For Zhou Yi, arresting the descent of the massive aerial giant was a grueling task.
This airborne behemoth was not just heavy, weighing an astonishing 610,200 pounds (275,200 kg), fully loaded with hundreds of people and cargo; it was traveling at high speed and tumbling uncontrollably.
To lift this giant, Zhou Yi had to wring every last ounce of strength from his being. He wasn't sure he could succeed.
He matched the aircraft's speed, slowly pressing his body against its underside. The erratic, unstable swaying of the plane made it nearly impossible to apply steady, supportive force. To counter this, he unleashed the full power of his Mental Energy to create a telekinetic stabilization field.
Zhou Yi, having never attempted to control an object of this size with telekinesis, felt a visceral, blinding pain. The deep, agonizing spasms in his brain forced him to clench his jaw, and beneath his helmet, his eyes would have been bloodshot. This was his absolute limit, but he succeeded.
Under the full burst of his psychic might, the plane finally stabilized its chaotic spin. Although it was still plummeting rapidly, the stabilization was a huge victory.
Clinging to the now-steady aircraft, Zhou Yi desperately used his physical strength to bear the weight of the behemoth. His plan was to execute a controlled, forced landing. Looking down, he saw the ocean, and land was not far off. He only needed to bring the plane to a gentle halt on the sea surface, and maritime patrol units would take over.
Despite lacking ground leverage, Zhou Yi's mastery of flight compensated for the lack of a stable base. Even in the sky, he could unleash his full physical power.
The aircraft's nose, which had been pointing down, slowly lifted under his support. Despite the increasing downward pressure from gravity, Zhou Yi maintained a delicate balance.
His body was under extreme duress, most obviously reflected in his Dawn Armor. The Mark II was designed for agility, not heavy defense. It was fine for individual attacks, but as a buffer between a falling plane and the human body, it was paper-thin.
The stress points on the armor began to twist and deform. Though the nanometal was desperately attempting self-repair, the rate of damage far outpaced the restoration. Large amounts of damaged nanometal began to vaporize into the airflow, forming a distant, ribbon-like streak of black light.
"Sir, back armor integrity exceeds seventy percent damage threshold; immediate cessation of current action is advised." The crimson warning flashed continuously in his helmet, accompanied by Medusa's calm, logical advice.
"Medusa, shut off the alarm. Contact the Britain Coast Patrol immediately. Inform them a civilian airliner requires an emergency landing in the nearshore area and request rapid rescue mobilization."
"Yes, Master." Medusa, the consummate AI, instantly obeyed.
Zhou Yi then cast his gaze toward the left engine, still spewing thick black smoke. He desperately hoped the monster inside would remain docile for now.
But fate rarely favors heroes.
A violent explosion suddenly erupted from the engine. It was the retaliation of the flesh-and-blood monster, attacking the thing that caused it pain—the turbine.
Masses of tentacles furiously lashed the rapidly spinning turbine, naturally being shredded, but pushing the engine to its breaking point. With a deafening boom, the entire engine exploded. The turbine disintegrated, sending countless fragments outward.
The aircraft's shell was no match for the shrapnel. A turbine blade tore completely through the fuselage, escalating the catastrophe.
When the emergency protocols were first initiated, the passengers had dutifully followed the flight attendants' instructions: seatbelts fastened, oxygen masks on, life vests donned. All they could do was pray.
But God, in his infinite unreliability, pushed the event in the worst possible direction.
The torn fuselage was too close to the interior. A seat near the breach was fatally compromised. When the strong, high-pressure wind permeated the cabin, violently trying to rip everything out, the seat tore free from the floor.
It flew out of the cabin, carrying the passenger still strapped into it.
A woman's scream, easily lost in the roaring wind, was still registered by Zhou Yi. He saw her free-falling, accelerated by the seat beneath her.
Faced with the safety of one versus the safety of hundreds, what is the choice? Hypocrites claim justice demands abandoning the few. True heroes fight for the smallest hope. Those who are paralyzed by the choice are simply scoundrels in hero's clothing.
Without a second's hesitation, Zhou Yi abandoned the plummeting plane and shot after the falling passenger.
Her falling speed was accelerating but was well within his catch radius. He instantly closed the distance, rushed forward, tore the fragile metal of the seat apart, and caught the passenger around her waist.
She was a remarkably beautiful blonde. Wavy blonde hair framed lake-blue eyes that were deep and captivating. Her delicate face, even without heavy makeup, commanded attention. Her slender figure, encased in a smart women's suit, exuded capability. Most striking was her composure: even in this chaos, she held an air of elegance and grace, like an intellectual aristocrat.
Zhou Yi, a playboy well-versed in romantic encounters, instantly recognized her type: a highly educated, refined intellectual, perhaps akin to Jean Grey in her poise. If this were any other time, he would certainly pursue such a beauty.
But now was not the time.
Wrapping her in his cloak—a human body needs protection from the extreme cold—he spoke concisely. "Hold tight!" He accelerated toward the plane, which was now in a full, terrifying nosedive.
The plane had completely lost control, spiraling downward under the Earth's brutal gravity. Zhou Yi shielded the woman clinging tightly to his neck, her grip nearly crushing him. He had no time for comfort; he had to accelerate. He needed to stop the descent, to regain control of the giant aircraft.
The momentum of the plane was horrifying, like facing a mountain collapsing onto him. The woman in his arms had shrunk in pure terror, but she exhibited incredible resilience, making no hysterical, flailing movements. This saved Zhou Yi valuable effort.
Unlike the woman in his arms, Zhou Yi never retreated from a falling mountain. He rushed toward the diving plane.
He activated every synapse, his Mental Energy surging, his temples bulging beneath the damaged armor. The plane's wild rotation instantly slowed. Facing the behemoth rushing straight at him, he spread his arms and met it head-on.
He could not simply collide with it; the force interaction would utterly disintegrate the aircraft. Zhou Yi had to become the anchor, bearing the entirety of the force.
He stretched out his hands and pressed them against the plane's nose, letting the immense kinetic energy dissipate into his body. The armor on his arms twisted and shattered instantly. Against this force, the nanometal was useless, shedding like smoke and obscuring the woman's view, though not her perception.
She felt the raw power erupting from the man holding her. His muscles surged, his blood roared like a tidal wave in his veins. His heartbeat was a deafening war drum, each beat an epic pronouncement.
He was a force of nature. Before him, mountains would crack and the Earth would tremble. He should be a myth, a hero of an epic tale. How could such a magnificent male exist in reality?
The woman wanted to ask this, but she had no voice. The god in her arms let out a deafening roar.
Zhou Yi, passively absorbing the impact, felt an unspeakable frustration ignite in his chest. Hundreds of tons of force impacted his body, causing intense pain. His muscles groaned, his bones ached, and his heart seemed to pause. This unfamiliar discomfort ignited a furious power surge.
The frustration became a primal yell. His power erupted, vast and boundless. Before this force, everything bowed. A mere airplane was nothing.
The massive plane froze in mid-air. It was abruptly, violently stopped. Even as the remaining engines desperately fought to supply kinetic energy, the aircraft could not advance an inch. This was the work of the Herculean figure before it.
A metallic grinding sound emanated from the wings; the sudden cessation of inertia placed enormous stress on the airframe. Inside, the passengers were jolted dizzy, but no one complained. Complaining was pointless when life hung by a thread.
When the pilot's stammering, grateful voice finally came over the loudspeaker, the passengers erupted in cheers. No one who clung to life could fail to rejoice. And for the hero who saved them, gratitude poured from their hearts.
Cries of "hero" filled the sky.