Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

Dean pulled out a half-flattened cigar that had somehow ended up in his pocket, bit off the end, lit it, and took a deep drag.

The pungent smell of the cheap tobacco hit his lungs, causing him to cough twice.

“Come on,” he murmured, looking into the depths of the thick fog, “let me see just how much junk purgatory has.”

The first contact is expected to take 43 minutes.

Time passed second by second in the silence and the growing sense of oppression.

The camp's runic barrier emitted a continuous low hum, and the energy pointer trembled between seventy and eighty. From the depths of the thick fog came dense friction and suppressed hissing, like a tide gathering momentum.

Dean stood on the command platform, his cigar smoke rising straight up, his eyes fixed on the detector screen, where the red tide representing the enemy had reached the ten-kilometer mark.

Sam's communication came intermittently: "...Attacked...Resolved...Arriving in twenty-five minutes...Reno stable but unconscious...Hawk and Lisa found, lightly wounded...Enemy group confirmed to be pointing towards the rift..."

"Accelerate." Dean cut off the communication and glanced at the defensive line. More than 800 people stood still in the pre-set formation, with only the light clinking of weapons and breathing sounds.

Benny silently leaped onto the command platform and stood to Dean's side and behind him.

He twitched his nostrils slightly: "They're here. A mix of burrowing worms and screaming bats, numbering over a hundred. There are large units behind them. They move slowly but have high energy."

Dean stubbed out his cigar: "Execute standard contingency plan. Order: Strengthen ground listening surveillance and activate air defense runes."

The orders were issued level by level.

Slightly adjust the formation and focus on pushing forward with specialized teams.

Thirty-two minutes to go.

The first screaming bat tore through the fog, its wingspan three meters, its skin and flesh exposed, and its funnel-shaped mouthparts opened as it swooped down, emitting a dizzying shriek.

It charged straight for the middle of the defensive line.

Suddenly, the rune plate above shot out interwoven beams of light, forming an interception net. The bat crashed into the net and was burned, screaming as it fell. Before it even hit the ground, it was shattered by three bone blades.

This is like a signal.

The thick fog was torn apart by more dark figures, and hundreds of bats swarmed in, their shrieks amplifying into a sonic shockwave. The Witcher covered his ears and frowned.

"Air defense teams, fire freely and maintain the defensive line!" The commander's shout drowned out the noise.

Shotguns roared, crossbow bolts rose into the air with pale trails, runic nets crisscrossed, and bats fell like black rain, yet some still managed to slip through the net, swooping down to grab and bite, creating chaos.

At the same time, a muffled sound came from the ground, and the ground bulged and cracked in many places.

"Underground!"

A giant, yellowish-brown insect burst from the ground, its head bony drill spinning as it hurtled towards the foundation of the defensive line.

"Incendiary bombs, flood the hole!"

Canister-filled incendiary bombs were dropped into the crypt, and borax flames erupted from the ground, accompanied by the hissing of insects like a tire deflating.

The battle intensified the moment they made contact.

Dean watched coldly from the control panel; this was just a test.

This seemed to confirm that the enemy's offensive at the front of the defensive line had suddenly changed.

Burrowing worms concentrated their attack on key points, bats harassed the flanks, and a new high-level unit appeared in the thick fog—a heavy-hitting being wielding a bone hammer and with skin as hard as rock. They advanced against the fire, specifically targeting runic barriers.

The pressure suddenly increased sharply, and a section of the barrier dimmed rapidly under the concentrated attack, accompanied by a piercing sound of shattering.

"Segment 3 is in critical condition, requesting assistance!"

"Reserve team, move up! Demolition team, use barbed wire to blast the heavy hitters!" Dean roared.

A reserve team of thirty men rushed toward the breach.

Several borax bombs exploded among the enemy ranks, pale flames engulfing the heavy hitters, temporarily sealing the breach. Everyone knew this was just the beginning.

