Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

As the ripples of the banishment spell swept across the mountain peak, the icy shackles binding Gadreel instantly vaporized.

He opened his eyes, frozen for thousands of years, in astonishment. What he saw was not salvation, but the collapse of the entire heaven before his eyes, and an irresistible force that seized his spirit and threw him out of this sacred place like trash.

"No...this punishment...!"

His ancient consciousness only had time for the thought to flash before it was thrown into the rift.

All angels, regardless of their allegiance, guilt, or strength, are equal before the stage that Metatron has carefully prepared.

Equal expulsion!
The real carnage only begins when the point of light is forcibly squeezed out of the Heavenly dimension and enters the buffer zone between Heaven and Earth, a path filled with turbulent energy currents and spatial fragments as it falls.

Angels' wings are not only organs for flight, but also an external manifestation of their sacred essence, power cycle, and deep connection with the rules of heaven.

When their existence is brutally 'denied' and rejected by Heaven, this bondage first backfires on their wings.

"Sizzle—sizzle sizzle sizzle—!"

The sound, which was so sickening it felt like red-hot iron branding flesh, echoed in the void on a scale a billion times greater.

Each pair of pure white wings, or those bearing the insignia and radiance of different factions, ignites a cold, yet excruciatingly painful blue flame from its roots the moment it comes into contact with the chaos.

That was no ordinary fire; it was the manifestation of the stripping away of rules, the embodiment of the burning of angelic grace.

"Aaaaaah—!!!"

Screams rose and fell, truly squeezed from the throats of countless angels, filled with the agonizing wail of extreme pain.

The wings rapidly carbonized, twisted, and broke in the blue flames!
The pure white feathers turned to ashes, the strong wing bones broke like fragile tree branches, and the golden, silver, or colorful blood of angels was splashed like cheap paint and then evaporated in the turbulent currents.

Wings, once symbols of holiness, power, and beauty, have now become a source of suffering and a harbinger of death.

To lessen the pain, some angels even tore off their wings, which symbolize purity, a pain countless times greater than the pain of losing an arm!
Many low-ranking angels, or those already severely injured and weakened, could not withstand the agony of their wings being burned and torn apart. Their spirits were unable to bear it, their consciousness was annihilated, and their light completely dimmed and dissipated, like a blown-out candle.

Their existence was thus silently extinguished during their fall.

This includes many names that were once prominent.

Ezekiel, the angel known for his vision of a wheel within a wheel and his fervent prophecies, tried to steady himself with his remaining strength, but was swept away by a spatial rift and torn to pieces along with his last unfinished prophecy.

Sophia, the female angel symbolizing wisdom, whose light was once gentle and bright, now writhes in agony amidst blue flames. She tries to understand this senseless catastrophe with wisdom, but only finds despair, and her spirit shatters like glass.

Azrael, the angel of death in some legends, now faced his own utterly dishonorable end, struck by a chaotic tide of energy and reduced to nothingness.

Death, like a black plague, spread among the fallen angels.

Every second, a point of light goes out.

Life, once eternal, is now cheaper than dust.

Those survivors who barely endured the pain of their wings being burned and torn apart, and whose spirits did not immediately dissipate, were definitely not in good condition.

Their wings either disappeared completely, leaving behind charred and gruesome cuts and bloody remains on their backs; or they were left as incomplete, charred remains, drooping helplessly, emitting blue smoke.

Their dazzling, divine forms, those perfect bodies composed of pure energy and radiating a constant white light, were now devoid of light, becoming dim and murky, like dusty glass.

Wisps of blue smoke seeped and drifted from the wounds, mouths, noses, and even pores of each surviving angel.

The smoke trailed long contrails in the passageway, becoming the most conspicuous sign of their 'fall'. From a distance, they no longer appeared as individual falling stars, but as a retrograde, sorrowful blue meteor shower.

This rain, however, is composed of the broken bodies of angels and despair.

They lost almost all connection with Heaven, their power was reduced to a fraction, and their spirits were severely damaged. They went from being high and mighty, divine beings to being fragile, remnant souls drifting helplessly in the turbulent currents, at risk of being completely annihilated at any moment.

The power of the banishing spell precisely launched them into the human world.

Thus, humanity witnessed this scene.
Kansas, late at night.

Dean was squatting in front of the impala's hood, a flashlight dangling from his mouth, his hands covered in grease as he struggled with a stubborn bolt.

Sam sat in the driver's seat, looking at his laptop screen, organizing the mountain of guild reports and summaries of unusual events from various locations that had piled up since the Purgatory Incident.

“This piece of junk will have to be completely replaced sooner or later,” Dean muttered, wrenching the lever. “After all that jolting, the parts are practically falling apart…”

His words came to an abrupt end.

The beam of the flashlight accidentally swept across the sky, and the flashlight in his mouth fell onto the hood of the engine with a thud and rolled to the ground.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was soft, with an unbelievable stiffness.

"Hmm?" Sam didn't even look up, his fingers sliding across the touchpad.

“Sam, look at the sky,” Dean said again, his voice hoarse.

Sam then looked up in confusion, following Dean's gaze to the night sky outside the windshield.

At first, there were just a few strange meteors, trailing unusually long blue tails, streaking across the sky and disappearing below the horizon.

Then there were dozens.

Several hundred.

Several thousand...

Within minutes, the night sky seemed to be filled with a rapid blue meteor shower.

The meteors didn't fall cleanly; some had crooked trajectories, and some even lingered and flickered briefly in the air, as if enduring great pain, before continuing their descent.

Their light was not incandescent white or golden, but an ominous, dim blue, and as they fell, they continued to release more blue smoke, leaving traces of sorrow in the night sky.

Its range is extremely wide, almost covering the entire visible sky.

The density was so great that it seemed as if the sky... had leaked out.

“What is this…” Sam pushed open the car door and got out, tilting his head back, the color draining from his face. “A meteor shower? An energy leak? Or…”

Dean had climbed onto the roof of the impala vehicle to get a better view.

He squinted, and the angelic power within him allowed him to instinctively detect a familiar yet somehow inappropriate characteristic in the blue smoke and the peculiar, painful, and decaying energy fluctuations.

His throat moved, and an absurd yet increasingly clear thought surfaced. (End of Chapter)