Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

The ruins were still smoking three days after the fall, and the residual holy light energy continued to react with the building materials.

A team of seven witchers is searching for signs of survivors at the edge of the ruins.

The captain was a woman in her forties named Jane Hawkins, with blood-soaked bandages wrapped around her arm.

Three days ago, she had half of her shoulder blade sliced ​​off by a Holy Light Blade during a firefight with a Bartholomew's angel in the Hackney district. The team doctor injected her with a high-level enhancement potion urgently procured from the guild, and the wound was slowly healing, but every breath felt like someone was pounding her chest with a hammer.

"Here!" Young player James, lying on the edge of a sloping concrete slab, reached his hand into the crack. "There's someone here, still alive!"

Jian quickly walked over and knelt down on one knee.

The gap was very narrow, and the flashlight beam could barely illuminate a figure hanging upside down about two meters below. It was a girl in her early twenties, whose legs were trapped under the collapsed floor slab. Her face was pale and her lips were cracked and peeling.

"Help...help me...!" Her voice was so weak it was almost inaudible.

"James, hold me up." Jane unbuckled her belt, took a deep breath, and leaned her upper body into the gap.

The rough steel bars on the concrete edge scraped against her wound, and the excruciating pain made her vision go black.

She gritted her teeth and reached out to the girl.

"Grab my hand."

The girl desperately raised her arm.

Just as their fingertips were about to touch, a sharp whooshing sound came from above, and a blue-white spear of light descended from the sky, precisely piercing through the floor slab where the girl was standing!

The shockwave blew Jane out of the gap and slammed her heavily onto a pile of rubble three meters away.

She coughed up blood and looked up to see four figures circling in the sky.

That was the standard tactical formation of the Basemünster faction: two assault troops, one fire support, and one captain.

The remaining wings on their backs, partially restored after forcibly consuming the grace of their own kind, are an unhealthy bright blue with edges like charred paper.

"Witcher spotted." The commander's voice was flat, as if reporting the weather. "Three or more, eliminate them."

Jane climbed up from the pile of rubble, drew her improved Demon Hunter shotgun from her waist, and loaded the magazine with the Holy Light Interference Bullet, newly developed by the guild and based on borax crystals.

Its outer layer is coated with energy inhibitors extracted and diluted from the angel's body, which is one of the few conventional weapons that can effectively harm angels.

"Scatter! Fight and run!" she roared.

The battle erupted above the ruins, with no heroic duels, only desperate dodges, relentless concentrated fire, and tactics that traded the lives of comrades for opportunities to deal damage.

James was cut in half by a holy light blade three seconds after firing.

Another team member shielded Jane from the commander's fatal blow with his body, and after being pierced through, he turned into a puddle of scattered light dust and blood mist.

That's a side effect of high-level enhancement drugs; the body becomes extremely unstable at the time of death.

Using the 0.5 seconds gained by her teammates, Jane brought her gun close to the commander's chest and fired three shots.

The chaff exploded inside the angel's body, flashing blue light violently as if short-circuited. The angel captain let out a sharp screech and crashed to the ground, a large cloud of blue-gold blood mist bursting from his chest.

The remaining three angels dragged the commander away and temporarily transferred the wounded.

Jane did not pursue them.

She stood atop the ruins, covered in blood, watching the four figures disappear into the horizon. Below, in the cracks in the floorboards pierced by the light spears, there was no longer any sign of life.

Tiergarten Park, Berlin. Once a popular recreational spot for citizens, it is now a joint stronghold of moderate angels and a certain vampire tribe. The Victory Column in the center of the park has been split in two by a huge scorch mark of holy light, and its base is piled with sandbags and debris forming rudimentary fortifications.

More than thirty moderate angels are catching their breath here.

Their leader is a female angel named Raquel, who lost two-thirds of her power after her fall, but managed to organize this safe zone with her thousands of years of combat experience and familiarity with Berlin's underground pipe network.

The price was a mutual aid agreement signed with the werewolf elders of the East District: the gentle werewolves would use their perception abilities to warn the werewolves of the demon hunter extermination teams, and the werewolves would provide the angels with food and medicine plundered from human settlements.

Three days ago, the agreement was fulfilled for the first time.

Raquel's scout angel discovered a team of witchers approaching the park and relayed the information to the werewolf.

That night, the seven-man squad was ambushed while crossing the abandoned Potsdam Square. Three were killed, two were seriously injured, and only the captain and one member escaped using an emergency teleportation talisman.

The seriously wounded soldier was dragged away by the werewolf and his whereabouts are unknown.

Raquel didn't sleep all night because of this.

She stood in the shadow of the Victory Column, looking at the Berlin night sky, her left wing hanging limply like a tattered cloak.

"Did we do something wrong?" the young angel behind us asked in a low voice.

Raquel did not answer.

She recalled that three thousand years ago, she was just an ordinary guard on the outskirts of the Garden of Eden, watching Gadriel release the serpent into the garden.

At the time, she thought it was a mistake that could never be made up for.

But now she understands that there is no worst mistake, only worse ones.

Tokyo, Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden underground shelter.

This place was originally a disaster emergency facility planned by the government, with a capacity of 5,000 people.

Now more than 13,000 refugees have squeezed in, and the passageways are filled with elderly people and children who cannot lie down.

The air filtration system stopped working on the third day and was replaced by several industrial exhaust fans towed from a nearby construction site.

Fourteen-year-old Shinichi Kudo squatted in a corner, using a piece of paper and pen he had found to record the daily changes in the shelter.

He wasn't a witcher, nor a reporter; he was just a high school student who dreamed of becoming a baseball player.

His home in Ueno was razed to the ground by a shockwave of holy light that fell from the sky by an out-of-control mad angel on the third day. His parents are still buried under the rubble, with no rescue and no remains found.

He kept a daily record of his experiences:
On the fourth day, food rations were reduced to half a compressed biscuit and 100 ml of water per person per day. Someone attempted to steal and was beaten and thrown out of the shelter by the patrol. There was something barking outside; it could be a dog or something else.

On the fifth day, all three babies developed fevers, and there was no medicine available. An old man gave his saved water to the babies and then died. No one knows his name.

On the sixth day, they heard an explosion in the distance, followed by a burst of blue light. Those who returned said that Shibuya was completely destroyed; angels were hunting down other angels, and all the humans who passed by were dead.

The seventh day, which is today. A group of people arrived at the entrance of the shelter, calling themselves the Witcher Guild. They brought potions, food, and a small water purifier.

The crowd was crying, and I was crying too.

Shinichi Kudo put down his pen and watched the men, dressed in tattered tactical uniforms and covered in gunpowder and blood, carrying supplies. One of the tall men walked up to him and squatted down.

"Child, is it safe here?"

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He nodded, then shook his head. (End of Chapter)