Group Healing, stabilizing the battle
Ye Mo's bones were still cracking, as if an iron frame had been hammered over and over again. He knelt on one knee on the pile of rubble, his hands bracing against the ground, his palms burning with pain—that throw had exhausted his last bit of strength, his Steel Bone State had just reached its limit before the power went out, and now all his muscles were cramping, and blood seeped from the abrasions on his shoulders and thighs, dripping down mixed with the grime.
"System, stop playing dead," he shouted in his mind. "When are you going to show the charge bar?"
There was no response. That thing never gives a definite answer; it all depends on him figuring out the pattern on his own.
He took a couple of breaths and glanced around the battlefield. The fire was under control, but the smoke was still lingering and choking. The enemy formation was broken, the communication tower had collapsed, and the EMP device was not activated, but they hadn't left yet. Three people were huddled behind a bunker in the southeast corner, clearly up to no good.
At this critical juncture, his teammates' condition only added to his frustration.
Captain America stood five meters ahead, a tear in his left sleeve, blood streaming down his forearm. He stood firm, shield raised, his eyes never leaving the enemy. But Ye Mo could hear clearly—the captain's breathing was heavier than usual, and his rhythm was off.
Bucky crouched at the northwest pipe entrance, wisps of white smoke rising from the robotic arm interface. His right hand rested on the wall for stability, clearly hesitant to exert any force. His previous electromagnetic missile strike had been brilliant, but overheating of the equipment was no small matter; another strike could lock it in place.
On the elevated highway to the north, Black Widow lay prone, sniper rifle aimed at the remaining enemy, her posture impeccable. However, her right ankle was slightly twisted; she hadn't landed properly, clearly injuring it. Forcing herself to stay upright at this moment could easily lead to a slip and fall.
The most dangerous one is Emma Frost.
She was still sitting in front of the terminal, her fingers resting on her temples, her face pale, and her forehead covered in cold sweat. Ye Mo couldn't hide the fact that she was mentally exhausted—from the moment her breathing became shallow and her fingertips trembled slightly, he knew she was nearing her limit. That wave of hallucination implantation just now was probably something she had to grit her teeth and force herself to endure.
"If this continues, half of us will fall before the enemy even has a chance to act," Ye Mo thought to himself.
He looked down at his hands and suddenly remembered something.
"Regeneration + light radiation... I tried it once before, failed twice, and only barely managed to get any light out on the third try. Now I'll give it my all."
He closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into the "Gene Spiral Tower." The twelfth floor of the tower was lit, with several fragments of abilities spinning: Wade's Healing Factor was like a Red Fog, Magik's life energy was like pale golden threads, and the energy radiation fragments left behind by the unknown Mutants blood sample he accidentally touched in the abandoned laboratory were like a faint halo.
"Spell."
He twisted the three fragments together, forcibly fusing them like he was twisting a rope. A "ding" sounded in his mind, not a system notification, but an activation signal he had figured out himself.
My palms are getting warm.
He slammed his hand to the ground and hissed, "Get up!"
A pale golden light burst forth from his palm, neither dazzling nor ostentatious, like the warmth of the winter sun on one's skin. The light split into five rays, as thin as Silk, and shot off in four directions— Captain America, Bucky, Black Widow, Emma Frost, each of them being enveloped in a strand of light.
Captain America was the first to notice. The bleeding at the edge of his left arm wound had stopped, the tearing sensation quickly subsided, and he regained feeling in his muscles. He glanced down at his arm, frowned, and looked up at Ye Mo: "What trick did you pull this time?"
"Ancestral massage, free life-saving treatment." Ye Mo grinned, sweating profusely. "Don't ask, as long as it works."
On Bucky's side, the white smoke from the robotic arm interface slowly stopped, and the thermometer reading dropped from red back to the yellow zone. He moved his fingers, the joint clicked to unlock, and he moved around a couple of times to confirm that the function had been restored.
"Thanks," he said softly, without turning around.
On the elevated highway to the north, Black Widow moved her right ankle. The excruciating pain had turned into a dull ache, which she could bear. She glanced down at her ankle, then at the vital signs data transmitted through the terminal, and raised an eyebrow. "Your light can even cure machines?"
"I can't fix the machine, but I can repair some surrounding tissues along the way," Ye Mo said, panting. "Your foot is practically a human accessory, so it's somewhat related."
Emma Frost was the slowest. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowed, and suddenly took a deep breath, her whole body trembling.
It was as if half of her mental burden had been removed, and the throbbing pain in her head receded like a receding tide. She opened her eyes, her vision cleared, and her consciousness re-established itself, able to scan for heartbeats within a 300-meter radius.
She looked at Ye Mo, her lips moving slightly. "You... used three stages of fusion?"
"Hmm." Ye Mo wiped the sweat from his face. "Regeneration as a base, light energy heating, and radiation stimulating cell activity. I don't know how long it will last, but I'll give it my all for now."
Emma Frost didn't speak, but simply nodded slightly, her fingers returning to her temples—a signal: I could continue.
Ye Mo breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, supporting himself on his knees. The treatment effect was much more stable than last time, indicating that the combination was taking shape. He made a mental note: "Group Healing" has a cooldown of about eight minutes, lasts for thirty seconds, has a range of fifty meters, prioritizes repairing biological wounds, and also reduces mental burden.
