Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

Feathers curled, charred, and fell off; membranous wings cracked and shattered; the skeleton broke with a cracking sound. In less than five seconds, the two pairs of wings turned into four smoldering wrecks that fell from her back, crashed to the ground, and shattered into charcoal.

Her facade has completely crumbled.

The skirt on her lower body melted into a viscous black fluid, from which a thick snake tail covered with dark gold scales emerged. The scales stood upright, their edges sharp as knives, scraping the ground as it dragged, leaving deep grooves.

Her upper body still barely maintained a human shape, but something was constantly wriggling and bulging under her skin, like dozens of rats scurrying around.

That once exquisite and beautiful face began to melt, its features shifted, its eyes elongated into the vertical pupils of a reptile, and its mouth split open to the roots of its ears.

"I'll kill you!" she screamed, her voice indistinguishable, just pure, furious roar.

She lunged at Dean.

But the movements were completely distorted, like a clumsy, staggering charge, a drunken beast.

Dean drew his Demon Hunter Blade.

The phoenix ash coating on the blade gleamed with a dark red glow in the dim light, as if the blade itself were bleeding. He didn't make any stance; he simply pointed the tip of the blade at the onrushing Eve, stepped forward, and thrust.

The simplest straight thrust, the first lesson in the Witcher Guild's training.

The blade pierced Eve's chest, precisely avoiding her ribs, entering through the center of her sternum and exiting between her shoulder blades at the back.

There was no blood; what gushed from the wound was a dark, thick liquid, as black as tar.

These fluids ignite upon contact with air, turning into pure white flames that flow back into Eve's body, like liquid nitrogen being injected into her blood vessels.

Eve's body froze on the ground.

She opened her mouth, trying to scream, but only hissing sounds like gas leaking from her throat came out. White flames poured out of her eye sockets, nostrils, ears, and mouth, and her whole body turned into a burning white torch.

The flames had no temperature; at least Dean couldn't feel any heat.

But it burned extremely thoroughly. Eve's body curled up, twisted, and deformed in the flames, like a wax figure melted by the high temperature. Her skin carbonized and peeled off, revealing the golden-black bones underneath, which were also burning and turned into a glowing white frame.

The black, sticky fluid gushing from her body evaporated into pungent blue smoke upon contact with the flames.

This process lasted a full minute.

Dean, Sam, Castio, and Adam stood a few steps away, watching silently, and no one spoke.

The only sounds in the church were the faint crackling of the flames and the crisp popping of Eve's body as it carbonized and cracked.

When the last spark died out, only a small pile of grayish-white ash remained on the ground, very fine, like ashes of bones, or like burnt incense ash.

In the center of the ashes lay a fingernail-sized, irregularly shaped, multifaceted crystalline fragment, dark black and translucent, with extremely faint energy pulsations within it, like the last beat of a dying heart.

Dean bent down and carefully picked up the shards with the tip of his knife, placing them in his palm.

The fragments were warm to the touch, even a little hot. Holding them in my hand, I could feel the faint but persistent energy pulse within them, one pulse after another, slow and persistent.

“A fragment of the soul of a purgatory monster.” Castio walked over, looked down at the fragment, and frowned. “She’s not completely dead yet. This thing is her core. As long as the fragment is not destroyed, and given enough time and negative energy to nourish it, she may be able to reshape her body and be resurrected.”

Dean didn't speak. He stared at the fragment in his palm for two seconds, then clenched his fingers together and squeezed hard.
The fragment was harder than he had imagined. He used all his strength to hear a faint 'crack' sound, and a crack appeared on the surface of the fragment. He released his grip, threw the cracked fragment on the ground, raised his boot, and slammed it down hard.

The soles of the boots were repeatedly rolled and rotated on the gravel ground, and you could hear the fine cracking sound of the fragments breaking under your feet. After rolling them a dozen times, like stepping on broken glass, you finally lifted your foot.

The fragments had turned into a small clump of dark powder, mixed with the ashes on the ground, making them indistinguishable.

The last glimmer of hope vanished, and silence returned to the church.

There was true silence; not even the sound of the wind could be heard.

The last rays of the setting sun shone through the broken window, casting long, distorted beams of light and shadows on the ground, within which countless dust particles floated slowly.

Sam walked over to the pile of ashes, squatted down, carefully dipped his gloved finger in it, and held it up to his eyes to examine it closely.

The ash was very fine and uniform, like carefully ground powder. He could not sense any residual energy, not even the slightest fluctuation.

"Is it over?" His voice was exceptionally clear in the silence.

“For now.” Dean sheathed his sword, the blade making a slight scraping sound as it went in. “But Crowley is still here, the gates of Purgatory are still here, and…”

He turned to look outside the church doors, where the lights of Vanderholt were beginning to illuminate the city in the distance, the orange-yellow dots forming a continuous expanse, calm and peaceful, as if nothing had happened.

People go home from get off work, cook, watch TV, and put their children to bed, completely unaware of what has just happened dozens of kilometers away, and oblivious to the fact that a deadly crisis has passed.

“What she said,” Sam stood up, brushing the dust off his hands, “about the domestication of humans and the harvesting of emotions—if she really succeeded.”

“Then we’ve become accomplices or fodder,” Dean continued, his voice cold. “So be thankful, we won this round.”

But there was little joy of victory on his face, only exhaustion and a deeper sense of vigilance.

Castio walked to the center of the church and looked up at the broken dome: "Crowley must have sensed it; Eve's death will make him act faster."

“Then let him speed things up,” Dean said. “The sooner he gets involved, the sooner it will be resolved.”

Adam, who had been standing in the shadows by the door the whole time, slowly walked over. His face was a little pale, but his eyes were still steady: "What do we do now?"

"Go back." Dean turned and walked towards the door. "Replenish ammunition, revise the plan. Crowley still has Henry and the Infernal Coordinates. The next battle is not far off."

The four walked out of the church. Night had completely fallen, and the starlight was sparse.

Dean glanced back one last time. The church, like a giant black skeleton, lay silently in the night. He had already collected the pile of ashes inside and would take it back to the guild.

Hell's Frontline, Tentacle Throne.

Wu Heng suddenly opened his eyes.

He sat on a massive throne woven from shadows, divine power, and hellish energy. Below him, the three-headed hell lord was tightly bound and suppressed by countless writhing tentacles, whose agonizing howls were one of the sources of the power that maintained the balance of this field.

But just a moment ago, he sensed that an extremely ancient and repulsive aura had vanished from a certain direction in the real world.

At the same time, news arrived that Eve was dead. (End of Chapter)