The enemy has ceased fire.
The silence came suddenly, like half a ladle of cold water being poured into a pot of boiling oil. With a hiss, the heat was still churning, but the sound was gone. Smoke rose from the cracks in the scorched rock, and the air smelled of molten metal, and a bit like burnt plastic—probably some shoulder gun had overloaded and burned out its wiring.
Ye Mo stood still, his arms still outstretched, the shield gleaming with a faint blue light, like an emergency light about to run out of power. The blood from his nose had dried, forming a hard scab on his chin, and the tear in his right fingertip had also congealed, with blood beads hanging at the edge, no longer dripping. He didn't move, nor did he dare to breathe too deeply, afraid that if he took too deep a breath, the shield would collapse.
But he knew he couldn't hold out any longer.
In those last five or ten seconds, the enemy was assessing him; he was waiting for his chance. Now the chance has come—they thought he only had this one move left, that he was on the verge of collapse, and that he would either break down or beg for mercy.
But they forgot that he wasn't fighting alone.
He's a system-following veteran, a time-traveling king, and a lunatic who, even when his life hangs in the balance, still thinks about "whether he can pull out a new ability this time."
He hadn't mastered the " Force Field Construction " technique; he'd relied entirely on trial and error. But now it was running automatically, like a phone in power-saving mode, running in the background with low energy consumption but lasting for a while. As long as he didn't actively withdraw the force or divert his attention for too long, the shield wouldn't instantly fail.
That's enough.
He gathered his remaining mental energy into his mind, his consciousness sinking into the " Gene Spiral Tower." It had twenty floors, seven of which were currently unlocked. Each floor was like a small warehouse, piled high with gene fragments scraped from various Mutants. Some were labeled with names, such as " Wade Wilson - Healing Factor," while others were simply marked "Unknown - Wall Phasing Type."
In the corner of the seventh floor, there's a dusty gray module labeled "Unnamed - High Temperature Control Type".
The day Hela destroyed the Asgard temple, he happened to be passing by the ruins when a wisp of flame struck his arm. The system immediately notified him. "Absorb the initial fragment of Flame Control." He hadn't tried it since; after all, who wants to be a flamethrower soldier for no reason?
But now, the situation is pressing.
He closed his eyes for a second, not in prayer, nor to gather his emotions, but simply—opened the module and pressed "Start".
It felt like someone had turned on the gas stove inside my body.
A surge of heat shot up his spine, through his waist, back, and shoulders, finally lodging in his chest, making him feel suffocated. His throat was dry, and his lips were cracked; when he licked them, they tasted nothing but rust.
"Will it work...?" He himself wasn't sure.
But the outside world didn't give him time to hesitate.
Directly ahead, three reinforcements began to move, their shoulder cannons recharged, and the blue light returned. High to the left, Ronan slowly raised his scepter, purple flames coiling around the Hammerhead like a venomous snake awakening. The commander stood on a high rock behind him, his right hand raised, ready to order a concentrated attack.
If we don't act soon, he'll really become a target.
Ye Mo gritted his teeth, pushed the heat into his palms, and simultaneously thrust his arms forward from a defensive stance, palms facing forward, letting out a low roar:
"Burn!"
"Boom--!"
The first flame wasn't spewed out, it was exploded out.
It was as if a high-pressure water gun had suddenly been replaced with a flame version. Flames shot out from his palm, each five meters long, sweeping in a fan shape towards the ground in front of him. The heat wave hit them, instantly vaporizing the charred rock and making the ground reflective.
The two reinforcements on the left flank who were adjusting their shoulder cannons were startled and instinctively retreated, but they were still a beat too slow. The fire grazed the leg armor of one of them, instantly heated up, and the metal shell cracked with a "crack," sparks flew from the internal circuitry, and then with a "bang," the shoulder cannon exploded.
The other person reacted quickly, activating his energy armor to withstand the heat. However, the high temperature was conducted in, and his gloves melted directly onto his hands, causing him to kneel on one knee in pain, shaking his hands and screaming.
"Damn! This guy can breathe fire?!" he cursed in Kree language.
No one answered him.
Because the second flame had already been launched.
This time, Ye Mo was more composed. He stopped spewing nonsense and instead targeted the three forwards in the middle lane. With a flick of his wrist, the fire dragon split into three streams, spiraling out of control and attacking. The hot air distorted his vision, and wherever the fire stream passed, the ground rubble was instantly pulverized.
