Ronan's fingers, gripping the scepter, trembled. The purple flame flickered twice, like a faulty old light bulb, before finally snapping out. He stumbled forward, his knees hitting the ground with a thud. The scepter slipped from his grasp and rolled half a meter away. His helmet tilted, revealing charred skin and bleeding eyes beneath.
Ye Mo didn't move.
He stood there, his shoes resting on a broken metal plate, his feet able to feel a slight vibration from the ground—not from Ronan, but from the entire spaceship still running, its engines humming at a low frequency, like a severely wounded but still breathing Beast.
He stared at Ronan's back, where the armor had cracked open, the edges charred black, and the flesh could be vaguely seen rolled back. The wound wasn't fatal, but it was enough to completely take down a madman who relied on brute force to withstand energy output.
After unleashing that combo, he was nearing his limit. A dull, jagged pain shot through his ribs, and his left shoulder joint felt like it had been twisted with a wrench, creaking with every movement. His Self-Healing system was still running, but he could feel its reserves dwindling; another push might be the last thing he could do.
But now, there's no need to fight anymore.
He slowly took a step forward, his heel crushing a small piece of ice on the ground with a crisp "crack".
Ronan moved his fingers, trying to get up, but as soon as he exerted force with his right leg, his frosty joint cracked open with a "snap," and he fell back down, his forehead hitting the floor, splattering a little dark red blood.
Ye Mo's lips twitched. "In your condition, you can't even scan the QR code on a shared bike."
He continued walking, one step, two steps, three steps... When the distance was reduced to one and a half meters, he stopped and looked down at his hands. The burning sensation from the intertwining lightning and fire still lingered on his fingertips, and his palms were slightly numb, as if he had just pulled the switch.
He knew he couldn't be careless at this moment. Ronan, a man who could stay on the cosmic wanted list for decades, relied not only on his strength but also on his stubborn, "never admit defeat" attitude. If he were to launch a counterattack in his final moments and self-destruct in a way that would take everyone down with him, that would be a huge loss.
So he didn't rush to pick up the jewels or approach the scepter. Instead, he squatted down, extended his right hand, and hovered it three inches away from the support.
The purple energy field is still there.
Although it was as weak as a phone with only one bar of battery left, there was still some fluctuation. He could feel that familiar sense of oppression in the air, like the feeling of his skin tightening when he was near a high-voltage substation.
He closed his eyes briefly, immersing his consciousness into the " Gene Spiral Tower " and bringing up the sensory interface of the Steel Bone module. This wasn't for fighting; it was for "feeling the structure"—the Steel Bone skeleton's built-in metal resonance scanning function could detect the stress distribution and energy flow within an object.
Data streams flashed through my mind: the main support structure was intact, the load-bearing beam was not at risk of breakage, the magnetic field around the groove had decayed to a safe threshold, and the trap trigger was not activated.
He opened his eyes and muttered, "Fine, system, I can survive even if you don't say anything."
Then he reached out and slowly explored the Power Stone.
The moment his fingertips touched the surface of the gemstone, a current surged through his nerves—not aggressive, but more like a "recognition response." Blue light emanated from within the gemstone, spreading from his palm to his forearm, causing his muscles to twitch uncontrollably.
He gritted his teeth and held on, without pulling back.
The next second, the entire corridor's lighting system suddenly turned on, as if some force had briefly activated the main power supply. The overhead light tubes crackled, and blood-red characters appeared on the emergency panel on the wall, before all lights went out a few seconds later.
The gem quieted down and was held in his palm.
In that instant, it felt as if a surge of heat exploded from my palm and rushed straight to my head. Ripples of blue light spread across the edges of my vision, and I heard a low-frequency hum, like the background radiation of the universe, as if someone were ringing a bell in the far distance.
He immediately closed his eyes and activated the Self-Healing module to reduce the burden on his nervous system. This thing was more powerful than he had imagined; just holding it gave him the illusion of being assimilated. If he were to actually use it, he might accidentally burn himself to ashes.
A few seconds later, my senses returned to normal.
He opened his eyes, looked down at his clenched fist, and could feel the gemstone against his palm, warm but not hot, like a piece of Obsidian just picked up from the sun.
"Got it," he said in a low voice, a little hoarse, as if he had shouted the slogan too many times.
But he neither laughed nor breathed a sigh of relief.
