Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

'Lincoln' brandished his giant axe, pressing forward relentlessly. Another witcher was unable to dodge in time and was struck in the calf by the axe's wind, causing blood to gush out immediately.

Hilton also frantically chased after the others, causing chaos inside the venue.

Dean spat and charged forward, no longer firing his gun, but lunging directly at 'Hilton'.

He dodged a swing by sidestepping, his left hand flashed out and grabbed the wax figure's waving arm, while his right fist, imbued with a faint angelic power, slammed hard into the figure's elbow joint!
Click!

The crisp cracking sound came from inside.

The Hilton wax figure's arms drooped at an odd angle, and its movements suddenly became sluggish.

"Sam, the core is in the neck!" Dean roared, kicking Hilton away as he tried to get up.

Sam's sharp eyes instantly locked onto the red fire axe box in the corner.

He rushed over, smashed the glass with a punch, took out the heavy fire axe, turned around, used his waist to exert force, his arm muscles bulged, and hurled the axe like a javelin.

Woo~~!

The fire axe spun at high speed, cutting through the air with unstoppable momentum, and cleaved precisely into the neck joint of the Lincoln wax figure!

Bang! Crack!

A muffled thud was followed by a clear cracking sound of wood breaking.

The wax figure's head suddenly tilted to one side, held together by only a few fibers, and the shadowy giant axe instantly crumbled.

The wax figure stopped moving completely and froze in place.

Dean did the same, using the power of the angels to amplify his burst of energy and forcefully twisting the head off the 'Hilton' wax figure's neck.

The fighting has ceased.

Inside the venue, only heavy breathing and the groans of the injured remained. The newlyweds were still in shock, several of them with bruises and lingering fear on their faces.

Sam walked over to the Lincoln wax figure, pried open the broken neck, revealing a roughly carved core with ancient wood grain.

A faint scent, a mixture of decaying leaves and the aroma of an old temple, wafted out.

“Not a ghost, but a forest god, a corrupted and mutated natural spirit, or some kind of ancient monster.” Sam’s voice was low and solemn.

These gods generally do not attack humans unless something affects them.

"It exploits people's obsession and worship of these historical figures and celebrities, attaching it to the wooden core that serves as the vessel, and carrying out this distorted, symbolic killing sacrifice."

Dean looked at his injured teammate, Marcus, who was clutching his bleeding shoulder and wincing.

He walked over, took out some hemostatic powder from the first aid kit, and patted it on. The action was rough, but effective.

"Did you all see that clearly?" Dean scanned the still-shaken newcomers. "In the demon-hunting business, there's no room for assumptions!"

"You think he's just a scary little brat? You might just run into a wicked god who'll use you as a sacrifice around the corner. Next time you go on a mission, keep your heads on high. Investigate, confirm, and don't fucking rush in!"

Looking at the two damaged wax figures, the crowd, still shaken by the near-miss, nodded repeatedly.

As Dean and Sam reported the mission through the encrypted channel and raised the threat level from 'low' to 'medium', they exchanged a glance, both seeing a hint of seriousness in each other's eyes.

Human obsessions can be so easily manipulated and distorted by supernatural beings, leading to tragedy. Is the apocalypse itself also exploiting human obsessions and desires, toying with the fate of the entire world?
In the following days, they and their team dealt with several other genuine low-level paranormal events: a 'ghost road' where fatal car accidents repeatedly occurred, and a 'phantom old house' that only children could see.
The newlyweds gradually learned to cooperate and to remain calm in the face of fear.

When the team returned to the training camp with initial experience and a few successful cases, they were tired, but there was something different in their eyes.

"This is the first time I've ever felt that mentoring a newbie is more tiring than fighting a demon," Dean complained to Sam.

However, given the choice, he would still choose to, because these 'rookies' represent hope, and he is happy to sow seeds of hope.
After returning to the barracks and having dinner with Sam, Dean almost immediately fell asleep.

Physical exhaustion quickly dragged him into a dream, but this dream was exceptionally heavy.

He found himself standing in a void of white space, with no solid ground beneath his feet.

The angel Zachary appeared before him, his wings of light retracted, and his face wore a carefully crafted expression of compassion.

“Dean Winchester,” Zachary’s voice echoed directly in his mind, carrying an unquestionable authority, “what are you still stubbornly clinging to?”

"Look at the humans you're risking your life to protect, look at their pitiful strength. Even with the Witcher Guild and Lor Morric, what can they change?"

"The dust of history has long since settled; this is merely one of countless cycles."

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze pressing down on Dean's soul as if it were a physical object: "Humans are sheep, they need a shepherd!"

In the wilderness surrounded by wolves, the sheep's choice is not to run freely, but to follow the strongest lead sheep. Heaven is your only choice; thousands of years of faith have already proven this!

"The fate of humanity rests on your shoulders. Do not let billions of lives be buried with your childish insistence for your ridiculous and insignificant beliefs and freedom."

"Think of those who have died because of you. Learn to weigh things, Dean! You are chosen, this is your destiny, like the cycle of the seasons, like the apocalypse itself, inescapable."

Dean looked at Zachary, his face showing no sign of being persuaded, only a chilling coldness and mockery. He smirked and clearly uttered two words:
"fart!"

The last trace of feigned gentleness in Zachary's eyes vanished completely, leaving only coldness and indifference.

"Since that's the case, then let me show you with my own eyes what the price will be for the 'freedom' you're insisting on."

The next second, Dean felt himself being grabbed by an irresistible force and violently pulled into a bizarre, rapidly spinning chaos.

After the intense dizziness and tearing sensation subsided, Dean took a deep breath, only to be choked by an indescribable stench and cough violently.

The air was filled with a mixture of rotting organic matter, burnt chemicals, substandard fuel, and the sweet, fishy smell characteristic of a certain disease.

He found himself standing in the middle of a deserted city street.

The asphalt road surface has cracked, and withered yellow weeds have grown in the cracks.

Most of the buildings on both sides are incomplete, with windows turned into black holes and walls covered with graffiti and bullet holes.

The sky was a depressing leaden gray, as if it would never change.

Several people dressed in tattered clothes, their faces covered with dirty rags, were carefully searching through the wreckage of an abandoned bus, carrying steel pipes and sharpened steel bars.

The leader straightened up and looked around warily.

Dean's heart skipped a beat. (End of Chapter)