Ten minutes to go. Sam, leading a fifty-man commando team, stealthily slipped out from the southeast, using the wreckage and terrain to outflank the enemy, with Benny leading the way like a ghost.

The Witcher took turns withstanding the monster's onslaught, but their borax ammunition was running low, their bone blades were replaced as soon as they chipped, and the runic barrier was losing its luster, requiring a continuous investment of energy crystals to maintain it.

The casualty figures are rising.

Dean personally went to the most stressful section and took over the newly delivered heavy shotgun.

Each roar repelled the heavy attackers, allowing the Witcher to finish them off. His roars and curses steadied morale amidst the chaos of battle.

Countdown is over!
The battlefield fell into a brief silence, broken only by the groans of the wounded and the crackling of flames.

Dean's heart sank. Something was wrong.

Seconds later, the thick fog was dispelled by even greater darkness.

A colossal shadow, composed of a pained face and writhing tentacles, slowly emerged from behind, its very presence causing the holy runes to tremble violently and their light to dim abruptly.

“The Abyss Lord…” Benny’s hoarse voice came through the communicator, filled with fear, “It’s been alerted… That was just a reconnaissance mission… Sam, cancel the sniping, retreat, we can’t handle that thing right now!”

As if to confirm this, a semi-transparent shadowy tentacle lashed out from the giant shadow toward the commando team's location. It was not fast, but it covered a very wide area, carrying an eerie feeling of locking onto souls.

"Scatter! Dodge with all your might!" Sam roared.

A burst of intense light and energy turbulence erupted in the assault team's area, clearly indicating that the strongest defensive measures had been deployed, leaving everyone on the front line on the edge of their seats.

Just then, another mutation occurred.

A steady vibration came from the ground beneath their feet and the cracked passage behind them. The twisted, dark red passage at the entrance of the crack visibly solidified and flattened, turning into a solid, dark gold color.

An invisible and magnificent force rippled outwards from the crack, sweeping across the battlefield.

As the force swept over them, everyone's spirits lifted. The shadowy abyss lord opposite them let out an angry growl, its outstretched tentacles crashing into an invisible barrier, twisting and retracting.

The giant shadow swayed in the mist, seemingly weighing its options, before slowly receding. The monsters retreated like a tide, leaving only low-level purgatory monsters wandering a hundred meters away to maintain the encirclement.

The communicator rang again, and Sam, panting, said, "...The commando team is safe. Fortunately, the chairman intimidated them... They're returning... What was that?"

Dean gazed at the stable dark gold passage and the retreating enemy horde, and slowly exhaled.

“President Lor has welded the door shut,” he said into the communicator, his voice hoarse. “That big guy has been temporarily scared off, but this isn’t over yet.”

He knew this was only the first time his all-out attack had been thwarted.

The Abyss Lord, sensing the passage's stability and human intervention, chose to temporarily retreat and observe, but the threat remained.

However, this bought them time.

Over the next seven days, taking advantage of the respite gained from the battle, the group launched a radiation search and rescue operation, halting large-scale attacks and shifting to harassment and probing.

But for Dean, Sam, and all the Witchers, these seven days are their last chance to save their lost brothers.

Seventh day.

The temporary rock camp has swelled to the size of a small town.

Within a 500-meter ring of defense around the crack, tents, makeshift workshops, and medical stations were crammed together.

The air was always filled with the pungent smell of borax, the stench of blood and medicine, and the inescapable sweet, rotten stench of purgatory.

But even stronger than the smell was a tense, imminent anticipation, as if it could break at any moment.

Nine hundred and forty-three people.

This is the number of lost Witchers that twenty search and rescue teams have brought back from all corners of Purgatory over the past seven days.

Some survived by eating insects while trapped in caves, some built fortresses in piles of bones and held out, and some even formed guerrilla squads to fight against the infernal creatures for weeks.

Everyone who returned looked like a wreck pulled from hell, emaciated and covered in all sorts of strange infections and wounds, but the demon hunter's fire deep in their eyes had mostly not yet been extinguished. (End of Chapter)