Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

In the center of the room, there was a wheelchair.

Sitting in the wheelchair was an old man who was as withered as a skeleton; he was the vessel for the sealed Famine Knight.

He was even thinner than before, his skin tightly wrapped around his bones, and only in his sunken eye sockets did two faint lights still burn stubbornly, representing an insatiable desire.

Whenever the 'waste' of negative energy falls into the room through the pipes, the withered body twitches violently, and a hoarse sound, like the panting of a dying person, comes from its throat.

He opened his almost lipless mouth and, with an almost instinctive action, greedily swallowed and sucked up the intangible, intangible residue that contained the ultimate pain and desire.

Wu Heng stood outside the room, calmly watching this scene through a one-way energy barrier.

He not only sealed away the 'Famine Knight,' but also fed up with the famine.

These remnants of the soul, the dregs of desire, may be highly toxic to other beings, but for the entity representing the concept of 'famine,' they are the sustenance that sustains its existence and may even stimulate some kind of change.

The wheelchair creaked slightly in the darkness, and the sound of a dry throat swallowing was particularly clear in the silence.

Wu Heng watched for a while, then turned and left.

The roar of the factory drowned out the endless thirst for 'more' in the room behind them.

Inside the training camp, the sandy ground was scorching hot from the midday sun.

Twenty rookie witchers stood in a crooked line, sweat trickling down their foreheads, some young and some no longer so.

They wore a motley collection of clothes, and their weapons ranged from ancestral hunting knives to newly issued rune daggers from the guild. Their eyes held a mixture of tension, excitement, and a barely perceptible fear.

Dean kicked a pebble at his feet, his leather jacket open, revealing a gray T-shirt underneath. At this moment, he and Sam had temporarily become training instructors for the new recruits in the Witcher camp.

He glanced at the group of rookies, his voice slightly raspy:

"Listen up, everyone. The manual is a dead document, but the monsters are alive."

"We're not taking you out for a spring outing today. The goal is to let you see blood and smell the stench of those things. Sam and I will be keeping an eye on things from behind, but unless you're disemboweled on the spot, don't expect us to intervene immediately, understand?"

"Understood, sir!" came the mixed responses.

Sam stood to Dean's side and slightly behind, his figure taller and his aura more composed.

He added, his tone more composed than Dean's: "Our assignment is the 'Unusual Death at the Sutton Wax Museum,' and our initial assessment is that it might be a tethered spirit or a lingering, intense resentment."

He paused for a moment: "Your task is to investigate, collect evidence, and assess the threat. If it is confirmed to be a low-level evil spirit, you will be responsible for developing and executing the plan, while we will be responsible for assessment and ensuring safety."

The two were in a fairly good mood today. With the rings of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse now in hand, war and famine have fallen into the hands of the guild, and the Witcher Legion is beginning to take shape amidst the bloodshed.

These messages were like torches in the dark night, dispelling some of the despair.

Dean and Sam, too, felt that the weight that had been pressing on their chests for so long seemed to have loosened a little.

The long-lost, most primal impulse of a Witcher—the urge to drag out and destroy those things in the darkness—flowed through his veins once more.

With their current abilities, Dean is confident that they can protect these twenty newcomers, as long as they don't run into those legendary figures or hundreds of demons.

The group set off quickly. Sutton, like many Midwestern towns, was quiet, even somewhat desolate.

The 'Nostalgic Time' wax museum where the incident occurred is located on the edge of town, in an old-fashioned building, with faded yellow warning tape strung up at the entrance, fluttering in the breeze.

The mission briefing clearly stated: the body of a middle-aged teacher who was extremely fascinated by President Lincoln's life was found in front of the 'Lincoln' wax figure, his throat almost completely severed by a sharp weapon, suspected to be an axe.

Three days later, a young girl obsessed with socialite Paris Hilton died next to a wax figure of Hilton, with multiple blunt force injuries, but her makeup had been touched up, as if in some kind of distorted tribute.

"A copycat crime, or some kind of symbolic murder?" A young female witcher named Liz asked her companion quietly as she looked through the photos of the scene.

Sam stood on the steps and began to divide the group: "Hank, take your men to check all the wax figures, looking for residual energy and abnormal structures; Liz, your group check the backstage workshop, look for records or production materials, keep in touch, and report any findings immediately."

The newcomers dispersed, their movements still showing the awkwardness of training, but their eyes were focused.

They took out the simple psionic detectors issued by the guild, and the values ​​on the screen flickered faintly; someone carefully wiped the surface of the wax figure with holy water to observe the reaction.

“Hey, look at this ‘Elvis’,” a burly young man named Marcus whispered to his companions. “The wax on its neck is peeling off a bit, and it looks like wood underneath. It’s carved quite finely.”

"Isn't it normal for wax figures to have wooden frames inside?" his companion said dismissively.

"It doesn't look like a stand; it's more like... a wooden carving itself, covered with a layer of wax."

Just then, the lights in the venue seemed to dim for a moment.

The Lincoln wax figure standing in front of the replica White House backdrop moved without warning!

Its stiff arm suddenly rose, and in its hand, a nearly tangible giant axe made of shadow and dust materialized out of nowhere.

With a mournful whistling sound, it slashed at the back of Marcus's neck, who was closest to it and had his back to it while recording data!
"Marcus, head down!" His companion's roar and gunshots rang out simultaneously.

"boom!"

The silver-plated bullet struck the Lincoln wax figure precisely in the chest, knocking off a large chunk of wax and revealing the dark wooden core beneath, but it did nothing to stop the axe from striking down.

It just veered off course, grazing Marcus's shoulder and leaving a trail of blood.

The distance was so close, the guy was practically touching the wax figure.

At almost the same time, the 'Paris Hilton' wax figure on the other side, dressed in a sequined mini-skirt, also came to life.

It hopped around in a strange, stiff posture, its arms flailing wildly, the seemingly light movements containing a terrifying power.

A witcher who was trying to shoot with a salt gun was swept away and sent flying, crashing into a display case and shattering the glass.

"It's not a spirit, it's these wax figures themselves!" Sam immediately judged, his voice urgent. "Attack their joints and support points; there's something inside!"

The newlyweds were caught off guard.

They were trained to deal with unseen evil spirits or demons with known weaknesses, but their formation collapsed instantly when faced with this living statue that was physically powerful and moved unpredictably.

The holy water splashed on it only stirred up a puff of blue smoke, and the salt bombs had little effect on the waxy shell. (End of Chapter)