The arc flashed again, weaker than before, like a nearly depleted battery barely managing to produce a spark before going out.
Ye Mo was still standing.
It's not because he can still fight, but because going down means the end.
His entire Steel Bone was almost shattered to pieces, with only half of his left arm's frame exposed. Blue light flickered intermittently at the fracture, like a light bulb with a poor signal. Blood dripped from between his fingers, pooling on the cement floor, dark and grimy. A gash opened in his chest, each breath tearing at his internal organs, and a dull, jagged pain emanated from his ribs, as if someone were scraping them with a file.
Malekith didn't move.
Black mist swirled around him, and the swirling dark vortex continued to slowly devour the Aether within Jian's body. His eyes burned with purple flames as he stood motionless like a statue, as if waiting for something—waiting for the fusion to complete, waiting for the last trace of resistance to disappear, waiting for the entire city to fall into eternal night.
The workshop was so quiet you could hear the sound of blood dripping.
Emma Frost lay face down behind him, most of the blood from her nose had dried, with only a thin trickle hanging precariously from her chin. She seemed completely drained of energy, not even a tremor in her eyelashes. But just a moment ago, Ye Mo clearly felt that her faint mental fluctuations tremble.
He knew she was listening.
He couldn't speak too loudly, lest he disturb Malekith; nor could he remain silent for too long, or the opportunity would slip away.
He gritted his teeth, swallowing the metallic taste of blood from his throat. His lips barely moved, and the voice squeezed out from between his teeth. "Interference... Hold on for one more second... I need to set up my plan."
After he finished speaking, he stared in Emma Frost's direction, remaining motionless.
Time seemed to stretch out, each second feeling like it was stuck in your throat.
Then, her fingers moved.
It was very slight, like a cramp, but it did move.
It's done.
He closed his eyes briefly, his head buzzing, his temples throbbing. The mental intrusion he'd just experienced had nearly made him faint on the spot, and his brain still felt like it'd been drilled. But he dared not stop; he had to get the plan going before Malekith noticed.
He mobilized the remaining X-Gene energy and pressed it against the " Telepathy Fragment " deep in his brain. The system gave no prompts, no interface popped up, only a sharp pain exploded from his forehead, as if someone was stabbing his brain with a needle.
He refrained from making a sound, focusing all his attention on the connection.
This time it wasn't an intrusion, it was communication.
Low-frequency resonance is like two walkie-talkies tuned to the same channel; it doesn't need to be very loud, as long as the frequencies match.
"Can you hear me?" he asked in his mind.
There was no response, but he felt the wisp of mental energy tremble slightly, as if it were a nod.
He continued to relay the message: "The seven Anchor are connected, detonation will take place within three minutes, but there was a flaw when he withdrew his force."
The image flashed through his mind: Malekith plunged his hands into the vortex, the last wisp of Aether was about to leave Jane's body, and at that moment, the black mist's magnetic field would tremble slightly for 0.8 seconds.
"That's a break in the rhythm," he added. "Find that point and go all out."
Emma Frost remained silent, but her mental fluctuations began to slowly gather, like a flame about to go out being stirred by the wind, regaining its activity.
Ye Mo breathed a sigh of relief.
At least she's still functional.
He opened his eyes, his vision blurry, and could only locate Malekith's position by memory. The man was still facing away from them, focused on the fusion process, seemingly completely unaware of the two seconds of mental contact that had just occurred.
good.
She can still act.
He slowly shifted his weight backward to reduce the pressure on his legs, while secretly moving his right hand to his waist—where a remnant of reflective film was hidden, which he had previously planned to use for a sneak attack. He couldn't use it for a sneak attack now, but this thing could reflect light, and if it could interfere with the stability of the black mist, it would be an extra variable.
He spoke in a low voice, hoarse like sandpaper grinding iron. "You find his weakness, I'll distract him... If his rhythm is disrupted, he can't win."
This was said to Emma Frost, but also to himself.
He needed to confirm that the plan was actually working and not just a delusional fantasy fueled by his severe injuries.
He stared at Malekith's retreating figure, his mind racing through the details:
The opponent is currently at the peak of their spellcasting ability, highly focused, with strong defense but slow reaction time;
The fusion process has a fixed rhythm, like a machine in operation; if it is interrupted even once, the rest will be disrupted in a chain reaction.
