Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

The two gangs, totaling thirty-seven members, all vanished without a trace.

Castio stood in the center of the warehouse, looking at the clothes on the ground. He vaguely remembered what he had done. He slowly raised his hand, and energy burst from his palm. Pale golden ripples swept across the entire space, and then... then nothing.

Without pain, without struggle, without even leaving ashes, it decomposes directly into the most basic particles.

The memories in my mind, like those from a dream after waking up suddenly, are gradually fading away.

He looked down at his hands, where dark lines under his skin were slowly writhing, like countless tiny insects crawling in his veins.

This time, the patterns didn't disappear quickly; they lasted for a full minute before slowly fading away.

He clearly saw all of this, but a certain will interfered, causing him to ignore the fact that something was wrong with him, only vaguely sensing that something was amiss.

Castio walked out of the factory and into the rain.

The raindrops hit his body, making him feel cold all over, but he didn't feel the cold. Instead, he felt a fire burning inside him, growing stronger and stronger.

Just then, the communicator rang.

It was Dean calling.

Castio hesitated for a moment before answering the call, but did not speak.

“Castio?” Dean’s voice came through the phone, with the sound of wind in the background, probably from driving. “Where are you? We received an ‘internet addiction’ alert about a priest’s mysterious death in Kansas, and several other paranormal cases where your figure was seen at the scene.

Castio remained silent for a few seconds.

“They deserve to die,” he said.

"what?"

“He deceived believers and extorted money from them, so I judged him in the name of God for deceiving them.”

There was silence on the other end of the communication.

Then came Sam's voice, full of doubt but with suppressed emotion: "Casdio, listen, we understand you want to do the right thing, but killing is not how we solve problems. We need to talk. Where are you now?"

Castio looked up at the gray sky.

“I am the new God.” He spoke slowly, his voice eerily calm. “God needs no explanation, no negotiation, no permission from anyone. I do what I believe is right, that’s all.”

“Casdeo!” Dean roared, “Get the fuck to your senses! Do you know what you sound like right now? Like one of those lunatics we’ve been hunting for decades!”

“Perhaps you’ve hunted the wrong targets,” Castio said. “Perhaps the real evil is those hypocrites who wear human skin and protect themselves with rules and laws, and I’m cleaning them out.”

He paused.

"You should be glad I still consider you a friend, Dean, otherwise, based on what you just said, you would have ended up like those villains."

Communications were cut off.

"Casdeo, what the hell do you want?" Dean roared into the communicator, but all he got was a busy signal.

Castio crushed the communicator, the fragments spilling through his fingers and mixing with the rain and mud.

He continued walking forward, the hem of his trench coat swaying behind him like a black flag.

The rain is getting heavier.

The streets were deserted.

He walked alone toward the next place where he would be 'judged'. The dark lines beneath his skin reappeared, this time creeping up his neck like some kind of ancient tattoo, gleaming faintly in the rain. In the distance, a faint rumble of thunder could be heard.

It's as if something is awakening deep within the clouds.

On the other side, when Dean parked his car on the side of the road, the weather was a bit gloomy, and the grayish-white light seeped out from the eastern horizon, not yet able to dispel the chill of the night.

He turned off the engine, and the Impala's exhaust pipe puffed out a last wisp of white smoke into the cold air. The Impala was now brand new.

Due to the constant accidents, almost all of its parts have been replaced within six months.

But Dean likes the car; it means something else to him.

Sam was sitting in the passenger seat, holding a tablet, the light from the screen reflecting on his face.

“The internet addiction system has marked seven locations.” His voice was hoarse from staying up all night. “Over the past two weeks, Castio’s residual energy has appeared in all seven locations, and each location has seen… a death.”

Dean took the tablet and swiped his finger across the screen.

First photo: Inside a church in a small town in Kansas, a human figure is drawn in chalk on the ground in front of the altar, with the note "Pastor, cause of death unknown, no external injuries" next to it.

Second picture: A senator's office in New York. The scene is a mess, but not the kind of chaos you'd see in a robbery. The documents are neatly stacked, and the valuables are intact. Only a complete suit remains on the chair behind the desk, but no one is inside.

Seventh image: A farm in Texas. A dozen or so cow carcasses lie in the pen, not slaughtered, but evaporated, leaving only hides and bones spread out on the ground, as if all flesh and blood had been drained away.

Appearance analysis data is found in the corner of each photo: the appearance feature matching rate is 97.3%.

“Fifty-seven people.” Dean tossed the tablet back to Sam, his voice low. “Fifty-seven, and they all vanished instantly, without a trace.”

“This doesn’t seem like something Castio would do,” Sam said. “Even if he’s changed, even if he’s really on trial, there should be traces—gunshots, knife wounds, even if he were burned to ashes by angelic power. But this kind of erasure is like erasing pencil marks with an eraser…”

“So he’s not Castio anymore,” Dean said, his throat tightening. “Or not entirely, because I simply don’t believe Castio would do something like that.”

"I don't believe it either!"

The two were silent.

Outside the car window, the streets began to awaken: the engine of the newspaper delivery truck, the footsteps of joggers, the sound of the shutter door of a coffee shop being pulled up in the distance—the lives of ordinary people, the mundane world.

The world that the Witchers fought so hard to protect is now being 'purified' in the most cruel way by one of their most trusted friends.

“Go find Lor.” Dean started the car again. “He must know something. That guy always knows things before we do.”

The impala drove onto the main road and merged into the morning traffic.

Five minutes later, Sam suddenly spoke up: "Wait, move aside."

"what?"

“That building,” Sam pointed to the right. “The surveillance footage from three days ago showed that Castillo was there. We didn’t investigate further at the time because it was an abandoned office building and there were no reports of injuries.”

Dean turned the steering wheel, turned into the alley, and stopped at the back door of the office building.

The two got out of the car and drew their guns. Dean's was a Colt 1911 engraved with angelic runes, and Sam's was a modified Winchester shotgun.

The back door was locked, but the latch was badly rusted. Dean kicked it open, and the hinges groaned shrilly.

The building was completely dark, with only the green light of the emergency exit signs providing dim illumination.

The air smelled of dust and mold, and... something else, a faint sulfurous odor mixed with a cloying, rotten flower-like scent. (End of Chapter)