Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

In just seven days, the seven legions of Hell completed the de facto occupation of ten medium-sized cities around the world.

Nominally it's 'peacekeeping,' but in reality, dozens of unexplained disappearances occur every day in each 'protected' city.

With over five million people missing, these souls were sent directly to hell to fuel Crowley's expansion of power.

Crowley himself sat in his penthouse suite at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York, sipping Romanée-Conti that he had plundered from the cellar, and maintaining contact with the various legions through a military-grade encrypted channel.

He was wearing a new, tailor-made suit with solid gold cuffs.

"What's the reaction from the Witcher Guild?" he asked.

"The Witcher Guild has issued an emergency statement condemning the Demon Legion for taking advantage of our misfortune," the lieutenant reported. "But they are currently bogged down on various battlefields by Barthimus and the Berserkers, and cannot spare any troops to deal with us."

Crowley took a sip of red wine and nodded in satisfaction.

"Let them continue to condemn, and when they and the angels are both weakened, then we'll..."

He paused, his wine glass hanging in mid-air.

"You just said that several legions have allied with the angels?"

The Middle East, Mesopotamia, the ruins of ancient Assyria.

This is the most challenging theater of operations in the Asian theater.

After the remnants of Barthimus's faction retreated westward, they encountered scattered demon soldiers wandering the area. These were not organized hellish legions, but rather low-ranking demons who had infiltrated the human world alone and had not yet submitted to Crowley.

After their initial mutual attacks, both sides quickly assessed a more cost-effective strategy: cooperation.

Demons provide familiarity with the local terrain and human settlements, while angels provide the power of holy light to suppress the runic weapons of the demon hunters.

After joining forces, the two quickly formed a 'Devil and Angel Co-management Zone' in northern Iraq and eastern Syria, an area roughly the size of Belgium.

Liz's squad suffered its worst losses since the 'Fall of the Angels' here.

The third Mosul operation lasted four hours and seventeen minutes.

A team of demon hunters attempted to raid an oil field facility occupied by a coalition of demons and angels, but fell into a double trap: the angels' holy light detected their infiltration route, while the demons' shadow warriors flanked them from behind.

When the retreat order was given, only 423 of the 1,000-strong force were able to walk on their own.

Liz's left arm was slashed open by the demon's claws, leaving three deep, bone-revealing wounds, and she temporarily lost sensation below the elbow.

Her second-in-command, Martin, was hit in the back by a side splatter of the Angelic Blade. His protective gear was completely melted, and he suffered second-degree burns. He needed two people to support him to move him.

“Calculate the casualties.” Liz leaned against the earthen wall ruins, her voice still steady, but her face was as pale as paper.

"...457 dead, 120 seriously wounded." The young player who temporarily replaced Martin said in a trembling voice, "32 of them may...not be able to be saved."

Liz closed her eyes.

In seven days of clearing out the enemy, the Asian theater had killed more than 3,000 angels, but in today's battle, they lost twice as many as in the previous six days combined.

“The Demon Angel Alliance.” She repeated the word as if chewing bread with shards of glass. “Report to headquarters, we need reinforcements.”

"Headquarters said... there are no reinforcements." The young team member said with difficulty, "The North American and European theaters are in fierce fighting, the African theater is tied down by the Seventh Legion, and the Antarctic theater is building a supply base and can't spare any combat personnel."

Liz opened her eyes.

“Then there are no reinforcements.” She stood up, her left arm hanging at her side like a broken part. “We still have 423 people. 423 people are enough.”

She looked toward the northeast horizon, where the flames of the oil fields still burned, illuminating the angels and demons hovering above the ruins.

"We'll continue tomorrow."

No one objected.

No one can object.

Because this was the only thing they could still do. When Wu Heng put down the communicator, everyone in the command center stopped what they were doing.

On the screen, the battle report of the Demon Angel Alliance's encirclement and annihilation of Liz's squad in the Mosul oil field had just been updated.

457 people were killed, 120 were seriously injured, and less than half survived.

At the same time, the Seventh Legion of Demons had already achieved de facto control over the entire city of Bologna, and the number of missing persons had accumulated to over five million within seven days.

Renault looked up from the emergency communication channel in the European theater, his face ashen: "President, the Demon Legion is taking advantage of the chaos; ten cities worldwide have fallen. We need to deploy at least three elite battalions."

"unnecessary."

Wu Heng's voice was very soft, as if he were describing tomorrow's weather.

Renault was stunned.

"I'll handle the demonic matter." Wu Heng stood up from the control panel, took off his balancing gloves, and examined the energy circuits on the back of his hand. The evil power reflected on his face, dyeing his pupils a very pale amber color.

"Guild Master, there are at least tens of thousands of low-level demon guards at the entrance to Hell, as well as Crowley's seven personal guard legions. You alone..." Renault's voice caught in his throat.

Wu Heng looked up at him but didn't say anything.

Just watching.

Under that calm, almost indifferent gaze, Renault swallowed the rest of his words.

"How long will it take you?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I don't know." Wu Heng put his gloves back on, and the four-colored light rings lit up one by one at his knuckles, then quickly fell silent, like a wild beast he had tamed. "It may not take long."

He walked to the teleportation array in the corner of the command center.

These are ancient incantations engraved on the floor since the guild's inception, leading to the gates of hell.

"Guild Master, at least let me lead one small team—"

“You stay in Europe,” Wu Heng interrupted Renault, his voice flat. “The remnants of Basemuse’s forces are still gathering outside Paris. There will be a second offensive before dawn tomorrow. You need to hold the line.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over every tired face in the command center.

"I'm not going to my death, I'm just going to make a deal."

"What if he doesn't talk about it?"

Wu Heng did not answer.

He lifted his foot and stepped into the teleportation array. The incantations lit up one by one, and the dark red light swallowed his entire silhouette.

In the last second, Renault heard him say:

"Then let's change to the King of Hell."

Hell has no sky.

Above, a perpetually churning sulfurous cloud hangs in the air, occasionally scalding acid rain falling and scorching tiny pores into the blackened rocks.

Beneath my feet lies a solidified and cracked lava crust, from which a dark red light shines, like an unhealed wound in this dimension.

The air was as heavy as water, and with each breath, a bitter taste of rust and sulfur rose in my throat.

From afar came the ceaseless wailing, the remnants of consciousness, swallowed by hell and never to be dispelled, drifting on the edge of this space, carried by the turbulent energy currents.

The moment Wu Heng stepped out of the teleportation array, at least thirty pairs of eyes burning with sulfur flames simultaneously locked onto his location.

These low-ranking demons are the most mindless and idle sentinels in Hell.

They were once various forms—Viking berserkers, Mongol horse archers, Byzantine heavy infantry—but now only twisted bodies, somewhere between human and beast, remain, their skin charred black by hellfire, their joints growing backwards, and bone spurs protruding from their backs adorned with centuries-old, unwashed bits of flesh. (End of Chapter)