They won, but this place is still a dead end. The spaceship could self-destruct at any moment, Ronan is down but not dead yet, and although the seven energy signals outside have disappeared, who knows if they've gone into hiding? Not to mention, if this thing is exposed, Hydra, S.H.I.E.L.D.., Asgard, Wakanda... a whole bunch of forces could start fighting over it.
He stood still, without moving.
Holding the gemstone in his right hand, he slowly raised his left hand into a defensive stance, his knuckles slightly bent and his arm muscles taut, ready to respond to any unexpected situation.
He turned and glanced at Ronan.
The man was completely still, lying face down on the ground, his helmet half-shattered, revealing his burned cheeks, his breathing so faint that his chest barely rose and fell. The scepter lay a few steps away, its purple flames completely extinguished, leaving only a blackened metal rod.
Ye Mo narrowed his eyes.
It wasn't sympathy, it was confirmation. Confirmation that this person had truly lost his threat, confirmation that the first phase of the battle had indeed ended.
Then he looked away and glanced around.
The corridor was a mess. Half of the ceiling had collapsed, cables were hanging down, and sparks occasionally flew out; the walls were cracked in many places, exposing the alloy skeleton inside; the floor was covered with gravel and ice chips, mixed with charred armor fragments and dried blood.
The air was filled with the smell of burnt metal, mixed with a faint whiff of ozone.
He took a deep breath; his lungs burned, but his mind was clear.
He knew what to do next—wait for his teammates to regroup, clean up the mess, and move the gems. But not now. Now he had to stay here, guard this position, he couldn't leave, and he couldn't relax.
Because if he moves even slightly, a hidden camera might capture the scene, and an enemy lurking in some corner would activate their backup plan. This place is too quiet, quieter than a life-or-death battle has just ended.
He looked down at the gem in his hand.
The blue light was stable, without any unusual activity. He tried tightening his fingers, but it didn't trigger any chain reaction. It looked like a high-energy crystal, at least for now.
He gripped the gemstone deeper into his palm, making sure it wouldn't fall.
Just then, a sharp metallic clang came from afar, like some kind of mechanical arm getting stuck, or like a hatch rubbing against itself due to misalignment.
The sound was very soft, but it was exceptionally clear in the deathly silence.
He immediately looked up, his gaze sweeping towards the source of the sound—at the end of the corridor, at the corner leading to the engine compartment, the ventilation duct cover was slightly wobbling, with scratches on the edges, as if it had been tampered with recently.
He didn't move.
He subtly moved his left hand half an inch back, pressing it against the hidden pocket of his work pants at the side of his waist. There was a military knife there, which he had taken from Rocket; it hadn't been sharpened, but it was enough to stab someone.
He stared at the cover plate for one second, two seconds, three seconds...
There was no further movement.
But he knew that the sound just now was not a coincidence. Either the spaceship system malfunctioned, or someone was still alive, hiding in the shadows observing the situation.
He didn't say anything, nor did he approach.
The wisest choice now is to remain still. He has already obtained the gem, defeated Ronan, and completed his mission. The rest can be left to Star-Lord and the others. He only needs to hold out for this one minute, thirty seconds, or even ten seconds to pass the baton.
But he can't gamble.
So he stood there, like an iron stake driven into the ruins, his right fist clenched around a gem, his left hand hidden at his side, his eyes fixed on the dark passage.
The smoke and dust were still slowly falling, and the light leaking through the cracks in the ceiling cast several slanted beams of light, in which the floating dust drifted slowly.
He suddenly remembered the day he traveled through time.
It was just as quiet in the hospital corridor, filled with the smell of disinfectant. He woke up in his hospital bed, and for the first time, he heard that cold, impersonal notification in his head. " X-Gene Resonance System activated."
At that time, all he wanted was to survive, running away from superpowered individuals, afraid of being caught up in some great battle.
Now, things have gotten really bad; not only have they gotten involved, they've become the main source of damage.
He twitched the corner of his mouth, but didn't actually smile.
Because he knew that he couldn't be complacent, especially in situations like these. Last time, he thought he had it in the bag, but he was blasted twenty meters away by Klaue's sonic cannon; the time before that, he thought he had it all done, only to find that Loki had left behind an illusionary clone.
So this time, he didn't celebrate, didn't relax, and didn't speak.
He stood there, holding the gem, waiting for the next move.
In the distance, the ventilation cover shook again.
This time, he saw it clearly—there was a fresh scratch on the edge, like it had been made by a metal fingernail.
He slowly exhaled, and two words rolled out of his throat:
"Come on."