Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

Dean's gaze swept over the faces one by one: the terrifying vision of the future Lucifer incarnate, the deathly silence of the ruined city, Castio's decadence, and the weary and desperate 'himself'.
All these images flooded his mind like a tidal wave.

But in the end, what he saw before him was the bloody word "letter" on the notebook, and his living, breathing brother Sam, who could worry, be angry, struggle, but never give up.

He tugged at the corners of his mouth, his smile still pale with the aftermath of a catastrophe, but in his green eyes, something more resolute and clearer rekindled.

He exhaled a long, thorough breath, as if expelling all the weight of that hopeless future.

trust
Isn't it right in front of us?

These people in front of me are all trustworthy.

In a barracks that served as a temporary meeting room, everyone had been moved there, and the air was so heavy it felt like you could wring water out of it.

The glow of the oil lamp danced across several faces, casting shadows of varying depths.

Dean's voice was not loud, and even a little hoarse, but every word hit everyone's heart like a hammer blow.

He made no embellishments or concealments, recounting exactly what he saw and heard in that so-called '2014'.

A decaying city, desperate survivors, the decadent and depraved Castio, and Lucifer, who sits atop a throne of bones, his eyes cold and mocking, possessing Sam's body.

When he heard that he would eventually become the vessel for the Lord of Hell, Sam clenched his hands on his knees so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

His face appeared somewhat pale under the light, his lips were tightly pressed together, but deep in his eyes, besides shock, there was also a stubborn flame burning.

“That’s it.” Dean finished speaking, letting out a long breath as if a huge burden had been lifted. He looked at Sam, “That’s all I see.”

Sam met his gaze, his voice low but unusually firm: "That's not me!"

“Dean, I will never let that happen. No matter how powerful Lucifer is, no matter what tricks he uses, I will not give my body to him.”

This is not a slogan, but a vow made from the depths of one's soul.

Wu Heng, who had been silent all along, finally spoke. His voice was as steady as ever, carrying a calming power:
“What Zachary shows is not the established reality, but more like a deduction. He extracts and amplifies the worst possibility and projects it to you, with the aim of breaking your will. The future has countless branches, and every choice you make at this moment is changing its course.”

His explanation was like a handful of water, extinguishing some of the flames that had been ignited by fear.

But it also makes another emotion emerge more clearly—that is, anger!
"Damn it, those bastards!" David slammed his fist on the rough wooden table, making a dull thud, his single eye practically spitting fire. "When they can't beat them, they resort to these underhanded tricks? Throwing Dean into that hellhole of a simulation, is this what they call salvation?!"

Bobby took off his hat, rubbed his face hard, and said with suppressed anger in his voice, "They have never taken human will seriously. In their eyes, we are just pawns on a chessboard, and all we have to do is obey."

Even Castio, who had just regained some of his strength, showed a complex expression on his face, a mixture of shame about his future dejected state and disdain for the methods of his fellow tribesmen.

Dean looked at the indignant crowd, shook his head, and said with a clear-headed tone, "They just want me to accept my fate, to feel that it's useless to struggle, and finally to obediently do what they say."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Sam, Bobby, and Castio before finally settling on Wu Heng: "But they miscalculated one thing."

He didn't say what he had miscalculated, but everyone present understood.

Trust, and the determination to fight to the end, are things that cannot be fully calculated by cold, hard calculations.

Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, in a deathly quiet town, not uninhabited, all the residents were like puppets, their eyes vacant, their movements sluggish, silently going through their daily tasks, as if devoid of any soulful hum.

Inside the only intact building in the town center, Lucifer, still using Nick's body which was covered with tiny cracks, sat casually in a high-backed chair, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the armrest.

A high-ranking demon, its form blurred and reeking of sulfur, lay prostrate on the ground, reporting the increasingly frequent activities of the Witcher Guild and the news that the knights 'War' and 'Famine' had lost contact.

Lucifer's face remained expressionless, as if he were listening to a story that had nothing to do with him.

Suddenly, a pure golden beam of light, completely out of place with the surrounding hellish atmosphere, pierced through the roof without warning and precisely enveloped Lucifer in front of him.

Lucifer raised his eyelids, glanced at the pillar of light, and a sneer curled at the corner of his mouth.

"You don't even dare to descend in person, and you only dare to use this kind of light to communicate? Do you think you're worthy of discussing cooperation with me?"

His voice carried a lazy mockery, as if he were commenting on a low-brow movie clip.

A message was transmitted from the beam of light to Lucifer.

Among them were Heaven's fear of the Witcher Guild, especially of Lor, as a 'huge variable'; a proposal for some kind of 'purification' method; and an intention to temporarily set aside the dispute and prioritize eliminating this common obstacle.
Lucifer was silent for a moment, a hint of weighing in his eyes.

The growth of the Witcher has indeed brought some minor troubles, and the human named Lor has also surprised him somewhat.

But he hated the arrogant attitude of Heaven even more.

He snorted coldly, his voice not loud, but carrying the majesty of the Lord of Hell, echoing back through the pillar of light: "Remove stumbling blocks? That's your Heaven's business. Hell doesn't care how these ants jump around."

The beam of light seemed to ripple, as if it wanted to continue conveying something.

Lucifer's eyes widened suddenly, and the pillar of light seemed to be struck by something, shattering instantly. At the same time, a muffled groan seemed to come from the depths of the sky at the end.

The beam of light vanished, as if it had never existed.

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and continued tapping his fingertips on the armrests with the same rhythm. No one knew what he was thinking.

Don't care? Maybe!

But Heaven's initiative to make contact is itself a signal worth pondering, almost at the same time as this brief exchange between Heaven and Hell.

In another direction, a team of witchers is clearing out an abandoned sanatorium infested with vengeful spirits.

The young witcher Kate is cornering a wailing banshee that has been temporarily imprisoned by her companions with an enchanted net, just as her training has taught her.

The banshee's form twisted, emitting a piercing mental scream, but her movements were restricted.

"It's over!" Kevin took a deep breath and pulled a glass bottle containing a clear liquid from the leather pouch at his waist—holy water. This was a standard guild supply, blessed and made by the logistics department, and its effects had been verified multiple times.

He pulled out the cork, flicked his wrist, and precisely splashed the entire bottle of holy water onto the banshee. (End of Chapter)