Gaming is a bad habit.
When you're playing, you completely lose track of time -0-
The smoke of battle in New York, which began at dawn, has never dissipated.
Dark clouds loomed over the entire city, and a giant holographic wormhole hung hundreds of meters above Manhattan, its dark opening trembling incessantly, continuously spewing out swarms of "alien formations."
The roar of fighter jets, the howls of Zerg soldiers, and the explosions of energy cannons intertwined and overlapped, completely shattering the morning tranquility.
What ordinary people see with their naked eyes is a vivid replica of the apocalyptic catastrophe.
Only the four people on the top floor of Stark Tower truly understood the nature of this brutal battle.
This is just a meticulously planned and constantly patched scam.
In the center of the battlefield, Ivan, Banner, Hawkeye, and the regular agents had been engaged in intense combat for nearly twenty minutes.
The initial advantage they had when they arrived on the battlefield had long been completely worn down by the endless Zerg army.
Ivan's Iron Man Armor still gleamed with golden light, arcs of electricity crackling through the air, each strike tearing apart several low-flying drones. But the enemy's numbers seemed limitless, wave after wave of "alien fighters" taking turns diving and bombing, giving him no respite.
Dense energy barrages relentlessly pounded the armor's surface, leaving the hard alloy shell riddled with burn marks and dents. The high-frequency energy output pushed the armor's core to its limit, causing the reactor on its chest to glow intermittently. The scorching heat emanated from the armor, and the internal cooling system was already operating beyond its capacity, emitting a piercing hum.
Ivan gritted his teeth, raised his hand, and swept out a giant arc of electricity, instantly clearing out a swarm of Zerg units in front of him. The moment the lightning exploded, the shattered mechanical debris in mid-air was immediately covered by holographic light and shadow, replaced by fragments of alien flesh and blood. The falling debris had a false corrosive luster, turning into wisps of black smoke and dissipating upon landing.
He had no time to discern these subtle changes in light and shadow, and could only mechanically continue to output combat power.
Is there no upper limit to the number of these alien units?
Ivan growled in a low voice, his words coming through the armor's communicator, tinged with undisguised exhaustion, "Clear one wave and refresh immediately, we can't possibly finish them all!"
In past battlefields, enemy forces would always have moments of exhaustion and weakened offensives; even the troop strength in the Battle of New York was not this terrifying.
Today's New York battlefield has completely overturned everyone's understanding. The enemy seems endless, with new formations constantly swooping down from the wormhole.
On the other side, Banner was also nearing his limit.
While clearing collapsed buildings and rescuing trapped civilians by hand, he also had to focus on destroying large structures.
The long, intense battle had left him somewhat exhausted.
Several "Zerg soldiers" that broke through the defenses swooped in, their sharp, bionic claws slashing fiercely at Banner's shoulder. He barely dodged to the side, raised his hand and unleashed an energy blast to tear them apart. The exploding mechanical fragments were instantly altered by light and shadow, transforming into alien remains that fell to the ground.
Banner watched as enemy troops continued to pour out of the wormholes, and a sense of powerlessness welled up in his heart.
He had never seen such a bizarre battlefield. The enemy had no tactical flaws, no shortage of troops, and not even casualties. It was like a relentless killing machine, endlessly draining their strength and combat power.
"The evacuation of civilians can't keep up with the rate of destruction," Banner reported in a low voice, panting heavily. "The damage to the area continues to expand, with multiple buildings collapsing one after another. If this continues, the defense line will completely crumble. Have you been able to contact Tony and Lynn? When will reinforcements arrive?"
Among the high-rise buildings, Hawkeye's situation is the most dangerous.
With his exceptional agility, he traversed the top of the ruined building, hundreds of meters above the ground, surrounded by a hail of artillery fire. Every step he took, every draw of his bow, was fraught with danger. Specially crafted assault arrows, explosive arrows, and armor-piercing arrows were fired in succession, each one hitting its mark.
But human power has its limits.
The intense shooting that lasted for several tens of minutes left his arm muscles sore and stiff, and his shoulder and back ligaments throbbed with pain. His breathing became increasingly rapid. The bowstring, which had been as steady as a rock, began to tremble slightly when pulled, and his accuracy started to decline.
A barrage of energy cannon fire suddenly covered the top of the building where he was, exploding in flames and sending debris flying everywhere. Hawkeye immediately rolled backward, barely dodging the all-encompassing bombardment, but his back was still hit by the shockwave, slamming heavily against the steel wall, and his throat tightened.
