Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

The impala sped along the country road, Dean's face ashen as he gripped the steering wheel, dodging other vehicles that were driving erratically out of panic.

Sam kept trying to dial the guild's phone, Wu Heng's line, and even the long-dead communication frequency left by Castio, but most of the lines were either busy or unreachable.

"I can't get in touch with anyone!" Sam slammed his fist on the car door angrily. "There's no response from Lor, the guild lines are congested, all the branches are reporting the same thing, 'angels' are raining down from the sky, chaos is everywhere!"

“Find the one that fell down,” Dean gritted his teeth, his sharp eyes scanning the roadside. “Maybe it can tell us what the hell happened in Heaven, and whether Cassie is also…”

He didn't finish his sentence, but Sam understood what he meant.

If all the angels are falling, what about Castio?

Based on the previously witnessed crash trajectory and the faint sound of impact, they drove the car off the highway and into a vast cornfield.

The headlights illuminated the road ahead, and they soon saw the trail: a large expanse of flattened and charred corn stalks, forming a crooked track that stretched into the darkness.

Dean stopped the car, and he and Sam picked up flashlights and weapons, trudging along the tracks.

At the end of the trail was a shallow crater formed by an impact.

In the center of the pit, a figure was huddled up.

He stood with his back to them, his clothes, which looked like they belonged to a heavenly institution, were badly torn, and his exposed skin was covered with burns and cracks, emitting a faint, unstable blue light.

The most shocking sight was his back, where where wings should have been were now two horrific, bloody, and charred wounds.

A faint blue, smoky substance was still seeping from the edges.

He trembled violently, emitting suppressed, extremely painful groans.

Dean and Sam slowly approached, raising their weapons warily.

Seemingly hearing footsteps, the figure turned its head with difficulty and extreme slowness.

The flashlight beam fell on his face.

It was a young face, distorted by pain, still faintly revealing a kind of inhuman refinement that belonged to an angel, but now all that remained was dishevelment and weakness.

His eyes, which should have been a luminous color, were now dull and lifeless, the pupils dilated, filled with confusion, pain, and... deep fear.

He saw Dean and Sam, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he only coughed up a mouthful of blood foam with a blue glow.

“You…” Dean crouched down, trying to make his voice less threatening, “Who are you? What happened? What happened to Heaven?”

The angel's gaze was unfocused as he looked at Dean, or perhaps through him he saw some other horrible vision. His body convulsed, and with all his might, he uttered a few broken words:
“…Metatron…”

“Spell… banish… all…”

"...The wings...are burned...they're all...gone..."

His voice grew softer and softer, the words barely audible as they escaped his throat. The faint, flickering light in his eyes dimmed rapidly, like a candle flame extinguished by a gale. His body went limp, and he collapsed heavily onto the cold ground, never to move again.

Only the wound in his back, torn open by the holy light, still faintly oozed a last wisp of pale blue smoke, which then dissipated in the cool night breeze without leaving a trace. Dean crouched down and reached out to feel the side of his neck.

All my fingertips touched was a cold, stiff surface.

Of course, angels shouldn't have a human pulse, but he could clearly feel that the spiritual radiance unique to angels, hidden within the vessel's body, was now being completely extinguished in the air along the gap in the wound, leaving not even a trace of warmth.

he died.

Or, in the words of angels, it is a return to nothingness, a complete annihilation where even the soul cannot remain.

Dean slowly stood up and looked at the body on the ground.

He was once a warrior of heaven, surrounded by holy light, but now he is like a discarded rag doll, his limbs twisted and lying in the mud, the last moments of pain still etched on his face.

He looked up at the night sky again, where scattered blue lights continued to streak across the horizon. They were fallen angels, dragging their broken strength as they crashed down on earth, like a silent meteor shower, yet carrying a deadly chill.

Dean's face was so dark it looked like it could drip water, and his jawline was taut into a cold, hard arc.

“Metatron…” he gritted his teeth, repeating the name slowly and deliberately, then turned to look at Sam beside him, his eyes blazing with suppressed rage.

He didn't care about Heaven, but he knew these angels would bring great chaos.

Sam crouched to one side, his fingertips touching the remaining traces of holy light on the ground. The faint light shattered the moment he touched it. His expression was equally solemn, his brows furrowed in a knot.

"God's scribe, that old fellow who's been hiding all along, he personally closed the gates of Heaven and banished all the angels. Is this what he calls purifying Heaven? Pushing all the angels down to Earth and leaving them to fend for themselves?"

“Cassie…” Dean’s voice trailed off, a slight tremor he didn’t even realize was etched on his face, his knuckles white from clenching his fists. “He’s in heaven too, right next to Metatron… Could he have fallen down with him? Could he have ended up like him…”

Before he could finish speaking, he dared not think any further. Castio was already weakened, and if he fell without warning, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Sam took a deep breath, forcing himself to pull himself out of his chaotic emotions, and patted Dean on the shoulder, his voice steady: "Let's go back first, there's no use thinking about this now."

“We must contact Lor immediately. The Witcher Guild has the most comprehensive monitoring system. He must know what happened and we must find out Metatron’s true purpose and how we should deal with it.”

He paused, glancing at the blue lights flashing across the distant horizon, his tone heavy:

"There are no more angels in heaven now, but there are thousands of wounded and weak former angels on earth. Some of them may be filled with fear, and some may be blinded by anger and may turn against humans."

“There are countless ordinary people who witnessed all of this, and they have fallen into panic. Just now, the communications were full of distress signals. It’s all in chaos, Dean. The whole world is in chaos.”

Dean remained silent, taking one last look at the angel's corpse on the ground, his eyes blazing with rage, before finally turning and striding toward the impala that was standing not far away.

The engine roared again, and two blinding headlights pierced the darkness of the fields as the car sped toward the guild.

In the rearview mirror, the remains of the fallen angel rapidly shrank until they completely disappeared into the dark night, leaving no trace.

On the road ahead, more and more police cars, fire trucks, and military vehicles, their lights flashing red and blue, sped towards the various accident sites, the sirens and horns mingling and echoing in the night sky. (End of Chapter)