Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

The angels who had been hiding for four days emerged from rock crevices, ice caves, and cliff recesses. Some held broken blades of light, some were empty-handed, and some supported each other. Most of them were low-ranking angels whose wings had been burned off at the base when they fell, leaving only two charred scars on their backs.

They are not warriors; they are merely cogs that have expired in heaven.

“The Basemünster faction?” Martin frowned, looking at the panicked figures below.

“No.” Liz shook her head. “They are exiles who were hunted by Bartholomew, driven out by humans, and abandoned by demons. There are no high angels here, no combatants, only people fleeing for their lives.”

"Then let's..."

“They are angels.” Liz’s voice was completely flat. “The wanted poster said that all fallen angels must be killed without exception.”

Martin fell silent.

Below in the canyon, the magic circle was shrinking faster than the angels had anticipated.

Just as the narrowest exit was about to close completely, a dozen angels rushed toward the slit of light, using their remaining strength to try to pry open the rock wall.

Their hands were crushed and mangled, and golden blood flowed down the cracks in the rocks, quickly freezing into ice crystals in the frozen air.

Liz raised her hand.

The sniper team simultaneously pointed all four rifles at the canyon exit.

"put."

The first round of firing rang out, and all thirteen angels rushing towards the exit fell to the ground.

They had no shields, no way to dodge, and didn't even have time to look back at the direction the bullets came from. Some of them fell with their hands still outstretched, as if trying to grab the closing door.

A desperate scream erupted from within the canyon, like the mournful cry of a trapped beast on the verge of death.

"Second round, suppress the east flank," Liz said calmly.

The sniper team changed magazines and continued firing.

The magic circle continued to shrink.

The cliffs on both sides, like giant hands slowly closing, crushed the living space in the canyon inch by inch, leaving the angels nowhere to escape.

Someone tried to climb up, but was accurately shot down by a sniper bullet.

Some people knelt on the ground, using their last remaining strength to support a weak shield of holy light, but the shield burst like a soap bubble under the pressure of the spell array.

Without close combat, the demon hunters simply stood on the high points at both ends of the canyon, like hunters watching a herd of beasts fall into a trap, eliminating their targets one by one with each shot.

This is not a battle.

This is slaughter.

Forty minutes later, the spell array completed its final closure.

The two cliffs almost completely meet, leaving only a twisted crevice less than half a meter wide. Large patches of blue-gold blood have congealed at the edge of the crevice, gleaming eerily in the moonlight.

There were no further signs of life in the canyon.

Martin put down his binoculars, his hands trembling slightly. He had been hunting for twenty years and had seen vampires disemboweled, werewolves dismembered, and demons cook souls.

But he had never seen such a scene before: of the 527 angels, not one of them survived to leave the canyon.

"Let's tally the results." Liz's voice remained calm, as if nothing had happened.

"...Kill confirmed, 529." Martin's voice was hoarse. "Zero casualties on our side."

Liz nodded.

She turned away from the canyon and began walking towards the next battle location. The moonlight stretched her shadow long, casting it on the snow soaked with angel blood.

No one spoke; the group followed her silently, stepping over the bloodstains that were gradually freezing, disappearing into the shadows of the mountains. While the Witcher fought the Berserker, in another hidden canyon, a portal emanating black energy quietly appeared.

This place has not yet been discovered because of the angelic energy that permeates the world.

When Azazel, commander of the Seventh Legion of Hell, crossed the rift between the human world and Hell, the first thing he felt was not fear or vigilance, but... greed.

The air was filled with a rich, mellow, and soul-stirring aroma that had not been tasted for thousands of years.

These are not the souls of sinners who have gone to hell, who have long been corrupted by sulfur, but rather fresh, pure, and unpolluted living souls.

Thousands upon thousands, densely packed, like an unharvested vineyard during harvest season, hanging heavily on the vines, waiting to be picked.

He took a deep breath, his nostrils filled with the night air of Brooklyn, New York.

It's a blend of garbage, exhaust fumes, the smell of smoked beef wafting from a kosher deli, and the aromas of at least thirty-seven different sources.

“This is a fucking good time.” Azazel grinned, revealing a set of sharp teeth blackened by hellfire.

The hellish rift behind him continued to expand, and the first batch of five thousand demon soldiers from the Seventh Legion of Hell filed out.

In their lifetimes, they were Viking berserkers, Mongol cavalry, Napoleonic dragoons, and many more long-forgotten war dead.

Centuries after their deaths, the tortures of hell did not extinguish their fighting instincts; they only made their bloodlust even more intense.

“Remember your new slogan.” Azazel turned to face the five thousand pairs of eyes burning with sulfurous flames. “We are here to ‘save humanity,’ not to slaughter, but to protect these poor lambs from the oppression of angels and witchers.”

He paused, then licked his lips.

"Of course, some losses are inevitable in the process of protection. If a sheep accidentally falls and dies, can you blame the sheepdog?"

Five thousand demons simultaneously let out low laughter, like countless whetstones rubbing against a blade.

"Go, take over this city, and 'protect' it."

Hell has invaded the human world once again.

That night, ten medium-sized cities around the world were simultaneously invaded by a demonic army.

Bologna, Italy.

At midnight, the ground in the city center's Maggiore Square suddenly collapsed, and a massive abyss, thirty meters in diameter, spewed out organized units of heavily armored infantry from hell.

They did not attack civilians, but quickly blocked all the main roads and raised the battle flag of the Seventh Legion of Hell on the roof of the city hall, along with a blood-red longsword hanging upside down.

The panicked citizens were systematically driven by the demon soldiers to the open space in front of the Basilica of St. Peter.

There was no slaughter, no looting.

A quartermaster even announced in broken Italian: "The First Guardian Army of Hell has taken over the city. All residents, please maintain order and do not go out. We will provide... shelter."

Meanwhile, fires broke out in several remote apartment buildings on the outskirts of the city.

Fire trucks were blocked outside the roadblocks, and the fire raged all night.

The next day, while clearing the rubble, people discovered that all the residents of those buildings were missing. The official explanation was that "no remains of the fire victims could be found."

Guanajuato, Mexico.

The Third Legion of Demons occupied the colorful mountain town after midnight. They did not carry out a massacre, but simply sealed off the main streets and forced the residents into designated shelters.

But Beelzebub, commander of the Third Army Corps, preferred meticulous operations. His personal guards infiltrated the wealthy districts and took away the solitary, marginalized, and unattached individuals one by one, to be slowly enjoyed in the catacombs.

The demon legion commander tacitly approved of these actions. (End of Chapter)