Ye Mo's palms were still burning hot; it wasn't an illusion, but a premonition that his ability was about to be triggered. He stared at Ronan's raised warhammer, purple flames condensing into a ball at the Hammerhead, the air compressed to produce a low-frequency hum, like a thousand-pound weight pressing on his eardrums. He didn't move, nor dared to move, his entire body tense, waiting for that blow to fall, and then desperately holding on one more time.
But just as the purple flames were about to erupt, his brow twitched suddenly.
The threat is not from the immediate vicinity, but from afar—a more concentrated and regular energy fluctuation is rapidly approaching.
His eye twitched, and he immediately closed it, channeling his remaining mental energy to scan deep space. The neural pathways left from using the " Telepathy + Spatial Perception " combination technique to Wall Phasing and conduct electricity hadn't completely shut down, and could barely withstand this scan. His brain's system vibrated silently. " Kree- like high-level energy reaction detected, distance: 87 kilometers, speed: 3.2 times the speed of sound, quantity: 7+."
Seven people? Or seven flying machines?
Ye Mo's pupils contracted sharply, and his throat went dry. This frequency was from the same source as the Ronan armor, but it was more stable, more like... standard equipment.
He didn't dare open his eyes for too long, afraid that Ronan would notice something was wrong. He lowered his voice and turned his head to Gamora, saying, "Don't look at me, listen to me—reinforcements will arrive in three minutes, heading straight for Ronan."
Gamora's hand holding the knife didn't move an inch, and she didn't even blink, but her breathing rhythm changed, becoming short and rapid.
Ye Mo immediately transmitted the information via the mental link. This wasn't a broadcast, but a targeted transmission, only accessible to members of the Guardians of the Galaxy. The signal was extremely short, consisting of only three frequency bands. "Enemy reinforcements are arriving, number seven, landing within three minutes."
He knew that things couldn't fall into chaos now, or everything would collapse.
Star-Lord stood on the high ground on the right flank, dual pistols held horizontally, muzzles steadily aimed at Ronan's head. Upon hearing the signal, he frowned, his finger flicking lightly on the trigger, as if tapping a beat. He didn't speak, only chewing his gum faster, then muttered under his breath, "Damn, this guy has teammates?"
But the next second he loosened his shoulders and readjusted his gun. "Let's do it then," he muttered, "My playlist is only on the chorus, perfect for adding a drum beat."
Rocket Raccoon crouched behind the broken wall on the left, checking the charging bar of his electromagnetic mesh gun. The red light was flashing, with only two bars remaining. He cursed, slapped the gun hard, and the charging bar bounced before dropping back down. He looked up at Groot: "Hey, how much longer can you hold out?"
Groot didn't turn around; his roots remained entwined around Ronan's left knee joint, the vines taut like steel cables. He slowly turned his head, glanced at Rocket, and whispered, "I am Groot."
Rocket listened with narrowed eyes, then nodded. "Okay, just five more minutes, that's enough."
He lowered his head and continued patting the gun, muttering, "If I'd known it was going to be a long battle, I wouldn't have sold the spare battery to that idiot..."
Gamora finally moved. She stopped staring at Ronan and slowly sheathed her twin blades on her back, changing her grip to a hand seal – a habitual action she used to switch combat modes: from swift kills to maneuvering, from burst damage to sustained damage.
She turned her head and asked Ye Mo, "How much longer can you sense it?"
Ye Mo closed his eyes for a moment, cold sweat beading on his forehead. The scan had taken longer than expected; his mental energy felt like it had been halved, and his head was buzzing. He gritted his teeth and said, "At least two and a half minutes, then it needs to cool down."
"That's enough." Gamora, her gaze returning to Ronan.
None of the five spoke loudly, moved around, or even changed their expressions much. But the atmosphere between them had changed. The tension before was the pressure of victory weighing on Ronan, the breathless anticipation of winning; now, it was like reaching the top of a mountain only to find an even higher one ahead, exhausting to the point of wanting to curse, but still having to climb on.
Ye Mo leaned against the scorched rock, his left hand on his lower back. A dull, jagged pain shot through his ribs, as if someone were scraping them with a file. His right hand hung at his side, his palm still burning hot—the residual heat from the Lightning Control, a side effect of the Regenerative Phasing. He knew he couldn't hold on for long, but he had to.