The others weren't in much better shape either.
Amidst the billowing smoke and dust, looking up, one could see that the airspace that had just been cleared by the exploding arrows was filled with entirely new "alien units" in a mere two seconds. The enemy forces continued to swarm in, and there was no sign of victory whatsoever.
If this drags on, they will be exhausted before the enemy can break through their defenses.
On the top floor of Stark Tower, four people stood silently overlooking the Extremis battlefield through floor-to-ceiling windows.
Tony watched the people below struggling and barely managing to move forward, his fingers unconsciously clenching into fists, his heart filled with an overwhelming sense of pity. He knew all too well this feeling of helplessness.
They fought desperately and relentlessly, yet couldn't even touch the enemy's bottom line; all their efforts seemed to sink without a trace.
"They can't hold on any longer," Tony said in a low voice, his tone strained. "If this drags on any longer, all three of them will get hurt."
Lynn's gaze remained calm as he surveyed the smoke-filled city, his tone steady as ever. "I've noticed, they haven't reached their limit yet. The main character is about to make his appearance."
The moment the words fell, two figures shot through the city skyline, tearing through layers of thick smoke, and rushed toward the main battlefield.
It's Peter, and Quentin.
When Peter received the emergency combat readiness communication from the base, Peter was reading in his dormitory. Upon seeing the disaster warning of an alien invasion in New York, his heart tightened instantly. He contacted Quentin immediately. In his heart, this calm and reliable senior was always the most worthy comrade-in-arms in times of crisis.
Quentin remained calm and composed throughout, soothing Peter's emotions while simultaneously providing updates on the disaster situation with feigned composure, perfectly playing the role of a reliable senior, and swiftly joining Peter in the relief efforts.
As they sped along, Peter caught sight of the devastated New York, the enemy forces swarming everywhere, and the struggling three-man squad. A sense of crisis surged through Peter, and his adrenaline spiked.
"Hold on, everyone! We're coming!"
The boy's clear yet resolute voice echoed across the battlefield via public communication channels.
The next instant, Peter pushed off with his toes, his body suddenly swooping down, his Silk shooting out precisely, locking onto the steel frame of a tall building a hundred meters away. His body glided at high speed with inertia, weaving through the gunfire and thick smoke, avoiding the dense energy bombardment.
As Peter approached the battlefield, Peter launched several red and white Silk in quick succession, instantly weaving a dense web that precisely intercepted a swarm of Zerg drones diving towards them.
The densely packed fake alien units were firmly bound by the Silk, their descent halted instantly. Peter twisted his waist, using the momentum to leap into the air and flip, his legs sweeping across with tremendous force, accurately kicking away several enemy planes that had broken through the defenses, displaying explosive power.
In the brief moment of respite, he quickly scanned the battlefield situation, and his heart sank.
Ivan's armor was no longer recognizable as its original color, and his movements were no longer as sharp as before. Banner and Hawkeye were in no better shape.
All three were at their absolute limit, barely holding up the last line of defense.
" Quentin, the airspace is yours! I'm going to support the main battlefront!" Peter spoke quickly, clearly outlining the division of labor.
"Rest assured."
Quentin stepped forward in response, his gentle voice losing some of its softness and gaining a more composed and sharp tone.
At this moment, he completely shed his usual gentle facade as a senior logistics officer, standing tall and exuding an aura of authority. In this Extremis situation where everyone was exhausted and the battlefield was on the verge of collapse, his appearance carried the aura of a savior, calm and reliable.
Unbeknownst to anyone, his team was precisely controlling the entire battlefield from the backstage, managing all enemy forces, weaknesses, and the rhythm of attack and defense.
He didn't come to fight; he came to reap victory, fame, and everyone's trust.
The moment Quentin raised his hand, a glint flashed in his eyes as he simultaneously adjusted battlefield parameters in the holographic backend.
The originally rampant and endless enemy offensive was instantly restricted and weakened in secret. The previously dense and suffocating artillery fire density quietly decreased.
He slowly flew into the battlefield, raised his hand to condense his signature energy surge, and the clear green light was particularly dazzling in the smoke of battle.
Quentin's every shot is precise, clean, and perfectly timed.
Without exaggeration or embellishment, every move is deadly, each strike clearing an area of airspace. The movements are clean and beautiful, maximizing both visual appeal and realism.
In just a few dozen seconds, the previously oppressive aerial battlefield was completely cleared by him.
The three people who were struggling to hold on instantly felt much less pressure, their tense nerves relaxed abruptly, and a sense of relief and peace of mind arose in their hearts.
