SOP CH7: One Against Ten

Lately, Quicksand had been having a recurring dream.

In the dream, he climbed along a staircase. Flights of steps extended tier upon tier, surrounded by tens of thousands of floating ice floes. Kaleidoscopic scenes reflected off the icy surfaces, revealing countless fragments of time. The timelines intertwined in complete chaos, forming a labyrinthine vortex.

He sprinted through it, yet the stairs had no end. Until a certain moment when he abruptly realized: he was running on Penrose stairs. Moving forward was retreating, ascending led to descending, and the past was also the future, a perpetual cycle of recurrence.

Gradually, his perspective floated upward, as if looking down upon everything from mid-air. The Penrose stairs turned into a two-dimensional schematic, then transformed into a relief engraved on a coin. The coin was tossed up and caught, landing in the hands of the fat man, Bumblebee. Bumblebee’s face began fading and dissolving, finally turning into Diamonds’s slyly smiling visage.

Quicksand awoke with a start to find himself lying in bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. He did not know why he kept having this dream, nor who his past self had been. The blue glow of the neon lights spilled into the room, flickering like an old television switching channels.

Turning his head, he saw Diamonds curled up inside the cardboard box in a corner of the room. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his face pale, sleeping fitfully as well. Today was his turn to sleep in the box. The light outside the window flashed, shifting into a morning sun red. It was already seven in the morning.

A piercing alarm rang out. Diamonds knitted his brows tightly, raised a hand to slap the alarm off, and slowly crawled out of the box. His eyes remained shut with exhaustion, looking just like a walking corpse.

“Morning, Boss,” Quicksand greeted him, promptly and crisply changing into his waiter’s attire. He had been helping out at Poker Bar for some time now, winning great favor with Madam Spades and the patrons, frequently greeting guests and serving drinks during the daytime.

Diamonds gave a muffled grunt in response, turning and stumbling into the washroom. Before long, intermittent bouts of coughing and retching drifted out, gradually masked by the sound of running water. When he emerged once more, Quicksand saw that his face was pale as paper, with a faint trace of blood lingering at the wet corner of his mouth. Diamonds tottered over to the bedside, shook out a handful of colorful pills from medicine bottles, and shoved them into his mouth.

“What, morning sickness?” Quicksand asked.

Diamonds poured a glass of water, gulped it down, and casually traded barbs with his excessive joke. “Yeah, your seed. You lost control after drinking last night, so take responsibility.”

“I have self-restraint regarding how much I drink. Besides, I drank Wahaha last night,” Quicksand said.

Living together throughout this period, he noticed that Diamonds’s physical condition was genuinely terrible. Yet the moment he stepped through the room door, he would instantly become radiant and mingle with the patrons, making it impossible to tell which face was the facade.

The two headed downstairs. Yawning with exhaustion, Diamonds slipped into the kitchen, returning shortly with a cup of coffee, a plate of charred bacon, and sausages blackened like charcoal. Quicksand ate it all, his mouth creaking as though he were chewing wood chips, after which he remarked:

“Extremely unpalatable.”

Diamonds rapped him on the head with a spoon. “If it tastes bad, don’t eat it.”

“Boss said room and board were included. Even if it tastes bad, I will finish it. I will squeeze every last bit of value out of Boss.” Quicksand worked his jaws deliberately.

After finishing breakfast, Diamonds lazily returned to his room to catch up on sleep. Hearts appeared in the bar, patted Quicksand’s shoulder, and gave a secretive wink, gesturing for him to follow him to his room.

Quicksand obediently complied. The moment he entered Hearts’s quarters, he was stunned by the decor that seemed to bubble with pink. Hearts stood nine feet tall with a rugged exterior, yet the room was like a dreamy fairytale realm. In the center of the pink ocean, a semicircular water tank was set against the wall, with a doll’s head floating among fresh flowers and waterweeds. Hearts laughed:

“That kid Diamonds is stingy to a fault. It seems he hasn’t bought you any new clothes. How can you always wander around outside in a pair of pajamas? I have plenty of clothes in my wardrobe. Whichever one catches your eye, take it as you please.”

