107. You there, man of lightning, do you dare dismount and face me in combat?

"All units, move to battle positions immediately! Prepare!"

In the helicopter hovering above, General Ross shouted into his radio, looking down at the scene below with a triumphant expression. This time, he had made complete preparations and brought overwhelming firepower. Even if the guy down there was worth three Abominations, he was confident he could blast him into dust.

Whether it was the shells fired by tanks or the power of vehicle-mounted howitzers, they were incomparable to shoulder-fired grenade launchers—not to mention the multiple-launch rocket systems he had brought along. Each of those rockets cost millions of dollars; the heavy scent of money was exchanged for absolute destructive power and dominance. In General Ross's eyes, using such weaponry against a supercriminal felt like using anti-aircraft guns to swat a mosquito—a bit of a waste. But to restore the military's honor, a little waste was acceptable.

"Aim at the target! Tanks, fire the first volley! Fire!"

General Ross bellowed with great vigor. In his mind, he pictured scenes from his past campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan, where a single order would trigger a barrage of thousands of shells, instantly reducing buildings and enemies alike to ashes. Those were the memories of his youth, and a faint, imperceptible smile touched his lips.

However, three seconds passed. Then ten.

Below, it was deathly quiet. There was no reaction; not only did the tanks fail to fire, but the communication channels were also silent.

"What is happening? Ground units, answer me! Answer immediately!"

*Static.*

The channel remained empty, filled only with the crackle of jammed signals.

"All ground units, whoever can hear me, respond!"

Just as the General was growing frantic, a strange voice suddenly crackled over the radio.

"What did you want them to do just now? Attack me?"

The unfamiliar voice left Ross stunned, followed immediately by a surge of rage. "Who are you? What have you done to my soldiers?"

"What have I done? Perhaps you should take a look for yourself," the voice replied with a hint of provocation.

General Ross hurried to the helicopter's window and looked down. He saw that the tanks below had all elevated their barrels, pointing them straight at the sky. Tanks had limited elevation angles and couldn't strike targets directly overhead, but that didn't matter. If the angle wasn't enough, you could create one—as long as you made the tanks stand up, they could strike from any angle.

What Ross saw were tanks standing upright, stubbornly pointing their muzzles toward the heavens. From a distance, they looked like a group of stubborn black swans in a ballet. And the target they were all aiming at was the very helicopter General Ross was in.

"Go, go, go! Get out of here, evade the lock!"

General Ross shouted, and the helicopter veered sharply to evade, but it was too late. A single volley from the tanks below struck the tail of the helicopter, sending it spiraling toward the ground in a plume of thick smoke. General Ross ultimately failed to prove himself; instead, he ended up delivering a massive shipment of modern heavy weaponry to Max Dillon.

Phil Coulson had only just moved two kilometers away when the helicopter crashed. Watching the smoking wreckage plummet and seeing the tanks below—controlled by electromagnetic fields—standing upright on the ground, Coulson pulled out his phone again and called Nick Fury.

After a brief, concise report of the situation, Coulson added, "Sir, can the authorization for the Red Shield Branch really not be expedited?"

There was a long silence on the other end. Finally, Nick Fury said in a low voice, "Do you think the Martial Saint of the Red Shield Branch can solve this problem?"

Coulson hesitated. "I'm not sure, but we should at least try."

"What about Stark, the Iron Man?" Fury asked.

Coulson interrupted him immediately. "I advise against bringing in Iron Man. The enemy is extremely powerful in terms of electromagnetism. He easily controlled all those tanks and howitzers; Iron Man's armor would likely be compromised and turned against us."

Given the enemy's demonstrated electromagnetic control, the possibility could not be ruled out.

Fury let out a sigh. "I'll go talk to Pierce. We can't rely on nuclear weapons to solve everything."

Alexander Pierce was Nick Fury's superior, the Minister of the World Security Council, and the direct overseer of S.H.I.E.L.D. He was also the most staunch opponent of the Red Shield Branch's formation. As a high-ranking member of Hydra, he had spent years planning to erode and control S.H.I.E.L.D. With his goal in sight, he wasn't about to let the Red Shield Branch swoop in and steal the victory.

After hanging up, Coulson led his team back toward the battlefield. Although they couldn't do much, they had to monitor the situation to report back. Minutes later, instead of a call from Fury, Coulson heard the roar of an Apache squadron.

Six Apache attack helicopters approached Times Square, launching anti-tank missiles from a distance at the "swan-dancing" tanks. Dozens of missiles blanketed the formation. It all happened very quickly; before Max Dillon could react, over a dozen tanks were blasted into scrap metal.

But the Apache crews didn't have long to celebrate. A brilliant flash of fire erupted in Times Square as the rocket systems fired. With a range of hundreds of kilometers and power capable of leveling a building, over twenty rockets ascended into the sky, returning the favor to the Apache squadron with a blanket strike.

