Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

He stopped in front of the rock giant.

The giant looked down at him, lava churning in his eye sockets: "What if I refuse?"

Crowley smiled.

He reached out and gently patted the giant's knee, but given his height, that was all he could reach.

"Of course you have the right to refuse. But you have to bear the consequences yourself."

The giant froze as soon as he finished speaking.

Its rocky surface was covered with dense golden patterns, the remnants of angelic oil that Crowley had secretly smeared on his hands when he was in the Sue Falls warehouse.

The lines spread rapidly, and wherever they passed, the rocks began to dissolve, bubble, and collapse, just as limestone would when it encountered strong acid.

The giant tried to roar, but as soon as he opened his mouth, his jaw shattered into pieces.

Three seconds later, only a pile of smoldering rubble and a still slightly beating black heart remained on the spot.

Crowley bent down, picked up the heart, weighed it in his hand, and tossed it to his follower behind him.

"Keep it safe. It's the heart of a high-ranking demon, a valuable material that the Demon Hunter Guild needs, and it can be used as a bargaining chip."

He turned to the other two lords.

“Now,” he said, “what is your answer?”

The two-armed lord immediately bowed down, his forehead touching the ground: "I am willing to submit, my lord."

The Shadow Lord hesitated for a second, then slowly lowered its blurry head: "...I submit."

“Very good.” Crowley returned to the throne, sat down, and signed a contract with the two men.

"So the first task: go and persuade the other lords who are still hesitant, with words, with bribes, with threats, with the methods I just demonstrated, whatever you want. In three days, I want to see lords from all levels of Hell kneeling before this throne."

"Yes."

The two lords withdrew, their figures disappearing into the thick fog in the distance of the plain.

Crowley leaned back on the throne and closed his eyes.

The attendant asked cautiously, "Sir, do you really believe they will be loyal?"

“I don’t believe it.” Crowley didn’t even open his eyes. “But they’re afraid of me now. Fear is a more reliable bond than loyalty. As for the future… once I’m really in this position, will their loyalty matter?”

"Moreover, I only recognize contracts."

He waved his hand, and his attendant bowed and withdrew.

Only Crowley remained on the plain, like a black statue.

In the distance came the faint sounds of battle, the demon army wiping out the last resistance. The sounds echoed under the empty, rocky dome of hell, lingering for a long time.

Heaven, the Seventh Temple.

This place should have been one of the most solemn places in heaven.

The towering dome is painted with creation murals, and light shines through the stained glass windows, casting sacred geometric shadows on the ground.

The air is always filled with the echoes of hymns, the lingering sounds of countless angels praising in unison.

But at this moment, a tense atmosphere filled the temple.

Three hundred angels gathered in the great hall, divided into two factions, left and right.

On the left are Raphael's followers, dressed in silver-white armor, wielding luminous spears, their expressions grim.

On the right are the neutral faction, or rather, the observers; they stand at the edge of the hall, neither close to the left nor the right.

Raphael stood on the pulpit in the center of the temple.

Four pairs of wings unfurled behind him, each feather radiating a soft yet resolute holy light. His voice echoed throughout the temple, each word carrying unquestionable authority:
"...Lucifer's seal must be broken! Lord Michael must be released! This is the dignity of Heaven, the continuation of God's will! Those humans, those ants who steal divine power, what right do they have—"

The words stopped abruptly.

Because the temple gates were open.

There was no loud noise, no flash of light; the door simply slid open silently inward.

A man stood outside the door, wearing a brown trench coat, his hands in his pockets, like an ordinary traveler who had stumbled upon a sacred place.

Castillo.

He entered the temple, his steps very light.

The soles of the boots clicked rhythmically on the polished marble floor. The sound wasn't loud, but in the deathly silent temple, each sound was like a hammer blow to the heart.

All the angels' eyes were fixed on him.

Raphael turned around, his wings slightly folded: "Casdio. Didn't you receive the summons? This is the High Angel Council; your current rank isn't high enough."

“Level?” Castio interrupted him.

He continued walking, his pace slow but steady. "Who set the ranks? You? Or those ancient regulations that have turned to dust?"

He stopped ten meters from the podium.

He looked up at Raphael.

Their gazes met in mid-air. In Raphael's eyes was divine wrath, while in Castio's eyes was... a bottomless calm, a terrifying calm.

“I heard your speech,” Castio said. “Open the seal, release Michael, continue the apocalypse, echoes of the old era, stale scripts—don’t you understand yet? That era is over.”

"The end?" Raphael stepped down from the platform, his wings fully unfurled, holy light flowing around him as if it were a tangible substance. "As long as God exists, the mission of Heaven will never end! And you, a mere newly promoted mid-level angel, what right do you have to come here and point fingers? This is not a place you have the right to be here."

He didn't get to finish the last word.

Because Castio raised his hand.

He simply raised his hand, a simple gesture, like swatting away a fly, but the instant he raised his hand, the light in the entire temple was distorted, the colors filtering through the stained glass windows were forcibly twisted into spirals, and the light and shadow on the ground shattered into glass-like fragments.

A dark golden energy blade took shape in his palm.

It has no shape, or rather, its shape is constantly changing, sometimes like a sword, sometimes like a spear, and sometimes like the sharp teeth of some ancient creature.

Pale yellow patterns flowed across the surface of the energy blade, and deep within these patterns, countless faces could be faintly seen wailing.

Raphael reacted extremely quickly.

He pushed his hands forward, and holy light condensed into a thick shield of light. The shield's surface was covered with densely packed protective runes, each one having undergone a thousand years of blessing, enough to withstand the full force of the Lord of Hell's attack.

And exclaimed in shock, "What have you done? You have betrayed the essence of angels! What are you now? A monster? A fallen being?"

Castio swung his arm, and an energy blade sliced ​​through the air.

No sound.

A light burst without collision.

Only a thin, almost invisible dark gold line passed through Raphael's chest, through the wings of light behind him, through the wall behind the temple, and finally disappeared into the distant horizon.

Raphael froze, the words stuck in his throat.

He looked down at his chest.

There appeared a hole, two centimeters in diameter, with smooth, mirror-like edges. There was no blood inside, only dissipating golden dust. Through the hole, one could see the scene behind him.

The light shield was still suspended in the air, completely intact.

The energy blade didn't even touch the shield; it passed directly through the gaps in its energy, bypassing all defenses and striking its very core essence. (End of Chapter)