A flash of red light, Ye Mo's mind went blank.
It wasn't pain, it was a barrage of system notifications in my head: [Warning: Mental Link Disconnection Countdown 0.3 seconds][Shield Energy Loss Rate +47%]
His pupils contracted, and the remaining warmth in his palm was pushed towards the collapsed area in the middle—but he was a fraction of a second too late. The flame had just leaped from his fingertips when it was pushed back by an invisible Force Field, as if someone had covered the fire with a pot lid.
Ronan moved.
He neither walked nor charged; instead, he slid across the ground like a cannonball. The Power Stone at the top of his scepter blazed brightly, purple flames swirling with black energy, leaving a trail that tore through the air. The scorched earth beneath his feet blasted into powder, covering the thirty meters in the blink of an eye.
"Damn it!" Ye Mo roared, forcibly pulling the fire blade back in front of him.
"Boom--!"
The scepter slammed into the fire blade, sparks flying everywhere. Ye Mo's Mars trembled violently, his tiger's mouth split open, blood dripping from between his fingers. The ground beneath his feet cracked instantly, and he was slammed half a foot into the soil, his legs below the knees surrounded by rubble.
This attack wasn't over yet.
Ronan swung his hammer, unleashing a ring of purple flames that exploded outwards, heading straight for the rear.
Groot reacted the fastest, his trunk shooting up rapidly, branches intertwining to form a thick wooden wall that blocked Star-Lord and Rocket's path. The shockwave struck the wall, and with a crack, a deep gash split open in the center of the trunk, sending two thick branches flying and embedding themselves in the distant rock face like broken arrows.
Groot groaned, the whole tree swayed, and slowly collapsed to the ground, its branches still twitching slightly.
The aftershocks continued forward, Star-Lord, unable to dodge in time, had his right shoulder dislocate with a "crack," sending both pistols flying from his hands and crashing into the rocks, sparks flying. He grimaced and knelt on one knee, his left hand gripping his shoulder tightly, his face pale.
"Damn it! I haven't even reported my equipment yet!" Rocket Raccoon roared, cocking his shoulder cannon with a "click" and firing three stun grenades in quick succession. The Negasonic Teenage Warhead traced short arcs in the air, all heading straight for Ronan's back.
Ronan didn't even turn around. He twisted his left leg, his boots carving a three-meter furrow in the ground, abruptly stopping his charge, and then delivered a backhand elbow strike to his right.
Gamora was closing in from the flank, her dagger just slicing through a gap in his leg armor when the counterattack forced her to roll backward. She stumbled as she landed, her left forearm scraping against the rubble, leaving a bloody gash, and blood seeped from the edge of her black combat suit.
The Rocket's concussion grenades finally exploded, but their positions were off. Two of them exploded near Ronan's feet, the shockwaves sending debris flying, while the third grazed his shoulder armor, missing its target.
Before the dust had settled, Ronan had already raised his hammer again.
This time, he didn't rush at Ye Mo, nor did he pay attention to anyone else. Instead, he raised the scepter high, and the Power Stone's purple light surged, like a miniature sun hanging above the scorched rocks. All the figures were stretched thin and long, the ground temperature rose sharply, and the gravel began to turn red and soften.
"He wants to clear the area." This thought flashed through Ye Mo's mind, and his throat tightened.
He wanted to shout "Scatter," but the words stuck in his throat. His mental energy felt like it was being pumped out by a water pump; the blue light shield was reduced to a thin layer, trembling against his scalp, on the verge of extinction. The little heat he had inside his body had just run out, the Flame Control cooldown was stuck at 99%, the lightning module was completely unresponsive, and the Healing Factor was buried at the bottom of the Gene Spiral Tower; any movement would cause him to vomit blood.
He could only stand.
We can't fall. If we fall, the ones behind us won't even have a chance to catch our breath.
Ronan's hammer fell.
It wasn't a smash, but a diagonal slash; purple flames stretched out a ten-meter-long blade of light, cutting straight through the rock where Star-Lord was hiding.
"Fuck your ancestors!" Rocket roared, grabbing Star-Lord, but he was hit by the aftershock. The outer shell of his shoulder cannon exploded, sending parts flying everywhere and billowing black smoke. He landed three meters away, his claws still thrashing, his tail still wrapped around the spare battery pack, refusing to let go.
Gamora forward, dragging the two behind cover. Groot struggled to prop himself up, his roots burrowing into the ground in an attempt to create a spike and disrupt their movement.
Ronan didn't even glance at them.
He turned around and walked step by step toward Ye Mo.
With each step, a spiderweb-like pattern cracked open in the ground. The light of the Power Stone danced in his eyes like a red-hot iron block. The part of his left arm armor that had been scorched by the fire blade was now carbonized, but he didn't care. He also left the scratch on his right knee joint untouched, exposing it so blatantly, as if in defiance.
Ye Mo gritted his teeth, and a tiny flame rekindled in his palm. It was very small, only the size of a fingernail, and flickered precariously, like a candle in the wind.
He knew that this little bit of fire was completely useless.
But he needs to make an appearance. Otherwise, his teammates will really think he's done for.