What they need to do is not to defeat him, but simply to hold him off, even if it's just for a second longer, the situation could change.
He took a slow breath, each inhalation feeling like swallowing shards of glass.
But he knew he couldn't wait any longer.
"Get ready," he said in his mind.
Emma Frost's mental fluctuations jolted again, this time clearer, as if in response.
He started to move.
Instead of rushing forward, we slowly inclined forward.
His left leg was almost useless; every step felt like walking on a knife's edge. But he stubbornly dragged himself forward, inching along. The Steel Bone cracked and sputtered, and the blue light at the fracture point flickered, as if it might go out completely at any moment.
He deliberately made some noise with his movements.
The sound of metal scraping against the ground was particularly noticeable in the quiet workshop.
Malekith's ears twitched.
But he didn't turn around; he simply raised his hand to strengthen the seal on the black mist.
Ye Mo's lips twitched slightly.
Okay, they've taken the bait.
He continued forward, his right hand already touching the reflective film, his fingertips able to feel the thin metallic texture. He didn't take it out, but let it remain on his palm, ready to flick it away at any moment.
"Wait for my gesture," he said to himself.
Emma Frost didn't respond, but her mental energy was already gathering, like a fully drawn bow, waiting for the arrow to be released.
Ye Mo regained his footing.
Positioned about five meters to the side and slightly in front of Malekith, not exactly close, but enough to create the illusion of an impending attack. He raised his right hand, slowly extending it above his shoulder, as if preparing to throw.
The reflective film glistened slightly in his palm, reflecting a small silver spot.
Malekith finally moved.
He tilted his head slightly, his purple-flame pupils sweeping over him.
Their eyes met briefly in mid-air.
There was no dialogue.
There was no provocation.
Only silence.
Ye Mo did not dodge.
He stared into those burning eyes, his gaze calmer than that of a seriously wounded man.
He knew that as long as the other side hadn't discovered that he had intelligence, he hadn't lost this game yet.
He slowly raised his left hand and wiped the blood from his face, the movement as slow as a slow-motion scene in a movie.
Then, he gently pressed his blood- and ash-stained hand onto the gash in his chest.
It wasn't to stop the bleeding.
It was to suppress what was beating inside—the still-functioning heart, and the unbroken will.
The workshop remained quiet.
Only the low-frequency hum of dark energy could be heard, like some kind of ancient countdown.
On Emma Frost's side, the mental interference is still ongoing, weak but stable.
She still hadn't woken up, but that stubbornness was still holding her up.
Ye Mo said softly, "If you can handle it, then I can handle it too."
The voice was very soft, as if it were being spoken to her, or perhaps to herself.
He stood up straight again.
Even though his legs were shaking, even though his Steel Bone were cracking, even though blood was streaming down his trousers, he still straightened his body.
It's not to continue taking hits.
This was to make the enemy believe that he was still struggling.
camouflage.
procrastination.
wait.
He stared at Malekith, his eyes clear, no longer showing any signs of struggle.
He knew how to fight.
Suddenly, Emma Frost's finger twitched.
It wasn't a convulsion; it was voluntary, as if it were confirming something.
Ye Mo glanced over out of the corner of his eye and saw her eyelids tremble slightly.
She woke up.
At least, he regained consciousness.
He didn't turn his head or speak, but simply sent a message to himself. "Speak when you're ready."
One second.
Two seconds.
Her finger twitched again, this time bending as if pulling a trigger.
It's done.
He took a deep breath, his throat filled with the taste of rust.
He slowly raised his right hand, the reflective film glistening slightly in his palm.
"Wait for my move," he told himself. "The moment I move, you charge."
Emma Frost didn't respond, but her mental energy had reached its peak, like a string stretched to its limit.
Ye Mo stared at Malekith's back, watching the black mist vortex shrink little by little, the last trace of Aether being extracted.
Right now.
His right arm muscles tensed, and the reflective film flipped in his palm, ready to be flung out.
He slightly raised his left hand, assuming a lunge stance.
Emma Frost's eyes snapped open, her pupils focused, and her mental energy surged forth like a tidal wave.
Both of them got into the zone at the same time.
Tactics in place.
We are just waiting for the right opportunity.