Chapter 11: Falling Like a Meteor
Once upon a time, on a street corner in the lower districts of the spiral city.
The afternoon temperature was at its peak, causing the stagnant air to warp slightly. Outside an abandoned bar stood a nylon umbrella; its aluminum alloy pole was badly bent, resembling a hunched old man. Beneath the shade sat two hardwood chairs. A youth occupied one of them, cradling a desktop cassette player as he spoke into it, deliberately lowering his voice:
“…And with that, my dear listeners, this episode of Echoes of Time has reached its conclusion.”
“Today, we journeyed together through the long river of time, reminiscing about the legendary career of Anvil, the King of Boxers.”
“I hope all of you can draw strength from his story to bravely swing your fists on the grand stage of destiny—until next time, goodbye.”
With those final words, he pressed the stop button. The cassette tape ground to a halt, and the ambient hiss died out. Seated on the adjacent chair was a colossal man wearing a tightly fitted cotton T-shirt, looking at the youth with a look of helpless resignation.
“Young man, you don’t exactly strike me as a radio broadcaster. What is your true motive for coming here to dig into this old man’s past?”
The youth offered a subtle smile. He possessed a head of soft, platinum-blonde hair that radiated a pearl-like luster under the brilliant sunlight. Beneath his eye gleamed a diamond-shaped, vibrant red stud, and he wore a sleek, dark navy coat featuring traditional looped buttons. His posture was exceptionally upright and sharp, resembling a freshly sprouted green poplar tree.
“It’s nothing, really. I was simply profoundly surprised to learn that the former King of Boxers had chosen to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the resistance. I merely wanted to see firsthand what kind of man you truly are.”
Anvil let out a bitter smile. “By now, you’ve undoubtedly realized that the man sitting before you is nothing more than an incompetent failure—someone who let his wife wither away and failed to rescue his own daughter.”
He shifted his gaze toward a glass tank resting on the table. Filled to the brim with nutrient solution, the severed head of his daughter, Duo Duo, floated inside, the cross-section of her neck casting a surreal, hazy glow.
Several years had passed since his daughter had been abducted, her body components systematically partitioned and auctioned off across various timelines. In this current era overrun by cybernetics, an unpolluted, pure blood-and-flesh body like Duo Duo’s was an exceptionally rare commodity. Many upper-district aristocrats coveted her pristine limbs and organs; coupled with her title as the “Daughter of the King of Boxers,” she commanded an astronomical price on the auction blocks.
Anvil understood clearly that there were only two paths to recover her body parts and restore her consciousness in this era: the first was to crawl and beg for mercy from the Chrono-Entropy Corporation, saddling himself with a lifetime of unpayable debt; the second was to resist to the absolute bitter end, completely shattering the Corporation’s tyrannical grip on time itself. Only by forcing time to return to its natural, linear flow could people who had suffered like him finally welcome a true tomorrow.
Following the destruction of the underground auction house, Anvil had drifted through the lower districts, carrying his daughter’s head with him. Transforming into a lone vigilante, he had single-handedly raided the 2030 branch’s frontline outposts in the lower districts multiple times, openly challenging the Corporation’s authority.
A handful of rebellious youths who harbored intense hatred toward the Corporation began gathering around Anvil. They were originally members of the Clepsydra resistance, but with their supreme leader, Morning Star, currently missing in action, they had become scattered remnants and sought refuge under Anvil. Overwhelmed by his own plight, Anvil merely viewed their actions as a form of childish roleplay, refusing to formally associate with them.
The youth standing before him, who introduced himself as Diamonds, appeared to be one of those very remnants.
This youth had materialized out of nowhere, cassette player in hand, claiming an intense fascination with Anvil’s history. The two of them had sat outside the abandoned bar, conversing through the entire morning while Diamonds recorded his words. Anvil had asked, “What are you recording this for?”
Diamonds had chuckled, “Just consider it an archival backup of old memories.”
“For an old man forgotten by time, these ancient stories aren’t worth preserving.”
“Memories are like fine wine; the longer they age, the richer they become. I am certain that in the future, many more young individuals will grow fascinated by your past. When that day comes, this cassette tape will serve its true purpose.”
“Haha, then this old man shall sincerely look forward to that day. That being said, your recording session is officially complete, isn’t it?”
“That was merely an excuse to meet you. Now, it’s time for the main course,” the white-haired youth laughed, rising from his chair as his expression suddenly turned exceptionally solemn. “Brother Anvil, spar with me.”
Anvil was taken aback, carefully sizing him up. Compared to his own massive physique, Diamonds looked remarkably slender—almost like a walking stick insect standing opposite a giant rhinoceros beetle. Having spent a lifetime fighting in the blood arena to claim the title of “King of Boxers,” Anvil’s combat prowess was far beyond ordinary limitations. He let out a mild chuckle:
“You? Why on earth do you want to fight this old man?”
