frame crumpled to the ground. “Hearts” stood amidst it, bathed in a shower of blood, looking like the evil deity Beelzebub summoning calamity through gore. Quicksand watched, spellbound, a primal, inexplicable tremor welling up from the depths of his heart. This was a realm of mastery he had pursued for so long yet never reached: crisp, powerful, lethal with every strike, free of any excess movement. The person standing in that ring was a true god of death!

Just then, a deafening blast tore through the arena as the main gates of the Blood Arena collapsed. Outside, Clepsydra rebels had hurled potent acidic agents and breached the doors using hijacked electromagnetic pulse rifles from security droids. In an instant, shadows swarmed inside like a broken dam, rebel fighters cheering at the top of their lungs upon seeing Hearts:

“Boss!” “Boss Hearts!”

Supported by a security robot, Monkey Face roared furiously, “Employee 1458! Why are the rebels here? Where are the rest of the security robots?”

The staff worker hurried over in a panic. “Director, I am Employee 4158! I… I don’t know what happened either! The firewall failed, and the security robots outside refuse to obey orders!”

Gritting his teeth in fury, Monkey Face saw a snow leopard casually vaulting over the crowd, trotting to Hearts’s side. Monkey Face recognized it as the rebel contender from the first bout, who had been darted and carried off by droids, yet now moved with fluid, graceful ease like mist drifting from mountain peaks.

Seeing Monkey Face staring at her, the snow leopard carried herself with regal elegance and flicked her tail smugly. The tip of that fluffy, black-ringed tail was actually a data link cable. She said:

“Stupid monkey, why do you think I condescended to step foot in this dump? It was to personally plant a worm virus into your firewall!”

Horrified, Monkey Face felt his body tighten. Turning his head, he saw the droid supporting him flaring red from its optical sensors, its arms clamping down like iron manacles. It had been thoroughly corrupted by the worm virus Clubs Cat injected. Acting as a spy had been her true plan all along. Across the hall, droids whirred and clanked, switching allegiance to the rebels in an instant.

“Employee 4158, contact the 2035 Branch immediately!” Monkey Face bellowed. “And the camera drones, cut the broadcast!”

“Too late,” Hearts looked at him with a calm smile. Even stripped of his four limbs, surrounded by the crowd, the thousands of arms around him seemed to have become his own hands and feet. “While we were trading blows, Clepsydra had already surrounded this place. From the very beginning, victory or defeat in the ring never mattered. We were merely the vanguard drawing your attention.”

“Who knew you’d be this dim-witted, thinking we’d actually walk into your trap and wait to be caught like turtles in a jar!” someone jeered.

The arena bubbled like a cauldron of boiling water, clamorous voices splattering like hot grease. It was a total defeat for the 2030 Branch. Monkey Face’s complexion turned ashen, his lips pressed white, his body trembling violently. Relying on technology far superior to that of the lower tier, corporate branches had never taken the rebels seriously, yet now they had collapsed like water, leaving him choked with speechless rage.

Right then, a figure vaulted over the ropes, tumbling down from the ring. Quicksand caught him, only to see that it was “Hearts,” who had just concluded the battle.

Only now did Quicksand realize that beneath that dazzling martial display, “Hearts” was stumbling with exhaustion. Under the jacket, the skin beneath his black undershirt was covered in extensive lacerations and deep bruises. Several puncture marks dotted his wrists; he had used multiple vials of muscle-enhancement serum to maintain consciousness, injecting doses far beyond what an ordinary human body could endure.

Panting for breath, “Hearts” removed the Ace Clown mask, revealing a pale face beaded with fine sweat, his platinum-blonde hair damp and clinging to his forehead in strands.

“See? I put you in the assault squad so you wouldn’t be placed in danger.”

Diamonds managed a faint smile at Quicksand, speaking in his customary frivolous tone.

“A daily wage of two hundred hours. Isn’t this quite the cushy gig?”