The three tried to spread out, but they were too close and their evasive routes were blocked. One of them managed to jump, but as soon as his feet left the ground, the fire swept across the sole of his boot, destroying his propulsion device on the spot, and he crashed back to the ground like a rock.
The remaining two rolled on the ground, finally avoiding a direct hit, but their cloaks were on fire, and they cursed as they patted them off.
The third one is the most ruthless.
Ye Mo looked up, staring at Ronan in mid-air. His eyes turned cold, and he compressed and condensed the flames in his palm, then suddenly shot them upwards!
This wave wasn't as wide as the previous two, but it was more concentrated and hotter, heading straight for the area beneath Ronan's feet. Although it didn't hit him, the intense heat wave violently disrupted the airflow, causing Ronan, who was suspended in the air, to instantly lose his balance. The purple flames of his scepter flickered, and he almost dropped it.
He looked down at Ye Mo; his face beneath the helmet was so gloomy it seemed to drip water.
"You... how dare you?" His voice was low and filled with disbelief and anger.
Ye Mo ignored him, took a breath, his palms were still burning hot, and the heat inside him was getting hard to control, like a boiler overpressured and on the verge of exploding. He dared not release any more, he had to use it sparingly.
But he knew that wasn't enough.
The enemy was caught off guard, but not seriously injured. Ronan was still in the air, the commander was still alive, and the remaining reinforcements had begun to disperse and maneuver, clearly intending to flank him and find an opening.
The problem is—he can't move.
The shield is still holding up; if he moves, the barrier will collapse immediately. He's like a living base station; he can only generate power by standing here.
What should we do then?
You can't just stand there and let someone gang up on you.
He glanced across the battlefield and saw a collapsed rock platform about ten meters to his left, its edges neat, like a natural shelter. Further to his right was a crater left by the previous explosion, about two meters deep, which was right in the enemy's path of advance.
He understood.
Don't chase, don't dodge, don't change positions.
Then -- close the road.
He took a deep breath, pressing all the remaining heat in his body into his palms, then quickly brought his palms together and separated them, as if he were making fireballs, before suddenly pushing them forward—
"Boom!"
It's not a long-distance injection, but a short, explosive combustion.
A fireball exploded ten meters in front of the shield, unleashing a wave of heat, sending debris flying, and instantly melting the ground into a dark red, glassy layer. The temperature at the explosion's epicenter was extremely high, and the surrounding air was visibly distorted.
This is the first shot.
Immediately afterwards, he shoved again.
"Boom!"
The second fireball landed on the edge of the rocky platform to the left, right in the spot where two reinforcements were about to pass. The two men had just peeked out when the heat wave forced them back, and one of their helmet visors was warped from the heat.
The third shot hit the exit of the pit on the right.
"Boom!"
The fourth shot hit the broken bridge connection in the middle.
"Boom!"
The fifth shot was aimed directly at the high rock base beneath the commander's feet.
Five consecutive explosions, each landing precisely on the enemy's likely movement path, like a game of chess, blocking their path with each move, effectively building a "firewall" on the battlefield.
The enemy was stunned.
The once tight encirclement formation now requires fire's permission before any path can be taken. Some tried to force their way through, but their boots started smoking as soon as they took a step and they quickly retreated. Others wanted to take a longer route, but time was of the essence; before Ronan could give the order, they were already forced to fight independently.
Ronan finally made a move.
He roared and slammed his scepter down, unleashing a torrent of purple flames that cascaded down into the center of the wall of fire, carving a path through it. He floated down, walking step by step toward Ye Mo, each step leaving a spiderweb-like crack in the ground.
"You think this little flame can stop me?" his voice boomed. "You're just delaying your death."
Ye Mo remained silent.
His hands trembled slightly, his palms were so hot they were almost numb, and the heat in his body was almost gone. The cooling bar Flame Control flickered in his mind, but he didn't look at it. He knew that now was not the time to calculate the cooling.
He just stared at Ronan, and a sudden twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Dragging?" His voice was hoarse, but with a hint of a laugh. "Who told you I was dragging my feet?"
As soon as he finished speaking, he clasped his hands together again. This time, instead of exploding, he compressed them.
The flame in his palm shrank smaller and smaller, its color changing from orange-red to incandescent, until it finally became a Fire Core the size of an egg, quietly hovering above his palm, the surrounding air trembling.
Ronan paused.
He recognized this energy density.
That was a signal that something was about to explode.
Ye Mo looked up at him and said softly:
"I said, it's my turn."