The moment Ye Mo's back slammed into the rock pillar, it felt as if his bones had been smashed by a hammer. A dull, jagged pain shot through his ribs, and the metallic taste of blood lingered in his throat. He didn't dare vomit, afraid that if he relaxed, he wouldn't be able to get up. His ears were still ringing, as if a broken electric drill was spinning inside his skull. His vision was blurred at the edges, but the center was blindingly bright—it was the purple flames rising from Ronan's body, expanding outwards in concentric circles, and cracks in the ground were spreading wildly like a spider web, making a cracking sound.
He knew the next blow would be merciless.
The Lightning Control was still cooling down, and the system was beeping in his mind, with only a little over half of the 47-second countdown gone. After unleashing two bolts of lightning, this thing was like someone who had blacked out from drinking; its mind was unclear, its limbs wouldn't obey its commands, and it was even having trouble standing up straight. But Ronan had already raised his warhammer, arms outstretched, his entire body surging with energy, the air itself being compressed downwards, and dust condensing in mid-air, motionless.
They can't escape.
His dodge route was completely blocked by the shockwave. To his left and right were piles of rubble, behind him was a precipice, and in front of him was a madman capable of smashing a crater with a single blow. Ye Mo gritted his teeth, his tongue pressed against his palate, forcibly pulling his scattered attention back. He couldn't take the hit head-on, but he also couldn't just lie there and wait to be beaten. He closed his eyes for a second, not to pray, but to sort through the mess in the " Gene Spiral Tower " in his mind.
Previously, on the edge of the Greenland ice sheet, during the time when the Blizzard Woman fought the Sentry, he hid at an observation point ten kilometers away, watching her freeze the entire river with a wave of her hand. At the time, he only thought that this woman's temperature control was ridiculously precise, and casually sampled some of the residual low-temperature fluctuations at the scene, which the system recorded as "Unnamed Ability Fragment: Molecular Deceleration Type". Later, he tried to activate it eight times but failed, and it has been gathering dust in a corner on the 13th floor ever since.
We can't worry about combinational logic right now; we'll see if it works after we try it.
He took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs and making his chest tighten. He pushed himself up from the ground, palms flat, pressing the remaining energy into his fingertips. Not to explode, not to blast it out, but to sink it down, to seep into the air. He remembered that the key to ice crystal formation was the rate of water vapor condensation—too fast and it would be brittle, too slow and it would be useless; it had to be at the critical point.
His fingertips began to feel cold; it wasn't an illusion, but a real chill emanating from the ground. The moisture on the ground was drawn out, and a layer of frost crept out through his fingers, spreading rapidly. He dared not open his eyes, afraid of being distracted, relying entirely on his senses to deduce—first the base, then the erected surfaces, ensuring the curvature was sufficient for stable load distribution. Three meters high, semi-circular, with prismatic patterns to increase structural strength, stacked like a riot shield.
The moment the ice wall took shape, he suddenly looked up.
Ronan's warhammer had already struck, purple flames enveloping the area with a sonic boom, tearing a rift in the air as a high-temperature gust of air swept across, carrying debris. If that hammer blow had landed squarely on someone, not only would their bones have been shattered, but their very soul would have been pulverized.
"Come on!" Ye Mo roared, pushed forward with both hands, and shrank back behind the ice wall.
boom--!
A deafening roar erupted as the ice wall bore the brunt of the impact, its surface shattering instantly, sending large shards of ice flying like exploding glass. A few shards grazed his cheek, stinging and leaving shallow marks; the blood that had just surfaced was frozen solid by the cold air. The entire wall trembled violently, cracks spreading like a spiderweb, but it didn't collapse. The curved design diverted most of the impact to the sides, carving two deep trenches into the ground, sending plumes of dust and ice shards soaring into the sky.
He didn't fall.
Ye Mo curled up on the ground, leaning against the crumbling ice wall, panting as if he had run ten kilometers. His head was still buzzing, but his vision was a little clearer. He raised his hand to wipe his face, his fingertips stained with blood mixed with frost. Pain was a good thing; it meant he was still alive.
The smoke and dust hadn't cleared, and the purple light was still swirling. He knew Ronan hadn't stopped.
Sure enough, ten meters away, the man slowly straightened up, his warhammer hanging to the ground, purple flames swirling around it. The eyes behind the mask locked onto him, the killing intent even deeper than before. His right shoulder joint trembled slightly, visible even through the smoke and dust—each exertion of force had a delay of a fraction of a second, like a machine lag after overload.
