Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

On the edge of the Greenfield community, the air was thick and sticky, like solidified grease, and an invisible 'hunger' permeated it.

The rust on the abandoned vehicles stood out starkly in the dim light.

Wu Heng stood on a wrecked open space, facing a figure slumped in a twisted wheelchair, looking withered and barely clinging to life. There was no doubt that this guy would die before he could even take another breath.

The weakened famine knight made a hoarse sound from his throat, like a broken bellows being pulled.

Dean knelt on the ground, sweat dripping from his forehead into the dust.

He felt his arm was heavy, and it was difficult to even lift the gun.

Sam leaned against a broken concrete pile, his chest heaving violently, the black lines in his eyes not yet completely faded, spreading across the whites of his eyes like a spider web.

Castio stood a little further away, his trench coat hem covered in mud, his face paler than usual, and he was vomiting repeatedly, mostly food scraps.

Earlier, the attack by the puppet evil spirits had broken the traps set by the Famine Knights, and the situation changed instantly.

The weakened Famine Knight spread his last strength outwards like invisible ripples, attempting to drain the last bit of energy from Dean and his companions.

Wu Heng made a move.

In the shadows behind him, the shadowy tentacles that had just emerged continued to materialize, solidifying into the enormous form of a puppet-like evil spirit.

Two mutated tentacles suddenly emerged, like lurking serpents.

One of them had a dark red sheen on its surface, like cooled lava, and smelled of gunpowder and rust. The other had an irregular halo of color that made people dizzy if they looked at it for too long.

The dark red tentacles slashed straight forward.

The movements are simple and without any fancy moves; it's all about brute force overcoming skill.

The air shrieked as if being torn apart, and the invisible barrier surrounding the famine knight's emaciated figure shattered with a crisp sound like breaking glass.

Almost simultaneously, a thin chain made of pure shadow shot out from the puppet spirit's body and precisely wrapped around the Famine Knight's neck.

The chains tightened, completely severing the last bit of strength the body had to struggle.

Wu Heng stepped forward, bent down, and removed a ring from that withered, claw-like finger.

The ring was made of dark metal, with a dull, yellowish-brown stone set in the center, resembling a clod of mud from a dried-up riverbed.

He then took out a dark crystal coffin with intricate patterns engraved inside, opened it, and stuffed the motionless, shrunken body of the Famine Knight inside.

The lid closed with a slight click.

The restless emptiness around me began to slowly subside.

Wu Heng carefully put away the box and the ring, then looked at Dean and the other two.

“I’m going back to deal with it. I’ll leave the cleanup here to you. Save those you can, but don’t force anyone.” His voice was calm and even. “It’s all over here.”

Castio and the other two nodded.

The sound of rain mingled with the sound of waves receding into the distance, and Wu Heng's body vanished from the spot.

In the underground laboratory of Morrick Manor, the light is a constant, cool white.

The War Ring and the Famine Ring were placed at the center of a complex metal disc, its surface etched with circuits that emitted a low hum. Wu Heng stood before the control panel, data streams scrolling silently on the screen, while the Puppet Fiend stood behind him, its two distinctive tentacles probing into the interwoven energy field above the disc.

The war ring vibrated slightly, emitting a soft sound like swords clashing. The patterns on the surface of the dark red tentacles became clearer, like a heated iron, and the edges seemed sharper.

The Famine Ring caused the colorful halo to ripple, the light distorting as if it could absorb the surrounding heat.

The process lasted for nearly an hour.

After it was over, the tentacles retracted, and the strange phenomena on the surface gradually subsided, but upon closer inspection, they seemed to be a little more solid than before.

Wu Heng flexed his fingers.

The increase in power is temporary, like something borrowed that must eventually be returned, but for now it is enough.

Meanwhile, at an abandoned military base hundreds of kilometers away, the usual silence was replaced by the clamor of voices.

David Xavier stood atop an empty ammunition box, his single eye scanning the crowd gathered below. The people were dressed in a motley crew, some in worn leather armor, others in tactical vests, and their weapons ranged from silver-plated longswords to modified rifles.

“Rust Town, we won, but people died.” David’s voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping wood. “Greenfield, we made it through too. Now those things know we’re not insects they can just crush.”

He paused, then raised his voice: "So, from today onwards, we're no longer just playing around! We're going to form an army! We'll let them know that the human world isn't their playground where they can come and go as they please!"

A suppressed cheer and the sound of weapons hitting the ground erupted below.

"Demon Slayers, Wilderness Patrolmen, Watchers!" David shouted out the planned formation. "Those who want to be at the front, report to Hunter on the left; those who like playing with guns and those new gadgets, go to Lee on the right; the rest, those who gather intelligence, set up barriers, and learn how to rescue people, follow me!"

The crowd began to move, noisy but orderly. Dean and Sam were also in the crowd, watching this scene.

“Hey, that’s finally starting to look decent.” Dean nudged Sam with his elbow.

Sam nodded without speaking, his gaze sweeping over the war-ready faces before turning to the desolate mountains in the distance.

He knew that with just these resources, the road ahead would be long, but even when only the two brothers were left in the end, they never gave up!
The highway stretched like a gray ribbon across the boundless fields. The galloping impala stopped in front of a restaurant called 'Blue Top', where much of the paint on the signboard had peeled off.

The restaurant was filled with the smells of fried food and coffee.

The plastic seats were a bit greasy.

Dean, Sam, and Castio pushed open the door and went in; the bell rang once.

A man sat in the corner, wearing an ordinary plaid shirt and black-rimmed glasses, eating a plate of macaroni and cheese. He looked like a writer who was working late into the night to finish his manuscript.

When Castio saw the man, he stopped in his tracks and his body tensed slightly.

The man looked up, wiped his mouth with a tissue, and his gaze first fell on Castio.

“Castio,” he said, his voice calm, yet it seemed to instantly erase the surrounding noise, “you shouldn’t be here at this time.”

Then he looked at Dean and Sam, his gaze seemingly penetrating the wall and looking into the far distance.

“And that guy named Lor Morrick, he shouldn’t be alive now.” He stated it as if stating a fact, “This is not quite the story I wrote.”

"A story?" Dean took a step forward, his voice as sharp as ever. "Who wrote the story? Watching my parents die? Watching my brother suffer? Is that your good story?" (End of Chapter)