“Because I want to make a wager with you, to witness firsthand the absolute peak of a former superstar. If you win, I’ll happily become your loyal follower and assistant.”
Anvil smiled. “And what if this old man loses?”
“The Clepsydra resistance is currently desperately lacking a supreme leader. Most of the ambitious youths in the lower districts happen to be your devoted fans; you are the only one who possesses the gravity to unite them. If you lose, I ask that you join the resistance and become the official leader of Clepsydra.”
“Then regardless of whether I win or lose, wouldn’t the outcome be entirely in my favor?”
Diamonds grinned playfully. “Is that so? Well, if the resistance manages to secure your alliance, they’re definitely the ones making a massive profit.”
“This old man doesn’t possess the capability to manage such a massive crowd. Are there no simpler conditions?”
Diamonds slipped his hands into his pockets, casting a subtle glance behind his shoulder as his tone abruptly shifted.
“To be honest, I’ve always harbored a dream of opening a bar right here. It wouldn’t require a massive staff—four or five people would suffice. The name of the establishment will be ‘Poker.’ As you can see, I am ‘Diamonds.’ To complete the set, I still need to track down ‘Spades,’ ‘Hearts,’ and ‘Clubs.'”
Anvil listened in stunned silence as the young man laid out his grand vision. Diamonds’s smile was fluid and bright—the kind of practiced, salesman-like grin that naturally made people put up their guard—yet in this specific moment, it felt as though he was revealing a rare glimpse of genuine sincerity. In the far distance, a neon grid of five-colored lights pulsed like a beating heart, causing Anvil’s own pulse to match its rhythm. In this chaotic, hyper-colored world, the youth stood out with absolute, black-and-white clarity, resembling a pristine artifact from a bygone century that one couldn’t help but stare at.
Diamonds spoke, his tone completely unyielding: “Let’s do this instead—if I win this spar, you will join me in managing a bar right here.”
“And from this day forward, you will step up to serve as the Hearts of the Poker Bar.”
Consciousness drifted within a dark, deep ocean before finally breaking through the surface.
Hearts felt as though he had just awakened from a deep slumber that spanned multiple centuries, his past memories flashing across his mind like a cinematic reel. When he finally opened his eyes, the brilliant neon signs outside the window illuminated the room, casting an eclectic array of crimson and purple hues across the walls like a messy artist’s palette. A familiar silhouette sat by the windowsill, propping his chin up with one hand while cradling a glass of Sierra Silver Tequila in the other, a wedge of lemon still clamped between his teeth. It was none other than Diamonds.
Catching sight of him, Hearts let out a raspy, gravelly laugh from his throat: “Diamonds.”
Diamonds turned his head, his expression entirely tranquil, looking exactly as he did in the dream.
“Aren’t you… in a rather poor physical state? Go easy on the liquor. That stuff… is 75% ABV, isn’t it?”
“Brother Hearts, am I dreaming? How are you suddenly able to open your mouth and speak?”
“You’re the one who’s drunk, but this old man has officially awakened.”
Diamonds set his glass down. Hearts noticed that the youth’s cheeks were flushed crimson, his posture swaying slightly as he suddenly threw a sharp, aggressive mock-punch into the air—a rare, childish glimpse of intoxication. “A true fighter will display their brilliant edge on the canvas, regardless of the circumstances. Brother Hearts, that was the legendary quote you left behind when you became the King of Boxers.”
Lowering his hand, he added, “Dr. Hua from the Affordable Clinic confirmed that your internal organs are still entirely functional, so he merely patched you up with some fresh materials for your limbs. Do you feel any discomfort anywhere?”
Hearts shook his head. He knew that after taking that catastrophic punch from Monkey Face, his physical structure had been completely obliterated. Monkey Face’s gauntlets were integrated with the Corporation’s spatial-cutting technology; just like his daughter Duo Duo years ago, his body had been instantly fractured into pieces and scattered across disparate timelines.
Fortunately, his underlying physical constitution was exceptionally robust, allowing him to barely maintain his consciousness in this current era through a patchwork of recycled cybernetics, though he was forced to endure a perpetual, agonizing neural pain. His daughter had been far too young; under the weight of such agonizing torment, anyone would have long driven themselves to madness or suicide.
Diamonds let out a long sigh of relief. Hearts noticed the deep exhaustion lingering beneath the youth’s eyes; he had clearly been guarding his bedside for multiple days. Hearts slowly sat up, scanning the room. The space remained a sprawling, lace-trimmed sea of pink; following Duo Duo’s abduction, he had amassed an entire wardrobe of dresses and plush dolls, silently awaiting his daughter’s return.
It was then that he realized his body had been fully reassembled. He sported myoelectric prosthetic hands, a carbon-fiber exoskeleton, and—conspicuously—a heavy Eastern Lowland Gorilla cybernetic limb.
