The wind in the gravel belt stopped, and even the dust ceased to swirl. Ye Mo closed his eyes, his senses like a net stretched to its limit, spread across the air, awaiting the return of that familiar oppressive feeling. His palms were still burning, not from the heat, but from the residual high-frequency Quake from the system swirling in his nerve endings. He could feel his heartbeat slowing by half a beat—this wasn't relaxation, but his body automatically lowering its frequency to prepare for the next impact.
Then, he opened his eyes.
His pupils suddenly contracted.
It wasn't because he saw anything, but because he "felt" it. The air had changed. What was once a heavy silence now felt as if something had pushed it open from within, each breath carrying a static-like itch, his nasal passages were dry, and his eardrums were ringing. He subconsciously raised his hand to touch his brow, where a sharp pain suddenly shot through him, as if someone had stabbed him in the head with a needle.
[Extremely high-density energy source detected. Avoid contact.]
A system notification sounded in his mind, short and cold, completely different from the usual cheerful tone of "You've triggered a new fragment." As soon as he heard this sound, Ye Mo knew—something had happened.
He didn't turn around, nor did he call for help. He knew Gamora was on the left, Star-Lord on the right, Rocket on the high platform, Groot buried underground, but none of them could move now. The plan hadn't even started yet; whoever exposed themselves first would die. He could only rely on himself to figure out the situation first.
He stared in Ronan's direction.
The man had been standing still, like a black iron monument, completely motionless. But now, he had raised his hand. Not the hand that held the hammer, but his empty left hand. Palm up, holding something.
A deep purple light emanated from his palm, starting as a wisp, like a leaky light bulb filament, then suddenly burst open, like liquid thunder climbing up his arm. The light didn't flicker or jump; it just flowed steadily, following the lines of his muscles into the gaps in his armor, and then overflowing from his joints, casting an eerie purple glow on the ground.
Ye Mo clenched his teeth.
He recognized it— the Power Stone. Not a replica, not a projection, but the real thing. And Ronan was currently inserting it into his body.
The ground began to crack. Not tremors, but cracks. Starting from Ronan's feet, spiderweb-like fissures silently spread outwards, each emitting the same purple light, as if the earth itself had been burned through by this energy. The air distorted, and the distant rock outlines became blurred, as if looking through a layer of heat.
"Damn it..." Ye Mo cursed under his breath, his voice so low that it was almost as if his lips were moving.
He wasn't afraid. He knew what it meant.
He had already figured out Ronan's rhythm from those four hammer blows. The right shoulder dropped for 0.3 seconds, the breathing became heavier, the muscles tensed—he could predict all of these. But now, if this guy were to directly pour the power of the gem into his attacks, all those patterns would be useless. The Power Stone wasn't for setting rhythms; it was for shattering them.
He quickly closed his eyes, concentrated, and pulled up the data analysis model he had just used. But as soon as he got into the zone, it felt like someone had poured boiling oil on his brain, and a burning sensation exploded instantly. He groaned, cold sweat poured down his forehead, and he almost knelt down.
The system is issuing an alarm.
It wasn't a red pop-up window, nor was it a repeating sound; rather, it was the chaotic feeling of "all the background programs crashing." He could feel his Gene Spiral Tower vibrating, and the " Steel Bone Form " module, which had just been activated on the 12th floor, was making cracking noises, as if it was about to fall apart. The ability fragments on the other floors were also resonating, and Self-Healing, Wall Phasing, Quake Sensing... were all in complete disarray.
"No... I can't force it." He knew that forcibly using his abilities to resist this energy field now was like trying to catch a waterfall with a plastic bucket.
He needs to notify the others.
But he couldn't make a sound. If he opened his mouth, his location would be revealed. Although Ronan wasn't moving, his aura had already locked onto the entire gravel belt, and he could pounce on him instantly at the slightest disturbance.
Ye Mo gritted his teeth and focused all his attention on the Telepathy Fragment. This thing was originally used to read emotional fluctuations; Emma Frost had taught him how to use it to send short messages, like Morse code, transmitting information through combinations of frequency and duration. Now he didn't have time for precise operation and could only take a gamble.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the nausea churning in his chest, his fingers trembled slightly, and he gently pressed his palm down against the ground.
Three low-frequency Quake, short, short, and long.
This is the emergency code they agreed upon beforehand: Danger Escalation.
Immediately afterwards, he added two more, very close together: Power Awakening.
Finally, a long wave lasting two seconds: remain still.
The signal was sent. He didn't know if it was received, or if the others could withstand the pressure. But this was all he could do. Sending it again would cause energy fluctuations that would reveal his location.
He opened his eyes and stared intently at Ronan.
The man stood up straight. His armor was no longer the dark black it had been, but gleamed with a metallic purple light, as if it had been coated with living lightning. He slowly raised his right hand, and the Destroyer Warhammer appeared in his palm, its Hammerhead touching the ground, but the cracks in the ground spread outwards at an even faster speed.