"Captain!" he shouted, "They're getting away!"
Captain America had been watching the southeast corner for a while. The three men were secretly connecting wires to a small EMP device. Judging from the model, it was a modified version of an old Stark Industries. It wasn't very powerful, but if it exploded, it could paralyze the main control area for ten minutes.
"We can't let them get going." Captain America raised his shield. "Prepare to suppress them."
"I'll draw their fire," Ye Mo said. "You guys do the work."
"You just used up your powers, don't push yourself too hard." Captain America frowned.
"I won't charge, I'll dodge." Ye Mo took two steps back, picked up a piece of concrete, and said, "I'm good at throwing things."
Before he finished speaking, he swung his arm and hurled the stone at the enemy's left-hand open space.
With a loud "boom," rubble exploded and dust billowed up. The three men instinctively turned around, pointing their guns at the source of the sound.
Right now.
Captain America charged forward, shield slamming into the enemy ranks. Bucky emerged from the pipe, his electromagnetic missile locked onto the EMP power pack, and he pulled the trigger—"Thump!" The Negasonic Teenage Warhead struck precisely, and the power pack smoked and became disabled.
Black Widow fired simultaneously; an armor-piercing round pierced the shoulder blade of an enemy, causing his hand to go limp and his communicator to fall to the ground. She immediately switched targets, firing a second shot that destroyed another person's earpiece, completely severing internal communication.
The last person was still trying to detonate it manually, kneeling on the ground and frantically pressing the button.
Emma Frost closed her eyes, her consciousness surfacing.
This guy's mind was a mess, filled with the obsession of "Start! Start!", like a broken tape recorder. Instead of hacking into his mind, she inserted a false image into it: an explosion behind him, flames shooting into the sky, and enemies attacking from behind.
The man turned around abruptly, his pupils dilated, and he scrambled away, shouting something no one could understand.
Ye Mo wasn't about to let him escape.
He rushed out, his Steel Bone State not fully recovered, but the emergency activation could last for five seconds. His bones snapped and tightened, a metallic sheen gleaming beneath his skin, as he slammed into the man's cover.
"Boom!"
Half of the wall collapsed, burying the man in the rubble, with only one hand flailing outside.
"Don't choose today to be reincarnated." Ye Mo gasped, supporting himself with one hand on the ground. His Steel Bone State had faded, and his body felt like it was falling apart.
The battlefield was silent for a few seconds.
Of the three enemy soldiers, one collapsed with a shoulder injury, another was captured while fleeing in a state of mental confusion, and the last was buried alive; all three were rendered incapable of fighting. The EMP device shut down, communications were cut off, and no one could organize a counterattack.
Captain America walked over, glanced at the malfunctioning equipment, then looked at Ye Mo: "Your Group Healing technique is getting more and more professional."
"I'm surprised myself that the first success didn't have any backlash." Ye Mo grinned, sitting on the ground, unwilling to move. "Could we give them an easier task next time? Like getting them to surrender willingly?"
"If you can heal external injuries and change people's minds, I'll make you a political commissar." Bucky walked over, his robotic arm back to normal, his tone still cold.
Emma Frost stood up from the terminal and walked over, her steps steady. She glanced at Ye Mo's hand; there were slight burns on his palm, a side effect of releasing energy earlier.
"Every time you use a new combination, you pay a price," she said.
"Otherwise what?" Ye Mo shrugged. "Powers falling from the sky? I don't even order takeout often."
Captain America surveyed the battlefield, and after confirming there were no threats, he raised his hand and said into his headset, "Site C cleared. Enemy main force defeated. Remaining personnel handed over to the outer perimeter team for custody."
"Roger that," came the voice of the base's remaining personnel through the earpiece. "The east passage is blocked; no one has escaped."
Ye Mo listened and slowly stood up. His body was still tired, but he could move. He glanced at the injury on his palm, then looked at his teammates— Captain America's arm was intact, Bucky's functions were normal, Black Widow was on the overpass re-establishing vigilance, Emma Frost had returned to the terminal to scan for residual fluctuations.
The situation has stabilized.
He bent down, brushed the dust off his trousers, and stretched his shoulders. In the distance, the last fleeing enemy was pinned to the ground by two patrolmen, his hands tied behind his back.
"System," he thought to himself, "Record: The twelfth-level ability ' Group Healing ' has passed practical testing. Cooldown pending further testing. Side effects include palm burn and temporary weakness."
There was no response. But he knew that the progress bar had moved forward another bit.
Emma Frost suddenly looked up. "There's still a residual signal, weak, probably from the automatic data transmission mechanism."
"Never mind," Ye Mo waved his hand. "Let them pass it on; there's nothing in it anyway."
Captain America nodded. "Stay alert, but don't pursue. We've won this round."
Ye Mo leaned against the cover, his hand on his knee, trying to catch his breath. He looked at the battlefield ahead, still shrouded in smoke, and listened to his teammates' reports through his earpiece, the distant footsteps of those capturing the enemy, and the hum of the equipment.
He was still standing in the center of the main battlefield, he hadn't left.
The battle wasn't completely over, but he was no longer needed on the front lines.
He looked down at his palm; the wound was still there, burning hot.
The man is alive, his teammates are all there, and the enemy is down.
That's enough.