"You're very strong," Ye Mo said in a low, hoarse voice, "But you forgot, even the most aggressive overclocking still needs cooling."
He didn't laugh or mock; he simply stated the facts. His fingers slowly closed, pressing against the ground, feeling the vibrations emanating from beneath. The attack, though powerful, landed slightly to the left, indicating increased strain on Ronan's right shoulder and a decline in his accuracy. This wasn't good news; it was a clue to survival.
He inhaled slowly, pressing his abdomen down to its lowest point to slow his breathing. The backlash from the lightning was still there, his temples throbbing, but he couldn't rely on that move anymore. The only cards he could play now were this ice wall that hadn't completely shattered yet, and the few fragmented pieces of ability he had pieced together in his mind.
The ice wall can hold for one more time, two more at most. He has to use it sparingly.
Ronan moved.
With each step he took, the cracks in the ground widened again, and purple flames rippled with his steps, like molten iron flowing under his skin. He didn't rush to swing his hammer, but slowly raised his left hand, palm facing forward, and a ball of energy compressed to its limit condensed in his palm, its purple light dazzling, and the surrounding air distorted and deformed.
Ye Mo's pupils contracted.
This isn't a physical attack; it's an energy bombardment. The temperature is higher, and the penetration is stronger; an ice wall might not be able to stop it.
He immediately adjusted his posture, lowered his center of gravity, and slightly bent his legs, ready to roll to the side at any moment. At the same time, his right hand quietly reached for his waist—where a miniature cooling valve, originally used to regulate engine temperature, was clipped. Now it served as his only "heat buffer."
If the energy beam breaks through the ice wall, he'll have to rely on this thing to survive the aftershocks.
The purple sphere grew larger and larger, and the surrounding rocks began to redden and soften, dripping like wax. Ye Mo stared at the ball of light, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of his chest. He dared not blink, afraid of missing the opportunity to release it.
Just as Ronan pushed his palm forward, he slammed his hands on the ground, injecting the last bit of low-temperature energy into the base of the ice wall. The surface of the ice layer rapidly thickened, and the ridges rearranged to form a honeycomb structure—this was a method he came up with on the spot, relying on multiple layers to disperse and resist penetration.
boom--!!!
An energy beam, as thick as a tree trunk, erupted, blazing with purple flames, and slammed head-on into the ice wall. The ice instantly vaporized, and large chunks of ice shattered at the edges, but the main structure remained intact. The honeycomb structure absorbed and dispersed some of the energy, while the remaining impact dissipated diagonally upwards, blasting a deep crater.
Ye Mo was thrown back half a meter by the blast wave, his back slamming against the rock wall with a muffled groan. But he didn't let go, pressing firmly to the ground to maintain the connection with the ice wall. The cooling valve was getting hot in his hands, its outer shell turning red, but he dared not throw it away—this thing was still absorbing heat.
Smoke and dust rose again, obscuring visibility.
He took the opportunity to close his eyes and regulate his breathing, calming his turbulent blood pressure. His head was still spinning, but he regained consciousness. He opened his eyes and looked into the depths of the smoke and dust.
Ronan stood still, the energy in his palm dissipated, but he still gripped the warhammer. He glanced down at his right shoulder, the movement subtle, as if checking something. Then he slowly raised his head, his gaze piercing through the smoke and dust, locking onto Ye Mo's location once more.
There was no roaring, no howling.
But that silence was even more frightening than before.
Ye Mo knew that next time, it wouldn't just be a test.
He slowly raised his left hand and placed it on the remnants of the ice wall, his fingertips still feeling a chill. The wall was nearing its limit, but he still had time—as long as Ronan needed to gather his strength, as long as his right shoulder continued to tremble.
He slowly clenched his fist, his knuckles making a soft clicking sound.
Survival is the prerequisite for fighting back.
The smoke and dust slowly settled, revealing a figure ten meters ahead. Ronan strode forward, each step causing the ground to tremble. Purple flames burned around him, like an inextinguishable Hellfire.
Ye Mo didn't move.
He crouched behind the ice wall, his back against the still-shattered ruins. There were minor ice cuts on his face, his breathing was slightly heavy but his eyes were clear. His eyes were fixed on the front, his left hand pressed the ground to gather strength, and his right hand was slightly raised, ready to deal with the next wave of attacks.
The wind stopped, and the dust hung suspended in the air.
The battle is not over yet.