Hearts remained silent for a brief moment before grumbling, “Why on earth did you attach another gorilla arm to me?”
Diamonds chuckled, “I was worried you wouldn’t get used to a cheap plastic arm right away. Rest assured, this arm is a high-grade replica; no actual gorillas were harmed in the making of this limb.”
A quiet moment passed before the youth asked softly, “Brother Hearts… are you going to accept Monkey Face’s provocation?”
According to Monkey Face’s public terms, the life-and-death duel at the blood arena was scheduled for the day after tomorrow. The victor would be awarded a full century of lifespan, Duo Duo’s severed arm, and the immediate release of every slave within the colosseum circuit. Needless to say, this was an overt, lethal trap designed specifically to lure Hearts into a corner.
Hearts exhaled a long breath toward the ceiling, murmuring, “During my days in the blood arena, this old man took countless lives. Back then, I comforted myself by claiming that granting them death was a mercy—a way to deliver them from the agonizing tortures of the iron maidens and other corporate punishments. But ultimately, it was nothing more than self-deception.”
Diamonds watched as the giant clasped his hands together, resembling a solemn prayer or a quiet act of confession.
“Therefore, in this current life, this old man wishes to exert every ounce of strength to protect the lower districts—to serve as a form of redemption for my past self. It’s just that previously, I was completely flattened by a single punch from the enemy. It seems I am truly unsuited to be a leader. Haha, Morning Star would have been far more fitting for the role.”
Diamonds turned his face away. After a long pause, a soft smile played on his lips as he murmured, “Morning Star is no longer here. Right now, you are the leader of Clepsydra. If you are absent, the resistance becomes nothing more than a disorganized pile of sand. You shouldn’t have joined us as a frontline assault member in the first place; if you had remained safely in the rear, you wouldn’t have ended up in this condition.”
“But if this old man hadn’t leapt forward to shield you back then, that new employee you recruited would have been torn limb from limb. The corporate compensation payout for a workplace fatality is astronomical—roughly 27,777 hours of lifespan. Could you actually afford that?”
Hearing those words, Diamonds playfully stuck out his tongue. Hearts let out a warm laugh:
“Besides, hiding your head and tucking your tail is completely antithetical to a boxer’s style, and Clepsydra doesn’t harbor cowards like that. Holding a defensive guard is always done for the sole purpose of welcoming the perfect moment to counter-attack.”
Diamonds smiled, reaching out his hand to firmly grasp Hearts’s newly attached, scar-lined cybernetic limb.
Hearts locked eyes with him, the two sharing a look of absolute, mutual understanding. On a random day many years ago, Diamonds had suddenly materialized before his eyes, engaging him in a duel that completely altered the trajectory of his life—resembling a brilliantly flashing meteor. Yet to this day, Hearts remained entirely oblivious to the youth’s past, his origins, or his true intentions. He floated gracefully between the resistance and the Corporation, appearing as though he could arrive or vanish at a moment’s notice.
“That is exactly why you are our supreme leader. Let’s go—we shall step onto the battlefield together.”
Hearts suddenly shifted his tone: “Do me a favor and check if there’s a syringe inside that strawberry bear bag over by the wall. Bring it to me. Lady Spades formulated a batch of muscle-enhancement stimulants previously; once injected, this old man should be able to arrive at the battlefield right on schedule.”
“There’s absolutely no need for the big boss to personally lead the charge. Don’t you have us loyal lackeys to handle the dirty work for you?”
Diamonds let out a devious grin, suddenly turning toward the door and shouting:
“Get in here, you black-hearted employee!”
“I’m not here.”
A muffled, grumbling response echoed from outside the room. Quicksand was currently crouching in the corner of the corridor, his head buried in a traditional rooster bowl as he shoveled down a portion of wonton noodles. Thick dark circles lined his eyes, a clear testament to the absolute exhaustion of nursing Hearts over the past few days.
A large group of children dressed in tattered burlap sacks and old rags had clustered tightly around him—the children who lived in the scrap yards. They were jumping up and down on their tiptoes, eagerly competing with him for a bite of the plump wontons in his bowl. Ever since Quicksand had rescued a young girl from the clutches of the Time Cleaners previously, he had recently acquired immense trust among the local youths, looking every bit like a proud leader of the neighborhood kids.
“See that, Big Brother? You already have an entire army of eager squirts at your beck and call. Whether you want to step onto the canvas or deliver a severe beating to Monkey Face, you need only give the word.”
Diamonds teased, stepping over to slap Quicksand on the shoulder with an amused smirk, completely ignoring the scavenger’s sharp glare.
“Besides, he happens to be a fanatical fan of yours. I can only charge forward to clear a path for you, but this guy—he’s entirely ready to lay down his life for you.”
