The Fire Core hovered in his palm, shining white, like a miniature sun ready to explode at any moment. The air was distorted by the heat, and even the purple flames beneath Ronan's helmet in the distance flickered. He didn't move forward; the scepter stopped in mid-air, unsure whether to smash it or put it away.
Ye Mo didn't move either.
He still had both arms raised, the blue light of the shield still holding on, though as weak as a flashlight about to run out of power. His nosebleed had long since dried, but the metallic taste in his throat grew stronger with each bite. His palms were burning and numb, like gloves just pulled off a barbecue grill, but he couldn't pull away, or the game would fall apart.
The seven people opposite were scattered throughout the scorched rocks, and no one spoke. The few guys who had been forced back by the wall of fire still had smoke rising from the edges of their armor, and one of them was quietly spraying coolant on his leg, his movements so light as if he were afraid of waking something.
It fell silent.
It wasn't the relaxed stillness after a fight, but the stillness of two wild dogs barking at each other until their throats were split open, neither daring to breathe first.
Behind the rock on his left, Star-Lord slowly raised his head an inch. He had been lying down for too long, and his shoulder armor was hurting his neck. He wanted to move around, but as soon as he rubbed his shoulder, he heard a soft "click".
That was the sound.
Ye Mo's eyes twitched, and he hissed, "Don't move!"
The sound wasn't loud, as soft as sandpaper grinding against sheet metal, but it still managed to pierce the deathly silence, forcing Star-Lord's "Ouch, damn it!" exclamation back down his throat.
Behind the right-hand cover, Rocket Raccoon, who had already grinned and raised his paws to taunt, froze in mid-air upon hearing this, and his tail straightened as well.
Ye Mo ignored them, his eyes fixed on Ronan. He slowly closed his palms, the Fire Core gradually collapsing and dimming, finally extinguishing with a "poof" into his palms, like blowing out a candle.
"They're waiting for us to make a mistake." His voice was still low, but each word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth. "Breathe a little harder, and they'll dare to charge."
After he finished speaking, his eyelids trembled slightly.
It's not from being tired, it's from calculating.
The heat within his body had long since dissipated, and the module Flame Control buzzed in his mind, like the last shudder of an old the Fridge compressor before it jammed. The shield was still consuming energy, eroding his already meager mental strength every second. He could still call upon the Healing Factor, but that was for survival; if he activated it now, it would be useless when he couldn't withstand the next wave.
He dared not close his eyes, but his consciousness had already slipped into the seventh level of the " Gene Spiral Tower ".
A bunch of random tags appeared before my eyes:
[ Wade Wilson - Healing Factor ] - Available, but at a cost.
[Unnamed - Wall Phasing ] -- Grayed out, failed three times, system message "Requires combination triggering".
[Unnamed - High Temperature Control Type] -- During residual heat circulation, the cooling progress bar is stuck at 97%. I don't know if it's a system malfunction or if it's really almost done.
No new tricks.
He was used to it. The system never gave him any surprise gifts; he had to rely on his own trial and error, risking his life. The last time he activated Lightning Control was when he was swept away by Ronan's hammer wind. He suddenly thought, "What if this could attract a lightning bolt to strike him?" And then it actually did—of course, he also suffered a backlash that caused him to have tinnitus for three days.
But not now.
His gaze swept across the battlefield. Five lava zones were still smoking, and the vitrified ground reflected light like five crooked mirrors. He remembered the locations of the previous explosions; each one was a potential trap. If Ronan dared to advance any further, he would ignite a short-range fire, forcing him towards the collapsed area in the middle. The ground there was hollow; stepping into it might burn a person through.
The plan hasn't been finalized yet, but the approach has been identified.
He subtly shifted his weight downwards, slightly bending his knees and keeping his feet still, but his toes quietly turned thirty-five degrees to the right—the closest lava fissure to him, and also the pre-set detonation point.
Star-Lord finally recovered. He wasn't comfortable lying down, so he changed his position, supporting himself on his elbows with his dual pistols held horizontally in front of him. He didn't move around much, but his eyes kept glancing at Ye Mo. That string of fireballs and the Fire Core intimidation were well done, but he could see clearly that Ye Mo's stance was a bit unsteady, and the edges of the shield had begun to tremble slightly, like a Wi-Fi signal with poor reception.
"Can this guy... handle it?" he wondered to himself.
Rocket Raccoon had already removed the shoulder cannon's rear cover and was cleaning the heat sink with a small brush. While working, he glanced sideways at the enemy formation, silently counting the number of enemies. "Seven... no, six and a half, the one on the left with the leg injury counts as half." He calculated his ammunition reserves, then glanced in Ye Mo's direction, "If they start fighting again later, I'll have to be careful with my ammunition."
Groot stood at the back of the group, his branches swaying slightly, and uttered a deep "I am Groot."
Gamora immediately reached out and gestured for him to shut up. She knelt on one knee, her dagger held horizontally in front of her chest, her eyes scanning the enemy formation like a scanner. She noticed that the commander wasn't in the main position, but had retreated to the side of the high rock, holding a flat device in his hand, adjusting its frequency.
"They're preparing to suppress communications," she whispered, making sure only her teammates could hear.
