Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

Sam stood beside Dean, his voice low but firm: "Everything we've done, everyone we've saved, proves that your script isn't the only answer. We can choose."

The man listened quietly, slowly stirring the now-cold macaroni in his plate with his fork.

“Choice,” he repeated softly, as if savoring the word, “always brings surprises.”

He didn't say anything more, took out a few banknotes from his pocket and put them under the plate, stood up, and walked out like other ordinary diners, disappearing into the glaring sunlight of the highway.

The sounds that had disappeared from the restaurant returned.

"He just left like that?" Dean asked in disbelief.

Castio took a deep breath: "He saw the variables, and that's enough."

The newly built Witcher training camp is located in the valley, and the temporary obstacles and shooting range still smell of fresh earth.

The first batch of selected witchers are practicing in groups, with shouts and sporadic gunshots echoing through the valley.

Suddenly, the sky darkened.

It wasn't dark clouds, but rather one side shone with a blinding golden light, while the other side surged with a murky dark red.

The angel spread its wings of light and hovered in mid-air.

The overlapping chants, like a physical cage, fell from the sky, instantly slowing the movements of those on the ground. Demons, meanwhile, surged from the shadows of the valley and from the cracks in the ground, howling as they pounced on the unsuspecting demon hunters.

The power of angels and the black mist of demons, two completely different forces, are now intertwined into a web of death.

"Hold on! Find cover!"

David roared amidst the chaos as he swung his battle axe and cleaved a black-eyed demon that charged at him.

But the gap was too large; people kept falling, the defensive line was being squeezed, and they were being forced to retreat.
Just as despair began to spread,

A deafening roar echoed through the sky as the massive ghost ship shattered the curtain of light and fire, descending like a mountain. Wu Heng, in his black trench coat, remained motionless amidst the surging energy winds at the bow of the ship.

He didn't look at the angels and demon generals who were directing the battle, because their true forms hadn't arrived yet. Instead, he focused his attention on the lower-ranking angels who were casting spells, as they were all physical entities.

The puppet spirit was activated.

The dark red tentacles, like battering rams, smashed through an angel's light shield with a single blow, crushing the body inside as well.

As the colorful tentacles swept across, the holy light surrounding the other angel flickered and went out like a faulty light bulb, and its body swelled and exploded out of control.

The situation reversed instantly.

Wu Heng's shadow tentacles were like living things, specifically designed to entangle and capture lone angels, dragging them into the shadows of the suddenly opened cracks in the ground, where they would disappear.

The increasingly powerful puppet evil spirits brought the battle to a swift end, with the invaders retreating in disarray, leaving behind a scene of devastation and wounded witchers.

In the manor laboratory, there were dozens of low-ranking angels imprisoned in an energy field.

Wu Heng extracted their blood; the pale golden liquid flowed through the tube. The screen displayed a complex energy structure diagram and data stream. Finally, he took out a design drawing and handed it to the department in charge of manufacturing.

This is a metal stamp, about the size of a palm, with a simplified version of complex patterns on its surface.

"The Angel-Repelling Seal," Wu Heng said to David, who came to receive it. "Activating it will make the angel uncomfortable, make it visible, and after touching its body, it can even drive away or teleport the angel, buying some time."

David picked one up; it was icy cold to the touch. He nodded without asking any further questions and distributed the stamps.

The demon hunters stroked the patterns on the seal's surface, no one spoke. This thing was very light, but it represented the first time they possessed a tool that could directly confront 'above'.

Many of their tools are effective against demons, but they don't have many options against angels. You can't exactly use the Bible or holy water to deal with angels, can you?

Even angels are not afraid of salt and iron.

The wind blowing through the valley carried the smell of gunpowder and blood, but also a new and resolute force.

News of the attack on the training camp spread like wildfire.

But what it brought was not panic, but anger. For most witchers, death was a frequent visitor to their bedside. The alliance between heaven and hell only sharpened their blades a little faster.

Long queues formed at the guild's resource exchange point.

The newly released 'Angel Seal' is designated as a low-score redemption item, and almost every team has one. Holding the metal seal in your hand, it feels cold and heavy, like a ballast stone.

"Damn it, I used to feel really uncomfortable being stared at by those bastards. Now I can finally let them have their turn." An old witcher with a scarred face stuffed his seal into his belt and checked the newly acquired enchanted bullets.

There was no lengthy mobilization speech, nor any mournful lamentation.

The survivors silently bandaged their wounds, cleaned their weapons, and put away the nameplates of the dead. Then they boarded their modified vehicles again, the roar of engines replacing their vows, and drove once more towards the cities shrouded in darkness.

War is the best catalyst and the best school.

No one noticed that there was an inconspicuous figure in the new batch of convoys heading to the front lines.

He was wearing the same coarse cloth coat as everyone else, with the hood pulled low, covering most of his face. He sat quietly in the corner of the truck, hardly speaking to anyone.

Only when you get within about a meter of him can you sense a faint but definitely present fluctuation of evil energy, a typical characteristic of someone who has used a 'demon potion'.

Occasionally, when he raises his hand or when he sways, the skin of his neck or wrist will be vaguely revealed under the shadow of his hood, where there are rough stitches, as if different colors and textures of flesh have been forcibly pieced together.

He never speaks on his own initiative, and when someone asks him a question, he only gives a vague response.

But as the convoy approaches the war zone, and explosions and roars echo in the distance, a near-burning focus flashes in those eyes beneath the shadow of the hood—not fear, not hatred, but a fervent fascination with the chaos and destruction before them.

He jumped off the vehicle with the Witcher, his movements not particularly agile, but with a clear and precise purpose. He blended into the charging ranks and disappeared among the smoke and rubble.

The underground of Morrick Manor
The 'automated super-pharmacy factory' operates with a low growl.

The conveyor belt carries the remains of various demons and evil spirits, feeding them into the constantly writhing refining core, which is composed of aggregates of evil spirits and tentacles of evil spirits.

Wu Heng stood at the end of the assembly line.

He had already modified this area, adding a branch.

Some fragments of negative consciousness, pure painful emotions, and desperate soul remnants that were separated during the refining process and could not be used to make potions were no longer accumulated and were thrown into the rifts of hell all at once after a period of time.

Instead, it was transported through a separate pipe into an absolutely dark room next door.

The room was dark, save for the occasional faint ripples created when 'matter' fell from the pipe's outlet. (End of Chapter)