Ye Mo Escaped Danger and Urgently Sought a Way Out

The wind rushed in through the breach in the observation platform, causing Ye Mo, who was pressed against the wall, to sway. He didn't fall; his left hand braced himself against the broken metal support, while his right hand pressed tightly against his temple. The communication had failed; Tony's voice had been cut off mid-air, like a severed power line.

He knew he couldn't wait any longer.

His foot slipped, and the deck tilted a few degrees. Broken glass crunched under his shoes, and footsteps approached in the distance—not the quiet movement of an evacuation, but a purposeful approach. Three people, heavier in equipment, their weapons humming loudly as they charged.

The elite Chitauri have arrived.

They weren't holding ordinary pulse guns, but shockwave cannons. These weapons could interfere with molecular structures and were specifically designed to Wall Phasing abilities. The system didn't give any prompts, but Ye Mo knew for sure: the Regenerative Phasing could only be used once more, and only the instant the shockwave field was turned off.

He retreated into the maintenance corridor, his back against the cold bulkhead. Blood continued to seep from the wound on his left shoulder, the fabric clinging to his skin, each breath causing a sharp, agonizing pain as if his bones were dislocated. He looked down at his hands; his fingertips were white, unable to grasp anything.

But he had to move.

The footsteps outside stopped. The enemy was scanning—thermal imaging, life signals, spatial disturbances—they were checking everything. He knew they would soon discover that the door had been tampered with—the marks left when the latch was broken were too obvious.

He pulled out the burnt circuit board with the words "Don't believe it" engraved on it. The thing was out of power, but he remembered there was an energy interface on the wall, the old-fashioned kind, where a green indicator light would flash once.

He stuffed the circuit board into his pocket and slowly moved to the door. A blue light flashed outside; the tracker activated. Now!

He abruptly pulled the door open and inserted the circuit board into the wall connector. Sparks flew, and an electromagnetic pulse spread. The blue light in the corridor went out instantly, the alarm emitted a short, mournful wail, and then everything fell silent.

Two seconds.

That's enough.

He rushed out, activating his Wall Phasing Technique the moment his right foot touched the ground. His body seemed to pass through a layer of water film, entering the first bulkhead. The shockwave cannon fired, hitting the spot where he had been a second earlier, and the wall vaporized, creating a round hole.

He didn't stop, weaving through the damaged compartments. Second wall, third wall, until he entered the keel fracture zone. The structure here was a complete mess, the direction of gravity was not fixed, some corridors stretched vertically, and some ceilings became the ground.

He crawled along the wall in the darkness, listening for any sounds behind him. Explosions rang out; the enemy had cleared a path with explosives. They weren't afraid of damaging the structure; the ship was already falling apart anyway.

He stopped to catch his breath and leaned against a twisted support beam. His senses swept across the area in front of him; no one was there. But then his left arm wound suddenly twitched, and instead of flowing downwards, the blood rose half an inch upwards.

Something's not right.

He tore off the lining of his hoodie, dipped it in blood, and gently tossed it away. The strip of fabric didn't fall off; instead, it floated slowly forward, as if drawn by something.

There is a gravitational anomaly ahead.

It's not the kind that forms naturally. This force is stable, continuous, and rhythmic, like some kind of signal resonating.

He recalled the three-second encrypted communication he overheard before escaping— the Asgard royal frequency, inaccessible to ordinary people. This force now, its frequency was somewhat similar to that.

He cannot turn back.

Turning back would mean certain death. New York is still below, Tony is still struggling in the sky, Emma Frost doesn't know if she can hold the line. If he gives up now, everything he's done before will have been for nothing.

He continued crawling forward.

The tunnel began to twist and turn, the metal creaking. A flying shard struck his chest, cracking his ribs instantly. The pain exploded, but he gritted his teeth and didn't cry out, only using his elbows to push himself forward.

The Steel Bone Shield could be used once more. He forced out the last bit of genetic energy to activate its power. Grayish-white crystals appeared on the surface of his bones, blocking the impact of subsequent fragments.

Five meters later, a shattered observation dome appeared at the end of the passage. Outside was the night sky, the stars distorted violently, like water ruffled by the wind. Five kilometers ahead of the mothership, space was noticeably concave, as if an invisible hand was pulling it in a certain direction.

That's it.

He sat down against the support frame and took off his goggles. The lenses were covered in blood and grime, impossible to clean. He gave up and just stared at the distorted starry sky.

He used to always say, "The system made me do it," and could blame everything on that non-existent voice. Now the system is silent, and no one is making decisions for him.

This time he has to choose for himself.

He pressed his hand to his temple, making one last attempt to connect with Emma Frost. Not a plea for help, but a message.

"If I lose contact, check the direction of Polaris; the frequency is 13.7 Hz. It might be a remnant of the Asgard seal."

The message was sent. Whether it was received or not, he didn't know.

He stood up, removed a broken energy conduit from the edge of the dome, and tied it around his waist as an anchor. The end of the conduit was still connected to a power line, which could discharge electricity and also be used as a hook.

He walked to the edge of the breach.

The wind picked up, and the firelight reflected on his face. The mothership continued to ascend, its speed increasing. The distorted space grew larger and larger, like a mouth waiting to swallow the entire warship.

He jumped out.

His body was instantly enveloped by the airflow, and flames rushed towards him. He grabbed the guide tube and swung it towards a protruding piece of armor plate. The grappling hook caught, the rope taut, and he used the momentum to swing towards the fractured area at the front of the mothership.

The wind tore at his clothes, the wound throbbed with pain, and he struggled to breathe. Ignoring all that, he gripped the tube with one hand and adjusted its direction with the other.

We're getting closer and closer to that distorted starry sky.

He knew there might be nothing ahead, or he might just die. But he had to go.

Because there was no road ahead.

His fingers began to weaken, and the blood made his palms slippery. The catheter made a metallic, fatigued sound, as if it might break at any moment.

But he kept moving forward.

Just as he was about to reach the platform in the fracture zone, his right hand suddenly felt heavy.

The grappling hook broke.