No one answered.
The atmosphere was so tense that no one dared to utter a single extra word.
Ye Mo heard this but didn't respond. He knew Gamora was right, but there was no point in trying to sabotage them now. If the enemy really activated their interference, their mental link would only last for ten seconds at most. If they fought individually then, they would only be picked off one by one.
Therefore, he must continue to act as a base station.
The shield cannot be removed, the position cannot be changed, and even the breathing rhythm cannot be disrupted.
He quietly pressed the tip of his tongue against his palate, tasting the blood to confirm he was still conscious. Then he focused his attention back on his body, repeatedly checking the status of his available abilities. The Healing Factor could be used in emergencies, but not actively; the Flame Control would have to wait, at least three minutes; as for the other fragments, such as the "molecular deceleration type" ice wall ability, its cooldown was even longer, and using it now would be tantamount to suicide.
Then we can only wait and see.
It's a battle of who can't hold back first.
Ronan finally made a move.
He didn't charge, nor did he shout. Instead, he slowly withdrew the scepter to his side, the purple flames retracting into the Hammerhead, like a snake coiling into its lair. He stood there, silent, without speaking or ordering a retreat, just quietly watching Ye Mo, as if assessing a newly unearthed weapon.
Ye Mo looked back at him, her face expressionless, but inwardly she was cursing, "What are you pretending to be so profound for? Are you waiting for your skill cooldown too?"
He knew that an opponent of this caliber wouldn't panic over a single tactical setback. Ronan was crazy, not stupid. That fire attack had indeed disrupted their rhythm, but the opponent had regained their composure, which meant they either had a backup plan or were preparing a major attack.
The problem is, he's almost at his limit too.
The blue light of the shield dimmed again, like a light bulb with unstable voltage. He felt his legs begin to ache, especially his right leg, where the old injury from the shockwave was throbbing, as if a saw was pulling back and forth inside.
He dared not look down, for fear of revealing his weakness.
We can only rely on willpower to hold on.
A system notification suddenly popped into my mind, appearing out of nowhere, like a background notification on a phone:
[Warning: Mental energy remaining at 18.7%, shield expected to last for 4 minutes and 32 seconds.]
Ye Mo almost rolled his eyes.
"Why did you have to tell me now of all times? Am I supposed to clock out now?"
He ignored the system and continued to stare at Ronan. The enemy's formation had changed; they were no longer advancing in a neat formation, but had dispersed into three groups, more than thirty meters apart, clearly to prevent area-controlled explosions. The commander with the communication device had finished setting it up and was attaching it to his belt.
"It's time to make a move," Ye Mo thought to himself.
He subtly raised his right hand, his fingertips slightly curled, making a tiny contraction gesture—a pre-arranged code that meant, "Prepare to tighten the defensive line; await my command."
Star-Lord saw this, nodded slightly, switched from holding both pistols to one hand, and reached for the new magazine at his waist with his other hand.
Rocket Raccoon stopped repairing, quickly closed the shoulder cannon's rear cover, placed its claws on the trigger, and curled its tail around the spare battery pack.
Groot let out a low growl, its branches swelled, and its roots quietly burrowed into the ground, ready to launch a surprise attack at any moment.
Gamora slowly rose, sheathed her dagger, and freed her hands, assuming a close-combat stance.
Everyone is in position.
Ye Mo did not give the order.
He's waiting.
Wait for the most opportune moment, or wait for the enemy to make the first mistake.
He scanned the battlefield again, the locations of the five lava zones forming a simplified map in his mind. If Ronan chose to launch a strong attack from the center, he would detonate the central rift; if he went down the left flank, he would use short explosives to block the passage; the right flank had pits, perfect for an ambush.
He would burn it down as long as they dared to make a move.
But the prerequisite is that he can still stand up.
With little energy remaining in his body, the cooldown bar for Flame Control finally reached 99%. He dared not preheat, fearing to waste even a single drop of heat. He could only wait until the very last moment before igniting the flames.
Time ticked by, second by second.
On the scorched rock, a piece of gravel was blown by the wind, rolled half a circle, and came to rest in the open space between the two armies.
No one picked it up, no one kicked it, no one cared.
Just like this battle, it's neither good to fight nor good to stop; we're stuck in a life-or-death situation.
Ye Mo's eyelashes trembled slightly.
He saw Ronan's left hand subtly rise half an inch.
It's not an attack stance; it's more like... preparing to press a button.
He immediately tensed up.
"It's coming."
He didn't say anything, but quietly pointed his palm at the collapsed area in the middle, and the remaining heat in his body began to slowly gather.
It hasn't exploded yet.
It can't explode either.
He has to wait.
Wait for Ronan to take the first step, wait for the enemy to reveal a weakness, wait for that moment when everyone can launch a counterattack.
His fingers trembled slightly, not from fear, but from the muscle protest of not having rested for so long. But he didn't move, not even blinking.
He knew that whoever blinked first would lose.
On the distant high cliff, Ronan's left hand finally fell.
It wasn't a swing of the hammer, nor a charge; it was a gentle press on the device at his waist.
A faint red light flashed.
Ye Mo's pupils contracted sharply.
"Interference activated!"