Ronan glanced down at the hammer, then looked up, his gaze piercing through the dozens of meters of gravel to land on Ye Mo.
Beneath the mask, the corner of his mouth twitched.
It wasn't a sneer, nor was it anger; it was just a kind of... cat-like contempt.
Then he spoke. His voice wasn't loud, even a little lazy, but every word was like a nail, hammering directly into Ye Mo's ears:
"You ants, how dare you dictate my pace?"
Ye Mo didn't move.
He knew he certainly didn't look good—his work pants were covered in dust, his hoodie was torn, his right rib was still throbbing, his stamina hadn't recovered, and the system was beeping. But he couldn't retreat. If he did, the entire formation would collapse. Gamora's bait, Rocket's sonic bombs, Star-Lord's rhythm disruption—it would all have to be started all over again. And Ronan wouldn't give them a second chance.
He slowly straightened up, steadied himself, and let his hands hang naturally at his sides, palms still facing down, ready to give the signal again at any moment. He didn't speak or make any provocative gestures; he just stood there, like a nail driven into the ground.
The wind still hadn't picked up.
Even the dust particles floated in the air, suspended motionless. The light was bent by the distorted airflow, and the shadows of the distant rocks were stretched long, like cloth cut with a knife.
Ronan moved.
He didn't charge at us, nor did he swing his hammer. He simply took a step forward.
Thump.
The ground trembled slightly, but Ye Mo could feel the vibration waves coming from under his feet. It wasn't just the weight of his body hitting the ground, but rather a stomp carrying energy pulses, as if each step was testing the earth's resilience.
Step two.
Thump.
The crack widened by another half meter.
Step 3.
Thump.
Ye Mo's knees bent slightly, dissipating the impact. He noticed that Ronan's steps were becoming increasingly steady, and his rhythm was even clearer than before. This wasn't an uncontrolled enhancement, but precise control. This guy wasn't desperately charging up; he was adapting.
Step 4.
Step 5.
Ronan had reached the edge of the platform. He stopped and looked down at Ye Mo as if he were looking at an insect that had finally crawled to his feet.
"You were very clever just now," he said, his voice low. "You disrupted my rhythm, manipulated my teammates, set a trap, and waited for me to make a mistake."
He paused, raised his warhammer, and gently tapped his shoulder armor, producing a dull thud.
"But now, I don't need rhythm anymore."
Ye Mo's throat felt dry.
He knew what those words meant. No need for rhythm meant no need for prediction. His opponent's power had reached a level that could crush all techniques. His previously prized "analytical ability" was now probably worthless.
But he still didn't move.
He cannot move. To move would be the beginning of defeat.
He quietly reached into his hoodie pocket and touched the miniature detector he'd swiped from Star-Lord's ship. It was about the size of a palm, flat, and had a few scratches on its surface. This thing was originally used to monitor engine fluctuations, but now he wanted to see if he could use it to detect changes in Ronan's energy frequency.
He gently pressed the side button, and the detector screen lit up briefly before starting to display numbers. But less than two seconds later, the screen went black. He pressed it again, but there was no response.
It's ruined. The energy field was too strong; it burned out the circuitry.
He gripped the detector tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white.
Ronan looked at him and suddenly smiled. It wasn't a loud laugh, just a slight upturn of the corners of his mouth, as if he had seen through all of Ronan's little tricks.
"You have many more tricks up your sleeve?" he asked, his tone as if addressing a child. "What are you hiding? New toys? Or... other abilities?"
Ye Mo did not answer.
He knew the other party was testing him. Although Ronan had become stronger, it was still uncertain how many trump cards he had up his sleeve. The Steel Bone Form, Telepathy warning, and low-frequency Quake communication he had just displayed were not things that ordinary humans could do. Ronan was assessing him.
That makes things easier.
He deliberately took a breath, raised his hand to wipe his face, making the movement appear somewhat clumsy. Then he looked down at his hand, as if checking for an injury. In reality, he was adjusting his breathing rate to make his heartbeat sound more erratic.
"You won't last long," Ronan said, his voice turning cold. "I can smell your fear."
Ye Mo grinned, revealing a set of white teeth. "Then you have a pretty good nose."
The moment he finished speaking, he felt an even stronger energy surge explode from Ronan's body. The air seemed to be compressed to its limit, and he heard the high-frequency hissing sound of glass about to shatter.
He knew that the next blow could come at any moment.
But he remained standing.
They didn't retreat, didn't hide, and didn't call for help.
He just stared at Ronan without blinking.
The wind remained still.
The dust was still suspended in mid-air.
His palms were no longer hot; they had become icy cold, as if all the blood had been drained from them.
But his fingers twitched slightly.
The next signal is ready.