Ronan suddenly appeared, igniting the battle

The moment Star-Lord's word "Depart" left the communication channel, the B-7 shuttle's engine vibrated slightly, like a yawn. The blue light from the gravity anchor device also stabilized, no longer flickering, like a cosmic light bulb that had been lulled to sleep. The five people—or rather, four breathing beings plus a moving tree—began to slowly adjust their positions, preparing to line up and glide towards the Dark Nebula.

Ye Mo was still floating in the same spot, five meters away from them, not too close, not too far, just enough to be captured by the camera, but not enough to make it seem like he was trying to steal the spotlight. His hands were in his overalls pockets, and his helmet visor reflected the starlight and glimmer of gemstones from the edge of the gravel belt. He looked like a black soda can that had been casually tossed out, inconspicuous, but no one dared to treat him like trash.

He didn't move, but his mind was already racing. Although the previous Mind Stone scan had cleared everything up, the residual fluctuations still lingered in his mind. Star-Lord's stubbornness, Rocket's irritability, Groot's unwavering loyalty, Gamora's wariness—these emotions combined barely constituted a team that could cooperate, but that was all they could manage. This kind of trust was thinner than oxygen in a vacuum; it could dissipate at the slightest breeze.

He was pondering whether to add another reminder, "Your team is too fragile, you need some glue," when suddenly his brow twitched, as if someone had snapped him with a rubber band. It wasn't painful, but that familiar, slight burning sensation after his ability was activated. He immediately closed his eyes and slid his consciousness in to scan the area—still those fragments of "Telepathy," no new things unlocked, but the range of his perception seemed a bit smoother than before.

The next second, a wave of mental pressure crashed in from a distance.

It's not an emotion, not a thought, but a pure "sense of existence," like an entire mountain suddenly appearing at your doorstep. Before you even push the door open, the mere shadow of it makes you feel suffocated. That pressure carries violence, paranoia, and an inexplicable destructive urge, as if someone mixed "I don't want to live anymore" and "You can't live either" together into a paste and then broadcast it throughout the universe.

Ye Mo suddenly opened his eyes and looked up at the end of the gravel belt.

The Nebula over there was originally grayish-blue, as still as a backdrop. But now, the cloud suddenly twisted, as if someone had slashed it open with a knife. Immediately afterward, a dark purple energy trajectory tore through the void, silently approaching at a speed that was not like flying, but rather as if space itself was making way for it.

"Something's coming!" he whispered, the sound not loud, but it resonated directly into everyone's headphones in the silent vacuum.

Star-Lord's fingers, which had just touched the GPS, paused; Rocket's ears perked up; Gamora instantly drew her sword; and Groot's branches snapped straight, their roots digging into the nearest rock. The five of them moved almost in sync—the loose understanding they had just established finally didn't falter at the crucial moment.

Before they could react, the ship appeared.

It didn't fly in from afar; it was "torn" out of the void. A giant black warship, its hull as black as ink, its surface covered with the totems of the Kree Empire, and the axe-shaped design at the bow seemed specifically designed to cleave space. The hatch opened with a loud crash, the sound of metal scraping against metal making one's teeth ache.

A person stepped out.

He was clad in heavy armor, his shoulder guards as wide as two iron gates, and his cloak remained perfectly still in the vacuum, as if even the vacuum itself feared him. In his hand he carried a warhammer, its Hammerhead wreathed in dark red energy; just by striking it against the ground, the surrounding rubble began to crack. His gaze swept across the area and locked onto the ball of blue light— the Power Stone.

"This power does not belong to ants." His voice was low and hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against sheet metal, each word carrying a sense of oppression.

Before the words were even finished, the warhammer slammed down.

It wasn't aimed at people, it was aimed at the ground.

The shockwave from that attack exploded in a ring, faster than a sonic boom. Star-Lord, being closest, was thrown out and crashed into a giant rock like a bowling ball. His helmet slammed against the rock, nearly dislocating his jaw. Rocket even worse; his backpack was flipped over by the blast, and he rolled several meters before finally getting stuck in a crack in the wreckage. He muttered something under his breath, but the communication channel was filled with static.

Ye Mo reacted the fastest. He activated his thrusters the instant Ronan appeared, a short burst of energy sending him skidding three meters to the side, barely avoiding the edge of the shockwave. But the aftershocks still hit him; the alarm on his work clothes beeped twice, and a dull pain shot through his left shoulder—probably from hitting something hard, but it didn't break his defenses.

He leaned against a giant rock to catch his breath, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Groot, who had taken root and stabilized himself, his trunk swaying slightly as if assessing the enemy situation. Gamora didn't retreat; instead, she charged forward half a step, her sword held horizontally in front of her chest, blocking the gravity anchoring device. Her eyes were icy cold, but her body was taut like a drawn bow.