Looking at a wardrobe packed with floral chiffon skirts and puff-sleeve dresses, Quicksand swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue. In the end, he reluctantly picked out a pink apron. Just as he was about to leave the room, he caught sight of a poster pinned to the wall.

The style of that poster differed completely from the rest of the furnishings. Composed of black and red, it depicted the silhouette of a burly man swinging his fist, sweat flying, captioned underneath in exaggerated typography: “Superstar Anvil, sweeping the ring!”

Noticing Quicksand’s gaze lingering on the poster, Hearts gave an awkward smile. “Ah, that is a poster from my earlier years. It’s been quite some time.”

Quicksand looked toward him, a corner of his memory seeming to light up. With a touch of astonishment, he asked, “You are Anvil the Boxing King?”

Anvil the Boxing King was the undefeated champion of the Time Entropy Group’s arena, valued at an astounding 288 years of lifespan. Rumor had it that he was massive, his fists heavy as iron, his defense flawless, and every punch he threw was like an earth-shattering bombardment, a superstar fiercely pursued by the upper crust of Spiral City.

“Yes, but that is all water under the bridge. The current me has no need to curry favor with anyone, just working as a humble bartender here,” Hearts smiled.

Who would have thought this former idol of the upper class had become the leader of the rebels, possessing such a modest, gentle temperament, while also enjoying collecting pretty dresses, Quicksand thought. He handed the pink apron toward Hearts.

Hearts was puzzled. “What is it?”

“An autograph.” Quicksand felt slightly awkward.

“Haha, so you used to be a fan of mine? But you took this garment to wear. Signing it would make washing it inconvenient.”

“Then I will go get my pajamas…”

Hearts roared with laughter again, retrieved an old poster from a drawer, signed it, and handed it to Quicksand. Quicksand held it like a priceless treasure. Seeing a rare gleam in his eyes, Hearts added:

“I heard from Diamonds that your skills are quite remarkable. Not only can you drive off rowdy patrons, but you also blew off a time cleaner’s head with a single strike. How about you try joining the Clepsydra rebels?”

The base of the Clepsydra rebels was located in the southwest corner of the lower tier, nestled inside a dilapidated church. The church had suffered artillery bombardment, leaving behind only crumbling walls. Amid the ruins stood a marble statue of Chronos, the three-headed, serpentine-bodied god of time. A crowd of youths with bronze water-clock tattoos on their arms gathered rowdily here, clad in reflective fabric jackets with patterns as loud as splashed graffiti.

Hearts brought Quicksand over and offered a brief introduction. The Clepsydra members sat on pews, currently discussing the matter of attacking the elevator access point. Listening in, Quicksand learned that the elevator led to the upper tier of Spiral City, first arriving at the Time Entropy Group’s 2030 Branch.

The Time Entropy Group established a branch every five years along the timeline. The one with the closest ties to the lower tier and responsible for the deepest oppression of its people was the 2030 Branch. Rumor had it that it had been converted into a bloody arena, where cornered lower-tier slaves were forced to stage fratricidal death matches, using flying flesh and blood to earn the favor and tips of the wealthy elite in hopes of wiping out their astronomical debts.

Yet this arena was no sanctuary for debt relief. Many slaves were ordinary folks who had been framed, forced into debt after falling into the Group’s traps, making it a slaughterhouse soaked in blood and tears.

Hearing this, Quicksand cast a complicated glance at the signed poster he had just received from Hearts. Beneath the invincible figure of Superstar Anvil, a line of small print was stamped in the corner of the poster:

Sponsored by Time Entropy Group 2030 Branch.

Quicksand fell silent. Those tiny words were like branding irons, searing his eyes. Hearts, the former Boxing King Anvil, had walked out from that very arena, standing both as a superstar revered by ten thousand people and as a plaything for upper-tier dignitaries.

“What’s wrong, what are you thinking about?” Hearts sat down beside him, making the wooden pew creak under his weight.

Quicksand asked, “Is Clepsydra’s next target an assault on this 2030 Branch?”