Ronan was still standing there, his warhammer raised high, the purple flames still burning. He seemed to have sensed something as well; the purple flames beneath his helmet flickered slightly, as if receiving a remote signal. He didn't rush to attack; instead, he stopped at the critical point, as if waiting.
Waiting for his reinforcements.
Star-Lord suddenly chuckled, breaking the silence. "What do you think? When they get here, will they rescue Ronan first, or beat us up first?"
No one answered.
The Rocket rolled their eyes. "Duh, of course they'll beat us up first. You think they're here to deliver packages?"
"That settles it then." Star-Lord shrugged. "Since we're going to fight anyway, might as well get started sooner rather than later, so I don't get nervous."
Ye Mo opened his eyes, staring at the crack on Ronan's right shoulder. Although it was covered by purple light, the traces of electrical leakage were still there, crackling. He knew that as long as there was another precise strike, his right arm would be completely paralyzed. But not now. Once reinforcements arrived, the situation would turn into a siege, and they would no longer have a chance to concentrate their firepower.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the dull pain in his chest, and activated the perception module again. The energy signal was still approaching, 85 kilometers away, its speed unchanged, and its trajectory stable. The opponent had not slowed down or dispersed; it was clearly heading straight for the battlefield.
"Two minutes," he said softly.
Gamora, shifting her feet slightly to form a closer angle with Ye Mo. She lowered her center of gravity, as if ready to pounce at any moment.
Rocket recalibrated the electromagnetic mesh gun and aimed it at Ronan's left knee. He spat, "I told you we shouldn't have taken this job. I should have taken double the deposit."
Groot's roots trembled slightly, as if gathering strength. He whispered, "I am Groot."
"I know," Rocket said without looking up. "You're tired of it too, aren't you? Fighting all the time, and then having to repair equipment afterwards, who can stand it?"
Star-Lord crossed his pistols over his chest and whistled, "Hey guys, after we're done fighting, could you take Ronan's helmet off? I've always been curious about what he looks like."
"Are you out of your mind?" Rocket glared at him. "Thinking about this now?"
"The pressure is immense," Star-Lord grinned. "If I don't find some fun, I'm afraid I'll break down first."
Ye Mo didn't participate in their conversation; his attention was entirely focused on the energy signals in the distance. 82 kilometers, the speed remained the same. He could feel the oppressive aura growing stronger, like seven magnets crashing into an iron plate at high speed. He knew that once they landed, the first wave of attacks wouldn't be aimed at Ronan —but at them.
They are the invaders.
He raised his right hand, palm up, his Lightning Control slowly recovering. The cooldown progress bar appeared in his mind, 61% remaining. He dared not force it to activate; the last time he had withstood the backlash, it had almost made him faint on the spot.
He has to wait.
Gamora suddenly spoke up, "We won't retreat."
The voice was very soft, but everyone heard it.
Star-Lord glanced at her and smiled. "Who said you were going to back out?"
"I'm not asking," Gamora said. "I'm stating facts. We're not backing down."
Rocket scoffed, "Retreat? Where to retreat? The spaceship's already blown up. Besides, I haven't won yet."
Groot nodded. "I am Groot."
Star-Lord spat out his gum and reloaded his gun. "Alright, let's go all the way. But next mission, we'll have to pay more."
Ye Mo looked at them, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. These guys were a bit crazy, but reliable. He knew that even if reinforcements arrived, they wouldn't run. Not because they weren't afraid of death, but because they were used to it—in a place like this, running away meant dying faster than fighting.
He closed his eyes for one last scan.
80 kilometers, three-minute countdown begins.
Ronan's purple flames were still gathering above his head, but he didn't move. He was waiting and observing. He knew reinforcements were arriving soon, so he wasn't in a hurry. He even had the mind to slowly adjust his breathing, allowing the energy to circulate more steadily within his body.
Ye Mo opened his eyes, his palms burning even hotter.
He knew that the next three minutes would be even more unbearable than the previous siege.
Star-Lord hummed a song softly, an old rock tune with a steady rhythm. Rocket tapped the barrel of his gun twice, as if keeping time. Groot's roots swayed gently to the rhythm. Gamora closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them again, her gaze was even colder.
Ye Mo leaned against the rock wall, his left hand pressing on his wound, his right hand gathering energy.
The wind stopped, and the gravel path was deathly silent.
Only the purple flames on Ronan's warhammer continued to hum.