Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

Hannah glanced at Castio with concern, hesitated, and finally bowed her head to accept the order and left.

In the empty side hall, only Castio and Metatron remained.

"Won't you regret it?" Metatron suddenly asked, his voice ethereal, "Even if this might be a path of no return?"

Castio gazed out the window at the broken and chaotic view of paradise.

"The mistakes I made are mine to correct," he said softly, as if speaking to himself, or perhaps to an absent judge. "If this is the only way, then so be it!"

He didn't see the coldness in Metatron's eyes behind him.

The clerk's fingers unconsciously traced the edge of an ancient scroll on the long table. The scroll's title, written in the long-lost language of the early Heaven, read: "The Twilight Prophecy: Secondary Incantations."

The chaotic sunlight outside the window stretched their shadows long, casting them distorted onto the dusty ground.

As Castio followed Metatron to begin the ceremony and passed through the first portal, a sudden, earthly sense of gravity washed over him.

The air suddenly became heavy, carrying car exhaust, dust, fried food from a fast food restaurant in the distance, and some kind of mixed smell unique to the city.

Tires rubbed against the asphalt, muffled voices conversed, and distant police sirens could be faintly heard.

The glaring light from the stark white streetlights overhead and the dazzling neon signs of the shops along the street came into view.

They settled in a narrow, dimly lit back alley.

The ground beneath my feet was slippery cement, littered with cigarette butts and suspicious stains.

One wall was covered with faded movie posters, while the other was piled with black garbage bags that smelled sour.

Outside the alley entrance is a street with a constant flow of traffic.

Castio swayed before regaining his balance; the discomfort from the transition was stronger than he had anticipated.

Metatron seems to have adapted much better.

He had changed out of his heavenly robes at some point and was now wearing an unremarkable dark gray suit, looking like an ordinary, tired-looking middle-aged office worker.

He even adjusted his tie, even though it looked a bit old.

“Time is running out, Castio.” Metatron’s voice sounded unusually calm in the echo of the alley. “The trial’s guidance points here, and the target is nearby.”

"The goal this time is to take the Philistines."

“Nephilim.” Castio repeated the word, a slightly bitter taste rising on his tongue.

The Nephilim are the offspring of angels and humans, a forbidden product, and theoretically they do violate the basic laws of Heaven, but life is innocent.

"What kind of person is she?"

Metatron glanced at him sideways, his gaze unreadable in the dim light.

"A lesion that must be removed—its very existence is a crack in the rules, attracting more instability and prying eyes, especially when Heaven is so fragile now. Purifying it is the first step in restoring order, and also a test of your resolve."

His words carried an unquestionable authority, as if he were reading a pre-written verdict.

“Just…removing the lesion?” Castio asked in a low voice.

Sacrifice is necessary, for a greater good… Castio tried to convince himself of this reason, but a restless throbbing still lingered somewhere in his heart.

“For the sake of Heaven’s survival, Castio,” Metatron said, his tone becoming more serious. “Think of the angels who died in agony because of the chaos, think of the innocent humans who may be caught up in the next apocalypse.”

"The fate of the individual sometimes has to be weighed against the survival of the whole."

He pointed to a small restaurant across the alley, lit by warm yellow lights. “She works there. ‘Jane’ is the name she uses. She works until late every night, lives alone, tries to fit in, but is always separated by a pathetic facade.”

Castio looked in the direction he was pointing.

It was an ordinary family-run restaurant with menus and special offers posted on the glass windows. Through the misty windows, you could see a few customers sitting scattered inside.

A figure wearing a light-colored uniform and an apron is busy behind the counter, wiping something with her head down.

They seem...so ordinary, yet so...passionate about life.

"What do we do?" He heard his own voice sound dry and unfamiliar.

“Go straight in. I will temporarily disrupt the perception of the ordinary people around us, making them ignore our abnormality. You need to approach her, confirm the target, and then... execute the plan.”

Metatron took out a dagger from the inside pocket of his suit. It looked plain and even a little old. The blade was dull, but the edge of the blade exuded an extremely restrained chill.

"Use this. It has been specially blessed and can effectively separate the mixed essence in the body of the Naphte and extract the part we need."

Castio took the dagger.

It felt cold and heavy to the touch, like holding a piece of cold iron. He tightened his grip, and his knuckles turned slightly white.

The two walked out of the back alley and blended into the sparse crowd on the street.

Metatron walked half a step ahead, his steps natural.

Castio followed, a subtle, unsettling sense of alienation enveloping them, as if they were walking in a transparent bubble, completely out of place in this vibrant world.

The moment you push open the restaurant door, a warm breeze carrying the aroma of food and a faint scent of cleaning agents hits you.

The doorbell rang crisply, and the woman behind the counter looked up.

That's her—Jane.

She looked to be in her early twenties, with her brown hair simply tied back, revealing a smooth forehead and a pair of exceptionally clear light brown eyes.

Her face wasn't particularly beautiful, but it had a gentle weariness about it, and her lips naturally held a seemingly habitual, service-like smile, forming a slight curve.

Seeing guests enter, she put down the rag in her hand, and her smile became slightly more genuine: "Welcome, are there two of you? There's a seat here."

Her voice was soft, with a slight hoarseness, perhaps from speaking for a long time.

Could such a voice, such a person, be a lesion, a stain?
Castio stood frozen in place, his hand holding the dagger trembling slightly at his side.

Metatron subtly nudged his arm, then nodded to Jane, his tone calm: “Yes, find a quiet corner.”

“Okay, this way please.” Jane led them to a booth on the inner side of the restaurant.

Her movements were practiced; as she walked past, she nodded to an elderly couple dining at another table.

Everything was so normal, so... full of life.

They sat down.

The delivery service's simple, shrink-wrapped menu reads: "Today's special is spaghetti bolognese and vegetable soup. Drinks include coffee, tea, and soft drinks."

Metatron casually ordered two coffees.

After making a brief note, she turned to prepare, just then Metatron raised his eyes, his gaze calmly falling on her. (End of Chapter)