“Yes. Aside from the 2030 Branch, several other branches hold pivotal importance within the Group, acting like the thick trunk of a great tree from which branches and twigs extend,” Hearts explained patiently. “There is the 1805 Branch, the only remaining branch capable of handling matters prior to 2026, where the time cleaners are all death squads lying in wait in the past; the 2050 Branch, possessing formidable high-tech weaponry capable of leveling the entire lower tier if deployed; and the 2175 Headquarters, located 149 years in the future, the core of the Time Entropy Group and home to the Group’s founders, which is the ultimate target of our offensive.”

Hearing this, Quicksand felt this group was chasing pipe dreams. Waging war against people from more than a century in the future was like pitting bayonets against nuclear warheads. Just then, Hearts added:

“Oh right, there is also the 2035 Branch, the home base of the Group’s time cleaners. Chief Cleaner Quicksand belongs to that branch.”

Suddenly, Quicksand’s heart seemed to skip a beat.

He did not understand where this sudden palpitation came from. Hearts stroked his chin, muttering thoughtfully, “I crossed hands with Quicksand last time, and he truly was a formidable opponent. What a pity he vanished in the blink of an eye before I could properly test his true strength.”

“Cleaner Quicksand? That person is not worth fearing.”

A voice drifted over unexpectedly from behind them. The two turned to see the fraudster Diamonds leaning against the back of the pew, looking at them with a smile. Light filtered down through the shattered church dome, using the painted ceiling mimicking the Sistine Chapel as a backdrop, haloing him from behind like a prophet receiving divine revelation. While Hearts was momentarily speechless, Diamonds beamed pleasantly:

“Boss, don’t build up someone else’s prestige while deflating your own. After being driven off by us, that cleaner hasn’t shown his face for days. He probably tucked his tail and fled, a pure coward.”

Hearing this, though Quicksand remained expressionless, the surrounding temperature seemed to plunge by a dozen degrees. Hearts gave a wry smile. “Don’t let your guard down. I don’t know whether he is a coward or not, but I know he is the chief cleaner.”

Diamonds added, “Chief cleaner my foot. I think this black-hearted employee of our bar could crush him with a single pinky finger.” Hearing that, Quicksand’s brow relaxed slightly, feeling inexplicably pleased.

While they were chatting, members of Clepsydra gathered around. Each had hair dyed in loud reds and purples, resembling pom-poms used by sports cheerleaders. They cast suspicious glances at Quicksand. He had a lean build and wore a pink apron, looking completely out of place, like someone here to cause trouble. Someone asked:

“Boss Hearts, is this guy someone you brought?”

Hearts nodded. “Yes, you can rest assured. His strength is formidable, as both Diamonds and I have witnessed firsthand.”

A member hesitated. “Naturally we trust anyone brought by Boss, but the operation date is drawing near, and we are bound to fight a bloody battle against the 2030 Branch. Having a novice join at the last minute, we’re afraid he might lose his life in this fight.”

Diamonds smiled. “If you don’t trust Brother Hearts, you can at least trust me. His combat skills are genuinely top-notch, so there’s no need to worry about his strength.”

A Clepsydra member cast a sidelong glance at Diamonds. “No, you are even less trustworthy.”

Hearts laughed and patted Quicksand’s shoulder. “Since that’s the case, let’s let fists do the talking! Little brother, show them your skills to set their minds at ease.”

The crowd stepped back voluntarily, clearing an open space in the nave. A member with a silver-gray mohawk stepped forward, bearing a vicious centipede-like scar across his face, wielding a chainsaw sword. Quicksand remained composed, standing face-to-face with him.

“Newcomer, what weapon do you want to use?”

“No weapons,” Quicksand said. “My special skill is catching bare blades with empty hands every single time.”

The Clepsydra members burst into rowdy laughter. The mohawk’s face flushed red, feeling as though he had been insulted, and roared, “Blades have no eyes. Don’t blame me if you get hurt later!”

Quicksand, however, asked, “Do you have more people?” He looked around, his gray pupils devoid of any emotion.

“Come at me together. I want to fight ten.”