Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

Beside the blood pool deep in the Rocky Mountains, Crowley released his grip.

Samuel Winchester, or rather, the one controlled by the cursed mark, collapsed to the ground, the dark red rune on his neck slightly warm.

He was panting, the fleeting humanity in his eyes had vanished, replaced by madness and obsession.

“You lost,” Crowley said, his voice calm but with a hint of disdain. “But it doesn’t matter, you’re still useful. I need more of the bloodline of the progenitor monsters, the more the better. Only those old fogies know the exact coordinates of Purgatory.”

He turned and left the Blood Pool Hall, walking down the long stone corridor.

The torches on the wall cast flickering shadows, revealing the hint of impatience on his face. Lucifer was under constant pressure; as a tainted figure, he would never be fully trusted by his superiors.

He also has his own ambitions, so he's had enough of this kind of life and time is running out.

Two low-ranking demons guarded the other iron gate.

Upon seeing Crowley, they immediately retreated.

Inside the door was an even bigger prison.

The iron bars were as thick as an arm, covered with suppressing runes, and inside the cage was something, or rather, a humanoid monster.

It resembles a standing wolf, nearly three meters tall, with gray-black fur covering its entire body, sharp claws on its hands and feet, and a protruding upper jaw revealing its gleaming white fangs.

It was chained by a specially made silver chain that passed through its shoulder blades, and every movement produced a sizzling sound as if the flesh was burning.

The progenitor of werewolves lived for at least a thousand years.

Crowley stood outside the cage and watched it for a while: "I'll ask, you answer."

"Where are the coordinates of the entrance to Purgatory?"

The progenitor of werewolves raised its head. Its eyes were amber, with vertical pupils. There was no fear in them, only weariness and a kind of ancient mockery.

"I don't know." His voice was low and hoarse, like sand rubbing against each other.

“Perhaps you should know.” Crowley raised his hand, and a ball of dark red energy, like a flame, surged from his palm. “That is where you will go after you die. You should know that. You old fogies saw it with your own eyes back then. Tell me the coordinates, and I’ll let you die a quick death.”

"I told you, I don't know." The werewolf progenitor closed his eyes.

Crowley pushed his hand forward.

Dark red energy pierced through the iron bars and struck the werewolf in the chest.

This energy, like a living thing, burrowed into the skin and surged through the body. The werewolf's body convulsed violently, its muscles bulging and collapsing, and something was wriggling beneath its fur, as if it were constantly gnawing at it.

It gritted its teeth and didn't make a sound, but blood flowed from the corner of its mouth.

“Coordinates,” Crowley repeated.

The progenitor of werewolves opened his eyes, his amber pupils fixed on Crowley: "You'll regret this."

Its voice, broken and strained with pain, cried out: "He is coming!"

"Who?" Crowley frowned. "Who will come?"

The werewolf fell silent, only letting out a cold laugh.

Crowley's eyes turned cold.

With a wave of his hand, the bottom of the cage suddenly opened, and the werewolf plummeted straight down to a pool. The water in the pool was blackish-red, bubbling, and emitted a strong stench of decay.

The werewolf fell into the black pool, and the liquid instantly enveloped his entire body.

Corrosion began; the skin, muscles, and hair melted as if they had been soaked in strong acid.

However, the regenerative properties of the werewolf bloodline allow it to regenerate rapidly while being corroded; new flesh grows out, only to be corroded again immediately.

This process is a continuous cycle.

More blood bubbles rose from the pool, each one accompanied by a tiny scream as it burst.

The werewolf's body writhed in the black liquid, suppressing groans from its throat. It still didn't scream, but its entire body was taut like a bow about to break.

Crowley stood by the pool and looked up: "Tell me the coordinates, and I'll pull you up."

The progenitor of werewolves raised his head from the black liquid.

Its face was half-melted, revealing the bone beneath, but its eyes remained, fixed intently on Crowley. "It's coming."

Her vocal cords were mostly corroded, and her voice became hoarse and incomplete: "Mother of all things...she senses it!"

"The Mother of All Things?" Crowley's eyes flickered. "That old legend, it should have died long ago." "The Mother cannot die." The werewolf gave a final, mocking laugh. "It awoke because of you."

Then it sank.

The black liquid churned for a few seconds, then a string of bubbles rose to the surface, and it returned to calm.

Crowley stood by the pool, his face grim.

He waved his hand, and the black liquid receded, leaving only a gray-white skeleton at the bottom of the pool. The werewolf's regenerative abilities had finally been exhausted, and it was completely dead.

"Useless." Crowley turned and left.

But he didn't see that the hand bones of that skeleton had left a shallow mark on the ground at the last moment.

It's not a word, it's a symbol: a circle with three wavy lines inside.

This was a warning so ancient that even Crowley didn't recognize it.

The old-growth forest north of Grantspass, Oregon.

Midnight,

The moonlight was blocked by thick clouds, and the forest was so dark that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face, except for a glimmer of light at the edge of a cliff.

A dozen or so torches were arranged in a circle.

In the center of the circle is a hole in the ground.

The cave entrance is three meters in diameter, with edges so neat they look like they were machine-cut. Looking down, the bottom is invisible, with only cold wind blowing upwards, carrying with it rotten soil and a certain sweet, fishy smell.

We have no idea how deep this black hole is.

Around the cave, more than twenty strange figures knelt, their appearances illuminated by the dim light of the torches.

There were towering, hunched-over ogres; werewolf variants that maintained a half-human, half-wolf appearance; and several more deformed hybrids that resembled a patchwork of various monsters.

They all bowed their heads, kneeling in worship before the burrow.

At the front was an old ogre with skin like tree bark, holding a girl of about seventeen or eighteen years old in his hand. She was wearing pajamas, her mouth was gagged, and her eyes were wide open, filled with tears and fear.

The old ogre chanted in some ancient language, his voice hoarse and unpleasant, like scraping iron with a stone.

After chanting for about three minutes, it lifted the girl up and walked to the cave entrance.

The girl struggled, letting out sobs.

The old ogre loosened his grip.

The girl then fell into the hole.

Because her mouth was gagged, she didn't scream; she fell too fast, and her sobs were drowned out by the wind.

A few seconds later, a very soft 'plop' sound came from below, as if something had been caught.

Then the cave began to glow.

Dark green light surged upwards from the depths, illuminating the eerie and terrifying faces of the monsters surrounding the cave entrance.

The light grew brighter and brighter.

All the monsters crouched even lower, their foreheads touching the ground.

A hand reached out from the hole.

It was the arm of a human woman, with fair skin and long, slender fingers. The hand gripped the edge of the hole and exerted force, followed by the other hand, and then the whole person crawled out.

This was a young woman, who turned out to be the girl who had just fallen.

The restraints on her body had been removed at some point, and there were still tear stains on her face, but her eyes had become calm and cold.

Only then did her appearance become visible in the firelight.

She was around twenty years old, with long blonde hair, blue eyes, wearing a simple white dress, and barefoot.

She stood at the edge of the cave, looked down at herself, moved her fingers, and turned her neck, as if getting used to her body.

All the monsters remained lying down, too afraid to raise their heads.

The woman took a deep breath; the forest air smelled of pine needles and earth. She smiled, a faint smile, but something flickered in her eyes. (End of Chapter)