"Come on, you son of a bitch," he said in a low voice, his tone as rough as sandpaper grinding iron.
Ronan stopped.
Five meters away.
Enough to smash his head open with a single blow.
He slowly raised his scepter, and purple flames gathered at the Hammerhead, thicker and darker than before, as if compressing all the malice of the universe into it.
Ye Mo didn't move.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced behind him: Star-Lord leaned against a rock, his right hand dangling, his left hand reaching for a magazine at his waist; Rocket lay on the ground, coughing as he removed the wreckage of his shoulder cannon, his claws trembling violently; Gamora stood in front of the two, her hands free, her breathing steady; Groot's trunk was slowly healing, a new branch quietly reaching towards the ground behind Ronan.
There is still hope.
If only he could hold on for three more seconds.
He took a deep breath, pressing the last bit of heat into his palm. The flame suddenly swelled up a circle, not enough to harm the enemy, but enough to attract attention.
Ronan's hammer struck.
It wasn't a chop, it was a stab.
So fast that its trajectory is invisible.
Ye Mo felt a chill in his chest, followed by excruciating pain, as if he had been pierced by a red-hot steel bar. He looked down and saw that the tip of the scepter had sunk two inches below his left chest, and purple flames were drilling into the wound, sizzling as they burned his flesh.
He didn't call out.
He coughed up a mouthful of blood, which landed on the scepter and evaporated instantly.
"Cough... System." He muttered to himself, "Don't wait until I'm almost dead to give me my number this time."
[Warning: Vital signs have dropped to 61% of the critical level]
[It is recommended to leave the combat environment immediately.]
"Suggestions my ass," he cursed inwardly, slamming his right hand onto the ground.
The flames burst forth from his palm, not towards Ronan, but towards the loose soil beneath his feet, which had just been loosened by the scepter. The fire was small, but enough to vitrify the surface, creating a smooth slope.
Ronan lost his balance, his left foot slipped, and his attack was delayed for half a second.
Now!
Gamora it.
She lunged forward, leaping up with her right foot, trapping Ronan's right arm between her legs, and reaching directly for the device at his waist with her left hand. Ronan reacted extremely quickly, swinging his arm to knock her away, but she was prepared, using the momentum to flip over, her dagger slicing across the seam of his back armor.
With a "sizzle," a shallow scratch appeared, not deep, but it damaged the stability of the local structure.
Ronan roared and slashed his scepter. Ye Mo groaned and was thrown backward, his back hitting a protruding rock, and his vision went black.
But he didn't fall.
The moment he landed, he slid backward two meters using his left foot and the momentum of the slope, bracing himself with his right hand to stay upright.
Ronan didn't chase after him.
He stood still, slowly drawing his scepter. Purple flames swirled around the Hammerhead, like a beast poised to pounce. He glanced down at the scratches on his back, then at the carbonized armor on his left arm, and finally his gaze settled on Ye Mo.
That look in his eyes was no longer an assessment, but a murderous intent.
Pure, undisguised murderous intent.
Ye Mo wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, looked up and glared back.
"What are you looking at?" he panted. "Come any closer, and I'll burn your balls."
Ronan ignored him.
Instead, he slowly turned and walked towards the tallest scorched rock in the center of the battlefield. With each step he took, the ground cracked. Reaching the top, he plunged his scepter into the rock, and the light of the Power Stone spread along the cracks, turning the entire rock red and hot, like a piece of burning coal.
He stood there, like a war god descended to earth.
No one moved.
Star-Lord leaned against the rock, his right hand still hanging down, while his left hand slowly reached for an EMP grenade.
The Rocket lay on the ground, its claws finally fitted with a new cooling module, and a wisp of white smoke rose from its shoulder cannon.
Gamora stood to Ye Mo's right flank, the blood on her left arm already congealed, her hands free, ready to strike at any moment.
Groot's roots had already penetrated the rock beneath Ronan's feet, and a slender branch was quietly climbing upwards.
Ye Mo stood at the forefront, his legs trembling, his chest burning with pain, his mental energy depleted, his shield gone, his Flame Control not yet fully cooled down, and he could not command lightning. His Self-Healing was slowly repairing the damage to his internal organs.
He stood ramrod straight.
"Contract," he said softly, but everyone heard him clearly, "The triangular area where the lava belts meet, back to back."
Nobody asked why.
Star-Lord gritted his teeth and stood up, throwing away the empty magazine with his left hand and replacing it with a new grenade.
The Rocket picked up the shoulder cannon and checked the energy readings.
Gamora to the right rear, forming an angle with Ye Mo.
Groot slowly got up; the main trunk still had cracks, but he was able to stand.
The five moved slowly, retreating into a triangular area where three lava zones converged. The terrain here was slightly lower, and the surrounding rocks provided cover, making it difficult to be targeted from the front.
Ronan stood motionless on the high cliff.
The light from the Power Stone swirled around him, as if it were charging.
The next strike will not be a test.
Ye Mo licked his chapped lips and tasted blood.
He looked up at the figure on the high rock, a faint warmth quietly gathering in his palm.
Not powerful enough, but bright enough.
He needs a signal.
A signal to teammates that "he can still play".