Hawkeye, panting heavily, said with admiration in his eyes, "You've come at the perfect time! Any later and we wouldn't have been able to hold out!"
Quentin nodded slightly, his tone calm and composed, still displaying the gentle and reliable demeanor of a senior. "You've held on for a long time, thank you for your hard work. Leave the rest to Peter and me."
As soon as he finished speaking, he once again leaped into the heart of the battlefield.
The green energy crisscrossed, each wave bringing with it a sharp gust of wind, causing swarms of fake alien units to fall and dissipate one after another.
He seemed to have perfectly controlled this Zerg army, advancing and retreating with measured steps, combining offense and defense, without making a single unnecessary move, appearing incredibly composed.
After all, every detail of this battlefield, every wave of attack, and every flaw was designed by him personally.
On the other side, Peter had completely taken over the main battlefield.
The boy moved with agility and grace, darting and flipping through the ruins and gunfire. Silk were launched in rapid succession, locking onto targets precisely, and sticky explosive devices were thrown out one after another, exploding in the air and instantly detonating swarms of enemy planes.
With his lightning-fast reflexes and agile movements, he dodged the dense barrage of energy cannon fire, repeatedly charging into the heart of the enemy ranks and disrupting their offensive rhythm. His red and blue battle suit darted through the billowing smoke, becoming the most striking splash of color on the Extremis battlefield.
Even with Peter peak strength and in top condition, he could only barely hold the front line, unable to completely defeat the enemy and end the disaster.
The wormholes continued to spawn new enemy formations, the enemy forces remained numerous, and artillery fire continued to blanket the entire city. Peter fought with all his might, but could only hold the line and prevent the disaster from worsening; he was powerless to finish it off.
Quentin, on the other hand, maintained control of the battlefield from the moment he entered the fray.
He proceeded calmly and steadily, each move perfectly timed, efficiently eliminating enemy forces while simultaneously showcasing his own strength and reliability. In contrast to the exhaustion of his troops and the despair of the battle situation, his composure and decisiveness shone brightly.
The entire city's surveillance cameras, passersby's cell phones, and media live broadcasts were all locked onto the battlefield.
As countless people watched Quentin suddenly appear in dire Extremis and turn the tide, as he single-handedly wiped out large swathes of enemy troops and stabilized the collapsing battle, their admiration and gratitude grew wildly in their hearts.
The atmosphere of despair that had enveloped the entire city was quietly ignited with a glimmer of hope because of his appearance.
"It's Mr. Mysterio! He held his own!"
"Everyone was almost at their limit just now, thank goodness he came!"
"He is the real hero who can save New York!"
The public's amazement and cheers spread wildly online, and public opinion quietly shifted. Everyone was praising this savior who suddenly arrived and reversed the battle, and no one remembered Ivan, Banner, and Hawkeye who had fought desperately for tens of minutes until they were exhausted.
On the top floor of Stark Tower, Pepper looked down at the ironically stark scene below and said softly, "The pacing is exactly as he planned. He appeared at the perfect moment and stole all the spotlight."
Natasha's gaze was icy as she stared intently at Quentin, who was calmly putting on an act in the center of the battlefield. Her tone was laced with sarcasm. "The entire disaster was his stage. Everyone, including Peter and the three men risking their lives below, were just stepping stones for him."
Tony remained silent for a long time, his emotions complex and difficult to discern.
He watched Peter's back as he fought relentlessly and without reservation, and saw the boy's pure devotion to Quentin and his unwavering commitment to fighting alongside him. He felt both heartache and helplessness.
"The more he trusts this person now, the more pain he will feel when he learns the truth later."
Lynn lowered his eyes slightly, his tone calm and indifferent. "The sooner he experiences pain, the sooner he grows. Today's scene will completely reshape his understanding."
On the battlefield, smoke still lingers, and the fighting has not yet ceased.
Peter was still fighting hard, doing everything he could to protect the city and his comrades. He was filled with gratitude, grateful that Quentin was by his side in times of crisis, grateful that this reliable senior always stepped up in Extremis and stood by him to break the deadlock.
He was completely unaware that his trusted comrades and senior colleagues were the very people who orchestrated this doomsday hoax.
Quentin stood amidst the raging flames and smoke, his eyes concealing a cold ambition unnoticed by anyone, yet his face remained gentle, composed, and serene, as if he were a savior.
In a Extremis, he alone remained undefeated.
His moment of legendary status was just beginning to reach its climax.