Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

"And now?" Wu Heng's tone was like presenting a financial report. "In seven days, your seven demon legions have occupied ten cities in the human world, devoured over five million souls, and the power of hell has expanded by at least forty percent. Your throne..."

He looked up and his gaze fell on the backrest made of seven dragon ribs: "The foundation that would have taken thirty years to solidify has been filled in just seven days."

Crowley put down his glass.

So you've come to congratulate me?

Wu Heng did not answer.

He gave it a gentle push with his thumb.

The angel energy crystal core slipped from his fingertips, twirled halfway in the air, and landed in his palm.

Then he closed his five fingers.

"Click".

The sound was very soft, like stepping on a frozen, brittle twig in winter.

Crowley's pupils suddenly contracted.

The moment the crystal core shattered, the angelic essence sealed within was released in an extremely violent and unstable manner.

Golden light burst forth from between Wu Heng's fingers, like thousands of hair-thin holy light blades, spraying indiscriminately in all directions!
The closest thing is the throne itself.

Those bone spurs, tempered by hellish energy for hundreds of years, were washed away by the angelic essence like a hot knife cutting into butter.

Starting from the point of contact, spiderweb-like golden cracks appeared on the black bone surface. The cracks spread and expanded rapidly, and the surface carbonized and peeled off, revealing the loose internal structure that had been burned into a grayish-white color.

In the center of the throne back, a crack the thickness of a finger runs from the top to the base.

Crowley almost instinctively sprang up from his throne, took three steps back, and knocked over the small wine table behind him.

The 1982 Romanée-Conti was spilled on the expensive carpet, the dark red liquid silently spreading.

No one helped them up.

None of the twelve high-ranking demon guards on either side of the throne dared to draw their swords; they didn't even dare to look directly at the golden light that was still being released.

The light illuminated the entire palace of hell.

Under the holy light, the original works of Caravaggio and Rembrandt on the wall appeared sickly pale, their originally rich oil paints taking on a morbid pallor.

The crystal chandelier on the ceiling trembled violently, and hundreds of crystal pendants collided with each other, producing a dense, crisp sound like hail.

The edges of the antique carpet on the floor began to curl and char.

At the heart of all this, Wu Heng remained seated in that velvet chair.

He didn't even stand up.

Above his palm, the crystal fragments continued to release residual energy, but the speed and intensity of the release were clearly under his precise control.

Not a single wisp of energy splashed onto him, not even the hem of his trench coat fluttered.

He simply stared at the slowly dying crystal core, as if it were a piece of burnt-out charcoal.

Three seconds later, the light disappeared.

The hellish palace was once again enveloped in the dim, reddish light filtering through the sulfurous mist.

Wu Heng opened his palm.

Only a small pinch of dark gold powder remained in his palm, which he gently blew away, causing it to fall onto the carpet and mix with the expensive red wine.

He looked up at Crowley, who was leaning against the overturned table three meters away.

“You just said,” Wu Heng said calmly, “that this hell hasn’t received any visitors for thousands of years.”

He paused.

"I'm not here as a guest."

Crowley did not answer immediately.

He looked down at the few drops of red wine splattered on the front of his suit jacket, and slowly wiped them away with a handkerchief, his movements slow, as if he were buying time to organize his thoughts.

The twelve high-ranking demon guards around him remained standing in place, neither daring to step forward nor retreat.

One of the younger, newly promoted high-ranking demons was already trembling uncontrollably, his armor plates clanging against each other with a soft, clattering sound, like the beating of clappers. Crowley folded his handkerchief and put it back in his pocket.

“President Lor,” he said, his voice hoarser than he had expected, clearing his throat. “You’ve come all this way, surely not just to destroy my furniture.”

“I’ll give you two choices,” Wu Heng said.

Crowley remained silent.

“First,” Wu Heng extended his left index finger, “all demon legions must immediately retreat to Hell. Within twelve hours, there cannot be any demons under your command in the mortal realm. Anyone who disobeys will be dealt with by me.”

He paused.

“Second,” he said, extending his middle finger alongside his index finger, “I demolished this hellish palace, and then used the remaining 19,799 angel energy cores to purify each of your seven legions one by one.”

He looked up at Crowley.

"I'll turn you, the King of Hell, into a wandering ghost, and then refine your soul into a Demon King Potion!"

Crowley's eye twitched violently.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, something like, "This is against the rules," "Even hell has its dignity," or "Do you know how many resources it takes to maintain the Seven Legions?"

But Wu Heng didn't give him a chance to speak.

“You should know that,” Wu Heng’s voice remained soft, “I never make empty promises.”

Crowley shut up.

He certainly knew.

During the Leviathan War, he personally witnessed Wu Heng crush several Abyss Lord-level creatures on the border of Purgatory.

Those beings that even hell wouldn't dare to provoke were like experimental specimens on a dissection table in Wu Heng's hands, precisely, efficiently, and without any suspense, decomposed into energy residue.

He also knew that each of the angel energy crystals in Wu Heng's hands was a natural enemy of demons.

A single crystal core, when fully unleashed, can purify a mid-level demon legion of a thousand. As for 19,800?

That would probably be enough to blast Hell back to its pre-creation state of chaos.

Crowley lowered his eyelids, concealing the complex emotions in his eyes.

“I need time.” His voice trailed off completely. “The seven legions are scattered across the globe, some engaged in battle, others…”

He paused, then added, "'Gather resources.' Recalling them all within twelve hours isn't something that can be done with a simple order."

“That’s your problem,” Wu Heng interrupted him.

Crowley took a deep breath.

He turned around, his back to Wu Heng, and faced the twelve high-ranking demon guards who were still trembling.

"Issue the order." His voice regained the majesty of the King of Hell, but upon closer listening, a barely perceptible sense of defeat and exhaustion was hidden beneath that majesty. "All legions shall immediately cease operations on Earth and withdraw to Hell within twelve hours."

The captain of the guard was stunned for a moment.

"My lord, what about those stragglers in the Middle East who are allied with the angels?"

“Recall them all.” Crowley didn’t turn around. “Eliminate those who disobey on the spot, and their energy cores are yours.”

The captain of the guard bobbed his Adam's apple.

"As ordered."

He turned and led half of his guards away from the palace quickly, the rapid sound of his boots striking the stone slabs fading into the distance.

Only Crowley, Wu Heng, and six guards who dared not move remained in the palace.

Crowley then turned around and faced Wu Heng again.

"Are you satisfied?"

Wu Heng did not answer "satisfied" or "unsatisfied".

"I swear a blood oath by the very source of hell," he said. (End of Chapter)