New York citizens were treated to another free fireworks display, though the shockwaves of the explosions further expanded the area of destruction. It was no longer just Times Square; damage was spreading to the surrounding areas, nearing the Osborne Group and the under-construction Stark Tower.

At the same time, on a yacht, Su Ye's phone rang again. This time it wasn't Sharon Carter, but Nick Fury.

"The authorization has come through. A helicopter will be there shortly. Director of the Red Shield Branch, New York needs you!"

Fury didn't waste time with pleasantries. Su Ye's phone simultaneously received an appointment document stamped by the World Security Council.

"However, there is one addition," Fury added, his tone devoid of emotion. "The Council's approval comes with a condition: you must resolve this situation peacefully without allowing it to escalate further."

Su Ye wasn't surprised that Fury knew his location and could dispatch a helicopter; Harry's yacht had satellite tracking. As for the condition, it was expected—without it, those old men would never have signed off on it.

"No problem," Su Ye replied with a smile. "Also, you can notify the fire department and hospitals now. When I arrive, the battle ends. Tell them to prepare for rescue operations."

"I will," Fury said, hanging up.

Gwen, who had been standing next to him, walked over. "Who were you talking to? What is the Red Shield Branch?"

Su Ye pulled her close and looked at her seriously. "Do you remember the chaos in Harlem a few days ago?"

"You mean the incident with the Abomination and... the S.H.I.E.L.D. Martial Saint?" Gwen nodded. Although she had been busy, she kept in touch with her hacker friends. While S.H.I.E.L.D. had sealed off information about Harlem, the hackers had managed to dig up the names.

Su Ye exhaled. "I'll come clean. I am the Martial Saint."

"You!" Gwen's eyes widened. "Since when are you involved with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Su Ye shook his head. "That's not important. I need your help with something!"

Seeing his expression, Gwen put aside her confusion and nodded firmly. "No problem. Just tell me."

The helicopter arrived, and Su Ye and Gwen boarded. Harry wanted to join them, but was blocked by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. "Mr. Osborne, the enemy specializes in electricity and magnetism. Your glider would be countered, so we advise against your presence on the battlefield."

In Times Square, Max Dillon hovered in the air, his body connected to power cables on the ground, absorbing electricity to fill his inner void. His eyes, cold and emotionless like those of an electric eel, scanned the area. After a moment, he shouted, "Who! Is! Next!"

No one answered. The police had suffered heavy casualties, the military's hardware was scrap, and the soldiers had stopped charging to their deaths. Times Square was a post-war ruin, devoid of life, filled only with the smoke of battle.

Yet, on the periphery, fire trucks and ambulances appeared, as if starting the cleanup early.

At that moment, the observers finally witnessed the scene they had been waiting for. A man appeared amidst the ruins, wearing a red theatrical mask, walking steadily and firmly toward Max Dillon. Those in the know recognized the face of Guan Yu from Peking Opera; those with inside information knew it was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hidden hero, the "Martial Saint." To the ignorant public, his upright posture and steady pace instantly gave them hope.

Su Ye stopped at a distance and pulled a megaphone from behind him. He didn't use it for some cliché trope; instead, he took a deep breath and shouted with a voice like a booming bell, "Electro! Do you dare dismount and fight me!"

Well, that was an even worse cliché.

The voice echoed across the ruins and traveled through television signals to millions of viewers worldwide. People frowned—this hero looked cool, but his entrance was underwhelming. If you can't fly, why ask the enemy to come down? If Electro really came down, would he summon someone else to fight for him?

Max Dillon looked at Su Ye from afar. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He decided not to bother; today, he was the star, and anyone trying to steal the spotlight would be destroyed.

In the air, Max Dillon didn't move. He simply waved his arm, and a bolt of lightning descended, striking toward Su Ye. That same current had killed police officers and flipped police cars.

Yet, as if anticipating it, Su Ye began to dodge the moment Dillon raised his arm. By the time the lightning struck the ground, he had already performed a backflip, landing over ten meters away.

"That was..." Both the agents and the viewers were struck with a chill.

"That dodge was so cool! Pre-cognition!"

"Is this the legendary 'I predicted your prediction'?"

"Who is this guy?"

"I don't know his identity, but that mask is obvious—it's Guan Gong, the Martial Saint!"

"Does this mean China has its own superhero?"

"My friend, take the question mark out. Of course China has superheroes; just because you don't know them doesn't mean they don't exist."

"Speaking of which, the younger generation doesn't know about '99, do they?"

"What happened in '99? Tell us!"

"1999... haha... I can't say anymore. That was our youth. Since it's passed, let it pass."

The battle in New York remained undecided, but the topic "#What happened in 1999#" quickly trended online. In China, as the battle was broadcast live, Su Ye's parents watched the screen, enjoying the netizens' comments. When the topic of '99 appeared, they both froze for a moment, exchanged a knowing look, and then silently returned to watching the broadcast.

Neither of them said a word.