Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

Although Leviathan caused a large number of Witchers to go missing, the guild continued to operate. At this moment, the searchlights of the Witcher Guild training grounds cut bright beams of light into the night sky.

At nine o'clock in the evening, the last round of night combat training had just ended, and the sweat, panting, and dull sounds of rubber mats being stomped on still lingered in the air.

Rookie Witcher Mark Riley dragged his weary body toward the dormitory building, his tactical vest draped over his shoulders, his helmet in his left hand, and his right hand rubbing his chin, which had been punched during afternoon sparring.

The route from the training ground to the dormitory involves a secluded auxiliary road with a broken streetlight, making the area dimly lit.

Mark habitually remained vigilant, even though this was within the patrol area, but this was something the instructors had repeatedly emphasized: Witchers don't really have 'off-duty time'.

His fingers rested on the hilt of the dagger at his waist, his eyes scanning the roadside bushes and piles of building materials.

Then he saw a human figure and immediately became alert.

It's not unusual for people to appear in guild territory, but if someone is lying in the grass and seems to be unconscious, that would be a big problem.

Where is this place?
It's inside the Balance Zone, within the Witcher's Guild complex!

He also suspected that the person was a drunk homeless man who had wandered in by mistake, and that he was huddled by the roadside ditch, his body half-hidden in the shadows.

But as Mark took two steps closer, he realized something was wrong. The man didn't smell of alcohol; instead, he smelled of a strong, sweet, metallic rust.

It's the smell of blood.

Mark immediately crouched down and turned on his tactical flashlight.

The beam of light illuminated a pale, blood-stained face.

The man appeared to be in his thirties, with blond hair matted together by bloodstains. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was so faint that his chest was barely rising and falling.

He wore a tattered white robe, the fabric of which should have been fine silk but was now torn, scorched, and with dried gold stains clinging to the edges.

This is the blood of angels!

Mark moved the flashlight beam downwards and gasped.

The man had a penetrating wound on his chest, diagonally cutting from his left shoulder to his right abdomen. The edges of the wound were an unnatural charred black, as if it had been cut by some kind of high-temperature energy blade.

Even more bizarrely, pale golden specks of light could be seen drifting like fireflies deep within the wound, a sign of the dissipation of angelic power and impending death.

"Damn it." Mark immediately pressed the communicator. "Medical team! A critically injured person has been found on the auxiliary road east of the training ground, suspected to be Angel. Urgent!"

Before he could finish speaking, the man suddenly opened his eyes.

His pupils were pale gold, but the light was scattered, like embers about to go out. He suddenly grabbed Mark's wrist with a strength that was not that of a dying man.

“Witcher…” the voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping, “Take me… to see your guild master… for help…”

After saying this, the light in his eyes went out completely, his hands loosened, and he collapsed.

Mark picked him up and rushed toward the medical center, continuing to call for backup as he ran.

Three minutes later, the medical team took over and sent the wounded to the sterile operating room. Ten minutes later, Wu Heng appeared outside the observation window.

"What's going on?" Wu Heng asked.

Chief Medical Officer Anna wiped the sweat from her forehead: "A penetrating wound. The wound retains the attack energy of a high-ranking angel, continuously hindering healing. More than 40% of the blood has been lost, and the angel's power is completely exhausted."

"The most troublesome thing is that seventeen energy nodes in his body have been violently destroyed, like someone smashing a circuit board with a hammer."

Wu Heng looked at the dying angel on the operating table. The curve of the life monitor fluctuated slightly, each fluctuation like a final struggle.

“Use the Super Angel Potion,” Wu Heng said. Anna hesitated, “President, our reserves are very precious; should we save them for…?”

"use."

Anna nodded and took out a finger-length crystal tube from the safe, inside which flowed a pale golden, viscous liquid.

This is an emergency medicine diluted and refined from a sample of Michael's blood. It has miraculous effects on angels, but it is extremely difficult to make, and each vial used is one less available.

The drug was administered into the angel's body via intravenous injection.

The monitor's curve fluctuated violently in an instant.

The charred black edges of the wound began to fade, revealing fresh, pink new flesh.

The pale golden light no longer dissipated, but instead flowed back from the air and seeped into the skin. The broken bones made a faint clicking sound as they automatically reconnected and healed.

Five minutes later, the angel opened its eyes.

This time, the gold in his pupils was steady and bright. He struggled to sit up and looked around. When he saw Wu Heng outside the observation window, his gaze froze.

"You are... President Lor?" His voice recovered, though it was still weak, but it had the ethereal quality unique to angels.

Wu Heng entered the operating room, and Anna, understanding the situation, led the medical team away and closed the door.

"I am." Wu Heng pulled up a chair and sat down. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

“My name is Elijah, and I belong to the Seventh Watch Legion under Lord Castio.” Angel Elijah looked down at his healing wound, gently touching it with his fingers, his expression complex. “Three days ago, a civil war broke out in Heaven. A real civil war, not the kind of factional disputes you’ve seen before, but… a life-or-death struggle.”

He took a deep breath and began to narrate.

Three days ago, at the Seventh Temple of Heaven.

Elijah stood beneath the pulpit where Castio had once stood, surrounded by three hundred angels who had also chosen to follow Castio.

Opposite them were five hundred angels from Raphael's faction, fully armed, wielding spears of light, their eyes devoid of any camaraderie, only filled with icy killing intent.

Raphael died, but his second-in-command, an archangel named Uriel, took up the banner.

Uriel stood on the pulpit, his voice resounding throughout the temple: "Casdio has fallen, made a deal with demons, and devoured evil creatures from purgatory. He has lost his angelic status, and all his followers are traitors who should be purified!"

The battle broke out without warning.

The light spears collided, holy light exploded, and the sound of shattering wings was like the cracking of glass.

Elijah witnessed his comrade being pierced by three spears of light simultaneously, his body exploding into golden dust.

He swiftly retaliated, severing the wing of one attacker, but was ambushed from behind by another; a light blade sliced ​​through his breastplate, leaving the nearly fatal wound.

“They were prepared.” Elijah’s voice trembled. “Uriel secretly imprisoned twelve high angels and used their blood to draw a suppression array, which weakened our power by 30%, while they… used some forbidden technique, which actually increased their power.”

The battle lasted for six hours.

Castio's faction suffered more than half its casualties, and the rest were captured and imprisoned in the confessional, a place nominally for reflecting on sins, but which has now become a torture chamber.

Elijah was one of the few who fought his way out and escaped to the human world with seventeen companions.

“But we were ambushed as soon as we crossed the barrier of heaven.” Elijah closed his eyes, as if suppressing pain. “Uriel sent hunters, and my companions… all died. Only I used my last strength to jump randomly and fell here.” (End of Chapter)