Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

The news of the demons' withdrawal spread throughout the seven war zones within an hour.

There were no cheers, no celebrations. The demon hunters simply checked their equipment, counted their ammunition, looked at the demon-occupied areas on the map that had just turned from red to gray, and then moved on to the next target.

Because the devil is gone, but the angel remains.

Wu Heng stood in front of the main control console in the command center, his fingers rapidly swiping across the touchscreen, where the global disaster map was being re-layered and labeled:
Red represents the Bartholomew's faction's activity area, yellow represents the hiding places of the moderate remnants, and blue represents the confirmed area where the Mad Angels fell. The three colors overlap and intertwine, resembling an abstract painting scribbled on by a child.

"Monitoring system, startup progress." He didn't look up.

Eileen, the technical lead, said from the control panel: "The deployment of 37 master nodes worldwide has been completed, achieving 89% coverage. Edge regions such as Siberia, the Amazon, and the Sahara will require at least 72 hours to complete."

“The coverage is sufficient.” Wu Heng brought up the real-time feedback interface of the monitoring system. Countless tiny dots of light flickered on the three-dimensional map on the screen. Each dot represented a captured angel energy fluctuation. In dense areas, it was like a starry sky, while in sparse areas, only scattered islands remained.

“This is the data from the past six hours.” Eileen zoomed in on an area belonging to the ruins of Chicago, which was once the main stronghold of the Basemünster faction. “The fluctuation density has dropped by 62 percent; they are withdrawing.”

"Where?"

Eileen pulled up another set of data: "Large-scale energy transfer signal, direction... southeast."

The map was zoomed out to a larger scale.

Those moving points of light, like migratory birds, traversed the North American continent, crossed the Atlantic Ocean, and finally converged in a vast, deep yellow area.

Africa.

Wu Heng remained silent for two seconds.

"Notify the commanders of the seven war zones to convene a joint operations meeting in four hours." He closed the monitoring interface and turned to look at Renault. "Before that, get the rapid response teams moving and pick a few easy targets to show the Angels."

The roster for the rapid response team was finalized within fifteen minutes.

Each of the seven war zones selected 500 elite soldiers to form a 3,500-strong assault group.

The goal is not for them to defeat the angelic army head-on, but to act like surgeons, precisely targeting the weak points in the angelic defenses, disrupting their plans, creating panic, and opening a breach for a subsequent large-scale cleanup.

The North American theater sent Dean and Sam, along with two hundred elite Witchers. Raynor tried to protest, saying they had just withdrawn from Chicago and needed to rest. Dean replied directly with four words over the communication channel: "You won't die, go."

The European theater field sent 600 veterans personally selected by Renault, all of whom were survivors of the artillery battle outside Paris.

There was something in their eyes, a numbness that comes from having seen the worst and no longer being frightened.

The Asian theater sent Liz and four hundred other team members who had returned alive from Mosul. Liz's left arm was still in a sling, but when she stood in the assembly area, no one dared to ask her, 'Can you do it?'

The one sent from the Africa theater was Calderon, a 73-year-old, one-eyed old man who had come to Cairo on his own five years after retiring.

He was wearing a tactical vest that he'd ripped off some dead young witcher; it didn't fit him properly and chafed his shoulders, but he checked his gear faster than anyone else.

Five hundred people each from South America, Oceania, and Antarctica.

Of the 500 soldiers in Antarctica, one-fifth were technical soldiers temporarily transferred from the logistics base. They hadn't fought many direct battles, but they knew how to operate monitoring equipment and how to stop the bleeding of the wounded during the retreat.

Three thousand five hundred people were assembled within four hours.

There was no rally, no pre-battle pep talk; they simply nodded to each other, confirmed their respective slogans and roles, and then disappeared from their respective war zone maps. For the next twenty-four hours, the rapid reaction teams moved like ghosts across the battlefields.

North America, deep in the Rocky Mountains.

A high-ranking angel was rallying his remaining forces, attempting to organize a new southward raid. Dean and Sam led five hundred men into his makeshift command post and resolved the battle in seven minutes.

The grace of the high-ranking angels was taken on the spot, three of their lieutenants were killed, and the remaining 1,700 low-ranking angels scattered and fled after losing their commander, only to be picked off one by one by snipers lying in ambush on the perimeter.

Europe, on the edge of the Black Forest.

Renault's 600-strong force discovered more than a thousand low-ranking angels hiding in the ruins of an abandoned monastery.

They didn't fight, they didn't even have weapons, they just huddled together in the basement, shivering, using the last remaining faint holy light for illumination. Renault was silent for three seconds, then ordered: "Surround them, persuade them to surrender."

Twenty minutes later, 1,007 angels laid down their weapons, covered their heads with their hands, and walked out of the ruins. They were taken to a temporary containment point to await further processing.

This was the largest surrender since the start of the war.

Asia, the Himalayas.

Liz led four hundred team members to track down a fleeing remnant of the Demon Angels' alliance on a snowfield at an altitude of five thousand meters.

The mixed force of 3,700 angels and demons originally intended to cross the mountain pass into Chinese territory, but Liz did not give them the chance. She laid 700 improved holy light interference mines on both sides of the canyon, which were detonated simultaneously when the enemy entered the ambush zone.

The avalanche buried most of the enemies, and the rest were eliminated one by one by the snipers.

Africa, on the edge of the Sahara.

Calderon, with 500 men, discovered over 3,000 angels replenishing their water supply on an abandoned oil drilling platform. Instead of launching a direct assault, he ordered his men to lay a ring of trigger-activated borax mines around the platform, and then shouted through a megaphone from a distance: "Surrender, or die."

Of the seven thousand angels, four thousand three hundred chose to surrender, while the remaining two thousand seven hundred attempted to break through, but were blown up by landmines and then taken down one by one by gunmen.

Battle reports from the rapid response team flew back to the command center like snowflakes.

Within 24 hours, the assault group of 3,500 people killed 27,300 angels, captured 7,006, and suffered 700 casualties.

But everyone knows this is just an appetizer.

The joint operations meeting was held in the 29th hour.

The projection images of the seven theater commanders were lined up on the main screen of the command center. Dean and Sam were crammed into the same screen, with the concrete wall of an abandoned warehouse as the background.

Renault stood in the temporary command post on the outskirts of Paris, the faint hum of the rune cannon charging behind him could be heard. Liz's background was a snow-capped mountain, her breath condensing on the edge of the camera. Calderon's background was a desert, with sandstorms occasionally blurring the image.

Wu Heng stood in front of the control panel and got straight to the point.

"Bartholomew's main force is shifting to Africa. Monitoring data shows that in the past 72 hours, at least 53,000 angels have entered the African continent through various routes. Their goal is to establish long-term defensive positions."

“Fifty-three thousand.” Renault repeated the number, his voice strained. “The African theater currently has fewer than sixteen hundred combat personnel. Calderon, what’s the disparity in troop strength on your side?” (End of Chapter)