Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

When the angel's claws grazed her forearm, she screamed in agony, then was choked and pinned to the ground. By the time the examiner called "stop," her face had turned purple.

She was crying the whole time she was carried out, not because of the pain, but because of her resentment.

The third, the fourth, the fifth...

Isaac stood in the line, counting them one by one.

Of the fifty-three people who went in, only seven walked out on their own; the rest were carried out.

"Isaac".

The examiner called his name.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the combat zone.

The door behind him slammed shut.

The combat zone was quiet, and the searchlights overhead illuminated the entire area. Standing directly opposite him was a humanoid figure—his opponent.

Bad luck; not a puppet, but a captured angel.

The angel looked at him as if he were a sheep to be slaughtered.

"What's your name?" the angel suddenly asked, his voice hoarse like a rusty iron door.

Isaac did not answer.

"Humans," the angel suddenly said, "do you know what you are doing? You are using the power we gave you to kill us?"

Isaac still didn't answer.

He thought of the basement, of his wife and children who had been evaporated by the holy light, and of the family photo that was now only half there.

"Get started." The examiner's voice came from behind the observation window.

The angel moved.

fast!
Faster than anything Isaac had ever seen, it covered ten meters in less than a second, its palm blade piercing straight for Isaac's throat.

Isaac did not back down.

He immediately turned to the side, letting the palm slash across his left shoulder, and then punched the angel in the ribs.

This punch used all the strength of his body, concentrating it all on the angel's fragile ribs. The angel groaned and swayed.

Isaac gave it no chance to catch its breath.

The second punch landed on the same spot, the third punch on the same spot, the fourth punch, the fifth punch...

He didn't know which punch he was throwing.

He paid no heed to the angel's palm strike piercing his ribs or his fractured shoulder blade; all he knew was that the body before him was growing softer and softer, and those hate-filled eyes were becoming increasingly blurry.

Until someone hugged him from behind and pulled him away from his limp body.

"Alright! That's enough! It's not moving anymore!"

Isaac gasped for breath, looking down at his hands, both covered in blood, indistinguishable as to whether it was his own or that of the angel.

Only then did he feel the excruciating pain throughout his body and the impending loss of his life.

The examiner stepped down from behind the observation window and looked at him.

"Thirty-seven seconds, knock down the opponent, that's too much. Crazy guy, you need B-level emergency treatment. What a waste of resources."

Isaac lay there, stunned for a few seconds, before smiling before losing consciousness.

The last thing he saw was the angel behind him being dragged away by the medic. As it passed by him, he saw that the angel's eyes were still open, looking at him, but there was no hatred left, only emptiness.

The practical testing ground for the European theater was set up in an abandoned factory behind the Paris defense line.

There were no fixed opponents in the examination hall; there was only one requirement: to survive for three minutes while being besieged by seven captured angels.

Elena stood in the center of the factory, surrounded by seven menacing figures.

Their wings had long been plucked, and their holy light had been suppressed to a mere wisp, yet they could still move, attack, and kill.

"start."

The examiners' voices came from all directions.

The seven figures moved at the same time.

Elena did not move.

She closed her eyes.

Forty years of combat experience taught her that in such an encirclement, the one who moves first dies the fastest.

The first attack came from behind. She turned to the side, letting the claw graz her ribs, and at the same time, she swung her elbow back, hitting the attacker in the face.

The second attack came from the left. She kicked the hand away, turned around, and punched another angel, shattering his nose.

The third, the fourth, the fifth...

Her movements were slow, but precise. Every strike hit a vital spot, and every dodge was perfectly timed. She blocked all seven attacks.

When the three minutes were up, five angels were lying on the ground, while the remaining two were panting heavily and dared not go any further.

The examiner's voice rang out again: "Time's up, stop."

Elena stood there, panting heavily. Her shoulder was slashed open, blood streaming down her arm, and her ribs throbbed with pain; she didn't know how many were broken. But she remained standing.

The examiner emerged from the shadows and looked at her.

"You've fought in wars before."

"They fought for forty years."

Why not make the first move?

"The one who strikes first won't live long."

The examiner was silent for two seconds.

"Passed."

The practical testing ground for the Asia Theater was set up in a valley in the Himalayas, with Liz personally presiding and Martin serving as the assistant examiner.

Kyle stood at the entrance to the canyon, looking at the clearing covered in snow inside.

In the center of the open space stood a captured mid-ranking angel, who was originally to be escorted back to headquarters, but was forcibly transferred here by Liz.

Its power has been drained, but its physique is still comparable to that of a lion.

“Your mission,” Liz’s voice came from behind, “is to survive two minutes under its control. Within those two minutes, you cannot die, you cannot escape, and you cannot surrender.”

Kyle looked at the angel.

It was very tall, a head taller than an average human. Its wings on its back had been cut off at the root, leaving only two grotesque scars.

But its eyes, those pale golden eyes, were still dazzlingly bright.

"start."

Kyle rushed in.

He didn't know what he was doing; all he knew was how to hide. Half a month of hiding taught him how to run, how to hide, and how to remain silent in the dark, but it didn't teach him how to fight.

He barely dodged the angel's first attack.

He couldn't dodge the second attack; the sharp claws sliced ​​across his chest, stripping away his clothes and a chunk of flesh, causing blood to gush out.

On the third attack, he was kicked away and crashed into the rock wall, breaking his spine and causing him great pain.

The fourth time, the fifth time, the sixth time...

He didn't know which punch he was taking, he only knew that he was in pain, his whole body ached, his ribs were broken, his leg bones were cracked, and his eyes were so swollen that he couldn't open them.

But he didn't run away. He gritted his teeth, got up, and charged forward again.

The angel's attacks landed on him, once, twice, three times. He didn't remember how many times he fell, only that each time he fell, he got up.

"Twenty seconds left," Martin's voice came from afar.

The angel's attack paused for a moment, and Kyle seized the opportunity to punch it in the face.

The punch was very light, as light as a tickle, but it landed. The angel was stunned for a moment, then kicked him away.

He crashed into the rock wall, slid down, and his mouth was full of blood.

"One minute and fifty seconds."

He tried to get up, supporting himself on the ground. But he couldn't. His body felt like it had been crushed; every bone in his body was screaming in pain.

"Two minutes. Stop."

Liz's voice came through.

The angel withdrew his attack, took a step back, and looked at him. Kyle lay on the ground, panting.

He didn't know how he survived those two minutes; he only knew that they were over.

Liz walked up to him and knelt down.

Do you know how many times you almost died just now?

Kyle opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“Thirty-seven strikes,” Liz said. “That means thirty-seven times. One hit and you’re dead. You’re just one centimeter away from death.”

Kyle looked at her.

Do you know why I chose that angel?

Kyle shook his head.

“Because it killed twelve of my teammates.” Liz’s voice was calm, as calm as if she were talking about the weather. “In Mosul, it killed twelve of us all by itself.”

Kyle remained silent.

Were you afraid when you faced it just now?

Kyle thought for a moment and then nodded.

Liz stood up.

"To charge forward despite fear is harder than to charge forward without fear." (End of Chapter)