Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

He then pulled out a pair of gloves, with dark gold chips the size of fingernails embedded in the knuckles.

"This was forged by President Wu Heng from the energy dissipating from Heaven. It is embedded in the glove. Direct contact with the angel's body can cause continuous burns, which is more effective than exorcism weapons. But don't expect to kill a high-ranking angel with one punch. If you punch him, he will be fine, but your hand bones will be broken first."

The young witcher looked down at the seemingly ordinary tactical gloves, carefully taking them as if they were sacred relics.

The anvil shoved the application form back into his hand and waved: "Next."

The line moved forward slowly.

The anvil repeats the same actions: asking about the war zone, checking off equipment lists, explaining usage tips, and then waving people away.

His voice was always that impatient, rough tone, like sandpaper rubbing against an iron plate.

But no one found him annoying.

Because every impatient word of advice was a way of teaching them how to come back alive.

At 6:00 PM, Wu Heng pressed the send button for the global broadcast.

This message will be sent simultaneously through all of the guild's communication channels, including the open web, dark web, thirty-seven encrypted channels, and more than three hundred underground intelligence nodes distributed around the world.

The recipients are not only registered Witchers, but also all lone hunters, bounty hunters, and those who have left for various reasons but can still hold their weapons in the darkness.

The message header contains only four characters:
Angel Wanted

text:

Since the day the angels fell, the world has been plunged into purgatory. Thirty core cities have been reduced to ruins, and more than 15 million civilians have perished, a number that continues to rise.

The cause of this disaster is not a particular angel or faction, but all fallen angels.

Whether they actively slaughter or passively allow it to happen; whether they wield the butcher's knife or engage in underhanded transactions—all angels are the source of chaos in the three realms.

The Witcher Guild hereby issues the following arrest warrant in accordance with Article 1, Paragraph 3 of the Emergency Law:
1. All fallen angels are targets for the hunt; any angels found operating on human territory will be killed without exception.

2. Anyone who captures a living angel and hands it over to the guild will be rewarded with a high-level enhancement potion, delivered on the spot by the guild's technical department.

3. Those who kill the angel and obtain its Grace Core will be awarded one Core Evolution Potion by the top 100 contributors. They will also be granted a high-ranking position in the guild (Deputy Commander of the War Zone) and enjoy permanent priority in resource allocation.

IV. Anyone who reports the location of the angels and whose report is verified will be rewarded with a minimum of $100,000 USD, with no upper limit, and will also be eligible to claim a full set of demon-hunting equipment and supplies.

5. Anyone who shelters an angel, assists in its hiding or relocation, shall be punished for the crime of defecting from humanity and immediately added to the guild's kill list.

This decree shall take effect from the time of its issuance until the last drop of angel's blood dries up on earth.

The Witcher Guild:
President Lormorik, signed.

The message has been sent.

Inside the command center, someone took a soft breath.

Renault stared at the sent notification on the screen, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he remained silent.

He knew what this meant; it wasn't just a simple bounty, but a complete severing of any possible path to reconciliation between humans and angels.

From this moment on, all moderates, neutrals, and even lower-ranking angels who have never harmed humans are now considered legitimate targets for hunting.

This is war, not trial.

Wu Heng closed the editing interface and turned around.

"Notify all theater commanders that the wanted notice has been issued; their mission is not only to fight, but also to establish an intelligence network in their theater, organize bounty hunters, and..." He paused, "to provide psychological intervention to their subordinates. Hunting angels and hunting vampires are not the same thing, and many people need time to adapt."

Renault nodded and began drafting the notice line by line.

At the same time, a temporary outpost on the outskirts of Boston.

Dean leaned against the half-collapsed brick wall, his left ear wound having just been dressed, the new gauze still seeping out pale red tissue fluid. He swiped his tablet with one hand, every word of the wanted poster on the screen clearly visible.

Sam crouched down beside him, cleaning the carbon buildup from the shotgun chamber. He glanced at Dean's expression.

"finish watching?"

“Finished reading.” Dean tossed the tablet onto the ammo box. “The bounty is pretty high, with a core evolution potion and a high-ranking guild position. Lor really went all out this time.”

Sam didn't respond.

He repeatedly wiped the chamber with a cleaning rod, moving more slowly than usual.

“…Cassie is now a ‘fallen angel’ too,” Dean suddenly said, his voice very soft, as if talking to himself.

Sam's finger stopped.

“His grace has been drained; he is no longer an angel,” Sam retorted.

“It’s still in the guild records.” Dean wiped his face, hissing as the wound aggravated his injury. “Has the registration information been changed? Nobody notified us. What if some desperate bounty hunter runs into him now…”

He didn't continue.

Sam lowered the scouring rod and tightened the chamber cover.

"We need to find him as soon as possible."

"I know."

There was a few seconds of silence.

Dean stood up, grabbed the Holy Light Protection Armor he had just received from the Armory, and casually draped it over his shoulders.

“Commander of the war zone, jointly appointed.” He muttered, “Lor really knows how to assign tasks. I just crawled out of Purgatory and haven’t even caught my breath, and now I have to fucking command the war zone.”

“You can refuse.” Sam glanced at him.

"Refuse?" Dean scoffed. "Refusal is all it takes. The next day, our names will be on the wanted list, and the bounty might even be higher than for an ordinary angel for treason."

Sam didn't smile, but the tight lines at the corners of his mouth relaxed a little.

Outside the outpost, dusk was falling.

In the distance, a faint blue light flickered on the horizon; it was unclear whether it was Bartholomew's patrol or yet another mad angel struggling on the verge of losing control.

Dean gazed at the light and suddenly asked, "What do you think Cassie is doing right now?"

Sam didn't answer; he didn't know either.

1,200 kilometers away, in Texas, beside a long-abandoned highway.

A man in an old trench coat sat on the concrete steps of an abandoned gas station, gazing at the ominous blue light on the horizon.

His face was pale, his eyes were sunken, and his fingers were unconsciously tapping out a rhythm on his knees.

There was an old cell phone I'd found in my pocket, but it was out of battery.

He was unaware of what was happening outside, unaware that the Witcher Guild had issued a warrant for the arrest of all angels, and unaware that his identity had changed from 'Angel Castio' to 'Potential Bounty Target'.

All he knew was that his throat was dry, his stomach was hungry, and the two wounds on his back that would never heal were throbbing again.

He just wants to find Dean and Sam.

But he didn't know where to go.

The old-fashioned neon sign of the gas station had long been extinguished, leaving only an empty metal frame that creaked slightly in the night wind. (End of Chapter)