Ye Mo quickly reviewed the results of the Mind Stone scan in his mind. Ronan's mental field was completely different from Star-Lord's. Star-Lord's was fragmented but still being pieced together, Rocket was easily angered but protective of his cubs, Gamora was closed off but had cracks. As for Ronan —only one sentence kept playing on repeat in his mind, "I am justice."

Paranoid, and the kind of paranoid who thinks everything he does is right.

These kinds of people are the most troublesome; you can't reason with them, you can't persuade them, and you can't kill them by hitting them.

"Everyone scatter! He's going to steal the gem!" Ye Mo shouted, then moved first. He didn't dare get too close, but he couldn't let him rush to the device like that. He took out the jamming beacon he carried with him—originally for defense against S.H.I.E.L.D.. tracking, but also for emergencies—pulled the pin, and threw it to Ronan's side and behind.

With a muffled "boom," a small EMP pulse exploded. The area wasn't large, but it was enough to interfere with the sensor systems of armored equipment. Ronan's steps did indeed falter, and the red light on his helmet flashed, as if the signal had been interfered with.

That's enough.

Gamora seized the opportunity to retreat two steps and readjust her position. Groot's branches quickly extended, forming a natural barrier around the device. Star-Lord peeked out from behind the rock and finally retrieved his gun. Rocket also crawled out of the wreckage, brushing off the dust and cursing, "What kind of villain makes such a grand entrance? Can't they just sneak up and do something more discreet?"

Ye Mo didn't have time to respond. He stared at Ronan and noticed that although the other man had been slightly distracted, he didn't seem to care at all. His eyes remained fixed on the gem, as if it were the only thing in the world worth looking at. The next second, Ronan moved.

The target isn't Gamora, nor Star-Lord.

It was him.

Just as Ye Mo realized something was wrong, Ronan had already charged forward, his warhammer raised high, Hammerhead energy surging as if to cleave the entire debris field in two. The speed and power of that strike were simply beyond human evasion. But Ye Mo's feet reacted before his brain—his thrusters fired again, sending him tumbling across the ground. The moment the warhammer crashed down, a deep crater was blasted into the spot where he had just left, scattering debris everywhere. A sharp piece of rock grazed his helmet, leaving a white mark.

"Holy crap!" He leaned against another rock, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. If that attack had been even half a second slower, he wouldn't be hearing the helmet alarm now, he'd be hearing the Grim Reaper calling his name.

He took a couple of breaths, forcing himself to calm down. Ronan's attack rhythm was predictable—powerful charging, ruthless strikes, but slow recovery. After that missed strike, he had a brief period of stun, almost a second. Though short, it was enough.

"Don't let him get close to the device! There's a gap in the attack rhythm!" he shouted into the communication channel, while pulling out a second beacon. This time, he didn't throw it immediately, but instead watched Ronan's movements.

As expected, Ronan's attack missed, and his movements were slightly sluggish as he turned around. Ye Mo immediately threw out a beacon, not at a person, but at the gravel beneath Ronan's feet. The EMP detonated again, and this time, Ronan's heavy armor visibly staggered, as if he had stepped on a banana peel.

Gamora seized the opportunity and slashed at the joint of the warhammer. Mars flew, but not even a mark was left. She immediately retreated, not wanting to take the credit.

"Damn it, is this armor made of titanium alloy welded with Vibranium?" Rocket cursed from a distance, setting up his sniper rifle. "Let me teach him what precision strikes are all about!"

The bullets clattered against Ronan's shoulder armor, making a sound like a tickle. Ronan ignored them, turning to stare at Ye Mo with the gaze one would give a nosy insect.

"You're blocking my way," he said.

Ye Mo swallowed hard, his palms burning. He knew he was in for a rough time. But he couldn't back down—if he did, the group would fall into chaos. He was the only one who understood Ronan's thought process and the only one who could predict his next move.

"I'm not blocking the way, I'm providing personal service." He smirked, and the thrusters started up again. "I'll take care of anything that dares to challenge me."

Just as he was about to move, Ronan suddenly raised his hand, and his warhammer swept across, the energy wave spreading in an arc. Ye Mo could only grit his teeth and roll to dodge, but this time, the shockwave had a larger range. As soon as he rolled up, he was hit by the aftershock and crashed into a floating rock. The alarm on his work clothes went off again, this time on his right rib—he probably broke a bone.

He leaned against the pumice, panting, his vision blurry. But he could still see Ronan approaching step by step, his warhammer scraping the ground with a screeching sound. He could also see Star-Lord reloading in the distance, Rocket adjusting his scope, Gamora gripping her knife, and Groot's branch slowly rising.

The battle has begun.

No one is leaving.

No one won.

Ye Mo wiped the cold sweat from the inside of his helmet and reached for the last jamming beacon.

"Come on, brother," he whispered, "Let's see if your hammer is faster, or my life is tougher."